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More Physicians Reporting Dissatisfaction With EHR Systems
A new report from AmericanEHR Partners and the American Medical Association (AMA), based on a survey of physicians, shows that compared with 5 years ago, more physicians are reporting being dissatisfied or very dissatisfied with their EHR systems. In the survey, approximately half of all respondents reported a negative impact in response to questions about how their EHR systems improved costs, efficiency, or productivity.
AmericanEHR Partners provides information to support clinicians in the selection and use of EHRs to improve health care delivery. It was founded by the American College of Physicians (ACP) and Cientis Technologies.
In a similar survey conducted by AmericanEHR 5 years ago, most of the respondents said that, overall, they were satisfied or very satisfied with their EHR systems, with 39% being satisfied and 22% being very satisfied. In the new survey, however, most of the respondents indicated that, overall, they were dissatisfied with their EHR systems, with only 22% indicating they were satisfied and 12% indicating they were very satisfied.
Questions regarding the effect of EHR systems on clinical practice found that:
42% thought their EHR systems’ ability to improve efficiency was difficult or very difficult.
72% thought their EHR systems’ ability to decrease workloads was difficult or very difficult.
54% found that their EHR systems increased their total operating costs.
43% said they had yet to overcome productivity challenges related to their EHR systems.
“While EHR systems have the promise of improving patient care and practice efficiency, we are not yet seeing those effects,” said Shari Erickson, MPH, Vice President of the ACP’s Division of Governmental Affairs and Medical Practice. “We need to focus on figuring out how we can help physicians and practices to more effectively implement and use these systems.”
The report found that primary care physicians were more likely than specialists to report satisfaction with various aspects of their EHR systems and to indicate a positive effect on practice. The report suggested that the difference could be explained by the longer period, on average, that primary care physicians had used their EHR systems compared with specialists. Among the survey respondents, primary care physicians had used their EHR systems for a year longer than specialists, on average.
The report also found that, in most cases, it appeared to take at least 3 years for respondents to overcome initial challenges and to derive many of the benefits the their EHR systems may offer.
“Perhaps we are getting over the curve in EHR adoption,” Erickson said. “It may be that as we see more practices that have been using these systems longer, we will see satisfaction begin to rise.”
Source: ACP; August 10, 2015. | English | NL | cee00d207aec04aa4ec8ef4cfa596da887db95d03bf278f81b0faaacff5d045f |
Discharged London Escorts
Getting found, much the same as the thought she had of giving him a show, particularly at her work environment, turned her on to no degree, and she doesn't love anything superior to amazement him with wild thoughts. Escorts' in London could tell from the energy of his fucking and the most difficult way possible he was beating into her, he adored it as well. Escorts' in London made a mewling sound as he speeded up and she felt the wet erosion in London Escorts' pussy. He lifted his head and snarled in her ear, and discharged London Escorts' hands. Escorts' in London wrapped herself around him and sat tight for the internal blast to happen, her body revealing to her it was practically time.
"I'm going to cum" she inhaled out dryly.
"Me as well, in you or on you?"
Escorts' in London took in his ear and after that spoke low "In" and afterward affixed London Escorts' mouth to his and groaned her peak into his mouth. He moaned and she felt him cum inside her. He rested there until she gradually unwrapped London Escorts' legs and arms and he slid out of her, as she sat up and slid off the table to Escorts' London knees she felt the blend of juices running down her inward thighs. He looked down at her as she took his dick in Escorts' London mouth and licked it clean of all their cum, when his cock was spotless he helped her stand and went to sit her back against the table in the extravagant corners. | English | NL | 7c7cfafad200f39fa2957d3f184a7bfee28fd9970f356ae451a817965983b0b2 |
St Ninian's Church, Inverness: a brief history
St Ninian's was rebuilt in its present form in 1977, but it was nearly two decades earlier, in 1959, that the growth in the Catholic population of Inverness persuaded Bishop Walsh that a second church was needed to serve their needs.
The original St Ninian's, built in 1960, was only the second Catholic church built in Inverness since the Reformation- St Mary's, Huntly Street, built in 1837, was the first. Before St Mary's, Catholics used a room in Margaret Street, pithily described at the time as "the place where Lord Lovat and the tinkers worshipped". This room survived looting during the "No Popery" riot of 1829, when feelings ran high as a result of the Catholic Emancipation Bill: an effigy of the MP for Inverness-shire, Charles Grant - a supporter of the Bill - was burnt and the windows of the Caledonian Hotel, where he was staying, were smashed.
Although of relatively recent origin, St Ninian's is linked - through its site - to those much earlier days. In 1845, soon after St Mary's was built, Franciscan nuns came to Inverness from their Mother House in Glasgow. They were first based in King Street, and then moved to a house adjoining the church in Huntly Street. The Convent School they ran acquired a high reputation and attracted boarders from all over the country.
When, after more than 80 years of good work in teaching and among the poor of Inverness, the Franciscan sisters were recalled to Glasgow in 1935, their place was taken by the Sisters of Notre Dame, who reopened the Convent School, moving it to Huntly Lodge, on the corner of Culduthel Road and Southside Road. They also owned the house next door, Hill Park, a handsome three-storey building standing in its own grounds - the site of the present St Ninian's.
Hill Park was at first let to a Mr Kenneth Chisholm-Pant, but was later used as a hostel for the convent, serving Catholic schoolgirls from outside Inverness who attended Inverness Royal Academy and Inverness High School. (On an ecumenical note, the clerical associations of Hill Park go back further - in 1876, it was occupied by one Reverend Mr D.R. Macdonald, whose neighbour in Hedgefield House was the Right Reverend Bishop Eden.)
In 1953, the Sisters of Notre Dame handed over to nuns of the Order of La Sagesse, or the Daughters of Wisdom, who continued to run the school and the hostel. Then on 12 June 1959 a disastrous fire completely destroyed Hill Park. A nun, Sister Rose, was injured in the blaze, as was one of the residents, Chrissie Buchanan (13) of Barra. The contemporary account from the Inverness Courier paints a vivid picture of an escape that is not without its heroic qualities:
"[Sister Rose] was awakened by the fire and found the way downstairs to the telephone barred by flames. Assisted by some schoolgirls, she immediately set about tying sheets together to make a rope, then started to climb down it from the top floor, 30 feet up. When only a few feet down, however, she lost her grip and fell to the ground, breaking her right shoulder bone. After climbing out of a top storey window, Chrissie Buchanan (13), a schoolgirl from Castlebay, Barra, missed her grasp on a ronepipe and fell 30 feet. She sustained a compound fracture of her left leg, and both she and Sister Rose were taken to Raigmore Hospital. Miss Edna Walton, Oban, an Inverness High School teacher, led the seven other girls in residence to safety." The remains of Hill Park form the foundations of the present-day St Ninian's Altar
The plans for the first St Ninian's were submitted to the Dean of Guild Court in Inverness in October 1959 and approved in November. The estimated cost was £6000. The church was opened in 1960 and the first parish priest was Fr. George McCurrach. The church served the East of Inverness well for a number of years, but as the town expanded under the influence of industrial development - principally North Sea oil - the Catholic population increased in proportion, and it soon became clear that the existing church building was too small to serve them.
The present St Ninian's was conceived and planned in 1976, to be built at an estimated cost of £56,000. The building incorporates the basement of the original church, which now serves as a hall for various functions. The design of the new St Ninian's reflects the thinking of the Second Vatican Council, with the tabernacle separate from the centrally situated altar, which provides the focus for the congregation seated around it on three sides. In the original design there was a Blessed Sacrament chapel behind the altar, to the left as you look at it, but that has now been converted to a sacristy. The extent to which the new building enlarges on the old can be seen in the Nave and the East transept, which lie outside the boundaries of the old church, defined by the altar area and the West transept.
Father McCurrach was succeeded as Parish Priest by Fr. Bernard Macdonald (1979-1989) who gave way to Fr. Alistair Doyle (1989-1995). When Fr. Doyle moved to Elgin, the Parish was run from St Mary's, with Fr. Robert Macdonald (Fr. Bernard's brother) as Parish Priest, (1995-98) assisted in turn by Fr. Gerry Livingstone (1995-97) and Fr. Stuart Chalmers (1997-98). Fr. Chalmers moved to Stonehaven and St. Ninian's joined with Culloden Parish under the care of Father Peter Barry. Then in 2008 Father – now Canon – Barry moved to Aberdeen and Fr. Chalmers returned to take charge of St Ninian’s. In 2012, Fr. Chalmers was appointed Vicar General and moved to Aberdeen and Fr. Allen came south from St. Anne's, Thurso. | English | NL | 1e663c66e4c8e1ac49237ea2b18776d157429ad54b450865eb4c83a96532e01a |
In the summer of 1970, when driving around Majorca, I stopped for a few days in the remote coastal village of Deyá. I was surprised and delighted to find that Robert Graves held court in the local café every night. The war hero and poet was the author of a memoir, Goodbye to All That, and I, Claudius which, he proudly said, had been used as the code text for the July 1944 plot against Hitler. He was then seventy-five and still a formidably imposing figure – tall, broken-nosed and wild-haired – who strolled imperiously through his demesne in a flowing cape and flat- topped Córdoba hat. I was impressed by his rugged grandeur but irritated by his arrogance and perplexed by his murky theories of Mariolatry among the Arabs. Magisterial, remote and austere, he wanted worshipful and submissive followers.
Nearly fifty years after the publication of his first successful book, Graves had forgotten that, as a young, shell-shocked ex-soldier, he had been the adoring disciple of T. E. Lawrence, one of the most famous heroes of the Great War, and that Graves’ biography, Lawrence and the Arabs, which helped create the ‘Prince of Mecca’ legend, was mainly written by Lawrence himself. Graves thought that Lawrence had deliberately lost the first draft of Seven Pillars of Wisdom in the Reading train station because he wanted to write from memory and make his book less of a factual history.
I boldly suggested that his fascinating poem, ‘Children of Darkness’, had been inspired by Lawrence’s perverse idea that children are responsible for their own conception by provoking lust in their parents. But Graves vehemently contradicted me and egoistically insisted, ‘I was never influenced by anyone; I always influenced other writers!’ Despite, or perhaps because of Graves’ denial, I still believed the poem came to Graves through Lawrence. In his notorious Pauline letter of 27 March 1923, written when he was a private in the Tank Corps and living in the crude and lecherous barracks, the illegitimate, guilt-ridden Lawrence expressed the idea that original sin precedes not only birth but also conception:
But surely the world would be more clean if we were dead or mindless? We are all guilty alike, you know. You wouldn’t exist, I wouldn’t exist, without this carnality. Everything with flesh in its mixture is the achievement of a moment when the lusty thought of Hut 12 has passed to action and conceived: and isn’t it true that the fault of birth rests somewhat on the child? I believe it’s we who led our parents on to bear us, and it’s our unborn children who make our flesh itch. A filthy business all of it.
By an extraordinary coincidence, my idea was later confirmed by Graves’ unpublished letter to Lawrence in 1922, which a South African collector sent to me. Graves wrote, ‘When biking to All Souls last week, I had started a poem which your last words in the College, about the futility of Being, finished; and also your remarks about parental difficulties, I suppose’. He then quoted the first stanza of the eighteen-line poem, published in Whipperginny the same year as Lawrence’s letter:
We spurred our parents to the kiss, Though doubtfully they shrank from this – Day had no courage to pursue What lusty dark alone might do: Then we were joined from their caress In heat of midnight, one from two.
In his Collected Poems, Graves omitted the original epigraph from Luke 16:8 – ‘In their Generation Wiser than the Children of Light’ – which puns on ‘Generation’ and provides a spiritual contrast to the evil Children of Darkness. In Swifter than Reason, Douglas Day observed that Graves’ theme is ‘the guilt which parents feel during the day for their actions in “the lusty dark”’.
As our conversation continued, Graves alluded in passing to the terrible time he had had with the American poet, Laura Riding. He was currently infatuated with a crop of young literary groupies and carnal muses, patiently tolerated by his increasingly intolerant wife. His oldest daughter increased the tension by interrupting our lively talk about Kipling and insisting that American professors knew absolutely nothing about English literature.
Graves said he admired Hemingway, with whom he had two odd things in common. The reports of their deaths had been greatly exaggerated – Graves in the war, Hemingway in his two African plane crashes – and both had publicly proclaimed their resurrection and read their own obituaries. Both men also had disappointed and unstable mistresses who had jumped out of windows and broken their backs. When, as an aspiring author, I asked how Graves had managed to write so many books, he coolly replied, ‘Oh, not that many – just two a year for fifty years’. | English | NL | 02b8fc7e7763ec7e2de86ea6cc724c67acdd026b8cd255f609e9b59ff9f4d8f1 |
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- About Us
Melva June Marshall was born July 26, 1929 in Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, England to Minnie Dove Wilson and Benard Wilson. She passed away on February 17, 2019 at the age of 89 at her home in Orem, Utah.
June was the youngest of 4 children. She spent her childhood in Mansfield where she attended elementary school at the age of 4. She attended the Church of England School until the age of 14. She went on to become an apprentice in a sewing factory because of her love of sewing. She began sewing and designing at a very young age and spent her life sewing things for others. She has sewn and designed numerous wedding dresses, prom dresses, baptism dresses along with 52 uniform dresses for the Lincoln High School Tigerettes. She loved making things for her children and grandchildren.
She lived through World War 2 and remembers carrying a gas mask and going to the bomb shelter every night. June left England by herself at age 20, leaving her family behind. She had been baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints at the age of 16 and desired to come to the United States of America to be closer to the central part of the church. She traveled by boat to New Jersey where she got on a bus to Ogden, Utah.
After about a year in Ogden she moved to Salt Lake City where she met her future husband and love of her life Calvin Marshall. Following a short courtship, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple on March 12, 1953. A month later Cal was sent to Fort Ord, California. After Cal completed his basic training she joined him in California where he completed his advanced training. She then moved to Orem, Utah and lived with his parents while he served in Korea for a year. Their first daughter, Pam was born at Fort Ord, California. They later moved to Orem, Utah where Debbie and Mark were born. June worked at Minnie World for many years where she designed and sewed dresses. She also had a sewing business from her home for many years. She was an active member of the Church and held many positions throughout her life. She loved her family and spending time with them. She went on many camping trips and especially loved Yellowstone and the many beauties of Utah.
She is survived by her husband Calvin Marshall and her children, Pam Prowell, Debbie Carter and Mark Marshall (Christine), her brother Rex Wilson, 10 grandchildren, 13 great grandchildren. She was preceded in death by her mother Minnie Dove Wilson, her father Benard Wilson, her brother Ray Wilson, her sister Bernice Bradley and her great grandson Declan Price.
Funeral services will be Friday, Feb. 22, 2019, at 11:00 a.m. at the LDS chapel, 670 E. 800 N, Orem, Utah. Visitation for family and friends will be the same day from 10:00 to 11:00 a.m. at the church prior to services. Interment, Orem City Cemetery. | English | NL | ce8d71420cd392b21fbd43e7ecbb591fca1c396b71b5b16fd211976be6d37953 |
Dr. Lemlij is a medical doctor who was trained as a psychoanalyst in London. He is a professor at the University of Lima, Peru, and a training analyst. A true leader of psychoanalysis in Peru and Latin America, he has contributed to relating psychoanalysis to many social and cultural issues, including the areas of social violence and terrorism. His publications are wide-ranging and original. He has had a distinguished academic and editorial career and has held many positions at his own institution, the American Federation, and at the International Psychoanalytic Association. | English | NL | e90ccfa1224e5c1c234be81d48d8131f911e2033a88c7e8c05294dc14eca1bc8 |
Happiness linked to healthy heart
New research shows that people who are cheery are less likely to develop heart disease than those who are down in the dumps.
There's been speculation that people with a positive attitude have stronger hearts.
The Canadian scientists say their decade-long study, which is published in the European Heart Journal, has produced the first objective data to support the belief.
Psychiatrist Dr Karina Davidson, who is now working at Columbia University in New York, began the study more than 10 years ago.
Her team filmed interviews with more than 1700 people in Nova Scotia, Canada.
"We asked them about daily hassles, their daily routine, hypotheticals, what they do in certain situations and then the video tapes were coded for the amount of positive emotions or positive affect that was expressed," says Davidson.
The scientists tracked the people for a decade and at the end found those who had shown the most happiness and satisfaction were less likely to have had a heart attack.
"The very happiest people were quite protected from heart disease," says Davidson. "Those who showed moderate amount were somewhat protected and those who showed none at all were at increased risk."
She says the study revealed a positive attitude reduces the risk of heart disease by 22%.
Relaxed mind and body
Davidson says that could be because happy people tend to have healthier lifestyle habits, but the reasons could also be physiological.
"When someone is satisfied, content, feeling pleasure and enjoyment in the activity that they're doing, they have what is called a relaxation response. Their stress hormones go down, their blood pressure goes down, their heart rate slows."
The research team also hasn't ruled out that a common factor like genetics could be causing both the emotions and the heart disease.
Still, Davidson says for the sake of good health, people should do things they like every day.
"Ten to 15 minutes of something that you enjoy doing whether that's reading the newspaper, going for a walk, speaking to a friend," she says.
What if what you like to do and what relaxes you most is sitting in front of a DVD eating junk food?
"Both health care professionals and psychologists try and work with people to find the things that are not heart damaging," says Davidson. "So maybe you can sit in front of a TV with friends and not eat the high fat food or drink to excess." | English | NL | adc25eeeece0e617db9b5af3875b7244563db6dc3475ceb9cbcbf1e9d6ad0b18 |
Secretaries of L&I
Johnny J. Butler
Johnny J. Butler was born September 14, 1946 in Macon, Georgia. He graduated from Ballard-Hudson high school and received his Bachelor of Arts degree in 1968, and Juris Doctorate in 1971 from Howard University. He received his Master's of Law degree from Columbia University in 1972.
Butler was an attorney for the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, 1975-79; Director for the Philadelphia District Acting General Counsel; radio talk show host; Adjunct Professor, Howard and Temple Universities; Board of Directors for the Philadelphia African-American Museum. He has received the Arthur S. Fleming, Presidential Rank of Meritorious Executive Award, and was inducted to the Howard University Sports Hall of Fame, for his outstanding performance on the football field as a student athlete.
He was appointed Secretary of Labor and Industry on January 23, 1995, by Governor Tom Ridge. | English | NL | 927e07735946c288d3624b697869e067178ce85279a57c7cec1c75be4c4bdb67 |
Its 1864. Colonel Lyle Oldershaw-Plaskitt is sitting in his dimly lighted small office, in his colonnial mansion, in the outskirts of Bangalore. He's about to start writing a letter, to inform the newly appointed Viceroy of India, Sir John Lawrence, Bt, that Bangalore's rail connection to Madras is finally completed and ready to operate. He realises, with a slight annoyance, that what is left in his inkwell is not going to suffice for more than a few words, and he silently curses himself for having failed to notice that his ink supply was that low. Unwilling to wait till morning, he decides to mix what ink is left with a dram of the strong tea he's drinking, hoping that the Viceroy will excuse this slight inappropriateness. Before being able to write down even a single word, he's utterly surprised (an extremely rare situation for a stiff upper lip British senior officer) by a heavenly smell that seems to arise from his inkwell. As close to mesmerised as a soldier of his stature could be, he slowly puts his Gillott's nib down, and reaches for the inkwell.
Next afternoon, with his skin a little darker than usual, he enters the country club, to be greeted by Brigadier Eugene Boulstridge-Smythe, who turns from glad to amazed within five seconds of standing next to him.
"Goodness gracious me Lyle, you smell divine! Any good old Atkinsons new stuff? And how on earth did you get a tan since yesterday?"
Colonel Lyle Oldershaw-Plaskitt smiles complacently and drinks a sip of his whisky.
"You shall see old friend, you shall see..."
Colonel Lyle Oldershaw-Plaskitt perished during a storm four days later en route to Ceylon, where he was heading for purchasing an unusual for an individual quantity of tea. His order of three firkins of Indian ink was already on its way, but he failed to receive them due to his untimely demise. His comrades mourned and honoured their distinguished fellow countryman with all respect, and in his memoirs, then General Eugene Boulstridge-Smythe didn't forget to mention, besides all other attributes, that Colonel Lyle Oldershaw-Plaskitt was the best-smelling man he had ever met, and what a pity it was that this magnificent and absolutely unique scent of his was sadly lost for ever under the waves surrounding Adam's Bridge.
Until one year before the new millennium, when a France-based Japanese lady, obviously not giving a damn about what people would think of such a concoction, reinvented it...
P.S.: Call me a madman if you please, but to my nose (which I'm the first to admit that it's not to be taken very seriously), and despite the fact that they barely share a couple of notes, this has a very strong resemblance to Azzaro's Acteur... | English | NL | 110910df062b28e421f8053f163d4caad340f771470642b4263b2d0d1e5fe406 |
August 24, 1933 ~ March 6, 2019
Born in: Denver, Colorado
Resided in: Arvada, Colorado
Marilyn M. Clark Skiver passed away on March 6, 2019. She was born in August 1933, and raised in Denver, Colorado to parents Joseph T. Clark and Jewel E. Williamson. She was a quiet, introspective, and determined person and those who knew her said she was kind, caring, strong, had a great sense of humor, a wonderful smile, and was always a lady. And as her son Rick often said, she was made of pioneer stock. She was always there for her family when they needed her quite wisdom and guidance.
She lived a long and interesting life. Before she reached the age of 18, she had lived in three foreign countries, Panama, Trinidad/Tobago and Germany. Germany was where she met her husband to be, William in 1951. A year later they were married and started married life in Washington, DC. With little more than a suitcase with a few items of clothes, a donated sofa, three-quarter size bed, and a floor lamp. They were housed in converted barracks on base until they could find permanent housing. Within three years they and their two boys, Rick and Robert, were transferred and stationed in Osaka, Japan. This is where their third child, Sally was born. When his tour ended in 1957, they returned to Denver, Colorado permanently. In 1960, their fourth child, Wendy was born. Sadly, in June of 1962, at the age of 28, she became a widow with four small children to care for on her own.
With strength and a quiet determination, she started to rebuild her life. She had to learn how to drive and had to find and start a career. In this endeavor, she attended the Emily Griffith Opportunity School to become a Medical Secretary. This would become her life’s career. Over the following years she worked for several different doctors in private practices. Upon the retirement of the last doctor, she changed careers and began working for the City and County of Denver. Her first position was at the DMV and then at Denver General Hospital (now Denver Health) in medical transcription. Her last transfer was to the Rocky Mountain Poison Center where she worked for several different directors over the years until her retirement. Where she really enjoyed the freedom of time.
She is preceded in death by her parents, brother Phillip, sister Colleen, husband William, son Robert, and son-in-law Hank. She is survived by her son Rick and daughters Sally and Wendy; granddaughter Dawn, and great-grandchildren Jacob, Rosie, and Stellan. She was a truly wonderful mom, friend, and a lovely lady, God Bless.
Please share memories of Marilyn and condolences with her family by signing the online guestbook below. | English | NL | 9770b9778c129c0f78ca0cdea90b6c7c5aed7fad8a972777025d8e40dab4e4be |
Chapter 1: Back Home
one || back home
The secret that nobody knew about was that Steve was in love with Bucky--always had been. Even as a skinny shrimp that barely reached his best friend's chin, he had had weird tingly sensations whenever Bucky was around. Seventy years later and packing a lot more muscle than before, those feelings had never gone away. In fact, they had only grown stronger--in both Steve's heart and nether regions. At first, because of Bucky's Winter Soldier programming, he hadn't dared to make a move--it wouldn't look good on his part, after all--but now that it had been two years and the other man had adjusted to modern life surprisingly fast, the blonde was ready to develop something further than friendship. He just needed to make sure that the darker-haired supersoldier felt the same way.
Although Steve had made sure to put on a wary expression when King T'Challa had told the fugitive Avengers they were being pardoned, inside he was secretly a little joyful. He would forgive Tony--hopefully Iron Man had an eloquent apology prepared--and Bucky would realize how kind Steve was, to just let bygones be bygones like that. Then he could start taking things further, as soon as he knew the former Winter Soldier was completely enraptured.
Steve glanced around inside the quinjet where the rest of his team was currently situated, excluding Natasha--she somehow managed to come and go, but hadn't visited for a few months. Most were looking at the floor, as if they weren't sure whether to be happy or angry. The only one watching him was Bucky, who--despite Steve's cajoling--had decided to keep his silky dark hair at shoulder-length.
The blonde offered his friend a small smile, which only grew wider when it was returned. It'll be all right, Buck, he said silently. I won't let Stark touch you like that ever again.
After another hour, the quinjet touched down smoothly, and the ex-Avengers all shot up as if their seats had suddenly been covered in lava. Steve stood hastily as well, his heart thumping in his chest like an urgent battle drum. After two years hiding in Wakanda, he felt a little out of place back home--even if it was home. And then, as he reached the ramp that led down to real ground, his stomach dropped. Stark.
The billionaire was standing there casually, sunglasses down and a look of indifferent boredom on his face. The odd alien thing-- Vision-- hovered protectively at his side. Steve had wanted to put the Civil War behind them ever since it had happened, but Tony never bothered to call. It hurt Steve a little, it really did, but one thing he could never forgive the man for was blowing off Bucky's arm. Tony knew it wasn't Bucky's fault that his parents were dead, he knew, and yet he ruthlessly attacked anyway. For that, Tony's apology had better be extravagant.
The recently pardoned Avengers made their way down the ramp slowly, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Taking a fresh gulp of American air--the America he, Captain America, had been named for--Steve finally allowed himself to relax and accept the fact that he was back. God, how he had missed this. He had even missed Tony, to an extent. Before Ultron, he and Stark had even started to become friends. Maybe their relationship could be repaired too, and then he could date Bucky freely without having to worry about murderous, petty billionaires.
"Hi Tony," the blonde supersoldier said, trying to keep the expectancy out of his voice. For a man who was supposed to be falling all over himself in regret, Tony Stark did not look sorry at all.
"Rogers," the engineer said in a clipped, cool voice. His expression didn't even waver, and Steve drew back a little in surprise.
Quickly recovering, he said, "It's--it's real swell to see you, Tony. And...for what it's worth, I'm glad you've finally accepted where you went wrong. Although it's been hard to just forgive and forget"--here he let out a little chuckle, to let everyone know he wasn't upset about past events anymore--"I'm grateful you pardoned us. I hope this is a step towards mending the friendship we unfortunately damaged when you signed the Accords and went after Bucky."
There was a stony silence for a second, and then--
"HAHAHAHAHA." A loud snort followed the laughing.
"...Pardon?" Steve said, completely taken off guard. Scanning the lot, he saw that his other teammates were just as bewildered as he was. "Sorry, who was that?"
"Here," the voice said, sighing.
Steve opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Vision?" he said dumbly.
"No, you absolute idiot, down here," the voice said again, and Steve looked down doubtfully only to step back in shock. There was a talking raccoon. A talking raccoon. At his feet. Not to mention said raccoon was rolling its eyes, which shouldn't even be a thing??
"I'm Rocket," the animal said cheerfully, as if neither Steve nor the rest of the ex-Avengers were staring at him in shock. "Sucks to meet you, Blondie. You must be the douchebag Tony's always trying not to talk about. With your merry little band, too, I see. Sucks to meet you as well, douchebag-minions."
The raccoon slunk forward from his place next to Tony's leg. The engineer was watching in mild amusement, as could be drawn from the lifted corners of his mouth.
"And you, you must be James Buchanan Barnes," the creature said with relish. "You're a dick too, although less of a dick than your buddy-o here, Steve. I totally get that you were under mind-control, man, and that's why I'm less angry at you than I am at the rest of your mates. In fact, you must be a pretty cool guy for an ex-superhero to destroy everything to go chasing after you."
"Hey," Steve said, narrowing his eyes as he stepped forward and looked down at the self-assured raccoon. "Don't talk to Bucky like that."
Rocket shrugged. "I do what I want, Rogers."
The blonde opened his mouth to reply when Tony finally stepped forward and interjected, "Hey, hey, stand down, Rocket. No need to pick a fight with them on the first day back."
"This is all your doing, Stark," Clint spat as he moved closer so that he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve. "Why don't you--"
"Hawkeye," Steve said sternly, and Clint shut his mouth with a grumble.
"Anyhow, I'm not here to socialize," Tony said, removing his sunglasses to reveal eyes just as warm and brown as Steve remembered them to be. However, they were stonier than before, and it unnerved him--how Tony didn't look at them the same way he used to. "You all are going to have to sign the revised Accords, one way or another, if you want to stay an Avenger. Barton, you're retired--you shouldn't even be here, you shouldn't have been here two years ago either. Once you're escorted to the Compound by Vision, Laura will be waiting for you with divorce papers."
Clint made a choking sound and his fingers curled into fists. Only Steve's hand on his shoulder made him stay in line, although he was vibrating with hatred. "First locking us up and getting us exiled from our homes, and now you're making my wife divorce me?" he snarled. "Fuck you, Stark, I didn't think even a self-absorbed bastard like you could get so low."
Tony gave a humorless smile. "Oh, no, I had nothing to do with it. This is Laura's personal decision. I think she might be mad because...I don't know, actually. Maybe because you up and left her and her children without a second thought, all for deal ol' Captain America."
Steve didn't like this new Tony--all razor sharp edges and corners. What had happened to the guy that played video games with Clint in the Avengers Tower? If only Tony hadn't created Ultron, things wouldn't be this way…
The archer was as tense as a knot, but he didn't say anything else. After two years, he had kind of exhausted all his hatred even if it hadn't disappeared.
"As for Wanda, she's going to be enrolled at Charles Xavier's School for the Gifted. It'll help her control those witchy powers of hers," Tony continued as if Clint's anger didn't affect him at all. It bothered Steve more than he'd ever care to admit.
"What?" Wanda said angrily. "You cannot just lock me up like that, Stark!"
"Actually, this wasn't my decision either," the billionaire said lightly. "The government thinks it's a good idea, and so does Xavier. It's a mutant school--I think you'll actually learn a lot and enjoy yourself there. And if you refuse, there are a lot of people who want to actually throw you in a jail cell as you're suggesting my intent is. Believe me, I'd take being a student all over again rather than prison."
Wanda hissed, and red tendrils began to swim and flicker around her fingers. Tony inclined his head sharply, and suddenly men Steve hadn't even noticed standing off to the side broke off from their pack to handcuff the Scarlet Witch before she even knew what was happening. Struggling, Wanda flailed her arms only to realize she couldn't pull up her magic anymore. What was going on?
"Vision here helped me create cuffs that would deter magic users," Tony informed Steve and the rest of his team. Wanda's eyes widened in hurt as she looked at Vision, but the android only watched the ground. As for Steve, he shook his head in disbelief--he couldn't believe Tony would do such a despicable and cruel thing to a child.
As if the engineer could read his mind, Tony scoffed. "And before you say it's wrong to handcuff a child, Wanda's twenty two, Steve. She's a legal adult."
"Agent Barton, you're coming with us too. You can see your wife now," one of the men dressed as bodyguards said. Jerkily, Clint made his way over to Wanda and her guards, as if he still couldn't process everything that was happening. To be honest, neither could Steve.
"Okay, moving on," Tony said briskly. "I don't have much time here. Rocket and I need to get back to Peter, I was busy beating him at chess. Anyhow, Scott, you're going to have to return your little insect suit to Hope van Dyne, she's really pissed you took it. And Cassie is most likely going to be with her mother and stepfather considering since she didn't have a dad for two years, she needed someone more responsible--and available, for that matter--to take her in. Sam, you're going to be dishonorably discharged from the military, of course, but you're welcome to rejoin the Avengers if you sign the Accords as well as some other documents. Barnes, you're welcome to the Avengers as well--we could use a man with your strength and stamina. Steve...you can join too, I suppose, although I don't think many countries will be happy about it. But that's why you're back, after all--we need as many people as we can get, even if the world doesn't necessarily like some of them."
"Stark," Steve cut in quickly before the other man could go on. "Don't you think you're being a little rash about all this? Why would you just throw Wanda away like that, or Scott? They're very essential to our team."
"Our team?" Tony snorted. "We're not an 'our.' Even if you sign the Accords, we will never be an 'our.' That all ended when you left me to die in Siberia, Rogers."
"What?" Sam said aloud in confusion, glancing at Steve. Bucky looked over too. "What did you tell them, Stevie?"
Tony shook his head. "A liar too, I see. Nobody knows what you really did, then. Doesn't matter--I have a chess game to return to. Vision, please escort the pardoned fugitives to the Compound. Lang, you'll be seeing your daughter soon. And, Wilson--Rhodey forgave you a long time ago for his paralysis. It's not exactly your fault." Sam looked a bit brighter at that. "If it makes you feel better, Rhodey's walking now--I built him legs. Barnes, Rogers, you're going to follow Vision as well--and Rogers, I'm sure many people would like to have a chat with you."
With that, the billionaire turned on his heel, the little raccoon slinking after him quickly. Steve could hear the lighthearted tones of conversation being exchanged between the two, and felt a little pang of hurt and indignance. Tony had never talked in front of him so happily like that. And now he was talking to some repulsive animal with a lot more respect.
Facing forward again, he noticed Vision regarding him coldly. "You will all accompany me now to the Compound, where you will face your fates," the android said. The words sounded eerie to Steve, but he ignored it. Looking at Bucky beside him as they all began to walk, he admired the dignified way the dark-haired supersoldier managed to stride despite having been so blatantly verbally abused by Stark. He studied the strong jaw, the long thick lashes, the hair that even if too long Steve could sweep out of his face…
"Somethin' on my face, Stevie?" Bucky said with a wry grin, glancing at the blonde. Noting Steve's sudden look of a deer caught in headlights, he mistook it for worry and said softly, "Don't worry. I believe you're a good guy. People jus' need to hear your side of the story first to understand."
Steve nodded slowly. "Thanks, Buck. I don't know what I would do without you."
His heart pounded in tandem with the sound of his footsteps against the gravel, and for a moment, he forgot everything else--Stark, the Accords, Wanda, everything. With Bucky by his side, it would be all right. He-- Captain America--would be alright.
Chapter 2: Forming Rifts
Steve just wanted to eat with Bucky, but the Guardians of the Galaxy are getting in the way. He never asked for this--but Tony's little creatures seem to enjoy pissing him off.
I wrote this chapter after sleeping at four and getting up at six thirty, so pardon if there are any mistakes or if it sounds like it was written by a sleep-deprived drunk driving backwards on the freeway at midnight.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
two || forming rifts
This was ridiculous.
Steve felt like throwing up now that he was in the privacy of his own bedroom (a bedroom, he might add, bare and empty much unlike his thoughts). It had been four days since he'd returned to American soil and only eight hours since the signing of the Accords. It was shocking when Bucky had signed first, to say the least. To be honest, back in Wakanda when Steve dreamt about coming home with Bucky, he tended to leave out all this corrupt government stuff and focused instead on how their relationship would develop. There was no time for the Accords; at least, not in Steve's fantasies. However, now that he had officially signed, he felt as if he were stuck in a corner with no way out. And really, even though he'd never admit it, the worst part about the Accords wasn't even that it took away everyone's rights and trapped superheroes under the thumb of villainous politicians, it was that Tony supported it.
Steve straightened on the bed, his sketchbook all but forgotten as he lost himself in his thoughts. Really, if you looked at all the bad things that Tony Stark had done--creating missiles for the bad guys, whoring around, insulting anyone with two legs and creating Ultron --then when a guy like him thought something was good, it had to be bad.
Pleased, Steve took up his pencil once more and continued his sketch of a certain dark-haired supersoldier. For a moment there he was even afraid he had made a colossal mistake about going against Stark, but no. He had done the right thing and was glad to realize that even seventy years into the future, he was still standing tall against bullies.
The only problem was, once again, Bucky's signing. Steve had even envisioned a scenario in which he'd have to hold his best friend down as the other man snarled and spit insults at Stark and all the rest of them--it would be understandable after all. However, Bucky had given an unsure quirk of the mouth and even seemed rather eager to scribble his name down on the dotted line. Oh well, it didn't matter anymore. Just because he and Steve were now officially government puppets didn't mean Steve was useless.
Suddenly, a light knock sounded on the door. The blonde looked up. "Who is it?" he asked warily.
"Lemme in, Stevie," came the exasperated voice of none other than James Buchanan Barnes. Steve's heart warmed at the familiar tone and accent. Like usual, it satisfied him to see how far Bucky had come--from the skittish, wary, and angry victim to a guy just as snarky and quick to laugh like before he'd fallen from the train--albeit lacking much of the confidence he'd once had. In fact, with the help of the BARF thing T'Challa had introduced, it was safe to say that he was as fine as he was ever going to get. The guy still had PTSD and a load of other issues, of course, but Steve knew how to handle that. Back in his war days, there had been tons of veterans just like Bucky.
To tell the truth, Steve was surprised that the Wakandan king had found a solution to ease Bucky out of the Winter Soldier programming so quickly...he would've even thought that Stark had been the one to invent it, considering T'Challa's evasiveness when asked about "those brilliant Wakandan scientists" Steve owed his thanks to. But he knew Tony wouldn't help his best friend, not when he was the sort to let emotions cloud his judgement.
He got up off the bedspread, making sure to flip his sketchbook shut, and then opened the door to find warm dark eyes blinking at him fondly. "You've been holin' yourself up in here ever since that final Accords meetin'. You okay?"
Steve nodded and sighed, motioning for Bucky to come in before closing the door softly behind them. "It's just...I don't know, Buck. I know this is all new to you, but the government isn't as safe as it used to be. Now they've got people like...Tony Stark, running all over the place and putting their noses in places their nose shouldn't be." Steve fidgeted, running a hand through his hair. "I hope we didn't make a mistake by coming back and agreeing to sign."
Bucky nudged him gently. It was sort of an awkward nudge; a gesture borne from habit rather than familiarity now, but it made Steve brighten nonetheless. "I talked to Stark a little jus' now, actually. He's not so bad, Stevie, you just hafta get to know him I think. He said some pretty agreeable things about the Accords. He told me it's been revised since you last saw it an' that heavy corrections were made."
The blonde shrugged, giving his friend a half-smile. "Well, I hope you're right...maybe some of your faith will rub off on me, huh? Listen, I've known Tony for a long time. He's not always...he doesn't always make the best decisions."
Bucky didn't seem to be listening; there was a serious concentration on his face as if he were stuck pondering another world entirely.
"Yeah," Bucky said, snapping his head up and giving Steve the slight but warm grin that never failed to arouse the other man. "C'mon, enough moping. Let's get you some food, huh? I'll bet you've been sittin' here just drawin' since this morning." Bucky motioned and made his way to the door, Steve following. The brunette was right--he'd done enough moping; now was time to check out his surroundings and assess the situation at hand. If there was one thing he'd learned from Tony, it was to always look first--you never knew who'd jump out at the last second and stab you in the back.
Splat! Steve recoiled as yet another pea hit him squarely on the nose. He turned around, glaring at whomever the offender might be, but didn't see anyone but a few agents milling around or eating innocently from their trays.
Splat! Steve huffed a breath from his nose in displeasure and stood up, scanning the cafeteria. Bucky stood as well. "It's prob'ly just some asshole gettin' his kicks for fun. It's okay." Only Bucky's warm long fingers hovering tentatively near Steve's shoulder stopped him from snatching his tray and hurling it Captain America-style at anybody who looked vaguely suspicious.
"I know," Steve said, offering a strained smile in his friend's direction.
No more peas came after that, so he was just about to sit down and finish eating the rest of his meal (rather bland; he'd have to make a complaint because the food back in Stark's Tower had always been much more luxurious) when he spotted it.
The raccoon. Of course. Only a filthy animal could be the cause of Steve's woes.
A green-skinned woman, a--was that a tree?-- a plant thing, a hulking ogre or something, and a regular looking man (thank God) were situated next to the raccoon, and all were smirking at him. Even the tree thing looked like it was laughing, and from what Steve knew, not even twenty first century plants had emotions.
Despite Bucky's hushed but frantic whispering, Steve immediately stood again and stalked over to the little animal's table. The raccoon put the spoon with which he had been catapulting veggies back onto his tray and smiled innocently up at him.
"What do you think you're trying to pull here?" he said loudly, glaring at each creature in turn. The man especially annoyed him, because that devilish grin was all but wholesome. In fact, Steve could swear on his mother's grave that that smirk gave off the exact same vibe as Tony Stark's.
"Hey, we're just trying to enjoy this shit as much as you," the guy said, waving a hand at the mashed potatoes and peas. "Want to sit down and join us?"
The green-skinned lady elbowed him.
"Sorry," the man said, offering a charming smile that did nothing to placate Steve's worsening temper. "I'm Starlord. Otherwise known as Peter Quill. And you're...Captain America, is it? Except you're not really a captain are you?"
He peered over Steve's shoulder. "And you're the brainwashed terrorist that isn't a terrorist."
"I suppose you could say that," Bucky said with an amiable shrug as he moved to Steve's left, obviously looking to settle the situation.
"Don't call him a terrorist," Steve snapped. "Buck couldn't help what he was doing."
The raccoon chuckled. "Doesn't make him less of one," he said, and now Bucky was looking pained, and Steve tensed, readying up for a fight--
"Let's start over," the woman said loudly, eyeing Steve with luminous dark eyes. "I am Gamora. That is Quill, he's Drax, that's Groot, and that's Rocket."
"I'm not interested in knowing what your names are, I'm interested in why exactly you're trying to assault me when I'm eating," Steve said irritably.
"Rocket is sorry," the lady--Gamora--said with a pointed look at the small animal. "He just tends to be rather defensive to people who have hurt his friends."
"I haven't done anything to you people!" Steve said furiously. "Listen--get your--your--pet under control. He's been bothering me since I came home. You all need to leave me and Bucky alone, it's not like I haven't had any troubles ever since Tony had to--"
"Talking about me again, Rogers?" came a voice from behind him, and Steve turned to see Tony with a tray full of noodles sliding onto the bench opposite Quill and the four creatures. The billionaire gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's not that I don't appreciate the attention, but…"
"It is Rocket's fault," the huge ogre thing--Drax--said with an amused grunt.
"Ah, I see." Tony turned to the raccoon. "Harassing our...guests...are you?"
Rocket shrugged. "Come on, what'd you expect me to do? Sorry, but I just saw him sitting there in all that blonde-haired, big-nosed glory and couldn't help the opportunity. He looks better with his face all crinkled up when peas are hitting him."
"I don't have a big nose!" Steve burst out. The Quill guy gave him an unimpressed look. "Hey, man, you may be hot as hell, but your nose is pretty big."
Tony cleared his throat and everyone hushed instantly, turning to him. Bucky pressed closer to Steve, and Steve couldn't help but touching his shoulder to the other man's for comfort. "Okay, listen," the engineer said clearly. "Rocket, stop making trouble. That's not what we're going for here, alright?" The raccoon nodded with a huff, and Steve relaxed. This was good. Tony was defending him and Bucky, he was coming around. "And Rogers--don't yell at my friends. That's not acceptable, and quite frankly, you're kind of on thin ice right now. I'm giving you a second chance, but we can't have this." Steve flinched at the coldness in his former friend's tone.
Tony then turned to Bucky. "Barnes, you're welcome to stay and eat with us, because since you signed up to be Avenger you're definitely going to be working with these people sooner or later. Might as well get to know them."
"What about...Steve?" Bucky said slowly, as if he were actually thinking about eating with these neanderthals.
"Rogers, sorry," Tony said with a shrug that clearly conveyed how not sorry he was. "My friends come first and right now I don't think they'd welcome your companionship. I'll be having a...talk about that with them later." The raccoon huffed again. "In any case, Everett Ross wants to speak with you today since he wasn't available until this morning. He's been busy the past month or so but now's a good time as ever."
Steve spluttered. "I'm not--I'm not talking with that man. How could you, Tony? Even after torturing Banner, locking everyone up in the Raft--"
"Listen," Tony cut in sharply as everyone but Bucky rolled their eyes. "This Ross is named Everett Ross. The Ross you're referring to was thrown into jail months ago, if T'Challa provided you with a TV at all. That's Thaddeus Ross. This one is better."
"There's no such thing as better," Steve scoffed. "They're all bad--they're government slaves, Tony, don't you see?"
"I'm taking this to mean you want to reschedule the appointment," Tony said disinterestedly, twirling his fork around in the air.
"No." Steve had finally had it. He slammed his palms down onto the table, in his anger missing the sudden flash of fear in the smaller man's eyes. "God, Stark, how could you be so--so--awful? I thought we could fix this. But you're obviously not willing to. Even now, so selfish, it's disgusting really, why couldn't you be more like Howard?"
Tony stiffened and the blonde supersoldier could hear Bucky tugging him back, saying "hey, Steve, stop this, it's not you" but he ignored it. He was so sick of Stark and all his petty little Stark problems, he'd thought being here would make everything better but why would Tony get him a pardon if he wasn't even willing to try to get things back to the way they were? This was probably his punishment for listening to Stark in the first place. He should've known; it was like trusting a liar--you couldn't trust a liar no matter how many times the liar said he'd stop.
He threw a look of disgust at Stark and turned to go. "Come on, Bucky, we're done here. We're leaving."
The darker of the two looked at him unsurely, his mouth open. "I--Steve--"
"Come on," Steve insisted darkly, ignoring the stares of everyone sitting at the table as well as the surrounding people who'd been drawn in by the conflict.
"I can't," Bucky said firmly, his face distraught but resolute. "You're not acting you, Stevie, an'--"
"Fine," Steve snapped, throwing his hands up in the air and feeling more than a little betrayed. "God, Buck, sometimes I don't know why I try with us." He stormed off, avoiding Bucky's slightly confused but mostly hurt gaze and the rest of the snickering agents.
comment??:) just fyi i don't reply to comments unless they're questions but i read them all n feel super happy when i do so:P
Chapter 3: heavy hanging
Rhodey talks to Steve - and also, in a way I'm kind of speaking through Rhodey on my true emotions about the Civil War. Although this is mostly a fic to hate on Steve (lmao), I'd like to clarify that I can understand why he did what he did. However, as you'll find out through Rhodey, I DON'T agree with his hypocrisy or foolishness on some things, nor how he had to hurt other people to save another.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
three || heavy hanging
When Steve stepped into the elevator, he was so riled up that he almost didn't notice James Rhodes sitting in the corner, planted in a wheelchair with eyes that only grew calculating yet thoughtful as soon as he realized just who had joined him.
"Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes," Steve acknowledged with a nod of his head. Although he couldn't fathom why Rhodes had supported Stark, friends or not, he knew that most of the time the darker-skinned man tried to keep the guy in check. Also, Rhodes had been in the military once, just like Steve, so they shared something in common. Maybe he, at least, would understand Steve's perspective - about how he had had to fight for his friend, how it was deeply rooted in him the saying "no man left behind" - and so it was just impossible to have left Bucky up for dead.
"Rogers," the other man said calmly, leaning back in his chair as the elevator began to smoothly move upwards toward the second floor. "Since you're here, I'd like to talk to you about something, actually."
Steve exhaled in relief. "Of course," he replied, facing Rhodes.
"FRIDAY, halt," the colonel said, waving his hand in the air for the doors to stay closed. "I'd like to talk to the private."
"Captain," Steve supplied without even thinking about it. He'd become so accustomed to his title that his true position in the military had escaped him.
Rhodes shook his head. "Don't push it, Rogers. A nickname borne from propaganda is still just propaganda. And frankly, you're not even a private now that I think about it. You never finished your training. Anyway - I want to talk about Tony."
The supersoldier exhaled again, but this time in annoyance. Everything came down to Stark in the end, didn't it? What was so special about the billionaire that everything had to be about him? "There's nothing to talk about," he said firmly. "I've already accepted the...unfortunate circumstances that Stark seems to favor."
"No, there's definitely something to talk about." The darker-skinned man's voice was icy as he turned his wheelchair to face Steve. It had definitely been handcrafted by Tony himself, based on all of the fancy little gadgets and automatic movement of the wheels. "Firstly, I want to make it clear that I understand why you tried to save Barnes."
"Thank you," Steve blurted automatically, but Rhodey shook his head again. "I'm not done. I understand why, but you know what I don't understand? How you could possibly ruin one man's life, as well as countless others', for another person. Tony's my best friend. I'd do many things for him. But diving headfirst into something I don't understand, and at the same time risking my friends for his sake? I wouldn't do it. When it comes down to it, I wouldn't. I'd try to find another way." Dark eyes met blue ones, and Steve found himself thinking about how much darker Rhodes' eyes were than Stark's. "And what's even worse is that Tony offered you another solution to help Barnes, Rogers. You were just too stubborn to take it."
"After Ultron, after everything, I couldn't risk it," Steve retorted, folding his arms. I couldn't take that chance, you wouldn't understand, you haven't been in my position.
Rhodes just sneered at him. "You're lucky my metal legs are down in Tony's lab being repaired today, or I'd stand up and beat your ass myself. FRIDAY, open." The man moved to wheel himself out using the controls on the arms of his chair, but right before he exited, Rhodey stopped in the middle of the doors. He didn't turn around to face Steve, but said quietly, "I know what it's like to want to save someone you love so much you would do anything to have them back. But think about it - you have Barnes now, but you lost my admiration. You lost Tony, even though maybe that doesn't mean anything to you. You lost most of the public's respect and even your delusional teammates would rather save themselves first than you. You have no one but Barnes - one man at the expense of everyone else. So, tell me, Rogers - was. It. Worth it?"
The wheelchair glided smoothly out and Steve knew that he should be off to his room now, also on the second floor of the Compound, but he stood there numbly and blankly until FRIDAY told him to get out. Deep inside him, a cold, furious rage had started to uncoil - much unlike the hot and restless anger from before - the kind of rage that people harbor for years, the kind that turns them sharp and cunning. Catching his reflection in the doors of the elevator as he stepped out, he was glad to see that he only looked stronger than ever. And armed with his shield and his best friend by his side, he was invincible.
It was awkward when Bucky sat down at the table after Steve's fuming face was finally gone from sight. A sudden silence settled down like a heavy blanket over Tony and his friends (friends? Allies?) now that the little raccoon guy had nothing and no one to yell at anymore.
Bucky cleared his throat, forcing himself to look Stark in the eyes. The other man watched him, a hint of suspicion but also curiosity in his gaze. "Uh...I'm sorry for Steve's behavior. He - I dunno - he's a lot different now."
"It's alright," Tony said with a slight shake of the head, casually dismissing Bucky's apology. "I'm used to it. Even back when we were teammates, it took a lot of effort to get Rogers to act like he even tolerated me at all." This statement was followed by a little chuckle, almost as if the billionaire didn't care, but based off the rest of the table's angry faces, they could hear the bitterness tingeing Tony's words too. The way the man had even phrased it made Bucky's internal alarms go off inside his head. What exactly had gone down between Stark and his supposed best friend for Steve to hate him so much? He remembered the little squirt from 1940's Brooklyn - the kid liked everyone, except for bullies. But Bucky was pretty sure Stark, no matter what else he was, was not a bully.
It's not like he knew anything; after all, Steve had known the guy for far longer than he had...but something just felt off here. And as the Winter Soldier, Bucky'd learned to trust his instincts.
"Hey," Tony said all of a sudden. "Too much feeling-y shit going on in here - I feel like I'm dying or something with all these emotions. I'm going to go outside." He stood, and the Guardians stood with him. Bucky noticed the adoration bright in their eyes, even in the fierce little raccoon's. "You're welcome to come, you know, Barnes," Tony said offhandedly, addressing the supersoldier. "I don't bite. At least, not unless I'm in bed."
Bucky wanted to laugh, but all the day's stress and tension was getting to him and making his head fuzzy inside. So he just nodded and followed Stark out of the mess hall as the rest of the SHIELD agents watched.
As the supersoldier trailed behind silently, he watched how the unusual group acted around each other. Stark looked happier, more carefree, and he found himself thinking that the man looked a lot handsomer (not that he wasn't already - he wasn't on the Top 20 Sexiest Bachelors list for no reason) when there was no stress lining his face. Already the years seemed to be vanishing from his features as the single other human of the group - Quinn? - laughed and pushed him lightly on the shoulder. Next to the pair, the raccoon was shouting sarcastic quips up at them and the tree thing's shoulders were shaking gently. The green-skinned girl as well as the hulking creature next to her were both looking on in poorly-concealed fondness.
Bucky found himself wishing that he had that kind of dynamic with someone, anyone. Not Steve - despite the blonde's obvious hopefulness, he could never be the Bucky from 1940's Brooklyn ever again. But someone new, maybe; someone who wasn't afraid of him but was also aware of how broken a man could be inside.
"Hey, buddy, you alive in there?" Stark said, snapping his fingers in front of Bucky's face. The sound as well as the movement of his hand startled the supersoldier out of his stupor.
"Sorry," Stark said with a smirk. It was a strained smirk, but lightened the atmosphere just a bit. "Just checking." Bucky realized that he had been staring at all of them for much too long and that they had stopped on a nice grassy hill overlooking the Compound.
The raccoon flopped down onto the grass with a big happy sigh and pillowed his head on his hands, crossing his ankles as he looked up at the sky. "This is the life."
"Rocket, you'd be happy with anything as long as there was a sky," Stark said with a fond grin.
The animal - Rocket - rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. "Hey, you know, staring at space all the time gets a little boring and lonely sometimes, okay?"
The others, including Tony, joined him on their backs in the grass and Bucky sat down too, albeit awkwardly. He wasn't good in social situations like these. And talking to Stark was like operating a minefield - there were too many uncertain variables and it made his brain hurt. He didn't miss HYDRA - it wasn't like he had Stockholm Syndrome and the BARF technology had helped a lot - but sometimes what he did secretly miss were the straightforward commands and words spoken to him. He knew if he was hated - they'd beat him, and insult him, until he was a bloody hurting scrap. And on the off chance they were pleased, they'd give him a compliment - or at least, a sign of approval. In this new, shiny world, everything was so much more confusing. They didn't hurt him, they didn't wipe his memories, they didn't drown him and electrocute him and whip him till he was unconscious, but at least he had always known what was coming. He had always known before, but he knew nothing now.
At least with HYDRA, in a twisted sense, he knew his place and where he belonged. He didn't belong here, with Stark and his friends. He didn't deserve to sit with the man whose parents he had killed. He didn't deserve anything.
Bucky stared at his fists in his lap, and wondered how much blood on his hands he'd have if he was able to see it.
A body shifted out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up. "So, how're you enjoying the chaos of the twenty first century?" Stark said casually - a little too casually in Bucky's opinion. He was studying the assassin with an indecipherable look in his eyes.
Bucky shrugged. "Better than anything I coulda expected. So, 's fine, I suppose."
"Rogers should take you on a tour sometime," Stark said with a hard grin. "An approved one, obviously. But you should get to see the city."
Rocket elbowed Stark in the ribs. "Maybe he doesn't want to, Tony," the raccoon said, mock-annoyed. "New York is a wasteland compared to the beauty of my ship."
Tony turned to his friend and raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I'll admit, it's better than what I've seen, but I could do better. And don't forget it was government issued - you stole it, Rocket. A few repairs here and there or that nude lady painted on the side don't count."
The green-skinned girl laughed as Tony turned back to Bucky, humor gradually fading away again. "Tour," he said. "Did you ever get to see any of Wakanda?"
Bucky shook his head. "I was stuck in cryo for almost a year, and then spent two tryin' to repair my mind. And Stevie...he's a...he's always been kind, but he's a bit overprotective. King T'Challa didn't want us out of the palace anyhow."
Stark barked out a laugh. "Really."
Bucky felt a surge of defensiveness rise to the surface. "Steve's a friend. And I never really got t' explore, besides what's on TV. Haven't seen much."
"Well, you need to," Tony said decisively, sitting up again and shielding the sunlight from his eyes with a hand. "I'll convince someone to tour you around, maybe Romanoff or something. Gets her out of my hair for a day and you your worldliness."
"You trust me out there? On the streets...with all those civilians? Stevie said that 's not worth the risk." Bucky stopped, and stared. Maybe Stark wasn't such a genius after all. He was a danger to society, no matter how much he had improved. The Winter Soldier was said to have been erased completely, but how could you erase something that was basically a part of yourself? Maybe he was only waiting deep inside Bucky's brain for a chance to come out.
"BARF helped, didn't it?" Tony said, watching him with an odd glint in his eyes. It looked almost...resentful. Or bitter. "You seem fine to me, Barnes. I trust that you won't go psycho and decide to mass murder a bunch of adults and children."
Bucky tensed, and the tree grumbled, "I am Groot" with a reprimanding glance at Stark.
Stark waved his hand in the air. "Romanoff could probably handle you anyway - she wouldn't be accompanying you without weapons. Seeing the world would be good for you, Barnes. Gives you anxiety but you'd probably end up liking it." Almost as an afterthought, the engineer shook his head and murmured, "God, Rogers, what are you trying to do, shove him into yet another corner?"
Bucky laid back as well and opened his eyes up to the huge swallowing sky. The few clouds littered across the blue seemed to be waving at him, like friendly cotton candy animations or something. He hadn't had cotton candy in so long…he wondered if it still existed, those kinds of candies. Maybe they had new types now. Things he'd never seen or tried before.
One thing he'd realized since waking up from cryo was that Steve, unlike him, had never been all that willing to explore the present. He still clung to his old photographs, his memories, his past. On the other hand, Bucky felt even relieved that he was here now - at least he was out of HYDRA's clutches. Perhaps it helped that although he could still remember much of his growing up in old Brooklyn, it was like a distant memory - detached and not his. So it didn't matter as much to him that he wasn't the old Bucky, although it would be so much easier and much more happy if he could only reverse time to the past.
The clouds moved slowly across the sky, the sun imprinting itself on the insides of Bucky's eyelids. Maybe he would someday create new memories here, that could overpower HYDRA's influence. And he could fight as an Avenger, and at least try to make up for the hundreds he had murdered in cold blood as the Winter Soldier.
Bucky wasn't sure if he believed in God anymore, but he figured there was still a higher being out there. Perhaps he'd been found by Steve so that he could make a difference and wash some of the blood from his hands. Perhaps that was what God had meant for him, or the people up in heaven or whatever. And deep inside him he had a little bit of hopefulness, too - because maybe then he'd stop waking up every night with his mind screaming murder and his eyes filled with the sight of betrayed brown eyes, metal fingers curling around the slender throat of a woman, and the blood from a skull smeared across a steering wheel on a dark and lonely night.
comment? :) i'm sorry (again) for the lack of updates ahhh
also GUYS sophomore year of high school is so much more harrowing than freshman yr was. luckily I have art to help me; it's kind of my stress reliever:)
also PLS LMK IF I MADE ANY MISTAKES ON THIS CHAP??? I try to reread my previous chapters typically to refresh but sometimes I still make timeline/plot mistakes... | English | NL | d433c1423012d97fac3bf2b80ded37009e125be33c10afbba3c0eb4bd1b0f9c7 |
In our Internet world we don't always know with whom you communicate, because it is customary to hide their names, photos.
But as it turned out, and before there were people-fakes. Everyone knew their names, a lot of them wrote and said, however, was not absolute certainty that they exist.
10. Uncle Sam
Symbol of the United States was an elderly man with an old-fashioned beard, with hat on head, in a frock coat and pantaloons. His hat is painted in the colors of the American flag.
In fact, no uncle Sam did not exist. It's just an image, which appeared in 1812, during the British-American war.
There is a legend about how there uncle Sam. A butcher named Sam Wilson supplied the new York military base of the barrel, filled with meat. On them he wrote the U.S., which meant "United States", i.e. the United States. But the soldiers joked that the food came from uncle Sam (Uncle Sam).
It is believed that his first image appeared in 1852, in the pages of one of new York's Newspapers. It was drawn by artist Thomas NATs, who was known for his political cartoons.
At the end of XI century, a symbol of exemplary war was Roland. There is no evidence to prove its existence. About it only mentioned in "the Biography of Charlemagne".
The legends tells that the best knight of Charles, his mother's nephew was Roland.
In the year 778, when the king returned from his campaign in Spain, he passed through the gorge of the Pyrenees. There Roland was attacked by the Basques in Roncesvalle valley. One of the nobles of the king, Ganelon, changed him and became a personal enemy of Roland. He led the army of the enemy.
But Roland blew his horn because the battle was unequal, and Charlemagne returned and revenged the enemy, and Ganelon executed.
8. The Marlboro Man
This image was invented for an advertising campaign Marlboro. She became one of the brightest.
The Marlboro man was created by Chicago advertiser Leo Burnett in 1954. Initially the goal was to win the attention of women so they bought filter cigarettes, which were produced specifically for them.
But a few months they became popular among men. At this time, there is scientific evidence about the dangers of Smoking and began to promote filtered cigarettes.
7. King Solomon
He was the third Jewish king, the character of many legends. In the legends it is described as a wise and fair man.
He even attributed magical qualities. Said king Solomon could rule over the Jinn and understand the language of animals. He has written several books.
But there was or not Solomon actually, nobody knows. Information about it can we get from the Bible. Several times of this king was mentioned in the works of various authors. But no other information that would prove that king Solomon there.
But still scientists believe that it is a true historical figure, because in the Bible there are many facts, figures and names that would be difficult to invent.
6. Robin Hood
One of the main characters of the English ballad was Robin hood. His personality has always been a huge interest, so it was filmed, created literary works.
According to legend, he was the leader of forest robbers who operated near Nottingham, in Sherwood forest. He robbed the rich to give the money to the poor.
It is believed that the birthplace of Robin hood was the village of Locksley, which he was sometimes called Robin of Locksley. In his army were a few dozen sharpshooters who supported their leader and also was a courageous and resourceful, and most importantly, noble people.
5. Sherlock Holmes
Despite the fact that we are from childhood accustomed to this clever detective and perceive it as a living person, it is a regular literary character. It was invented by Arthur Conan Doyle and his works have become classics of the detective genre.
But the image of the detective was charged with doctor Joseph bell who worked with the writer in the Edinburgh Royal infirmary. He became famous because he could, paying attention to the small details to see what this or that person, what his character, speculate about the past.
Sherlock Holmes, despite the fact that he never existed, became a cult figure. He built museums, put monuments were written dozens of books, from TV shows and movies.
4. William Tell
For a long time this national hero of Switzerland was considered a historical person, but later legends about him began to challenge.
He was a fighter for independence and a skilled shooter. According to legend, one of the governors hung on a long stick hat famous Austrian Duke and told him that all she bowed. But young peasant by the name of tell, has not fulfilled this order. Then the cruel Governor ordered him to take a crossbow and shoot an Apple that was on his son's head. Tell was able to hit the target, but then admitted that if I hurt son, then another arrow would have killed the Governor or himself.
Told him to go to prison, bold shooter was able to escape to the mountains.
3. King Arthur
He was one of the most famous Celtic highlanders, the Central character of numerous novels devoted to the knight theme.
There are a number of legends, which tells of king Arthur, but the noble knights of the Round table. Most often they were engaged in the search for the Holy Grail (the chalice from which Jesus Christ drank at the last supper), or saved beautiful ladies.
2. William Shakespeare
Was one of the greatest English language writers and the best playwright, the national poet of great Britain.
Is known about his life not so much. He was married to Anna Hathaway, was raised with her 3 children.
However, in the literary circles of so-called "Shakespearian question". There is a suspicion that he is not the author of all these works. There is no evidence, because I do not have a single manuscript, written in his hand. There is also no record of receipt of fees, he never kept diaries.
Shakespeare never attended University, worked as a watchman. Scientists believe that a person, not brought up in a cultural family and good education, could not write such works of genius. He could not be such an extensive vocabulary.
The ancient Greek poet, the Creator of the famous "Iliad" and "Odyssey" still remains a mysterious person. In his biography many contradictions. There are about 9 variants of his life. Historians can't even decide what city he was born.
Due to these conflicting information, it is not certain that there was once a man with that name. Most likely, it was a collective image.
Moreover, it's hard not to notice a big difference between the poems, the impression that they were written by different authors. | English | NL | d0e68706a28efa5c14a157328c592e5cd276cc98415573b0ef064c24a0e3e614 |
If you are interested in fostering in Taunton then you will need to be approved by Somerset County Council. There is a specific process that will need to be followed and this process can take between six and eight months to complete.
There are a number of steps that you cool need to follow from the initial contact that you make with the council right through to you having a child placed with your family. There are obvious checks that will need to be made as part of the process to assess how suitable you are to be able to foster a child.
You will have a detailed background check carried out on you and other members of the household. You cool also have to go through several interviews and meet with a panel of social workers as part of the suitable assessment.
If fostering is something that you have been considering, then there is plenty of more information available on
Somerset County Council website. Fostering will have a huge impact on your life and that of your family and so it is not really something that can be taken on lightly. The council may be able to put you in touch with other families that foster so that you can find out more information and talk to people that really know what is like on a day to day basis. | English | NL | 1fc80d78ffd96abb9483e960a613457c1b90d75118761eedd07842ec8b00dfdc |
88 pages, alternating Spanish and English
Well, I’d been frustrated by Easy Spanish retellings of longer, classic stories that moved too quickly in a stripped-down fashion (for example, the Easy Spanish versions of Alice in Wonderland and Don Quixote) but this book went to the other extreme with an excruciatingly slow story in much detail.
Sixty-five year old Ana, who has three adult sons and grandchildren, has been going from doctor to doctor, trying to find relief for her dry eyes that cannot shed tears. Her son Paco finally takes her to see Dr Rodriguez, who quickly realizes that Ana’s inability to cry is more psychological than physiological. Eventually Ana divulges a secret that she has kept from her husband and family.
Actually, the level of this was just right. The chapters were long enough – about twenty lines in length – and they were followed immediately by the English translation. On the Kindle app on my tablet I was able to make the text large enough that the Spanish took up the whole page so there was no surreptitious cheating. The English version made you realize how choppy the tenses were (I hadn’t noticed in Spanish) or perhaps it’s a clunky translation.
And it was, at least, an adult story that actually captured my interest somewhat. It’s a rather low bar on these Easy Spanish books, I must admit. Anyway, this was quite good, considering. | English | NL | 88c795be57a397400cefff48f0dc6fa79028ea62f615ab8d61dda433144efdac |
Like is seen in the link you provided to Rabbeinu Bechaye to Shemot 12:40, there are three different lengths of duration for the Egyptian exile. How each of them plays out is dependent upon the merit of the Jewish people.
To clarify, the actual translation of Rabbeinu Bechaye's opening comments in your link are the following:
We find in regard to the Egyptian redemption three appointed times (Keitzim). And they are 400 years, 430 years, 210 years.
400 years are counted from the beginning of the seed of Avraham
(meaning Yitzchok) quarreling with their poverty and vacillation and
the persecution of his brother (meaning Yishmael) like it says in Bereshit 21:1-12. And
they will cause them to serve and afflict them 400 years. And in
regard to this (phrase) is included quarreling and subjugation.
430 years are counted from Yitzchok, from his concern that he be born.
It’s possible to understand this as from the moment that G-d concerned Himself with Avram's worry about not having any biological heir from his wife, Sarai and G-d told of Yitzchok's birth to Avram in Bereshit 15:1-6, because G-d’s word (His thought) is considered generally as if it is actually done (It is equated with action.). This in in keeping with the Alter Rebbe's explanation of Rambam's approach found in Mishnah Torah, Hilchot Yesodei HaTorah 2:10, as found in chapter 2 of the Tanya.
The actual Hebrew משעה שנולד can be translated as 'from when He was concerned that he be born'. שעה here is a verb in past tense from the root שעה, שעי second definition, as appears in Jastrow.)
210 years are that they dwelt in Egypt 210 years.
The Redemption from Egypt actually took place in 2448.
Following Ramban's accounting to Shemot 12:40, Avram was born in 1948 from the creation. He was 70 years old at the Covenant between the Halves which took place in Israel. That would have occurred in 2018. The year 2018 is the 430 years that was foretold.
He descended to Mitzrayim and returned to the land of Israel at the age of 75 in the year 2023.
Yishmael was born in 2034. When he was 13 years old, he was circumcised together with Avraham and his household in the year 2047.
One year later, Yitzchok was born, in 2048, and was the first individual to fulfill the mitzvah of Milah at 8 days old. The year 2048 is the 400 year time of the Egyptian exile.
Yaacov was born to Yitzchok when Yitzchok was 60 years old. That was in the year 2108.
Yaacov was 130 years old when he entered Mitzrayim to meet his son, Yosef. That was the year 2238. From the year of the redemption from Egypt in 2448, to the time that Yaacov enter Egypt was 210 years. And this is the fulfillment of the prophetic statement from Yaacov to his sons mentioned in Bereshit 42:2 and as commented upon by Rashi. It also corresponds to 190 years from the time of the birth of Yitzchok (2238-2048 = 190) and hints to the concept of the redemption occurring then, without any hardship, if the Jewish people merit it (190 is קץ).
17 years later was when Yaacov passed away in the year 2255. It was from this time forward that the affliction aspect of the Egyptian exile started to become severe. And this period culminated with the passing of Yosef and his brothers like is recorded in Sefer Yashar. With the passing of each of the sons of Yaacov, it became more harsh.
Moshe was 80 years old in the year 2448, when the Redemption from Egypt took place. That places the year of his birth in 2368 which was 113 years after Yaacov had passed away.
Miriam , Moshe's oldest sister, was 126 years old when she passed away in the year 2487, the same year that her younger brother Aharon did. Miriam was born in 2361. Her brother, Aharon, passed away at the age of 123 and was born in 2364.
Kehat, Moshe's Grandfather, lived for 133 years and was also one of the 70 souls counted with Yaacov, when Yaacov entered Egypt in 2238. If you deduct the 113 years from the birth of Moshe to the passing of Yaacov, that leaves Kehat as a 20 year old when Yaacov dies and 3 years old when he first entered Egypt. But all of this is contingent that Kehat died shortly after Moshe's birth. There is a 3 year margin of error from the birth of Moshe to when Kehat passed away.
Rabbeinu Bechaye, at the end of the citation you bring says that what Rabbeinu Chananel is agreeing with is the concept that there are three time frames connected with the Redemption from Egypt and that how each one plays out is related to the merit of the Jewish people. He also explains that this relates to the final redemption mentioned by Daniel the Prophet. | English | NL | 000cec5d00dd22c2e42b830f9b946fcb380348432469291d8707b06f65f64aec |
Tag Archives: dwarves
Book Review, ‘The Dwarves,’ by Markus Heitz
Published by Orbit Books
Good read but don’t expect anything earth shattering.
‘Dwarves’ is the story of Tungdil, a dwarf brought up by human magi, unaware of his background and family. He studies books, learning about dwarves and their culture and longs to meet them himself.
After a falling out, he is sent to deliver a message, and loves the idea of seeing the wider world. As his journey continues, he discovers a magus, Nudin, has betrayed the others. When he meets with the other dwarves, he finds that they must reforge a weapon, the only way to destroy the evil that resides within Nudin.
On his quest, he is helped by a range of unusual characters, from the fabulous Rodario, an actor, to the maga, Andôkai and her companion, the enigmatic armoured giant, Djerůn. The unlikely friends travel all over Girdlegard to stop the encroachment of the Perished Land and destroy Nudin, but Tungdil must also unify groups who have their own grudges against each other as well as his own party.
So what to say? The book is long at 730 pages, which can be daunting to some people. There are other books is the same world, but this is a complete story. It puts me off when I pick up a fantasy book and see that it is book X of Y. The length takes time to explore the characters and also to explain other points of action. Despite the length, there was never any feel that the book was slowing or intentionally long. It was as long as the story needed to be.
The book ambled at a gentle pace, although I found it harder and harder to put the book down the more I read. Most of the characters I liked and felt for, even one who was whiney. As with most stories that have several characters, there were a couple I did not enjoy, and I felt that the character of Djerůn could have been developed more. It probably did no help that he was not able to talk.
So far, so good. But why only three stars? This was Markus Heitz’s first novel, and since then, he has set several more books in the same fantasy world. I do not know if he has improved, I hope so as I find his work very good. There were some down points, which hindered the story and were silly. The use of ‘orbit’ and ‘cycles’ to replace ‘day’ and ‘year’ respectively made reading at times clunky, and it did not contribute to the story in any way.
The maps at the start of the book looked as if they had been thrown together in five minutes. We are all used to the beautifully crafted maps of Tolkiens Middle Earth, the world of Game of Thrones, Games Workshops’ ‘Warhammer World’, or even the Elderscrolls maps. The map of Girdlegard is very rectangular (it was drawn of A4, I am guessing.) They show a darkened area where mountains are and name the important places that are in the novel. There are no trees to show where the forests are, no rivers, no other important places. It is easy enough to make a map with more detail, even websites for it. So a map is not the most important part of a novel, but it would have contributed more to the atmosphere of the Girdlegard world, rather than making it look cheap.
Another, albeit, minor and personal annoyance, is that the book was translated from German into American English. I know this is because the American audience is larger, but seeing ‘axe’ as ‘ax’ and ‘amour’ as ‘armor’ just gets on my wick.
Now, I come to my biggest grievance, and the reason the book does not get a better score from me. The book is a fantasy book. Let me explain; there is nothing original. Had the book been written in the 1970’s then it would have been ok, but everything in this book we have seen before. The dwarves live in great fortresses underground, they smith, love gems and gold, drink too much and hate elves. The elves live in trees, dislike dwarves and are haughty to non-elves. Every stereotype of fantasy is in the book, so it gives nothing new to fantasy. Even the plot is very contrived. A dwarf does not know his past, magical weapons to kill the bad guy, but first they have to travel far and wide to get it. A mismatched group of travellers who become friends and discover things about themselves. The orcs who don’t seem to be able to kill anything, and throw themselves at the dwarves to get slaughtered.
Would I recommend this book? Yes, but only for a reader who wants easy reading, a reader who wants basic run-of-the-mill fantasy. Would I read more of his works? Yes. As I said earlier, it is well written with good characters, and hopefully his experience would remove the negative points I have pointed out. | English | NL | f36b93d94b3a11b9a0dc6b54499d6dd82edd3bfc07d22fc4dc6981377197a537 |
|For other uses, see Maveth (disambiguation)|
- "This whole godforsaken planet is evil."
- ―Will Daniels
Maveth (Hebrew for Death, spelled מָוֶת) is a planet light years from Earth. The planet was home to an advanced civilization until the exiled Inhuman Hive from Earth ended up destroying them. In the 21st Century, the planet was the home of Will Daniels from 2001 to 2015 and temporarily housed Jemma Simmons for approximately six months.
Arrival of Hive
Maveth was believed to have once been a beautiful paradise. The planet was home to nine technologically advanced civilizations, which thrived in nine different cities. However, the peace was broken and Hive, a powerful Inhuman who was banished from Earth through a Monolith, observed as the native species began warring among themselves and wiped each other out what later turned Maveth to the wasteland.
However, on Earth, the Inhuman's followers organized a society with the sole purpose of returning Hive safely from the planet. Over the centuries, the society evolved into HYDRA. Using the Monolith, the society would transport chosen Humans to Maveth with the intention of serving as a host for Hive to preserve itself.
In 1839, several of HYDRA's lords and nobles held a meeting at HYDRA Castle in Gloucestershire England. Lord Manzini, who had been chosen, was transported to Maveth through the Monolith, never to return. On Maveth, the lord was quickly intercepted by Hive, who killed the human and used his body as a host.
Throughout the 1990s, Gideon Malick, a head of HYDRA, came into possession of the Monolith. He funded Project Distant Star Return, a contracted NASA mission with the hopes of secretly bringing Hive back from Maveth.
Studying the Monolith
Will Daniels, a test pilot for the Air Force, was recruited by NASA in 2001. He was offered the chance to join Project Distant Star Return. Always wanting to experience the most difficult of challenges, Daniels eagerly volunteered alongside scientists Austin, Brubaker and Taylor and was given the task of protecting the scientists while on the planet. Once they arrived, they set up base and began work while waiting for NASA to figure out a way to bring them home.
Losing the Crew
One day, the crew decided to explore while Will Daniels stayed behind and protected the camp. During this time, a huge sandstorm briefly swept the land. When they returned, each of the scientists began losing control of their sanity. Before long, Austin and Brubaker committed suicide by jumping off a cliff and setting himself on fire, respectively. Taylor's madness caused him to destroy much of the camp before attacking Daniels; after a brief fight, Daniels was forced to kill his friend and bury his body alongside the others.
Now alone on the planet, Daniels used his skills to build an underground home as well as various traps and hideouts to protect himself. He became certain that there was a being in the sandstorm which caused his crew to turn mad and as a result did everything he could to avoid the storms and protect himself. After months of living alone, Daniels came to the decision that he would never be rescued and would live out the rest of his days alone on the planet.
Other Worldly Experience
- "There has to be a sunrise, eventually."
- ―Jemma Simmons
Finding herself on another planet after being abducted by the Monolith, Jemma Simmons waited for hours for someone to find her and extract her. After twenty-two hours, she noted that the sun had not risen. Simmons kept herself grounded by talking to a picture of Leo Fitz on her cell phone; as she made markers from stones showing the direction she was going, Simmons talked to herself about the date they had planned. Realizing that a normal human can live without water for one hundred hours, Simmons sought water; she found it after one hundred and one.
At one hundred nine hours, Simmons swam through the water, finally finding time to relax. Suddenly, she was grabbed by a plant in the water and almost drowned; Simmons fought it and detached a tentacle. After eating it, she decided that she would grow weak if she did not continue to have food. Simmons returned to the pond and killed the creature cooking and eating it while continuing to look at the image of Fitz on her phone.
Meeting Will Daniels
Simmons roamed the planet for a time, scavenging food and water. She heard movement and investigated it, only to fall down a hole and be trapped by a cage. As she fainted, she saw a man near the cage. Waking, Simmons waited in the cage. Eventually, the man came to check on her and realized that she was real. Simmons introduced herself, and the man brought her food. Forming a plan to escape, Simmons faked a stomachache and lured the man into the cage to investigate. Simmons hit the man with the food bowl and escaped the cage, exiting the cave and running from the man. However, she fell and hurt her leg, allowing the man to catch up to her and bring her back to the cave. The man introduced himself as Will Daniels and stitched up Simmons' leg. Daniels asked what year it was, and Simmons informed him that it was 2015. Daniels told Simmons that he had been on the planet since 2001, and told her his story, showing her all his old NASA equipment. Simmons showed him her phone, and the two watched a video of her birthday celebration.
Simmons did not believe Daniels' stories of a Hive on the planet, and decided to venture into the area Daniels had dubbed the "no fly zone". While there, she saw the stars and began to formulate a plan to escape the planet. A sandstorm began and Simmons saw a figure in the dust; running, she received a head wound, which she treated by applying dirt to it. She made it back to Daniels and told him that she believed him. Simmons explained her plan to Daniels, thinking of using his equipment and her phone to calculate new portal openings.
For days, Simmons and Will Daniels were working on a way to turn on his computer. Once it was activated, they calculated the movement of the stars and tried to locate the next place the portal would open. After the battery of her phone was dead, she found the location and the time of the next portal, in the "no fly zone". Daniels explained to her that a canyon separated between them and the portal. As they prepared to go there, Simmons told him that she had a message in bottle for Leo Fitz in case they would not reach to the portal. When they arrived to the canyon, it was longer than they expected. Daniels thought that Hive caused it. The portal opened in the other side, and Daniels shot the bottle toward, but portal was closed before the bottle reached it.
In their hideout, Simmons admitted that there was no hope on Maveth, and it was hell. Daniels told her that he had also thought so, until he met her. The two then kissed.
Due to research into the stars conducted by Simmons, she and Will Daniels were able to determine when the sun was due to rise over the planet, the first sunrise in eighteen years. The pair shared a kiss as they stepped outside and waited to see for the sun for the first time in over a decade. Suddenly Simmons spotted a flare being fired in the distance and determined it must be Leo Fitz finally having found her.
Simmons ran across the desert with Daniels as they tried to find the source of the flare, but became separated as a sandstorm appeared. Simmons spotted what appeared to be a NASA astronaut and called out to Daniels that his team had found him, but Daniels warned her that it could only be the deadly being on the planet trying to trick her mind. Daniels ordered Simmons to run as he drew his gun and engaged the creature, firing his only bullet at Hive while Simmons followed the sound of Fitz's voice, Hive killed Daniels and took control of his body.
She moved towards the light and encountered Fitz, who had thrown himself into the activated portal to find her. Crawling to him as the sandstorm worsened, she tried to reach him, only for him to be pulled away from her as the rope he was attached to began to take him back. Refusing to give up, Simmons dragged herself back towards Fitz, and they both grabbed hold of each other's hands and made it back through the portal before it exploded. Safe in the English castle, Simmons hugged Fitz as Phil Coulson, Bobbi Morse, Elliot Randolph, and Alphonso Mackenzie stared at them.
As the sun rose over the planet, the sandstorm ended, as Simmons had disappeared into the portal to be reunited with her friends back on Earth. Hive, using Daniels' body as a host, witnessed the sun once again set and the planet was plunged into a darkness which would last another fourteen years. Hive threw Daniels' gun at the ground and returned to his hideout.
HYDRA's Final Mission
In order to retrieve Hive back on Earth, Gideon Malick sent through the portal an HYDRA team led by Grant Ward and guided by Leo Fitz. Phil Coulson also went through the portal, to kill Ward for his crime. After a few hours, the HYDRA team saw a structure shaped as the HYDRA symbol. Later, Fitz found a hole in the ground and escaped through it. Ward ran after him and found him along with Hive, who was inside Will Daniels'. Fitz promised that "Daniels" would show them the way to the portal and begged Ward not to kill him. Ward agreed and Fitz helped Hive walk.
Hive led the team to the location of the next portal. During a sandstorm, Hive killed some of the soldiers and escaped from the team with Fitz. After the sandstorm was over, Ward saw the soldiers' bodies, when suddenly the rest of his men were killed by Coulson. Coulson pointed his gun at Ward and forced him to lead the way to the portal. Fitz and Hive were close to the portal's location, when Fitz discovered who he really was. Hive attacked him and the two then fought each other.
Coulson saw Hive ready to kill Fitz and he shot him. Ward used the distraction and attacked Coulson. The portal was reopened and Hive tried to reach for it. When a standard firearm proved completely useless on Hive, Fitz shot the dark Inhuman with a flare gun, burning Daniels' body to a crisp. Coulson managed to defeat Ward and with his robotic hand, he crushed Ward's chest, causing his death. However, Hive survived the destruction of Daniels' body and made use of Ward's body as a new host. The dark Inhuman followed Coulson and Fitz, escaping back to Earth through the portal.
|Appearances for Maveth|
In chronological order:
In an alternate timeline:
- Following its introduction in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Maveth was also introduced in the Mainstream Comic Universe. In the comics, Maveth is a dead planet reclaimed by the Chitauri, in order to obtain the Phoenix Force Bomb that was sealed in the vault of its former emperor.
- ↑ 1.0 1.1 1.2 1.3 Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: 3.10: Maveth
- ↑ 2.0 2.1 Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: 3.08: Many Heads, One Tale
- ↑ Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: 3.02: Purpose in the Machine
- ↑ Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: 3.16: Paradise Lost
- ↑ 5.0 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9 Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: 3.05: 4,722 Hours
- ↑ Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: 3.01: Laws of Nature
- ↑ Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. 3.09: Closure | English | NL | bc99c242f5b3b7263c75080777eef4624e0876e0e58c8cc42429340ec0ac4792 |
She distinguished herself from other Abstract Expressionists because she had a pre-established design, a single image, to anchor her painting rather than leaving the result to subconscious, totally emotion-based expression.
Mitchell was born and raised in Chicago by parents who were wealthy and socially prominent. Her father was a successful doctor, and her mother a poet, and both supported her apparent early art talent. She attended Frances Parker School, a private high school whose faculty encouraged her interest in painting. For two years, 1942 to 1944, she enrolled in Smith College but was unsettled because she wanted to focus more on art. She transferred to the Chicago Art Institute, earning a B.F.A. in 1948 and an M.F.A. in 1950. There she was much influenced by the work of French modernist Paul Cezanne and Cubist painters.
From 1948 to 1949, Mitchell had a traveling scholarship to France, which was an unhappy time for her because her living conditions were a rat-infested, unheated apartment and her sense of direction about her artwork unfocused.
Joan Mitchell then lived in Greenwich Village in New York City, where she came under the influence of the Abstract Expressionists with whom she socialized at the Cedar Bar. She described them as “a group against the world”. She was particularly influenced by the work of Willem de Kooning, Arshille Gorky and Franz Kline and adopted their methods of strong, gestural brush-work and aggressive color.
In 1951, her paintings were chosen to be part of the Abstract Expressionists “Ninth Street Show”, and this exposure stirred much positive attention for her canvases. She had her first solo exhibition in 1952 at the New Gallery. A critic described her work as “heroic-sized cataclysms of aggressive color-lines in a savage debut that shows her moving further and further from Cubist order.”
Much of her painting during this time had calligraphic images, curving lines of green, purple and blue against whitish backgrounds. Some likened this expression to the movements she experienced as a child-champion ice skater in Chicago.
By the end of the 1950s, Mitchell like other Abstract Expressionists was finding less and less interest in her work because of the popularity of Pop Art and Minimalism. By 1959, she had moved permanently to France where she lived in relative isolation with Jean-Paul Riopelle, a Canadian painter, in Vetheuil, a village close to Paris. Their home was on a hill with a view of fields and water, and her paintings with colors of oranges, pinks and gold reflected the light she saw in the countryside.
Her painting schedule was to begin painting in the late afternoon and work throughout the night, listening to music and pacing around. Although her paintings have much energetic movement of line, shape and color, she painted slowly and carefully from preliminary charcoal sketches. The effect was spontaneity, but in fact, she was much in control, painting only about twenty canvases a year and discarding many that she judged inferior.
In 1973 she had a major one-woman show at the Everson Museum in Syracuse, New York, and in 1974 at the Whitney Museum.
Joan Mitchell died of lung cancer in 1992 at the age of 66.
Charlotte Rubinstein, American Women Artists, 282-283. | English | NL | b7a78af5314615f79ea2fcf01cd684f797008b0eddc5ae18bc7e74cfc71d35c1 |
Timeline of Gavin Rossdale
|Date of Birth:||1965 , October-30|
|Birth Nation:||United Kingdom|
|Height:||6 Feet 1 Inch|
|Working For||Actress and Singer|
|Online Presence||Facebook, Twitter, Wiki, Instagram|
|Birth Place/City||Las Palmas|
|Net Worth||$ 20 million|
|Married to||Penélope Cruz (m. 2010)|
|Children||Luna Encinas Cruz, Leo Encinas Cruz|
|Divorce||Kay Cannon (m. 2010)|
|Education||Brookridge Elementary School,Fort Scott Community College|
|Awards||European Film Awards|
|TV Show||Saturday Night Live Since 1975|
|Siblings||Carlos Bardem, Mónica Bardem|
|Birth Name||Javier Ángel Encinas Bardem|
|Sisters||Stephenie (Younger Half Sister)|
|Movies||Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales|
|Weight in KG||84 kg|
|Affair with||Joise Lopez|
|Boyfriend||John Roberts (2009–)|
|Books||2008 Great American Hypocrites: Toppling the Big Myths of Republican Politics.|
British musician, Gavin Rossdale is popular for being the lead singer and rhythm guitarist of the rock band Bush. He was once honored as the Top 100 Heavy Metal Vocalists by Hit Parader. Besides being a musician, he is also an actor best known for appearing in Constantine.
Gavin Rossdale's Early Life and Education
Scottish and Russian descent, Gavin Rossdale was born Gavin McGregor Rossdale on 30 October 1965 and is 53 years old as of early 2019. He was born in Kilburn, London, England of United Kingdom to mother Barbara Stephan (née Bowie) and father Douglas Rossdale.
Gavin is of American nationality and belongs to the mixed ethnicity. He was eleven years old when his parents got divorced. He has two children; younger sister Soraya and older sister Lorraine. The name of his half-sister is Georgina.
Gavin Rossdale's Career
As Gavin was interested in music since he was a child, he learned to play bass guitar with his sister's boyfriend when he was just a child. Then at the age of 17, he dropped out from his high school and then formed a band called Midnight.
With the band, he also released several singles. With the formation of the rock band Bush in 1992, he became their lead singer/songwriter. They released their debut album, Sixteen Stone in 1994. It was a massive hit album and from that time on he began kissing his prominence.
Besides being a musical figure, Gavin is also known for his acting career. Till the date, Gavin has appeared in numerous movies and television series like Constantine, How to Rob a Bank, Burn Notice, Hawaii Five-0, and many others.
Gavin Rossdale's Personal Life
Talking about Gavin Rossdale's personal life and current relationship status, he is dating model girlfriend Sophia Thomalla after divorcing his first wife. There were headlines revealing that Sophia and Gavin broke up and was spotted kissing Loris Karius. He was previously married to Gwen Stafani.
Gavin met the love of his life, Gwen Stefani in 1995 when Bush and No Doubt were on tour. Gwen Stefani is also the singer and is the lead singer of the ska punk band No Doubt. They began their love affairs since then and got married on the 14th of September 2002.
They also welcomed three children together. Sadly, the pair could not hold their relationship any longer, thus, got divorced in 2015.
Gavin Rossdale's Net Worth
As of early 2019, Gavin Rossdale's net worth is reported to be around $35 million that he might have earned from his professional singing and acting career. Back in 1999, he earned $1,100,000 from the album The Science of Things.
Gavin Rossdale facts on timeline
Born in Kilburn, London, EnglandOctober 30 , 1965
Scottish and Russian descent, Gavin Rossdale was born as Gavin McGregor Rossdale in Kilburn, London, England of United Kingdom to Barbara Stephan (née Bowie) and Douglas Rossdale. He is an American and was raised in higher class family.
His parents got divorced1976
Gavin Rossdale was born to Barbara Stephan (née Bowie) and Douglas Rossdale. His father Douglas Rossdale is a doctor. When he was just 11 years old, his parents got divorced and then he began living with his father.
Dropped out from his high school1982
As Gavin was interested in music since he was a child, he learned to play bass guitar with his sister's boyfriend when he was just a child. Then at the age of 17, he dropped out from his high school and then formed a band called Midnight. With this band he also released several singles.
Formed the band, Future Primitive now known as Bush1992
After being in the band called Midnight for about a decade, he decided to form another band and he did in 1992. That year, he formed the band, Future Primitive. He became their lead singer and songwriter.
Released their first album, Sixteen StoneDecember 6 , 1994
In 1992, he formed the band Future Primitive but in 1994, they changed his named it to rock band Bush and the same time, they also released the promo of their debut album, Sixteen Stone. They finally released this album at the end of 1994.
His band Bush unofficially split in 20022002
Though the rock band Bush was one of the successful bands in the 1990s and the early 2000s, it went on a hiatus with the start of 2002 and they unofficially split the same year. It is said that its member did not bode well for the band after they changed their record labels and management.
Formed the band, Institute2004
After his successful band Bush went on a hiatus from 2002, he then began singing for several movies and then some of his songs were also included as the the official theme song for WWE. In 2004, he finally formed another band and it was named Institute.
Institute's debut album, Distort YourselfSeptember 13 , 2005
In 2004, he formed another American rock band, Institute. With the formation of this band, he began working on their debut album and they finally released their debut album Distort Yourself on 13th of September 2005. However, this album became the only album of this band.
Began his solo career2007
Within two years, his another band Institute also broke up releasing just a single album and then few months later he also announced that he is focusing on his solo career. Within short period of time, he also released his debut single, Can't Stop the World.
Debut solo album, WanderlustJune 3 , 2008
After he began his solo career in 2007, he went of recording his debut solo album and then finally on 3rd of June 2008, he was finally able to release his first solo album, Wanderlust. It is said that this album was produced by Bob Rock.
Began dating Gwen Stefani1995
Gavin met love of his life, Gwen Stefani in 1995 when Bush and No Doubt were on tour. Gwen Stefani is also the singer and she is mainly the lead singer of the ska punk band No Doubt. They began their love affairs since then.
Married to Gwen StefaniSeptember 14 , 2002
After their first meeting on their musical tour in 1995, they fell in love with each other and they began dating after that. After being in love for more than half a decade, they finally got married on 14th of September 2002.
First child, Kingston RossdaleMay 26 , 2006
He became father for the first time in his life in 2006. He and love of his life, Gwen Stefani welcomed their first child together on 26th of May and that time it was a son and they named him Kingston Rossdale.
Second child, Zuma Nesta Rock RossdaleAugust 21 , 2008
He also became father for the second time in his life and that was in 2008. He and his ex wife, Gwen Stefani welcomed their second child together on 21st of August and that time it was also a son and they named him Zuma Nesta Rock Rossdale.
Won Ivor Novello Award2013
As a musician he has been honored several times. In 2013, he received one of the major awards in his life and that was Ivor Novello Award. He received this award for International Achievement. He was once honored as the Top 100 Heavy Metal Vocalists by Hit Parader.
As of early 2019, Gavin Rossdale's net worth is reported to be around $35 million. | English | NL | 024ba9d78a30257549bca481e08ab0d2ea63a9bde59823fe923b3e0f98dc7037 |
I arrived at the mosque that also traced its origins to the Nation of Islam’s Mosque 48.
It looked to me as if it had once been a single-story house with a big yard. Downtown had swallowed it up and spit it out. Now the yard was a concrete parking lot and the house had been transformed with additions and a paint job of vaguely Arabian scroll-work. A high iron fence ran the entire perimeter of the property distinguishing it from the empty lots and boarded up storefronts.
I parked on the street and put my headscarf in place. Sitting in the car with the engine off, I realized how anxious I felt. Throughout this entire journey from Christianity to Islam, I never set out for a place of worship without experiencing nervousness in my belly. Some of it was due to the logistics: locating the right building, getting myself through the proper entrance, and finding a suitable seat—all without inadvertently offending anyone and, ideally, maintaining a modicum of dignity. The bigger part of my uneasiness had to do with the fear of feeling like an outsider. I worried I wouldn’t be welcome—or, worse, treated with contempt.
Today’s anxiety had been higher than normal from the get-go. I started to feel it even before I left Grandma’s apartment. It’s hard enough when what you think makes you suspicious is invisible but quite another when your body is wrapped in it. In fact, by the time I was ready to exit the car, I realized the sensations in my chest were bordering on full-blown panic. I closed my eyes and took several lung-busting deep breaths.
I walked around the building and through the first door I saw. It was ajar and led to a little hallway that dead-ended into a bulletin board crowded with notices. From there, I could have gone left or I could have gone right. Doors hung in every direction; I felt like a contestant on a game show whose prize hinges on the knob she turns. I heard men’s voices coming from one of the options. I didn’t have the courage to pick any of them. I busied myself reading the announcements.
A man came from around the corner and paused when he saw me. He wore a white-cotton tunic with matching pants and skull cap. His attire looked exotic against his black skin, but something about the way it came together was uniquely American.
“Can I help you?” he asked, smiling. His pretty teeth matched his outfit.
“I’m here for Jummah,” I said.
His warm demeanor gave me a boost of confidence. I explained I wasn’t Muslim but that I was learning about Islam.
I followed him to one of the doors. “The sanctuary’s in here,” he said, pointing. The room was large by private residence standards but modest for a communal gathering space. He pointed to the back, “That’s where the sisters sit. You should go in because it starts soon, but feel free to ask me any questions at the end.” Slipping off my shoes and tucking them on a shelf by the door, I thanked him.
Several men were sitting at the front of the room and a few women were at the back. The people were oriented at a diagonal—proof that the grid of the city doesn’t always align to the spiritual. I took my place among the ladies. This was the first I had ever sat in the same room as men during prayer, and I wondered if it would be distracting. One of the men stood and did the call to prayer. There was no niche in the wall at the front like in most mosques, so he cupped his hands and sang the words against his palms, helping the sound fill the room. I suppose I had heard this ritual done before, but hadn’t fully realized what it was because I was always in a different room. As men and women continued to arrive, I let the feel of the sturdy floor beneath me ease the remnants of anxiety that still tingled in my limbs. | English | NL | f69b7080875415ec244460b93817b24e94378544d47db7029acf670037019005 |
HERO Force Series, Volume 7
All of the HERO Force books can be read as standalone stories.
Navy SEAL Noah Ryker thinks he’s prepared for anything when he goes to his sister’s condo on Hilton Head Island to deal with her death. But he stops to be a good Samaritan and finds himself in desperate need of medical attention in a town that’s been evacuated for an approaching hurricane.
Dr. Hannah Fielding just wanted to get her son Brady home before the storm when a last minute stop at a corner store throws her life careening into the desperate SEAL’s. But their paths are about to collide on a much grander scale, one that will threaten both their lives and everything they believed to be true.
Noah Ryker stood on the fourth-floor balcony overlooking the Atlantic, staring into the eerie purple abyss that had taken over the sky. If he had any sense, he’d be anywhere but Hilton Head Beach, South Carolina, dead center in the eye of the storm.
Sense is over-fucking-rated.
He hadn’t had any good sense in weeks, might never have it again. Funny how that worked when your world came crashing down around you, bringing you to your knees with a guttural cry. The things that used to mean everything became transparent wisps of nothing, no longer strong enough to tether you down.
Nothing could hold him down anymore.
This moment, this place, this face-off with reality. This was where he needed to be, in his sister’s apartment high above the waves, the last place he’d seen her alive just a few months ago. His mother’s voice on the phone would haunt him until the end of time.
Oh, Noah…READ MORE
He closed his eyes, the whipping wind carrying the faint taste of saltwater to his tongue. Those words had sliced his world in half, excising everything that mattered from the flesh and blood left behind.
His baby sister was gone.
In his mind she was eight or nine, clinging to his back as he carried her, lanky colt-like legs wrapped around his hips, barefooted as always, her laughter bubbling over his shoulder like a babbling brook.
He lifted his beer to his lips, taking a long pull deep into his gut. The brew tasted better than any ever had before it, his brain knowing this concoction held the magic that would take him to a place where he could grieve.
Rolling thunder had him opening his eyes, staring into the swirling darkness as if he were staring into the eyes of God himself, and in that moment he hated Him with a fiery passion that was mirrored only in the violence of the storm.
It was a category five named Oscar, about to make landfall right where he was standing, and all Noah could think was, Bring it on, you fucking bastard.
He was going to need more beer.
He drained the last of the bottle and walked inside. There were sheets of plywood for covering the glass and bags upon bags of groceries, enough to last him weeks if need be. Even an inflatable boat he’d snagged from HERO Force. As always, he was prepared for any eventuality, figuring the worst that could happen was he’d miss a week or two of work. But after his parting words with Cowboy, that wouldn’t be a problem.
I can’t even think about that shit right now.
He bent and opened the refrigerator, peering inside, hopeful Lizzie had kept a stash. No beer, damn it. He wasn’t much of a drinker and hadn’t bought any at the store in Atlanta, thinking getting drunk was a bad idea. Now he knew better.
Getting drunk was a fantastic idea.
He closed the fridge. There, on a magnet in front of him, was a newspaper clipping.
Joseph Fielding, age 34, died unexpectedly on December 18. A pediatrician, Joe received his M.D. from New York University…
Noah narrowed his eyes. Who was this man to his sister? A lover? A friend? As far as he knew, Lizzie wasn’t seeing anyone. He scanned the obituary.
…survived by his wife, Hannah (Grimes) Fielding, and loving son, Brady.
Not a lover, then. At least he sure hoped not. He read the piece more carefully, noting Dr. Fielding previously worked at the same hospital his sister did.
Mystery solved. A coworker, then.
He wondered briefly if Dr. Fielding’s family was dealing any better with his death than Noah was with his sister’s. Probably not.
He grabbed his wallet and keys. He’d passed a little bodega a few miles up the road on his way in that still had its lights on. He hoped it was open. They were bound to be out of bread and milk—hell, probably beer, for that matter—but when a man was dying of thirst, he had to check any riverbed, even if it might be dry.
He turned toward the door and stopped in his tracks. There was a stretch of hardwood in the living room where carpeting should have been. He hadn’t noticed it on his way in, his arms laden with supplies. But now all he could do was stare at it, the idea of Lizzie lying dead setting his imagination on fire.
He pushed out of the apartment, slamming the door on that picture and the reality he refused to accept.
Definitely need more beer.
He took the stairs two at a time to the parking garage beneath. The elevator was an unnecessary risk, one he hadn’t even taken while hauling the plywood. The power was going to go out, it was just a question of when, and he sure as fuck didn’t want to be trapped in a little box while all of Hilton Head Island was under a mandatory evacuation.
Not that the authorities had the power to make people leave. It was a free country, and he could wait the storm out here if he wanted to. There just wouldn’t be any emergency services available if he needed them. He’d heard on the radio on the way in the hospital was closing soon, police and EMTs having already gone off duty. Fortunately for him, he could take plenty good care of himself.
Even if I couldn’t save my sister.
It was raining hard and his wipers worked as quickly as they could to keep the windshield free of water, but it was an impossible task and he squinted at the road beyond. Palm trees bent precariously in the wind, their silhouettes against the stormy sky like harbingers of terrible things to come, but all he could think was it should always look like this, every moment of every day since his sister died, the outer world finally matching the turmoil inside him.
Through the rain he glimpsed a white commercial truck pulled to the side of the road. He slowed to a crawl to see if assistance was needed, belatedly realizing a police car sat in front of the truck with its lights off. Several men were climbing in and out of the truck, and he imagined they were abandoning the vehicle and attempting to get their inventory out of it.
He pulled in behind them and stepped into the rain, his head and body instantly soaked with water. “You guys need a hand?”
One man turned and stared at him just as a flash of lightning illuminated his face. Wide forehead, receding hairline, heavy beard.
Noah turned to see the others facing him in a small line, another flash of lightning like someone turning a light on and off. The men wore uniforms—three matching blue with dark pants and one policeman, but it was their expressions that had the hair on the back of Noah’s neck standing up.
They wanted him to go away.
Noah held up his hand in a curt wave and turned back to his car. Maybe the men had stumbled upon the abandoned truck and were looting its contents. Mother Nature’s tantrums brought out the best in most people, but the underbelly of society was always on the lookout for a quick buck. Or maybe he had it all wrong—one was a cop, after all.
He pulled back onto the road, continuing toward the lights of the bodega in the distance, but only got halfway there before he saw police lights in his rearview mirror. He sighed heavily and pulled to the side of the road, prepared for the inevitable discussion of the mandatory evacuation orders in place and his own right to stay wherever the hell he wanted to weather the storm.
I just want a goddamn beer.
He put his window down, the monsoon-like rains cold on his already soaked body. “Is there something I can do for you, officer?”
“License and registration.”
He took them out of his wallet and handed them to the cop, who turned and walked back to his vehicle. Noah’s mind went to the five firearms in his pickup truck. There was one in a holster at his waist, another under the seat, and three rifles in cases in the back. All registered, and of course he was licensed to carry, but a simple traffic stop had the potential to get a hell of a lot more complicated if he needed to disclose they were here.
The light returned to his window. “Get out of the car, sir.”
“I have a firearm holstered at my waist, officer.”
The sound of the cop pulling his weapon and releasing the safety was like a drum roll in Noah’s head. A prelude to what, he had no idea.
“Keep your hands where I can see them and get out of the truck.”
Noah lifted his hands and got out, the wind catching the truck door and slamming it past its natural open angle.
The cop shined the flashlight in Noah’s face. “Hands on the vehicle.”
He complied, the officer quickly taking his weapon. “What seems to be the problem, officer?” he repeated calmly.
“You are aware that this area is under mandatory evacuation order from the governor?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve chosen to stay in my home.”
“According to your license, your home is in Atlanta.”
“I have a condo here.”
Noah rattled off the address as thunder cracked and rolled. “I thought the precinct closed more than an hour ago.”
“How about you tell me why you stopped back there?”
“I thought somebody might be in trouble.”
“So you were just being a good Samaritan, is that right?”
“Trying to be, yeah.”
“You can turn around now, sir.”
“Thanks. I thought maybe that medical supply truck was having mechanical problems or something. With the storm coming, I just figured it was better to stop than keep going.”
Thunder rolled and the rain came down harder, the drops now covering his skin constantly like a faucet. He stared at the lights of the bodega. Any second now this douche was going to stop pulling his chain and let him get back in his truck, and Noah could only hope that store would still be open when he did.
“The medical supply truck,” said the officer. “Did you get a good look at the guys?”
“Just one, and you.”
The officer was quiet a beat too long, one single moment for Noah to realize something was wrong. Lightning flashed, illuminating the sky and the officer’s face once more. This time, a chill went through Noah’s body. He had seen too much. “Look, I didn’t see anything. You’ve got nothing to worry about from me, okay?”
He pictured the gun beneath the truck’s bench seat. If he opened the driver-side door, this guy would have his firearm pointed at Noah’s brain before he had one hand under the seat. Right at that moment, lightning struck over the officer’s shoulder, catching Noah’s attention. With a moment’s inspiration, he called, “Look out!”
The officer turned to look behind him and Noah ran behind the truck, opening the passenger-side door and grabbing his weapon from beneath the seat. The pop of the officer’s gun had Noah instantly in combat mode, experience and memories of wartime fire focusing his senses on the situation at hand. “What’s the matter?” asked Noah. “I wasn’t supposed to see that?”
“You should have left when you were told to go.”
He clucked his tongue. “I’m well within my rights to stay.”
“Then you should have minded your own damn business.” He fired again, the tire next to Noah instantly deflating.
Noah considered firing back at the officer, but the implications of such a shot were screaming in his brain. He hesitated. This wasn’t a war. It wasn’t even a HERO Force assignment. It was plain old real life with real-life implications for attacking someone in law enforcement.
He didn’t want to hurt this guy, and he sure as hell didn’t want to kill him. The officer was shooting out his tires, making it so he couldn’t escape. He hadn’t taken a shot directly at Noah.
“Damn shame what happened down in Hilton Head, did you hear?” asked the cop. “Some dumb-ass white tourist pulled a gun on a cop during a routine traffic stop.” He laughed and fired again. A burning took over Noah’s left thigh. He’d been hit.
His third gunshot wound. One in Iraq, one in Afghanistan, now this. A fucking traffic stop in the middle of Hilton Head Island. He wasn’t just trying to keep Noah from escaping.
This cop wanted him dead.
Killing a cop would make him an enemy of the state. One pull of his trigger finger could change his entire life. There’d be no more HERO Force. There would be jail time, or worse. South Carolina had the death penalty and there wasn’t a damn thing at this scene to back Noah up if the cop went down.
Do you want to live, or do you want to die?
Another bullet whizzed by his ear. Running would make him an easy target. He needed to act, no matter the consequences. Decision made, he concentrated on aiming his weapon, a careful shot into the other man’s shoulder that would be extremely painful but wasn’t likely to kill. But the cop moved quickly, coming around the vehicle, firing his weapon, and Noah’s focus shifted to a kill shot.
He pulled the trigger.
The cop fell to the ground like he’d tripped over a wire.
Noah’s breath was coming hard, the sound mixing with the rain pummeling the asphalt. He stood, moving to the cop and checking his neck for a pulse.
His eyes raked over the stormy landscape, nothing in sight but that damn same bodega. He was standing in a torrential downpour in fifty-five-mile-per-hour winds, about to go through a hurricane, and now he was a cop killer.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He went back to his truck and grabbed a flashlight, then unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to his knees. A hole in the top of his thigh was bleeding profusely. He reached around back, finding a matching hole four inches below where his thigh met his ass. He’d never be able to stitch it himself.
He grabbed a length of paracord from the glove box, tucked neatly between nineteen other carefully chosen items that could be used in a multitude of situations. He tied it as tightly as he could just above the entry and exit wounds. It would buy him some time, but not much of it. He was losing blood quickly and needed his injuries repaired.
He sat in his truck. His eyes closed a beat too long before he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Surely someone was answering emergency calls, even if they couldn’t dispatch someone to his location. He tried not to let himself consider what would happen to him now as he dialed.
He squinted at the bars in the corner of the screen. NO SERVICE. He threw the phone hard against the dash. “Goddamn it!”
He had no transportation and a bullet wound to his leg. His eyes went to the police cruiser. He could take it, but for how long? The next passerby could come at any moment or not for days, but when they did, whoever was driving that cruiser would be public enemy number one.
How far would he have to go to find an open hospital? Maybe a hundred miles. He’d be dead by then.
He turned his head in the opposite direction, the lights of the bodega standing out against the storm like a beacon. Someone was inside. Someone who might be able to help instead of him dying alone in the rain. He considered taking the cruiser to the bodega but dismissed the idea. He didn’t want the worker at the bodega to go on high alert.
He moved to the back of the truck and grabbed his go bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Inside were the medical supplies that could fix his injury—if only he could reach it—along with everything he needed to survive virtually any situation, at least initially.
It was important to be prepared, but sometimes life threw you curveballs all the preparation in the world couldn’t fix.
He limped off toward the bodega in the rain.
Dr. Hannah Fielding had just finished up an unprecedented thirty-seven-hour shift at Hilton Head Hospital. Pitching her body forward into the wind, she made her way to her car, her scrubs wet and plastered to her body. The microscope she carried was heavy in her arms. She was bone-tired, a weariness like she’d never before experienced suddenly replacing the adrenaline rush that had kept her going for the last day and a half.
She’d been responsible for the well-being of every patient in that hospital, for getting them transferred somewhere inland capable of weathering the storm that could handle each person’s individual problems. She sighed heavily. Director Patel should have taken on more responsibility, but instead he’d placed it all firmly in Hannah’s lap. And while she was proud of everything she’d accomplished at work, she was overwhelmed by her own lack of preparedness at home for the storm that had been growing outside the hospital windows.
She had to get to her son, Brady. Guilt clawed at her for leaving him with her in-laws for so long, but what choice did she have? Her phone was full of messages and voice mails from her mother-in-law, Theresa, not-so-patiently waiting for her to leave work.
The rain pelted her face and body, a moment’s weakness making her wish so desperately her life had turned out differently. If she’d known she was going to be a single mother, she never would’ve gone to medical school. Joe had encouraged her, even after she had the baby, but it wasn’t a job that let her be there for her son, and now she was all he had.
The close crack of thunder made her jump. She hated storms and would have liked nothing better than to evacuate during this one. But she was a healer, her occupation requiring she run toward danger instead of away from it.
Just let me get Brady home safely. That’s all I ask.
She envisioned empty grocery store shelves and cursed as she climbed into her little car. She was sure she had enough dry and canned goods to get them through, but the window of opportunity to buy bread and milk had long since passed.
The dashboard lit. She had less than a quarter tank of gas.
Enough to make it to her in-laws’ house across the island and back home, but talk about being unprepared for a disaster. She wanted to cry, fatigue bearing down, but didn’t have the energy to waste on self-pity.
All she had to do was stand her ground, camp out in the condo she shared with Brady while Oscar passed overhead, and hope for the best. She drove slowly through the empty streets of Hilton Head, the roads littered with branches, until she pulled into the circular drive of her in-laws’ house and ran to the door.
Back in the day they had loved her.
Joe’s parents had welcomed her into their family with open arms. Theresa in particular had been wonderful, so proud of her new daughter-in-law, the doctor. But their dynamic had become terribly strained after Joe died, with Theresa becoming more and more critical of Hannah and the choices she made raising Brady.
They loved their grandson and took good care of him, and for that Hannah was grateful. And if it meant she was on the receiving end of a lot of flack from her mother-in-law on a regular basis, then she would take Theresa’s snide remarks with a smile to keep her son happy.
Theresa pulled the door open as if she’d been standing there, waiting for Hannah to arrive, which she probably had. “I was starting to think we wouldn’t have time to evacuate. We almost decided to go and bring Brady with us.”
She wouldn’t take the bait. “I’m here now.”
“The eye wall is only forty miles offshore, Hannah. You could have given us a little more time.”
“Oh, leave her alone, Theresa.” She turned to her father-in-law, Tom, his features so much like Joe’s she sometimes found it hard to look at him. Brady was right on his heels. “Mama!”
She dropped down to his height and opened her arms, her heart seeming to take a deep breath as her sweet little boy pressed against her. She kissed his hair, smelling his head. He was hers. The most important thing in her life now and forever, and she wondered again if she should find a different career.
But she was in so much debt from Joe’s company — start-up debt that he would’ve dealt with over time had he lived — she couldn’t afford to take a position that paid less than her current one.
They hadn’t gotten around to increasing his life insurance since he opened shop—a stupid mistake that made his death that much more difficult to deal with. They’d been so busy, him trying to get the new company up and running before he’d even quit his job at the hospital.
“Brady, baby. I missed you so much. Were you good for Grandma and Grandpa?”
“We played Play-Doh and made forts.”
He had chocolate around his mouth, and she dabbed at it with her thumb. “Sounds like fun.”
“I missed you.” He tucked his head under her chin. “How come you have to work all the time?”
Five years old already. Where had the time gone? She was missing her son growing up and she felt like the worst mother in the world.
It’s just because you’ve been at the hospital so much this week, getting ready for the hurricane. It’s not always this bad.
“I don’t suppose you got to the grocery store?” asked Theresa.
Touché. If Hannah kept a list of everything she hadn’t done to get ready for the hurricane, she’d have one hell of a stack of paper. “We’ll be okay.”
Teresa shook her head. “You should come with us. There’s plenty of room in the RV and it isn’t safe for you to stay here.”
“I need to be close to the hospital in case they reopen. My place will be fine. It has hurricane glass and everything.”
“But the storm surge alone is going to be fifteen feet. You don’t understand what that’s going to do to the island, Hannah.”
“The building is steel. It’s more than sound enough to weather the storm, and I can wait out the storm surge as long as I need to. Please, let’s not fight about this again.” She moved to the table and dug through Brady’s bag, looking to see if he had everything. “Where’s Mr. Bojangles?”
“In my room,” said Brady, who went upstairs to grab his stuffed bear.
Theresa crossed her arms over her chest. “It isn’t safe for him to stay here.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Stop.” Hannah held up her hand. “Just stop.”
Theresa inhaled loudly. The women faced off.
Tom cleared his throat. “We should get a move on.”
“I just need to finish up a few things, then we can be on our way,” said Theresa. She left the room.
Tom opened his arms and Hannah gratefully stepped into them. “She’s just worried about you,” he said. “She loves you. You know we both do, honey.”
“I know.” She pulled back.
“Be safe. Call us if you need anything.”
“The phones probably won’t be working.”
“How far are you going?”
“Up to Richmond. They still don’t know which way Oscar’s heading, and Theresa doesn’t want to have to move again once we get settled.”
Brady ran back downstairs. “Guess what, Mom? The weatherman said we might even get a tornado.”
She inwardly cringed. “Wow, that’s exciting. Say good-bye to Grandma and Grandpa. We’ve got to get home before the storm comes.”
She settled Brady in his booster seat.
“I can do it myself,” he complained.
She climbed back into her car, the water falling off her body like she’d just turned off the shower head. She felt better now that he was with her, her shoulders relaxed and her soul much calmer. She could deal with anything as long as she had her son by her side.
Through the rain-slicked glass, she saw her in-laws loading the last of their belongings into the camper.
You should go with them.
The thought caught her off guard.
It would be so easy to change her mind, to gather up Brady and his things and let Theresa and Tom drive them away from this place, leaving the storm behind. It would feel nice to be taken care of, to know she was safe without needing to slay any dragons herself. She wouldn’t need to be afraid.
She wouldn’t need to be alone.
Her in-laws climbed into the RV and closed the doors, the brake lights shining in her eyes. She started her car.
“I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too, sweetie.” She backed out of the driveway.
Her condo was seven miles across town back by the hospital and tonight those miles were harrowing. She couldn’t remember ever seeing the island so deserted, and she found herself again questioning her decision to stay. It seemed everyone with any sense had left Hilton Head Island in their dust, leaving Hannah and her little son alone to face the storm.
She thought of the tornadoes Brady mentioned and shuddered.
The last thing I need right now is a freaking tornado.
Her shoulders were stiff and tight from driving through debris when she saw the lights of the corner store where she bought coffee on her way to work. With a grateful sigh she pulled into the parking lot. A big hand-painted sign read no gas.
Oh, well. Maybe she’d get lucky and find milk after all.
“Can I get gum?” asked Brady.
He sounded so cheerful, so childish, so unconcerned with the doubts that plagued her, and she loved him so much in that moment she felt her heart might burst. This was fun to him, an adventure, and she decided to do her best to play it off that way. “Sure you can, baby.” She unbuckled her seat belt, turning to face him with a smile. “Are you ready to get wet?”COLLAPSE | English | NL | d898b3cff730781c4a70c38afd971c90707fc4c77dc7e56d36f34e3714ffff14 |
I have been brought up with the belief not to walk over someone because it can stunt their growth. Can anyone else here say where they have also heard of this? If yeah, where is the source?
The Be'er Moshe 8:36 discusses this issue and says it is something that they used be makpid on not to step over a child and if they went over him they would ask the person to step over him the other way so he can grow to his full height.
The Be'er Moshe continues that this custom is considered among the custom of old women which the Rashba (Shu"t 1:69) wrote that we should not belittle even if we can not understand the reason, they are certainly established on "mountains of holliness". | English | NL | 5efb424bb9875bf266aa2cab50691b0075729d6d9d34f2523ea1b4935b24d28c |
You could say that it was the nail that changed the world and sparked the modern era (and modern religion) as we know it. Martin Luther changed the world as few others in history have — all because he held to his beliefs of what he knew in his heart to be true. He is the epitome of how one person can change the world and should be an inspiration to everyone when they question if they are making a difference in this world or not, or even how to make a difference. The answer is be true to yourself and to God, and you will change the world.
In this blog post in our continuing series on the Lutheran religion, we’ll take a look at who exactly was Martin Luther and why you should care. Faith Lutheran Church in Hesperia follows Martin Luther’s teachings, and we invite you to join us anytime, at a church service or just pop on by, to learn more!
WHO WAS MARTIN LUTHER?
Martin Luther was born in 1483 in what is now Germany. His father was a wealthy businessman who earned his living by leasing and operating copper mines and smelters. Thus, he could afford to give his son a top-notch education. He attended religious schools, which sparked his interest in becoming a monk.
However, his father wanted him to become a lawyer. It was while attending law school that Martin Luther almost was struck by lightning in a violent storm. As a result of his survival, he vowed to devote his life to God, thus beginning his monastic life. It was all of these studies on his way to receiving his doctorate and teaching biblical studies that lead to his profound theological insights that would create another huge division in the Christian church.
WHAT DID MARTIN LUTHER DO?
It’s extremely hard to quantify the religious world during the Middle Ages, but suffice it to say, the Catholic church dominated religion, world affairs, politics, and beliefs. You did not question the Catholic church if you knew what was good for you. Well, luckily, Martin Luther did not care.
In his 95 Theses, which he posted on the door of the Wittenberg Castle church, he said that salvation was through faith alone and by divine grace only. Works did not matter. This directly challenged the Catholic church’s practice of selling indulgences, which was something you could purchase to be absolved of sin.
HOW MARTIN LUTHER CHANGED THE WORLD
Martin Luther’s 95 Theses became the foundation of the Protestant Reformation that swept Europe and subsequently the world in the 1500s. Through the invention of the printing press, Luther’s ideas were disseminated to the masses. Luther was subsequently condemned as a heretic for his ideas and excommunicated from the Catholic church in 1521. He died in 1546
FAITH LUTHERAN CHURCH IN HESPERIA
Faith Lutheran Church is Hesperia is a Lutheran church that exists because of the foundations Martin Luther laid over 500 years ago. His work brought the church back from where it had strayed, and he endured personal hardships because of his beliefs. He spoke up for those who couldn’t, gave a voice to those who didn’t have one, and simply was true to himself and God. To learn more about discovering your voice and growing your faith, visit Faith Lutheran Church in Hesperia today! | English | NL | 64f6b04371aa2f149c81fca88ece00420575acebbc773dd1192598f818f32077 |
Borris lace is a tape lace technique similar to Battenberg or Branscombe lace, being made with lace tape joined by various filling stitches. The name of the lace comes from the village of Borris in Co carlow, home of the Kavanagh family. In 1857 Lady Harriet Kavanagh visited Corfu and was so impressed by the specimens of old Greek Lace that she bought some pieces. Lady Harriet, who also bought some specimens of tape laces from Venice and Milan, felt that they could be copied in Borris by the local women, thus enabling them to add to the small earnings of their menfolk.
Lady Harriet was succeeded in her endeavours by her daughter-in-law Frances. Lady Frances Kavanagh expanded the lace-making industry. Classes were held weekly and materials distributed. Lady Frances Kavanagh was also responsible for many of the designs used. World War I saw a decline for Borris lace and by the 1960s there were only three lace-makers left, and most of their work was exported to America, In the early years Borris lace was mainly exported to England, the largest customer being the Irish Linen Stores on New Bond Street, London. | English | NL | 10b4a085dacc2df5a2f9013d5ea7aa88a819d428440f0209834ca06c1d995f56 |
19. Sigurd Eysteinsson, Earl of Orkney, was felled by the severed head of his enemy after he contracted an infection from a resultant scratch on his leg
Sigurd Eysteinsson, also known as Sigurd the Mighty, reigned as the second Earl of Orkney from 875 until his death in 892. With the island becoming a popular refuge for exiled Vikings after the Battle of Hafrsfjord and the unification of Norway under Harald Fairhair, Orkney served as a base from which to conduct raids against their former homelands until King Harald pacified the inhabitants and granted an ally dominion over the territory. Seeking to expand his holdings, Sigurd repeatedly attempted to acquire a foothold on the northern Scottish mainlands, garnering a fearsome reputation as a warrior and raider during his lifetime.
Challenging a native ruler, Máel Brigte the Bucktoothed, to a 40 versus 40 man battle, Sigurd, in an act of great dishonor and deceit, secretly brought 80 men to the field. Easily besting his opponent and winning the unfair battle, he beheaded his defeated opponent. Strapping the head of Máel Brigte to his saddle as a trophy, at some point during his ride home the famed buck-tooth of his enemy scratched Sigurd’s leg. The resultant wound became infected as a result of intimate contact with the necrotic tissue, with Sigurd dying soon after from the contracted illness in an apropos display of karmic vengeance. | English | NL | c9ad7a45420459973fe919866e8002f67b9aef56217c82c2850dbe75da265da3 |
As Catherine of Aragon settled into Durham House after Arthur’s death in April 1502 her parents were already sending an envoy to England with plans for her future. Hernan Estrada was to demand Catherine and her dowry back immediately and at the same time to suggest ten-year-old Henry as a possible husband.
Following Elizabeth of York’s death in childbirth, Henry VII suggested himself as a husband. Isabella was not amused. She sent a letter instructing her daughter to pack her bags and be ready to board the first available Spanish ship that dropped anchor. Intentionally or not this had the effect of concentrating Henry and Ferdinand’s minds. On 23 June 1503, Catherine was betrothed to Prince Henry and a dispensation was sent for. Julius II duly obliged and even managed to skirt around the thorny issue of whether Catherine was still a maiden or not by wording the dispensation to suggest that the marriage had ‘perhaps’ been consummated in Tremlett’s words.
By 1504 Catherine was often ill. It has been suggested that she may have been anorexic. This may have been one of the reasons she had difficulty producing children. Henry VII was so concerned about Catherine that he wrote to the pope. Julius II duly obliged by writing to Catherine commanding that she ate more. To find out more about Tremlett’s research into Catherine’s eating disorder and her time as a penniless princess double click on the image of Catherine to open a new window.
Meanwhile Henry VII and Ferdinand argued about money and Catherine was left, short of funds, in Durham House and from there she found herself moved to Richmond. She still didn’t speak English and she was still surrounded by her Spanish ladies in waiting. Then in 1507 the engagement to the young Prince Henry, pictured right, was off because Ferdinand hadn’t sent the dowry money.
It was at that point that Catherine made history for the first time. In 1507 she became the Spanish ambassador. In the meantime Catherine’s sister Juana had been bereaved by the death of her husband. Henry, having met Juana, when Philip and she were stranded in England due to bad weather decided he would like to marry Juana. It helped that she was queen of Castille and it probably also helped that Ferdinand did not want the match. Aside from the first six or so months of her time in England, Catherine’s experience had not been a good one. She is even said to have contemplated joining religious orders. Then on 21 April 1509 Henry VII died and the stalemate shattered.
The penniless princess who’d learned how to send secret letters, argue her cause and dissimulate to her own father as well as her father-in-law married seventeen-year-old Henry on 11 June 1509. There was a six year age gap between husband and wife but at tho stage it wasn’t particularly noticeable. Catherine, it turned out, knew how to nurse a grudge. She sent Spanish diplomats and servants home with a flea in their ears and got on with being queen of England in a court where pageantry, feasting and jousting were now de rigeur. Henry even turned up in Catherine’s private rooms disguised as Robin Hood. Catherine, unlike some of Henry’s later wives, had the good sense to feign surprise and delight.
By November Catherine was pregnant and Henry was caught canoodling with Anne, Lady Hastings the sister of the Duke of Buckingham. They were exposed by Anne’s sister Elizabeth who was a favourite of Catherine’s. Anne was carted off to a nunnery; Elizabeth was banned from court and Henry found himself in his wife’s bad books. Caroz, the Spanish ambassador, described her as ‘vexed.’ In January 1510 Catherine miscarried. The fairytale was over and the business of providing an heir began the sorry tale that would culminate in Henry divorcing his Spanish princess.
Tremlett, Giles. (2010) Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen. London: Faber and Faber | English | NL | af7deaf5252759e2ddba358bec4662e0064b2b0910c39ea9b4b1c9e4c38c53b5 |
Lyang Namkyu, the boy who thought he'd amount to nothing having never finished schooling at Mahoutokoro. Lyang Namkyu, the metamorphmagus who owned a bar and changed his appearance every day in order to hook up with girls. Lyang Namkyu, the 18 year old with a crush on a girl so taboo he'd never attain her. That Lyang Namkyu would never have guessed he'd knock up his first love, nor that she loved him back, nor that he could, in fact, amount to something as a father. He would never have guessed he would be so proud of his name, his son in turn would inherit it in its entirety. When little Namkyu turned one, he too proved he inherited his father's metamorphmagus gene.
The imperfect three moved from South Korea to San Francisco, looking for a fresh start, where society wouldn't judge their means of birth, or that Namkyu had married his teacher, who was much his senior. There, their child adopted the american name of Nick, and he was raised hardly knowing his culture, besides writing and speaking. His mother decided to stay in the Wizarding world, working in the Magical Congress. His father, however, opened up a bar, where Nick spent much of his time. To add to this fact, it was in the height ashbury district, which is still full of crime and burn outs. To say Nick met many different types of people would be an understatement. Just from this, Nick learned to be kind and tolerant, really accepting of many people.
When Nick was seven, he had his magical occurence. He'd gone skateboarding on the golden gate bridge, his father first stopping to get some coffee. Being the impatient boy he was, he sped off without his dad, going in the pedestrian lane of the sidewalk. Namkyu chased after Nick, which only made him go faster, at one point knocking into a muggle, sending him reeling over to the side, falling off the bridge. Nick screamed, and the man stopped midair, floating back onto the bridge. The distance hadn't been so great, but it was obvious the muggle was freaked out. That day, he saved the man he almost killed.
When Nick was 11 he got a letter from Ilvermorny, telling him he's been accepted to the school. Naturally, he attended, upon which he was sorted into Thunderbird, or the adventurers house. Considering he was easy going and peppy, he made quite a few friends. He crossed bully's various times, but being with his dad at the bar taught him to handle all kinds of people, so in truth, bullies had little affect on him. One bully never lost his jealousy of him, and in fact, as the years went on his hatred toward Nick only grew. Nick never hated anyone, so he couldn't have guessed the future malice to befall him.
At the end of Nick's fourth year, the rival told him to let bygones be bygones, having seemed to imrpove throughout the scholastic year. Nick agreed, and the rival gave him a present of forgiveness- a broom. Despite it being old and cracked, Nick took it as a peace offering, never assuming it's true nature. While at home, he rid around on it to test it out, and at 9:00PM, he vanished. His parents didn't know he was missing until morning time, but because he's an early riser and wanders a lot, they figured that is what had happened. When nightfall fell again, and he still hadn't come home, they started panicking, calling everyone they knew to see if maybe they had seen Nick.
What everyone failed to realize is Nick's new broom was a portkey. His rival had worked on it all year, perfecting the enchantment. Of course, he never knew when Nick would be holding it, so he managed to find an enchantment to send off whomever decided to ride it. Nick ended up in Shanghai, in one of the sketchier areas of the city. He tried to contact someone, but alas, he had left his wand, and knew no Mandarin or Shanghainese. It was just his luck to witnessing a murder unfold before him. He tried to run away but the men who commited the act caught him. They tortured him to near death, trying to find out who he worked for. Using his quick thinking, when they left the room, he morphed himself into a smaller person, escaping his bonds. Nick hid, taking a metal bar with him. When one man crossed before him, he knocked him out cold, hiding him and taking his appearance. From there, he made his escape, heading back to where he last saw the broom. While he didn't trust it, the broom was his only means of escape.
The broom took him far, by now muggle sitings gaining him some attention in the wizarding world. Occasionally he would stop to steal food and take rests. His metamorphmagus ability helped him with all of that. Finally, his broom couldn't take anymore and broke while flying over the ocean. He nearly died, but some unintentional wandless magic slowed his decent. He gave himself gils and attempted to swim to the nearest bit of land, growing tired and hungry half way through. A boat was passing through, more of a luxury boat for the rich, from where he was at, and noticed the tired human, deciding to help him. To his surprise, most of the people had basic english down, and quite a few were fluent. They asked all sorts of questions, such as why he was alive, but of course, he had no real answers for them. They decided to head back to the island they were taking vacation at, feeding him and giving him a place to rest on the boat. Naturally, on their way, they came across a pirates, who took them all hostage for ransom. Apperently the owner of the boat was a wealthy business man from Taiwan, who was worth lots of money. Nick had reached his limit, and could truly do nothing about it. He needed rest before he did anything. Being held hostage with the Business man and his daughter, he got to know them, and told them he could possibly help them escape. Their time on the mothership, Nick schemed of ways of escaping, taking not of any speed boats and the amount of crew on board. He wanted to save everyone, but knew he couldn't. Finally, he devised a plan to cause a distraction, turn into one of the crew, steal some guns, and escape the boat. It was risky, with highly improbable chances of survival. Despite this they made it, managing to escape the boat. Of course, they were still on open water and the speeder could only go so far. At first Nick thought the business man was in shock of his abilities, but then he realized he'd gotten shot in the process of escaping, and was slowly dying. There was nothing they could do. His daughter held on to him, trying to stop the wound from bleeding. Before they reached the nearest island, he died.
The girl just wanted to morn her loss, but Nick warned her that if they found them, they'd die. He hid the boat, doing his best to cover their tracks. First they built a shelter. The girl knew he had special abilities, so he promised he'd use them to protect her and make sure they stayed alive. He left her at the shelter, searching the island for traces of human life. he found none. Knowing he crashed somewhere around Thailand and Cambodia, he figured he hadn't traveled enough to leave the area, so assumably the island would be around there. They survived for two months, both going feral, but trying to keep their humanity. The loneliness made them close, and Nick found himself in love. Finally, muggles found them, the taiwanese business man being important enough to search for extensively. They were flown to the girls home in Taiwan, where her mother greeted her with open arms. Nick made the girl promise not to tell anyone about his abilities, so no one found out about his wizard/metamorphmagus status. Because he was a minor, his face didn't spread across the globe, his personal request to stay anonymous blocking this. Her mother did a background check on Nick, finding he wasn't in any kind of muggle system. It was as if he had appeared from thin air. For saving her daughters life, she didn't ask many questions, but the story they told was suspicious. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. Nick only asked to be brought back to San Francisco. Thus, the flight was set, and maybe he would've only been missing for three months, had word of his abilities not slipped. The untrusting mother had read the diary the girl wrote of the trip, where she did mention his ability. She thought her daughter was hallucinating, until she spied on the two fooling around one day before departure, where Nick, stupidly, shifted his face to make her laugh and be happier. Instead of being flown to San Francisco, he was flown to New Zealand, to be tested on to see what exactly he was, and what sort of scientific break through he could provide. The lab was one of the underground, unrestricted types that only the rich and the government know about, where all thought of civil liberties are thrown out. For five months, he was a test subject, put through painful tests in order to discover his secrets. At first they knew near nothing, but as time passed they started gaining real information. The only issue? None of it had scientific backing. Now, he wasn't the only magical being in captivity. There was a vampire and a werewolf also trapped, the latter having been there for quite some time, the former not much time at all. All the lab seemed to be able to prove is that magical creatures do exist. They never planned on getting attacked by a clan of vampires, but they were. In the massive jailbreak, the lab was burnt down, and the vampires and werewolf managed to kill just about everyone in the lab. Nick was almost left behind to burn alive, but the werewolf saved him. In the mountains of New Zealand, the werewolf treated him until he got better. Having been in there so long, the two had formed an inseperatable bond, one that dabbled in romance and friendship. Nick wanted to go home, but he feared the world was conspiring to never allow him to. The werewolf offered his home to rest and recover his mind, so Nick accepted.
For five months, Nick lived amongst the wild community of New Zealand, that didn't involve muggles and wizards. He fought off the dispair with optimisism, regaining a sense of self and who he once was. He spent time hunting, hiking, playing music, and learning. If there was an elysium, it would be this. While there were skirmishes, it was nothing compared to what he'd faced from humans before. He couldn't stay there forever. He was a wizard, and he had a family. He and the werewolf sought out the New Zealand wizard community, where he made his plea to come back to his family. The werewolf went off his own way, and one of the community took him home. Only his mother was there to greet him. His dad had died from heartbreak, giving up on the idea his son was alive. The memories held in San Francisco were too painful, so they collectively decided to move away. This time, they moved to Ireland, a quiet area with little people, as Nick had come to appreciate and love. The sent a letter to the headmaster, who agreed that while he would be a 6th year, given the circumstances, it would be better if he started hogwarts a 5th year. | English | NL | 490261b0e41978fa5ff8fa867ab905460a24f070be3b56d8e85deed78c7b5156 |
Coppingers Court – Gallane (near Roury)
Coppingers Court to the East of Glandore near Rhoury
After the Battle of Kinsale the Irish chieftains of West Cork – O’Driscoll, O’Mahony, O’Donovan and O’Sullivan being the four strongest, lost most of their territory. Sir Walter Coppinger, a Cork merchant of Viking ancestry, acquired much of the O’Driscoll territory on the both sides of the Ilen River and a great deal of land near Rosscarbery. In 1614 he secured a royal patent to create a manor at Kilfinnan but instead he erected his manor in Roury Glen in the town land of Ballyvireen.
It is said that Coppinger intended the place to be a commercial centre and to make a navigable canal from Milltown to Roury Bridge, but death put an end to his projects. He had hoped to establish a town of considerable importance after the manor of Richard Boyle, Earl of Cork, who had built the town of Bandon. According to Smith in his history of Cork, this was the largest house in Carbery and the popular belief was that it had a chimney for every month, a door for every week and a window for every day of the year. The Coppingers took the losing Royalist side in the wars of the 1640’s. In 1641 the house was attached, ransacked and partially burned. After his death, the portion of his estate at Roury was purchased by Thomas Beecher of Sherkin and later held in fee by Sir Henry Beecher. Sir Walter was succeeded by his son, Dominick, who succeeded by his son James. In the Jacobite war of 1690-91, the Coppingers supported James II against William of Orange. In the aftermath they lost most of the estates left to them after Cromwell in the 1640s. It is certain that Coppinger’s Court fell into ruins in 1641 and in the Jacobite Was of 1690s. A new aristocracy took over West Cork from 1700 to 1900. In the Ross area were the Hungerfords, Townsends, Beechers,Frekes, Frenches and Somervilles.
Hidden Treasure – Coppinger’s Court
About half-way between Glandore and Rosscarbery, near Roury, is the ruin of an old house which belonged to the Coppingers long ago (Coppingers Court). There was a big lawn in the front of the house with silver gates at the entrance. During the Rising of 1641, the house was attacked. The two silver gates were stolen. They were taken to Lough Avrickeen – that is a small lake about half a mile south-east of the new church in Glandore. They were thrown in there and it is said they are still there.
This is an extract from Eugene Daly’s book: Leap and Glandore Fact and Folklore. | English | NL | 1d0a48f828efd3fc232a79e88df54ec96db91655754458a85eb4df8f2249efd9 |
I live and write BDSM. Age 18+. Scarleteen is great for under 18.
I was pleasantly surprised when so many liked last week's story and wanted a part two; I admit, I hadn't actually written a part two, but I started to think of what would happen next. You see, I wanted to do “dates” among the Quad- the four main characters from the spin-off I'm writing in November for Nanowrimo this year. Well, polyamorous dates could look rather different.
Chris stopped beside Tonya's couch and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mommy. I took a nappy like you said.”
Tonya put her finger against her lips. She talked quietly, “Josh is still asleep.”
“I'm waking up,” Josh muttered.
“Really, Sir?” Tonya asked with gentle teasing in her voice.
“Chris, sweetie, could you go get milk and cookies enough for Mommy, Chris, and you?”
“Yes, Mommy.” Chris wandered out of the living room and around a corner.
“And now a reward for a wonderfully told story.” Josh moved to sit at Tonya's hip.
“Thanks, Sir.” She licked her dry lips and waited.
He turned onto his side and led her to turn toward him. He swirled his tongue around her navel before tracing the line of darker hair guiding his attention lower.
Worthy. Beautiful. She sighed when he loosened the red ribbon that tied her skirt closed before pushing the fabric behind her.
“Remember that I love your body hair as you enjoy it. The fact that you do not shave doesn't disgust me.” He brushed his thumbs over her pubic hair. His fingers pushed into her thick bush before clasping her labia and holding them apart.
As if awakening suddenly to the position in which they lay, she took advantage of his lack of bottoms to nuzzle her face against his pelvic area. She opened her mouth to allow her tongue to trace his clitorophallus from base to tip. His groans against her brought her extra pleasure. She sucked his length into her mouth.
The furnace came to life then, ending a ripple of heat across their partly clothed bodies.
He grasped her thighs. He matched her sucking with his own, her clit trapped between his lips. One hand moved slightly to clutch at the back of her thigh, her ass. He pressed his chin against the opening to her vagina. He moved his jaw so the fuzz of his facial hair scratched her skin.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. The musk of his arousal, the moisture on his hair, the feel of him touching her all filled her senses. Reward must mean no begging today. She relaxed into the whirlpool of orgasm sitting in her clit. Wetness flowed over her chin as Josh enjoyed her orgasm with his own. She continued to suck his clit and flicked her tongue against its side within her mouth.
His fingers pressed harder into her skin. He released her clit to shove his tongue into her vagina, the thick muscle moving in circles within her. He held on through her bucking orgasm, stronger than the first one. He left off fucking her with his tongue to suck on her clit again, increasing the strength of her bucking.
She screamed on his midpoint clitorophallus for a long moment before she pulled up, only to arch her back until she could press her tongue against his bonus hole.
They fell down into a tangled pile.
“Thanks, Sir,” she murmured. “I love you.”
“Love you too, my sweet woman.” | English | NL | 999184c9335eabd380cce8a85b47f7268a9aa03e45823cfb0256ad23000d58ee |
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Journal of Discourses/21/16
ON THE BOOK OF MORMON—DESTINY OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD AND THE SAINTS
|No Man Can Build up the Church of Christ Without the Priesthood—Responsibility of the Priesthood—Christ Coming in this Generation—Great Changes and Judgements Approaching—Exhortation to Righteousness||
A FairMormon Analysis of: Journal of Discourses 21: ON THE BOOK OF MORMON—DESTINY OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD AND THE SAINTS, a work by author: Orson Pratt
|Difference Between the Latter-day Saints and all Other Professing Christians|
16: ON THE BOOK OF MORMON—DESTINY OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD AND THE SAINTS
Summary: DISCOURSE BY ELDER ORSON PRATT, DELIVERED IN THE TABERNACLE, SALT LAKE CITY, SEPTEMBER 7TH, 1879. (Reported by John Irvine.)
It is with feelings of thanksgiving to my Father who is in heaven, that I stand before you this afternoon, after having been absent from this place for some nine months that are past.
I suppose that the Latter-day Saints who are congregated here, understand the object of the mission which was given to me, to go to Great Britain, and there get the pages of the Book of Mormon, and the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, electrotyped, with double sets of plates, for the purpose of spreading forth copies of these works, among the inhabitants of the earth by hundreds of thousands. I therefore, feel very much pleased to have the privilege of bearing testimony to you, that I have, through the blessing of the Lord, been enabled to finish or complete the work that was given me to do, in relation to these two standard works of our Church.
Had it not been for the Book of Mormon this territory would not be occupied by a people called the Latter-day Saints. That lies at the foundation of the work of the last days, in which we are engaged. All of you are acquainted, if you have endeavored to exercise your judgment and your capacities as intelligent beings, with the nature of that book. If you are not acquainted with it you certainly ought to be. We all ought to inform ourselves concerning every principle that is contained in that record. We ought to make ourselves very familiar also, with the Book that is called the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, given by divine revelation in the generation in which we are permitted to live. These two books, we as a people, esteem to be as sacred as any other revelations which were ever given to the human family. We look upon the Book of Mormon as a very precious record,—a precious blessing to the people who live in this dispensation, a divine work,—a divine revelation. It has now been before the world almost 50 years, being published over 49 years; and the whole world, if they had seen proper to inform themselves, concerning the nature of the work, could have been blessed with the privilege. It is a work which the Lord our God has commenced by his own power. The book was not written by the wisdom of man, by the inspiration of man, but it was written by the commandment of the Most High God. It was written as revealed to a young man, the founder of this Church, under the divine influence of the Holy Spirit.
This young man being inspired of God, and having revelations granted to him from heaven, had the privilege of bringing forth this sacred record to this generation. The record was translated, as the Latter-day Saints understand, and as the world generally have been informed, by revelation, by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, through the aid of an instrument that was used anciently and called the Urim and Thummim. The Lord did not, in revealing this work to us, require us to receive it blindly and enthusiastically, but to receive it on good, substantial, sound evidence, such as we cannot controvert, such as we cannot contradict—evidence that no reasonable person, having the common reasoning faculties of man, can consistently reject. The Lord did not raise up this Church—did not commence its foundation, until he revealed this Book; and in the revelation of this Book, he fulfilled many predictions, made in ancient days, by the mouth of the Jewish prophets, and also the apostles that succeeded the Jewish prophets. They spake as they were moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and they predicted that such a work would come forth in the latter times; and if this is not the work, as the world say it is not, then we are to look forward to the day when a similar work will be brought forth by the power of Almighty God; for the events predicted by the mouth of the prophets, recorded in the Jewish Bible, never can be fulfilled, never can be brought to pass, unless a work of a similar description, to the one that has been presented to the people of the nineteenth century shall come forth.
The Book of Mormon, we say, is just as sacred as the Bible—the Old and New Testaments. We cannot see any reason why we should exclude all other books from the compiled books of the Jewish Bible. We have nothing in the compiled works of the Bible (King James' translation), we have no declarations in this Book, that the canon of Scripture should be full at the close of the fourth century of the Christian era. We have no declarations in this Book, that about 400 years after Christ there should be a church or people on the earth that should collect together manuscript books and call them the Bible, and that that should be a complete revelation of God's will; or that there were no other sacred books in existence, only what the Catholic church, at the close of the fourth century, happened to collect together.
We believe that God is the God of all nations, as well as the God of the Jews. We believe that he did not confine his divine power and the inspiration of his Spirit to one little spot of our globe; although he did work wonderfully, and in a marvelous manner, in the land of Palestine among the Jews, and did shew forth his power by raising up prophets, and revelators, and apostles. Yet we cannot, in our views, limit the Almighty, as the Christian nations do, and say that he has never spoken to any other people. We cannot, with the intelligence and light that God has given to us, say that the Bible is the only revelation of God to man. We believe that he made all nations, and all the inhabitants of the earth. We believe that he had as much regard for the ten tribes, after they revolted from the house of Judah and separated themselves into a distinct nation—when they wrought righteousness, as he had for the Jews who dwelt in Jerusalem, and in the vicinity of that great capital city. Indeed the Lord
has shown to us that he was no respecter of persons. So far as the ten tribes were concerned, he had revealed himself to them. Some of the greatest prophets that were raised up in days of old, before the coming of the Messiah, were prophets that lived among the ten tribes, who were not Jews: not included in the house of Judah, or the two years and a half. For instance, Elijah, who had such great power given him from God, that he could call upon His name and the heavens would be shut up so that there would be no rain fall upon the earth, according to his prayer, for three and a half years. A man with such faith, that after three and a half years of great famine, he prayed for the Lord to send rain, and rain was given immediately. A man with such power that when a captain of fifty with his fifty came to take him—who mockingly called him a man of God—he said to the captain, "If I be a man of God, let fire come down from heaven and consume thee and thy fifty," and it was done, according to his word. He was not a Jewish prophet; he was a prophet of the ten tribes. A man also that had such great faith in God, that he was taken away from the earth, in a chariot of fire, and wafted to the abodes of immortality, among the immortal beings. Here then was a prophet raised up among another branch of the house of Israel. Here was also Elisha, another prophet, not of the Jews but of the ten tribes. Were not their revelations just as sacred as the revelations of the prophets of Judah? They certainly were; and were incorporated in the Jewish Bible. Were there any other branches of Israel besides those ten tribes, who dwelt in the northern parts of the Land of Palestine, and the Jews? Yes, we read in various parts of this Bible, that many of the house of Israel were taken away from the main body who dwelt in Palestine, and scattered to the four quarters of the earth. Did God forget them and their generations after them, after they were thus scattered? I think not. He did not forget them; and in the days of their righteousness, he revealed himself to them and to his prophets. And this great and choice American continent was once peopled by the seed of Israel, not the ten tribes or Jewish nation especially, but a small remnant of one tribe, namely the descendants of Joseph who was carried into Egypt. These American Indians scattered over this great continent of ours, are the literal descendants of the chosen seed. Now, do you suppose that the Almighty, who desires the salvation of the children of men, would take a company, however great or small it might be, and locate them upon such a great and vast continent as ours, and leave them without any guidance by revelation from him?—leave them from generation to generation without prophets and without revelators? Such an event is inconsistent to my mind. God, who is no respecter of persons, who loves all people of all nations, of all kindreds and tongues, surely would not thus lead away the chosen seed, and plant them upon such a vast continent as ours and obscure or withdraw himself, leaving them in total ignorance, without any revelation from heaven. What is the Book of Mormon? It is their record, their Bible, their revelations, their predictions, their doctrines, their manifestations and visions, and their history, the same as the Bible is the record and history of the Jews. Why then should it be thought inconsistent with the character of God that he should bring forth
records, so sacred, so great, so important to join with the testimony of the Jewish record that the nations of the last days might have the testimony of two hemispheres that God is the same God, that his doctrines are everlasting, the same unchangeable Gospel and plan of salvation, and that his people Israel were as precious to him on the western hemisphere as they were on the eastern, and that the great atonement which we are now celebrating in this house, should not be shut out from the minds of the people in the western hemisphere? Is it consistent that this should be the case? There is not a man living, who will free himself from the traditions of false doctrines that have prevailed for many generations, but what will say it is godlike, it is consistent with the character of the Almighty to reveal himself to the western hemisphere as well as to the great eastern hemisphere, and if he did this would there be anything inconsistent that these records should be brought to light in the last days? Is God limited in his power? I appeal to the whole of Christendom, do we as Christians believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and in his Father, as being limited in their power, and that people should be left without divine knowledge, without information from heaven, when it is so easy for them to reveal? Is not the knowledge of God to cover the earth, according to the prediction of Isaiah the prophet, as the waters cover the great deep, before the end shall come? Are not many, in the last days, to run to and fro, and knowledge be increased, and when I speak of knowledge I mean that knowledge which is of God, the knowledge revealed from heaven, concerning the great plan of salvation. It is reasonable, it is consistent, it is in accordance with the Jewish Bible, that God should reveal himself and the plan of salvation to the people of the latter days, that the knowledge of God may truly cover the earth as the waters cover the great deep. In revealing this additional knowledge, will it do any harm? Is there any church on the face of the whole earth that is in the least degree harmed by the additional revelations sent from heaven? I think not. What harm is there in the Lord's making manifest to the people in this western hemisphere, that the same Gospel was preached to the inhabitants of this land as was preached to the Jews and the people of the eastern continent in ancient days? Who is harmed among all the religious denominations of Christendom, the four hundred millions of Christians, so called, by the addition of further revelation? Did it harm any of the branches of the church that were anciently Christian, after they had the Book of Matthew revealed to them, to be permitted to have a testimony from another inspired man, called the Book of Mark? I think there was no harm in Mark's writing his Gospel, after Matthew had written his. It did no harm to the ancient Christians that Luke should write his testimony of the Gospel; that John should write his, that John should be permitted to receive great prophecy and revelation on the isle of Patmos. Did that close revelation from God? No, because we find that the Lord inspired John to write his testimony of the Gospel, showing that the canon of Scripture was not closed up when John left Patmos. What harm is there for another nation to know about the Prophet Moses, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the atonement that he made by his own suffering and death? Would it not
be a privilege and blessing for the ancient inhabitants of America to be informed concerning the only way by which they could be saved in the kingdom of God? The Book of Mormon records the fact that Jesus did appear on this American continent, after his resurrection from the dead; that he did administer in person, in his immortal body, after his resurrection, for several days, in the midst of this remnant of Israel, the forefathers of these American Indians. What Gospel did he teach? Did he teach one Gospel in Asia and another in ancient America? No. If the same Gospel then is taught, who is harmed among the four hundred millions of Christians, by having the information concerning it? It seems to me as if I could imagine the feeling of the strangers that may be present this afternoon. I can imagine some one saying, "Oh, it would be a very beautiful theory, if we could only believe it; if we only had testimony sufficient to believe what you Latter-day Saints declare, that the Book of Mormon is actually a divine revelation of the Gospel as it was preached in ancient America; if we knew this fact we could not denounce it as something that was calculated in its nature to destroy the peace and happiness of Christendom, but we should consider it a great blessing to the human family if we only had the evidence and testimony that the facts are as you state them." Now I expect these thoughts are running through the minds of some individuals here. Well, now, what must be the evidence? What would you naturally suppose would be the kind of evidence that the Lord Almighty would give to substantiate the divinity of a book that is almost two-thirds as voluminous as the Jewish Bible? Can you imagine any testimony that ought to be given to convince the children of men? "Well," says one, "if we could only have it confirmed by the ministration of angels, that would be an evidence, a great evidence or testimony." The inhabitants of this generation, for nearly fifty years, have had the testimony of three men, besides the boy that translated the Book of Mormon—the testimony of three witnesses. The Lord would not suffer his Church to be organized, would not suffer his servants to build up this kingdom on the earth—this ecclesiastical kingdom, until he gave sufficient evidence unto three chosen witnesses, as well as the boy that translated the work. Their testimony is given, in connection with the book, and there is no man living that can contradict their testimony or can prove it to be untrue. The witnesses themselves have never denied their testimony; and not only three other witnesses who saw the angel, heard the words of his mouth, saw the glory of his countenance, and saw the plates—the original plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated, but also eight other witnesses who saw the plates, but did not see the angel; they saw the plates at another time; saw the engravings upon the plates, handled them with their hands, and have recorded their testimony. Hence we have the testimony of the young man that was called by the angel to translate and bring forth the book, and then the testimony of eleven other witnesses besides. In the mouth of two or three witnesses, we are told in the Jewish record, every word shall be established. But God saw fit to give twelve witnesses before the Church of the Latter-day Saints ever had an existence on this earth. That certainly
ought to be sufficient to begin the work with, to begin to enlighten the minds of the children of men, concerning what God was about to do upon the face of the earth. But are we confined to these twelve men and their testimony? Are there no other means by which we may for ourselves come to a knowledge that this work is divine? I will tell you how the Lord has provided in a godlike manner, just as we would naturally expect he would do—that the children of men, however weak, frail, and imperfect in their judgment, if they have the common sense and common attainments that the children of men generally have, may not only have a faith concerning the truth of this work, founded on the evidence of others, but also a knowledge for themselves. And how is this? How can people get a real knowledge that this Book is divine? Says one: "I should like to embrace it, but then you are so unpopular. Still if I knew it to be true," perhaps some stranger may say in his heart, "if I knew that God was the author of it, I would not mind anything about the contumely, or anything about the unpopularity of the people called Latter-day Saints." There is a way to know whether this work be true, if you will follow the conditions. And what are the conditions that God has pointed out, by which we may receive a knowledge now as well as they received a knowledge in ancient times, concerning similar doctrines and principles? It is by obedience to the Gospel of the Son of God. The Lord, before he suffered this Church to be organized gave authority to his servants to preach the Gospel and to organize his kingdom on the earth in fulfilment of the ancient prophecies. In connection with this authority, he gave them authority to administer the ordinances of the Gospel to those that would repent of their sins and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. He gave them not only power and authority to baptize—that is divine authority to baptize—for the remission of sins, but also to lay their hands upon the heads of baptized believers and pronounce upon them the blessings of the Holy Ghost as they did in ancient days. This was placing the people of this generation in a condition to prove whether this work was divine or not. The elders were sent forth in the early rise of this Church, saying unto the people, "If you will repent of your sins—if you will turn from everything that is evil, if you will with all your hearts enter into a covenant with the Almighty to obey the Lord of righteousness, to keep his commandments, to do right all your future days, and will be baptized by the authority that God has given from heaven, and also be confirmed by the laying on of hands, God will give you the Holy Ghost, and by this gift of the Holy Ghost you shall know that the Book of Mormon is a divine revelation, and that this is the Church and the kingdom of the living God." Very many honest hearted people in the American Union, in the nation of Great Britain, in the various nations of Europe, and upon the islands of the Sea, have tested the truth of this commandment of God given unto his servant in the first rise and beginning of this Church. Did they receive the Holy Ghost? They testify that they did. They say, that by obeying that message which you brought to us, which you testified that God had sent you to preach, the promises you made to us are fulfilled. You stated that we should receive the Holy Ghost,
We have received it because we have humbled ourselves before God. We have been baptized by you. You stated you held authority. We believed it from testimony that you gave us, that such was the case, but we did not know it. We went forth and acted upon our faith, and now we can testify we know you are the servants of God; for God has fulfilled the promise which he has given to us through your word." Thus scores of thousands have proved the divinity of this work. You marvel that this people are so well united. You marvel that we come out from the nations of the earth and assemble ourselves in one. You marvel what it is that prompts this people called Latter-day Saints to come from the lands of their forefathers, from the islands of the Sea, from distant nations, and assemble themselves here in this great basin of North America. It is not man that has accomplished this work. It is because you have received the Holy Ghost that you are here in these valleys. It is because God witnessed unto you in your own lands, before you started upon your journey that he had again spoken to the inhabitants of the earth as in ancient days. You there learned that this was his true Church, his true kingdom established upon the earth as he predicted by the mouth of his servants, and you felt anxious to be gathered with the rest of the Saints that had the same testimony with you. Hence you gather not only from choice, but by actual commandment. We do not gather here merely for the sake of being together, but it is because the same God who revealed the Book of Mormon by his servant Joseph, the youth of whom I have spoken—that same boy received another revelations which is published in the Book of Doctrine and Covenants, which I now hold in my hand, commanding the Latter-day Saints to gather out of all nations of the earth, to this American continent. Hence you came here because you had received the Holy Ghost. You have come here because you knew this work was true. You have come here that you might fulfil the commandment which God gave near the time of the rise of this Church in relation to the gathering of his Saints from among all the nations and kingdoms of the earth. Has God fulfilled that which he spoke when we were but a little handful of people, not numbering one hundred souls? He told us that his people should be gathered from all quarters of the earth into one place upon the face of this great continent. Has he fulfilled it? The testimony is before the eyes not only of the Latter-day Saints, but the eyes of all people, nations and tongues, and among the most distant nations of the earth concerning the gathering of the people called Latter-day Saints. God has fulfilled his word—this word, which was given nearly fifty years ago, as to the gathering of his people from the four quarters of the earth. Now this great work of the last days never could be accomplished without this gathering together of the Saints. There are no other people fulfilling it. For instance, take the Roman Catholics; they were not gathering from all parts of the earth. Take the Greek Church; they do not come out from the nations from which they receive their doctrine. Take all the Protestant denominations, and who among them all are assembling themselves together in one? If they should issue a proclamation by human wisdom and by human commandment, requiring their members to gather together,
they could not accomplish it. Why? Because there is not enough unity amongst them; the Holy Ghost has not been given to them in its fulness, as given to the ancient Saints; hence they could not gather the people together. But the Lord has done it through this people. And what will he yet do? Permit me to prophecy, not in my own name nor by my own wisdom, but on the strength of that which God has revealed to this Church since the year 1830, and that also which is given in the Book of Mormon—I prophesy that this is only just the beginning, as it were of the great work of the gathering of the Latter-day Saints.
[I would say that some of our friends that have called in this afternoon are obliged, in consequence of the cars leaving, to retire. May the Lord bless them, pour out his Spirit upon them, may he manifest the truth unto them that they may be be blessed in common with all those who keep the commandments of God.]
The Lord our God has therefore fulfilled that which he spoke; and as I said this work, instead of being nearly accomplished, nearly fulfilled, and all things brought about according to the purposes of the Almighty, only the foundation, as it were, is now laid, and instead of being gathered in a little company of 150,000, by and bye we shall be gathered in hundred[s] of thousands and even millions. Now, do you believe it? I not only believe it but know it will come to pass just as much as a great many other things which have already been fulfilled since the promises were uttered and published in this book. I knew they would come to pass, for God has revealed these things to me, and given me a knowledge of them, and I also know concerning the future of this people, as also do a great many of our brethren that have received testimonies concerning these matters. Is God limited to this little narrow spot, called the great basin of North America? Why, no. It is only for the present, for the time being that we dwell here. Where will we dwell in the future? What is our future destiny? It is not on the Sandwich islands, it is not in New Zealand, it is not in Australia, it is not in any of the islands of the sea, but I will tell you the future destiny of this people in a very few words. Not many years hence—I do not say the number of years—you will look forth to the western counties of the State of Missouri, and to the eastern counties of the State of Kansas, and in all that region round about you will see a thickly populated country, inhabited by a peaceful people, having their orchards, their fruit trees, their fields of grain, their beautiful houses and shade trees, their cities and towns and villages. And you may ask—Who are all these people? And the answer will be—Latter-day Saints! Where have they come from? They have come from the nations of the earth! They have come from the mountains of Utah, from Arizona, from Idaho, and from the mountainous territories of the North American Continent, they have come down here, and are quietly cultivating the lands of these States! Now, this will all come to pass, just as sure to come to pass as there is a God that reigns in yonder heavens, and not many years hence either. Thus you see that for some time to come, our future destiny is not to build up this kingdom upon any of the islands of the sea, but to be located where God has decreed, by his own power that his people
shall dwell. "Oh, but," says one, "you have to get the land first." But I would ask is there any breaking of the Constitution,—is there anything calculated to take away the rights of American citizenship by emigrants going from one part of this nation to another, peacefully and quietly, purchasing the land and locating upon it? I think not. "But," says one, "perhaps they will not allow you to purchase the land." The Lord will take care of that; that is in the hands of the Lord. That same being who will assist in the building of a great city on the western boundaries of the State of Missouri, has all power; and when we purchase the land, and go and take possession of it, I do not think we will be driven from our own lands, if we mind our own business and do not meddle with our neighbors' business, and do not undertake to injure them in their rights and privileges, guaranteed to them by the Constitution of our country. If we conduct ourselves in a peaceable manner, I do not see why we may not dwell there as well as other citizens. We have the strongest assurance that such will be the case. These were promises made to us, before there were a hundred persons in this Church. It was promised that we should have a land as an inheritage; but we were commanded of God, to purchase the land. Now, when the time comes for purchasing this land, we will have means. How this means will be brought about it is not for me to say. Perhaps the Lord will open up mines containing gold and silver, or in some other way as seemeth to him best, wealth will be poured into the laps of the Latter-day Saints till they will scarcely know what to do with it. I will here again prophesy on the strength of former revelation that there are no people on the face of the whole globe, not even excepting London, Paris, New York, or any of the great mercantile cities of the globe—there are no people now upon the face of the earth, so rich as the Latter-day Saints will be in a few years to come. Having their millions; therefore they will purchase the land, build up cities, towns and villages, build a great capital city, at headquarters, in Jackson County, Missouri. Will we have a temple there? Yes; will we have a beautiful city? Yes, one of the most beautiful cities that will ever be erected on the continent of America will be built up by the Latter-day Saints in Jackson County, Missouri. Consequently, when congressmen and statesmen, and the great men of our nation, want to know what the future destiny of the Latter-day Saints will be, let them remember the words of your humble servant, who has addressed you this afternoon; for they will come to pass—they will be fulfilled. We have seen too many revelations fulfilled, already, to be mistaken in regard to these matters. Amen. | English | NL | 09c3e676c6c5aa44447e66c9785cd7c892d2681a12c3e50ad0d4a7ef4090546a |
Every once in a while I go through older things I’ve written, and today I came across this email I sent out about five years ago to family and friends. I had to share it, as it brought one of those ridiculously goofy smiles to my face. Shanti.
In my daily endeavors to teach acceptance, diversity and peace to my children I stumbled upon a children’s book called “Can you say Peace” by Karen Katz. It’s a book my children enjoyed from the first read. The pictures portray children of different Countries around the world and the many ways to say ‘Peace’ in their languages.
My daughter and her 5 year old memory took on a certain liking of the Peace words ‘Kurtuku’ – from the Warnman people of Austrailia and ‘Goom-jigi’ – from the Buli people of Ghana. For days it was ‘goom-jee-jee’ this and ‘kur-TU-ku’ that, with the random Japanese version, ‘Heiwa’ or ‘hey-wah’ and the Bolivian ‘Mojjsa kamana’ (moh-khash ka-mah-neeah). We took a few trips out that week. To the grocery store, my 5 year old greeted a confused child with ‘Kurtuku!’ and at Home Depot while I was searching for window locks, she made up a song ‘la la la laaa laaaa, kurtuku and goom-jigi, goom-jigi, goom-jigi, kurtuku! la la la la laaa laaaa laaaaaaaaaa…’. Needless to say, tho I loved the hidden meaning of her words, everyone around us had confused and almost sympathetic expressions on their faces. I could almost imagine what they were thinking, ‘That poor child, maybe she is autistic, such a happy yet, incoherent, girl…’ but I kept a smile on my face and answered my daughter with ‘Mir!’ (Russia’s take on Peace) and ‘He ping!’ (from China).
As we neared the self-checkout counter I began riffling thru my purchases and my daughter walked up to the teller who was on duty, and very clearly and loudly said to her ‘Goom-jigi!’ when the teller nervously smiled at her and glanced away, my daughter then added, ‘It means PEACE in Ghana, did you know that??’ The teller’s countenance went from a passive and indifferent look to one of suprise and interest. ‘No, I did not know that’, she said to my daughter and looked up at me with a sly smile. My smart little 5 year old continuted without pause, ‘And Kurtuku to you too! Do you know what that means?’ When the teller just smiled at her, I knew she was waiting for my daughter to explain, and she did…’it’s Austria’s way to say PEACE, Kurtuku!’ Without looking at her, but smiling, I gently corrected her and said ‘Australia, sweety, not Austria.’
As I finished with my items and bagged them, I kissed my son’s toes, who was sitting in the front of the shopping cart and told my daughter it was time to go. She was in such a happy mood, singing her made up song about Peace in two different languages. I smiled at the teller, said thanks and passed by her, then my daughter turned around and ran back to her and hugged her without permission. The teller was at first surprised, then quickly hugged her back and told her she was such a beautiful young girl and asked me what her name was so I told her.
My daughter beamed up at her with inner pride and said ‘Goom-jigi!’ to her. The teller, who looked refreshed and suddenly happy to be at work, bent down and said to her with a big smile, ‘Kurtuku, Rory’. | English | NL | cfea7270959bfce0266d5946330ce267bacfb78a1da335a17a739f9b277188b2 |
As Freedom flew over the open landscape, divided by colonies of trees huddled together between the encroaching farmlands, he noticed a farmer taking his produce to market in a cart. "Simpleton!" scoffed Freedom as he flew over the heavily laden cart on creaky wheels driven by a wizened farmer. Freedom turned a summersault in the air, just because he could, and the old man could not; and as he did, another of his largest feathers loosened, and sailed away from him on the air shafts. The farmer gave him a cursory look and then shook his head. "No matter," thought Freedom as he straightened himself out. "I can still do as I wish, in contrast to all of you below."
A flock of smaller birds desperately flapped their spartan wings as they flew past. They were not sufficiently endowed to enjoy flying, he thought, and then cawed: "Get out of the skies, losers! Maybe you should try swimming instead!" He guffawed, and taunted them by swooping over and under them, just because he could. In that very moment, several feathers loosened and sailed away from him like devious maidens on the air shafts. Quickly, he tried to level himself out, and felt the imbalance. So many feathers had loosened and fallen out, he could no longer fly straight.
He soared lower over a lake to avoid turbulence, and caught sight of his reflection in the water. It bothered him. His plumage looked decidedly scruffy and anaemic. All that he knew to do now was to caw more loudly: "I can do whatever I want. I am Freedom!" Without any feathers to hold him up, Freedom drowned in the lake, cawing those words.
In a tiny creek that flowed from the lake into the great river, the fine feathers drifted on the surface of the water from rock to rock. They were so light and silent that the water couldn't drown them. And even if it did, they wouldn't mind at all because they were free. | English | NL | a01fc996f57cf08fbb09018bf4041db4a8d3cc636670fa85d4f5c8d9eea2cc8a |
Please watch: “Sundarban Bedtime Stories || 3 NON STOP Animal Stories for Kids || Episode 7, 8, 9 || Hindi 4K Video”
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The Clever Jackal Story in English
Crow and Snake Story in English
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Monkey Kings Great in English
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The Mighty elephant Story in English
Talking Cave Story in English
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Easy Drawing and Craft
the clever jackal once upon a time in a jungle there lived a clever jackal one day while wandering in the jungle he saw a dead elephant eager to eat the flesh the jackal went closer and tried to cut the flesh with his feet but the skin was too tough to give way to the flesh the j.cole tried and tried however he could not succeed in cutting the thick skin the tired jack all sat near the dead elephant and started thinking how to solve this problem suddenly the jackal eyed upon the lion who was coming towards him he said humbly your Majesties I'm guarding this dead elephant for you please eat it the lion roared I never eat animals which are killed by other animals I think you know this very well seeing this the lion went away the j.cole was happy that the lion did not want to eat the dead elephant but his problem to eat the elephant's flesh was yet to be solved after some time a roaming Tiger arrived there the chicken sense the danger the tiger would surely be interested in this date elephant thought the chicken when the tiger came closer he said in a horrid tome please go away from here I am guarding the hunt of the king lion he has got to take parts before leaving he has told me that if any tiger comes here I must inform him as he has vowed to kill all the Tigers of this jungle during this the tiger got frightened and fled from day soon after the guide the live a leopard approach day the cunning jackal knew that the leopard had a sharp teeth and it could be solution to his problem the Jay card printed to see the leopard and welcomed him come friend come I'm seeing you after a long time you are looking tired and hungry why don't you take a few bites of this dead elephant I'm guarding this elephant for the login the lion has gone to take bath oh no can I eat his heart if he sees me it is free it will surely kill me you just don't worry about it I will remain alert and signal you when I see the line coming back you can easily run away then the hungry leopard agrees and thank the jackal to provide him with his opportunity the default in watching the leopard struggle with the elephant take care as soon as he saw the leopard staring off the skin of the elephant successfully he shouted he said line is coming the next moment the leopard disappeared from there with a lightning speed the clever jackal laughed aloud and sat near the dead elephant to relish it all alone Mauri wisdom makes victory The Crow and the snake once upon a time a crow was living in its nest on the top of the tree in her forest a snake was also living in a pit under the same tree the cow wants hatched eggs one day the crew was feeling hungry so it went outside in search of its prey at that time the snake came out of its pit slowly it creeped crawl and climbed up the tree it reached the nest of the cruel its mouth water as it saw the crows eggs after a few was the cruel returned back to its nest the crew saw that the eggs were eaten by someone it felt very sad it was thinking who ate its eggs then it made up a plan to try and trace the culprit second time the crow hatched eggs this time the Claude did not go away it wanted to find out the culprit who ate its eggs in the new the snake living under the truth came out and ate the eggs the crew was shocked and came out of its hiding place hey how dare you do that who's that oh are you still here how dare you eat my eggs are you not ashamed of your deed I should die I'm screaming hungry I made your eggs I pray don't repeat this again otherwise I'll kill you too whatever you want i leased water at the same time the crew saw its friend the Fox was coming it came down the tree and cried to his friend what happened why are you crying Oh burning snake had eaten up my eggs I want to punish him but I'm helpless don't you worry my friend I'm here to help you how can you help me yes I have got a plan listen to me don't cry okay tell me my dear friend you should go to the bathing pond of the princess of this country she will remove on necklace and keep it on the bank of the pond before bathing at that time take the necklace and bring it here and drop it in the snakes pit if I can take the necklace and drop it in the snakes pit what will happen do as I say then watch the results the crow flew away and went near the bathing pond of the princess it took the necklace the princess shouted and all the servants were alarmed and they followed the crows the crow dropped the necklace into the snakes pit and flew away the snake without knowing the situation peaked out with the necklace around its neck on seeing this all the servants of princes beat it to death with the sticks then they went taking the necklace out of its neck on seeing this the crew felt very happy that all its sorrows ended then the growth haunted friends Fox for the timely help thereafter the crew hatched eggs and lived happily moral friendship is proved in adversity the foolish donkey once longing the king of the forest wounded in a fight with an elephant the wounded king could not hunt for many days and had to remain hungry the Lions Minister was a cunning Fox since the lion was unable to hunt the Fox too had to remain hungry one day the Fox said your majesty we both the hungry and you are still unable to hunt if it continues like this then soon we will die the lion replied o minister you know that I can't chase with my wounded legs do one thing somehow you managed to bring an animal to me then I can easily kill the animal and we both will relish upon that the Fox said I try to do my best saying this the Fox went away from day on his way he met a fat donkey the Fox eyes twinkled he said hello friend how are you odd seeing you after a long time you are looking quite weak haha yes friend I'd become big because my owner takes a lot of work from me I face me little o friend I really pity for your conditions why don't you come with me to the jungle our King is very kind one ministerial post is vacant in the King Scott I think you're just suitable for this coveted post really but I'm a domestic animal of the village how can I survive among the wild animals you just don't worry about that I'll take care of it all the donkey was fooled by the cunning fox and he agreed to accompany the Fox the Fox took him to the Lions Den when the hungry lion saw the fat donkey coming he couldn't control himself and jumped upon the donkey however the lion missed the target and the scared donkey fled from there due to the lions haste they lost a fat tree it made the Fox quite unhappy the lion was also sad to lose a good meal the lion requested the Fox to again try and bring back the donkey the Fox went in search of the donkey the Fox met the donkey and said in surprised tone oh dear why did you run away like this The Lion King was so happy to see you that he could not control himself and jump to welcome you the donkey was fooled again he again accompanied the Fox to the lion best time the lion was very careful when the donkey reached quite close to him the lion got him in a scream and killed him easily both the Fox and the lion were very happy when the king was about to eat his meal the Fox said Your Majesty I know you're hungry but before eating you must take bath the King liked the idea as he did not take bath for these the lion proceeded towards the river the lion left that place to take burn the Sly Fox quickly aid up the brain of the donkey when the line returned and began eating he first tries to find out the dream as he was very fond of it when the brain was not seen the lion roll where was the brain did you eat it up the Fox hurriedly replied no your majesty how can I dare to do like this actually donkeys are without brains if he had brain he would have certainly not come here for the second time the lion considered the point valid and ate his food happily more II do not believe the words of an enemy under any situation great sacrifice video games body they lift a group of monkeys in it a peaceful life in the forest they were so happy with that game one day The Monkey King called upon all monkey friends we have been living happily on this mango tree for years but I anticipate trouble soon why your majesty humans have never tasted the mango fruit before once it tasted the fruit it will be dangerous for us Oh King what shall we do now I have one solution make sure that not a single fruit falls into the river but in spite of all this gear a juicy ripe mango fell into the river a fisherman got the fruit from the river along with the fishes Oh what is it my friend may know about it he showed the fruit to his friend look what I have found among the fish a strange fruit it looks delicious I have never seen food like this I think we ought to take into the king yes I think it would be better so he set off for the king's palace Oh majesty this route was among the fish I caught hmm what's that minister that's the real angle majesty it's very tasty where does this mango fruit grow it's in a deep forest majesty okay minister make the necessary arrangements tomorrow we are going to that forest yes your majesty and the next morning the king along with some soldiers kicked off to the forest when they reach the forest the monkeys get shocked and confused and they started screaming hey what's that sound just monkeys your majesty Hey along with the mangoes we shall eat monkeys flesh the monkeys were shocked the soldiers began to handle monkey Oh monster we are trapped what shall we do now don't panic I'll find a way out do as I say all of you go to the tree near the river if we have to be safe we have to go to the victory opposite to the river go in collected on creeper die be one end to the street and give the other end to me all of you do as I tell you now I will swing over to the river to that fig tree on the opposite bank one by one and come across the other side and it dies the other end to his ways but when it crossed the river the creeper was too short so it tried to catch the branch of the fig tree and managed to make a bridge the monkeys began crossing all the monkeys crossed in this manner come on please hurry I'm tired I'm not being able to withstand anymore the last one was a wicked monkey who had never liked his game here is my chance to become the king I shall jump across and push him down the wicked monkey he jumped with all his mind and kicked the monkey king all the monkeys watched with pain The Creeper snap and down fell the monkeys game he fell on the rock and broke his head no one held him on the other side of the river the king was watching come on let us help the poor fellow you save them at the cost of your own life I don't mind I have done my duty let me take you back and look after you No please leave me here I am about time how painful it must all be I don't mind the pain I am happy at all my subjects save this the monkey died model self-sacrifice is the greatest gift the head and the dog toys 100 jungle they live free Prince a bull or head and a turtle one day we plan to meet together as per the plan feral wolf came earlier than the tour toy after a why don't I speak slowly the head laughter the tour toys oh how lazy you can't you come fast as I am to Bolton like the way has speaking to the tour toys don't talk like this year after and to be honest if you compete with him you won't be able to win him what sort of competition ok we do one thing I'm going to conduct a running race for you both we'll see who comes the first the hare and the tortoise agreed to do it so they finalize the starting and the end points the race started hair started fast and the door toys is slowing the hay was running very fast in the heat but the door toys came slowly without any tension on I have but to do the point okay god damn it looked bad for Tatas but it couldn't find him so the head thought aha he will never win me in the meantime I'll take some rest so the head left under the shadow of a huge stream soon it fell asleep after some time the tour toys reached the place where the hair was sleeping he noted down that the hay was in Southie and started moving slowly but steadily towards the end and finally he reached the end point all the animals come gradually moving at last you've done it and what about the hair after a long time the hair woke up from sleep he looked behind and ha ha ha the lazy tortoise has not reached the place yet and there is no doubt that I'll be the winner and he ran towards the end points at the endpoint he got a shot of his life as the tour toys had reached the endpoint already he felt ashamed of himself the wolf turn to the both O'Hare see how your pride got in the way of you go slow Todd Royce edged on steadily and reached on time to be our winner so hereafter don't undermine anybody's act Mauri slow and steady wins the race the mighty elephant a sparrow couple lived on a branch of a blackberry tree the couple had a comfortable nest where they live happily after some time the female Sparrow laid eggs the couple was very happy they were waiting for the arrival of the babies eagerly one day a mighty elephant came wandering near the blackberry tree the elephant like the leaves of the blackberry tree so he lifted his trunk about to pull down a branch of the tree the sparrow saw the elephant who was about to pull the branch they screamed almighty elephant please don't hold the branch our nest is built on this tree and there are eggs in the nest we are anxiously waiting for a baby's to come out if you disrupt the tree then a nest will fall down destroying the eggs the arrogant elephant did not pay any heed to the couple I don't bother what happens to your nest I need to eat he pulled out a big branch and apprehended the nest came down and all the eggs were broken the couple cried bitterly the Gallus elephant enjoyed the leaves and went away from there quietly the sparrow couple were angry and revengeful the couple went to seek help from their other tiny friends the sparrow said the arrogant elephant has broken our eggs and cried bitterly the growth topple the floor and the act done so the sparrow Kapali don't cry my friend we could teach a lesson to that arrogant elephant all of them sat together and made a plan to teach the elephant a lesson for his arrogance next day the sparrow and his small friends went in search of the elephant they saw the elephant and started attacking the ants swiftly entered into the elephant's ears and started droning continuously joining in the year made the elephant dizzy he fell down now it was the turn of the crew couple to attack the Kolkata was sitting on the trees move down fast and fit in elephants both the eyes with their sharp beaks making him blind the elephant cried aloud in pain the elephant was totally baffled by this sudden attacks his throat and mouth were parched so he ran towards the lake with his blind eyes now it was the turn of the frog the frog jumped near a huge ditch and started grokking aloud during the croaking the blind elephant thought that he was close to the lake and went in the direction of the ditch the next moment he was down inside the ditch and died soon the sparrow couple and the friends are taught a lesson to the mighty elephants moral intelligence is mightier than bravery talking cave one lion wandered pure in day for food no animal was found for its ring then it ran after a priest which also escaped from its reach it felt tired as it couldn't get its prey it warped slowly in disappointment along the forest on its way it found a king the lion went inside to take rest it also taught that if any animal king it will make the animals it's a dream the lion went inside nothing was available it stayed inside the cave it was equally waiting for any animal to come after some white the Fox was living in that cave and returned back near the cave the Fox saw the footprints of an animal and the footprints were going inside the game Oh whose footsteps I hear I think it is Alliance footsteps if I go in it would kill me hence the Fox thought of a plan to know who was hiding in the cave so it shouted at the cave okay Oh give there was no reply from the cave okay if Oh give again there was no reply from the key okay what happened to you why are you not speaking to me usually you used to talk to me when I call you there was no reply is there anybody in the cave that is why you are not talking to me you know that I will go back if you do not talk to me I think the give talks to the Fox then if I talk to the Fox I think it will come inside and I can have not Emil hmm I'll talk to him my deerforce sorry I was just playing with you there is no one inside you can come freely the Fox understood that the voice was Lions voice the Fox became alert and replied o lion am ia fool to come inside you will kill and eat me if I come in do not wait in vain go away on seeing this the Fox ran away and the foolish line didn't get anything moral there is no use crying over spilt milk | English | NL | 1c1b40fa7e337994f8dec976c2f1290538a8d3b361e5fa1c0f9f5797734f62ea |
24 And when they brought those kings out to Joshua, Joshua summoned all the men of Israel and said to the chiefs of the men of war who had gone with him, “Come near; put your feet on the necks of these kings.” Then they came near and put their feet on their necks.
42 And Joshua captured all these kings and their land at one time, xbecause the Lord God of Israel fought for Israel.
12 And all the cities of those kings, and all their kings, Joshua captured, and struck them with the edge of the sword, devoting them to destruction, tjust as Moses the servant of the Lord had commanded.
Kings Defeated by Moses
12 Now these are the kings of the land whom the people of Israel defeated and took possession of their land beyond the Jordan toward the sunrise, from othe Valley of the Arnon to Mount Hermon, with all pthe Arabah eastward: | English | NL | 3f620cde15df9fa372a0837e629be87c3e77b2f6ea6d1d9fa46e615a14041b45 |
II Kings 11 (asv)
11:4And in the seventh year Jehoiada sent and fetched the captains over hundreds of the Carites and of the guard, and brought them to him into the house of Jehovah; and he made a covenant with them, and took an oath of them in the house of Jehovah, and showed them the king's son. 11:5And he commanded them, saying, This is the thing that ye shall do: a third part of you, that come in on the sabbath, shall be keepers of the watch of the king's house; 11:6And a third part shall be at the gate Sur; and a third part at the gate behind the guard: so shall ye keep the watch of the house, and be a barrier. 11:7And the two companies of you, even all that go forth on the sabbath, shall keep the watch of the house of Jehovah about the king. 11:8And ye shall compass the king round about, every man with his weapons in his hand; and he that cometh within the ranks, let him be slain: and be ye with the king when he goeth out, and when he cometh in.
11:9And the captains over hundreds did according to all that Jehoiada the priest commanded; and they took every man his men, those that were to come in on the sabbath, with those that were to go out on the sabbath, and came to Jehoiada the priest. 11:10And the priest delivered to the captains over hundreds the spears and shields that had been king David's, which were in the house of Jehovah. 11:11And the guard stood, every man with his weapons in his hand, from the right side of the house to the left side of the house, along by the altar and the house, by the king round about. 11:12Then he brought out the king's son, and put the crown upon him, and gave him the testimony; and they made him king, and anointed him; and they clapped their hands, and said, Long live the king.
11:13And when Athaliah heard the noise of the guard and of the people, she came to the people into the house of Jehovah: 11:14and she looked, and, behold, the king stood by the pillar, as the manner was, and the captains and the trumpets by the king; and all the people of the land rejoiced, and blew trumpets. Then Athaliah rent her clothes, and cried, Treason! treason! 11:15And Jehoiada the priest commanded the captains of hundreds that were set over the host, and said unto them, Have her forth between the ranks; and him that followeth her slay with the sword. For the priest said, Let her not be slain in the house of Jehovah. 11:16So they made way for her; and she went by the way of the horses' entry to the king's house: and there was she slain.
11:17And Jehoiada made a covenant between Jehovah and the king and the people, that they should be Jehovah's people; between the king also and the people. 11:18And all the people of the land went to the house of Baal, and brake it down; his altars and his images brake they in pieces thoroughly, and slew Mattan the priest of Baal before the altars. And the priest appointed officers over the house of Jehovah. 11:19And he took the captains over hundreds, and the Carites, and the guard, and all the people of the land; and they brought down the king from the house of Jehovah, and came by the way of the gate of the guard unto the king's house. And he sat on the throne of the kings. 11:20So all the people of the land rejoiced, and the city was quiet. And Athaliah they had slain with the sword at the king's house. 11:21Jehoash was seven years old when he began to reign. | English | NL | 45d0b8e105afe2b940362288f8f6f9c5d9a08b5c2bbd9819a4a11fdaab78b9b8 |
There was a squirrel trapped in the wall behind my stove in October. We could hear it clawing back there, but what to do? “Maybe it will leave of its own accord,” Paul said. We sat at the kitchen table, an old farm table so heavy it took two people to shift it, and listened. Perfect, I thought. One of my friends had come home one night to find her hunter husband had skinned a squirrel and put it in the Crock-Pot. She had lifted the lid expecting rice and beans and had found the pink body curled like a fetus.
One day, I said, “The squirrel’s gone — listen, quiet.”
He said, “Or it’s dead in there.”
The stench started three days later. Paul had gone to Phoenix for a conference on new soil technologies, leaving me with the changing leaves and the dead squirrel. At first it was just a tang in the air, sweet-sour, like menstrual blood, like the hair under his arms where I liked to bury my nose. Then it turned gamey, thickened. It spread through the house, a smell that gnawed at me like an itch I could never reach. Paul said it was the baby, said pregnant women had an enhanced sense of smell. Only four months in, and already he had read several books on the subject, was after me to start practicing my breathing and do squats to prepare my pelvic floor. He did not understand it was all I could do to shower and do a little work each day. The morning sickness had not let up, despite what his books predicted. It wasn’t really nausea, but more like a shaky hunger, a yearning mixed with claustrophobia. The only thing that helped was meat. Roast beef, steak, sliced ham, chicken cutlets. As long as I ate a good helping of meat every few hours, the sickness stayed at bay, a buzz in my throat. I knew it wasn’t really the baby’s fault, but I felt robbed of my last few months of freedom. Whenever Paul called from sunny Phoenix, bitterness choked me, made him think I was crying. He was perplexed and irritated. He used words like miracle and new life. I opened the windows, and the spiders came in. They clustered in the corners of the high ceilings and masqueraded as cracks in the plaster.
The Physics of Imaginary Objects by Tina May Hall. Copyright © 2010 by Tina May Hall. All rights are controlled by the University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, PA 15260. Used by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press. | English | NL | 502047f134e593bc1214d9674607244d90a11b0f513ac6421cc3bc265c10c21b |
Hello everyone, Winnie Griggs here. For various reasons that I won’t go into here, I haven’t had a new release out this year, so I was doubly happy to learn Love Inspired was re-releasing two of my earlier novels as part of their two-in-one program. And both of the books they chose are very special to me (of course I feel that way about most of my books).
Late October saw the release of an anthology that included The Christmas Journey and two novellas, Christmas Bells for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad and The Christmas Secret by Sara Mitchell. This book is special to me because it was the first book of my 3 book and a novella Knotty Pines series. It was also based on a premise I’d been mulling over for a number of years, that of a heroine who longs to travel and have adventures but is held back by family obligations. Her solution is to try to find a husband for her widowed sister so she can transfer those responsibilities to him and chase her dreams guilt-free.
Here is an excerpt:
Jo resisted the urge to stomp her foot.
It wasn’t fair that Ry had everything she wanted and seemed so discontent. Yet he judged her for daring to set her sights beyond Knotty Pine. He wouldn’t think her life was so rosy if he were the one living it. Too bad they couldn’t up and change places. If he had all her family responsibilities…
She stilled. What if he did have her responsibilities? It was obvious the family already liked him. And he seemed equally taken with them. If she could somehow make him an actual part of the family, he was the sort of man who’d do everything he could to provide for and protect those in his care.
Cora Beth admired him. Jo could see he liked her too. As for the rest of the family, after that ruckus in the livery Danny practically hero-worshipped him. Ry had shown he could deal with her nieces – why, he even got along with Uncle Grover. They’d all be in good hands.
As for Ry’s part, what man wouldn’t be attracted to Cora Beth? She had that sweet domestic air about her that drew men looking for a wife like bees to honey.
If Ry and Cora Beth were to get hitched, she would be free to leave Knotty Pine knowing the family was well cared for.
So what if she’d been doing a bit of daydreaming over him herself? It was just because he’d been so all-fired heroic the other day and, to be honest, handsome as all get out. But, even if the thought stung a bit, she was realistic enough to know a man like Ryland Lassiter wouldn’t fall for a girl like her.
Besides, she didn’t need a man to tie her down. Just the opposite – she wanted to cut her tightly-knotted bonds to this place so she could fly free.
In that respect, Ry was the answer to her prayers. God’s hand had been in the timing of his trip through Knotty Pine, she was certain of it.
Jo lifted her chin. If this tug of attraction she felt for him was a way of testing her resolve, she was more than up to the challenge. All she needed for her plan to work would be for someone to give Ry and Cora Beth a little push.
And no matter how much her silly heart protested, she was just the person to do it.
My second book on the 2018 re-release list The Hand-Me-Down Family will come out in December and it’s paired with Victoria Bylin’s The Maverick Preacher. This book was the very first one I published with Love Inspired Historical and it is based on a premise I’d been trying to develop for several years – that of a mail order bride that married her husband by proxy before she left home and then arrived in her new home to discover she was already a widow. It wasn’t until I married this with another tidbit from my ‘idea file’, that of a hero who left home to get out from under his ‘perfect’ brother’s shadow, that the story finally came together.
Here is an excerpt:
The minutes drew out as the driver unloaded luggage and parcels from the back of the stagecoach. It was hotter here in Texas than it had been in Ohio. Callie longed to loosen her tight-fitting bonnet, or better yet, take it off altogether, but she dare not. Not until she was away from prying eyes and safely inside her new home.
A number of townsfolk stopped to speak to her fellow passenger, Jack, but though she received a friendly nod or two, and more than one curious glance, no one stepped forward to greet her.
Finally, the last of the baggage and cargo was unloaded and the driver stepped inside the hotel with a mail sack. The man Jack lifted two of the bags, easily hefting the larger one up to his shoulder.
Callie couldn’t help but wonder – would her new husband be as fine and strong a figure of a man as this Jack?
As if feeling her eyes on him, the man paused and met her gaze. His expression was gruff and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Is someone meeting you?”
She smiled, grateful for his show of concern, reluctant though it might be. “Yes, thank you. I’m certain my husband will be along soon.”
Something akin to surprise flashed across his features at the word husband, but it was gone in an instant.
“Good.” He nodded and allowed his friend to take one of his bags. “If you’re sure you don’t need any help…”
But as Callie watched him walk away, it was as if the last link to her old life were being severed. A foolish notion since she really didn’t know this man at all. But before she could stop herself, she took a small step forward. “Excuse me.”
Both men turned, facing her with questioning glances.
“Ma’am?” Jack prompted.
“I was wondering if perhaps either of you know a Mr. Leland Tyler? He was sup…” Her voice tapered off as she saw their startled reactions.
Jack’s jaw tightened visibly. “Why would you be looking for Lanny?”
Callie noticed his familiar use of her husband’s name. “So you do know him.”
That tic near the corner of his mouth made another appearance. “Yes.” He didn’t expand on his one-word answer, and his expression remained closed, unreadable. “But you didn’t answer my question. How do you know Leland?”
Callie offered up a quick prayer that Mr. Tyler would arrive soon. He should be the one making the introductions to his neighbors and friends. “I’m Callista Johnson Tyler, his wife.”
“Wife!” Jack set his bag down with a loud thump and sent a sharp look his companion’s way. “You know what she’s talking about, Virgil?”
The other man shook his head. “Lanny never said anything about a new wife.”
They certainly were reacting strongly to her news. She knew Julia had only been gone about four months, but it wasn’t unusual for a widower to remarry so soon, especially when he had a young child to care for.
For that matter, why didn’t they already know about her? Surely Leland wouldn’t have kept such momentous news from his friends and neighbors? Unless he’d worried she wouldn’t show up.
Or was there another, more disturbing reason? Her heart beat faster as possibilities whirled through her mind.
Realizing the men were watching her, Callie tried to hide her confusion behind a confident air. “I’m not certain why Mr. Tyler chose to keep this a secret. Perhaps he was planning to surprise everyone. But be that as it may, I assure you, I am indeed Mrs. Leland Tyler. If you’ll be so good as to tell me where my husband can be found, I’m certain he’ll verify my identity.”
Jack took another step forward. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves first.” He swept an arm toward his companion. “This is Virgil Wilson.”
She smiled and nodded acknowledgement. “Mr. Wilson.”
The farmer touched the brim of his hat, ducking his head respectfully. “Ma’am.”
When she turned back to Jack he was studying her intently, as if trying to read something from her countenance. Holding her gaze, he extended his hand. “And I’m Leland’s brother Jack.”
So what do you think? Did one of these two stories pique your interest more than the other? If so, let me know why. I’m going to select two names from those responding and give each their choice of one of these two books. | English | NL | 966f22801e2a675b90036936e2b15178f6044c6f115a06bbadc2300a5db5afd4 |
A Queensland Crane Operator was recently prosecuted over the death of a fellow worker whilst operating a mobile crane.
The Incident Details
The defendant Robert Poida held a duty under s.28 of the Work Health and Safety Act 2011 being a worker employed as a crane operator at a workplace which carried out sandblasting and application of protective coatings to various items of steel product.
Poida was operating an 8 tonne mobile yard crane on 23 November 2015 within his employer’s workplace when he ran over and killed a pedestrian worker. The defendant was load-shifting a large steel pipe (13.3 meters in length and weighing 2.5 tonne) with the crane. He was assisted in this task by the worker. Poida was a supervisor at the workplace and had requested one of the staff to assist him by slinging the load and then walking alongside to steady it as the crane travelled to the lay-down area. A person carrying out these activities is required to hold a dogman license. Poida should not have asked the worker to carry out these tasks as he was not licensed. In steadying the load Poida permitted the worker to hold the end of the pipe and to walk in the vicinity of the crane’s left front wheel where he was struck and run over.
The defendant should have used a licensed dogman who should have steadied the load by attaching a tagline (available within the workplace and the defendant had participated in the development and was trained in his employer’s Safe Work Method Statement for load- shifting which required one to be used) and/or used a third-party spotter to ensure the pedestrian worker maintained a safe distance from the crane.
On 22 June 2018, Robert Poida pleaded guilty in the Ipswich Magistrates Court to breaching s.32 of the Work Health and Safety Act 2011, having failed to meet his work health and safety duties and was sentenced.
Magistrate David Shepherd fined the defendant $15,000 and ordered professional and court costs totalling $1,092.55.
In reaching a decision, the Magistrate accepted the risk to the pedestrian worker and that it seemed the defendant, who was an experienced crane operator, had become too familiar with his crane duties and familiarity had a part to play in the breach, that is, permitting the worker to be in close proximity to the crane’s wheel. His Honour observed that the defendant had a number of responsibilities with regard to the work activity and that it was his decision not to use the tag-line. His Honour accepted that one of the objects of the Act was to ensure workers were afforded the highest levels of protection when at work. His Honour stated that the nature of the offending was serious and that deterrence was a primary consideration to ensure workers operated large items of plant safely within workplaces.
Magistrate Shepherd accepted that the crane defects (prosecuted separately) were not causative of the fatal incident, it occurred due to the inadequate work method.
In deciding penalty his Honour took in to account the principles under the Penalties and Sentences Act, that the defendant had no previous conviction for any work health and safety breach and that he had entered an early plea of guilty. His Honour also took in to account the character references tendered along with medical reports relating to the defendant. His Honour recorded a conviction due to the defendant’s serious breach of the Act which resulted in a workers death noting that the circumstances of the breach displaced the lack of prior history, early plea and the good references tendered. | English | NL | 0bde3c1bc2840233e21c5619a3e88a7456e09160375b9df1f670796e7bdb5ccc |
My Son Wears Heels: One Mom's Journey from Clueless to Kickass
Raising a gender creative child from toddler to adult.
In 1992, Julie Tarney’s only child, Harry, told her, “Inside my head I’m a girl.” He was two years old.
Julie had no idea what that meant. She felt disoriented. Wasn’t it her role to encourage and support her child? Surely she had to set some limits to his self-expression—or did she? Would he be bullied? Could she do the right thing? What was the right thing?
The internet was no help, because there was no internet. And there were zero books for a mom scrambling to understand a toddler who had definite ideas about his gender, regardless of how Nature had endowed him. Terms such as transgender, gender nonconforming, and gender creative were rare or nonexistent.
There were, however, mainstream experts who theorized that a “sissy” boy was the result of a domineering mother. Julie couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to care what her neighbors thought, but she did care. “Domineering mother” meant controlling mother. It meant bad mother. It meant her mother.
Lacking a positive role model of her own, and fearful of being judged as a mom who was making her son “too feminine,” Julie embarked on an unexpected parenting path. Despite some missteps, and with no map to guide her, she learned to rely on her instincts. She listened carefully, kept an open mind, and as long as Harry was happy, she let him lead the way. Julie eventually realized that Harry knew who he was all along. Her job was simply to love and support him unconditionally, allowing him to be his authentic self. This story of a mother embracing her child’s uniqueness and her own will resonate with all families. | English | NL | 6f15a58f48d22249dfb69e9aa2ad4ebb5817af2291bea3f9fc0b4451571fd098 |
The children in Elder, Mulberry and Oak came back to school to a surprising discovery in the school attic. It was an old diary from the year 1818 with a handwritten note that said, “If this diary is found, you need to look in the ground. Westwood Primary School is where you’ll find the time capsule. Charlotte Smith that is me. Can you complete my family tree?” After a lot of thinking and searching we found a time capsule buried in the vegetable patch! There were a couple of clues and the family tree that needed completing in time for Christmas so the children got to work!
After that, they looked inside the time capsule again and found some coal. They wanted to explore what the conditions in the mines would have been like. They met their boss (Mr Salt) and imagineered going down the mines in the lift.
When there, the children found their classrooms transformed into coal mines: the lights were turned out, the windows covered in black paper and black bags hung from the tables. This led the children to writing a setting description. They imagineered going in the mine and shared lots of ideas about what the miners would have experienced.
The children in Oak class wrote their ideas on post-its during a Burn 2 Learn and put these onto pictures of the mines.
In Mulberry they included expanded noun phrases based on what they had seen down the mine and after looking at photographs.
In Oak class they then took all they had learnt about coal mining to write a non-chronological report. They first had to hunt around the classroom for some conjunctions to then use in their writing.
The children in Mulberry then found another clue that led them to a Victorian Mill. They investigated what life would have been like for children working in a Victorian Mill before writing a diary as a child worker.
They then put themselves into the shoes of the mill worker again to imagine they were weaving. The children in Oak and Elder class wove Christmas place mats before writing instructions focusing on using prepositions or adverbs of time. | English | NL | b9c7b0512aaf1577f97c73af9b6f725c7f9da96ad8bc7d72fbd86e73be821cd0 |
Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!
The Oiliest Secret Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Review of Novel-in-Progress Chapter 7
He stood seven feet tall with a protruding forehead and a chest like a bearskin rug. In all her life, Jenna Strumpet had never seen such a beautiful specimen.
She hoisted herself off of the examining table and dusted herself off. She hadn’t expected to find him here, among hundreds of boxes of carefully categorized artifacts, including individually wrapped and labeled dinosaur bones, some of which, perhaps, contained the fossilized remains of the very Tyrannosaurus Rex who, not five minutes ago, had plowed her like a corn field. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Not now. Not while she felt so satisfied, and so sore. It would take months, maybe years to recover. No, this was not the time to fall in love.
And yet, ever since she’d been deserted by her former lovers not five minutes earlier, not since the two squabbling prehistoric specters had vanished into thin air two minutes after that, revealing, as if by a lifted curtain, another figure, not quite as large as a dinosaur, but still very large, and most impressive.
The Monkey Man Monster, or TMMM for short, had evolved quite nicely in recent days. No longer did he seek to destroy those who would deny his natural ability to adapt to his surroundings. He no longer felt any need to prove himself by finding conservative republicans, waiting outside their doors, and the bashing the shit out of them with a club. Why waste your time on people who were stuck in the past. Life had so much more to offer.
He no longer dressed as one would expect from a caveman. Gone was the strip of saber tooth tiger skin, replaced by a suit of clothes that would have been at the height of fashion in the Victorian era. He a heavy wool suit, black of course, a bowler’s hat, and a monocle.
“Hello,” he said the high nasally manner of British aristocracy.
“Oh,” Jenna said as she ran her hand through her hair. “Hello yourself.”
“Is it me or is it rather hot in here?” asked TMMM, better known as the Monkey Man Monster. He’d already unbuttoned his shirt down to his belly button, but had not managed to loosen his tie, only to throw it over his shoulder.
“It’s hot in here and it’s you,” Jenna said. She unbuttoned several buttons of her blouse to catch up.
“A proper young lady always wears a hoop skirt during formal occasions,” TMMM, by which I mean The Monkey Man Monster, informed her.
“Good thing I’m not a proper young lady,” Jenna said. “So tell me,” she began as she strutted up to him and grabbed him by the tie, “are you monkey, a monster, or are you a man?” She emphasized the word man.
“I prefer the term, Neanderthal American. My given name is Ug, although I prefer to be called Thaddeus.”
“I like you whatever you are.”
“Madam, you forget yourself. A woman should never speak to a man in such an untoward manner, lest she be considered a harlot.”
“You know, “Jenna said as she extended her arm to the massive brute with the newly discovered sexist tendencies. “I’ve always considered myself an old-fashioned girl. I think we’re going to get along just fine. ”
Thaddeus took her arm in his. “Well, I say,” he said. He checked his pocket watch, slipped the timepiece into his vest pocket, adjusted his monacle, and then escorted her to the exit.
Outside the museum, Jenna paused, prompting Tad to ask if there was something he could do to assist her. Jenna shook her head. "I just remembered something I need to get at the pharmacy on the way home."
"Oh?" Tad asked, raising his eyebrows, and dropping the monocle. "What's that?"
Jenna gave him a sly wink. "A lady never reveals her secrets." | English | NL | ea0a107a1e8c6db04ae26fb9f2fe88dbfb2ca3307f1d4e5bda32b3709a5a57e5 |
March: Parents as Reading Partners Month!
This past March was Parents as Reading Partners Month! For the month of March, 250 participating students agreed to read together with a partner every night. Students tracked their reading hours and handed them in to Cottle Librarian, Ms. Regan at the end of the month. All participants were recognized with certificates in April.
To spark further excitement for reading, on March 22, illustrator and author Judith Caseley visited William E. Cottle School. Ms. Caseley led assemblies geared at bringing her stories to life as well as inspiring an interest in writing and illustrating. The author/illustrator also autographed books and participated in a luncheon where a representative from each class had an opportunity to ask questions about her books as well as about her career path. In preparation for the visit, students read from Ms. Caseley’s catalog of over thirty-eight works in order to better understand her storytelling and use of illustration.
The month of March was full of additional activities aimed at developing a love of reading and writing.
- Students celebrated Read Across America Day and Dr. Suess' birthday on March 2 by wearing red.
- Students in grades 4 and 5 reflected on their writing this year and selected the pieces they were most proud of to display on a board outside the main office.
- A book swap was held on March 27 allowing students to trade in their favorite reads for new titles that interest them.
- The PTA program Books-n-Bites has also contributed to the month. The program organized lunchtime book groups led by parents, teachers and administrators. | English | NL | 21c52e3c472a79c489c6d3cc86f613e0003cb44d49ea9caca2c3674e6caa64ca |
On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there.
Now both Jesus and His disciples were invited to the wedding.
And when they ran out of wine, the mother of Jesus said to Him, "They have no wine."
Jesus said to her, "Woman, what does your concern have to do with Me? My hour has not yet come."
His mother said to the servants, "Whatever He says to you, do it."
Now there were set there six waterpots of stone, according to the manner of purification of the Jews, containing twenty or thirty gallons apiece.
Jesus said to them, "Fill the waterpots with water." And they filled them up to the brim.
And He said to them, "Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast." And they took it.
When the master of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and did not know where it came from (but the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom.
And he said to him, "Every man at the beginning sets out the good wine, and when the guests have well drunk, then the inferior. You have kept the good wine until now!"
This beginning of signs Jesus did in Cana of Galilee, and manifested His glory; and His disciples believed in Him.
After this He went down to Capernaum, He, His mother, His brothers, and His disciples; and they did not stay there many days.
Now the Passover of the Jews was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
And He found in the temple those who sold oxen and sheep and doves, and the moneychangers doing business.
When He had made a whip of cords, He drove them all out of the temple, with the sheep and the oxen, and poured out the changers' money and overturned the tables.
And He said to those who sold doves, "Take these things away! Do not make My Father's house a house of merchandise!"
Then His disciples remembered that it was written, "Zeal for Your house has eaten Me up."
So the Jews answered and said to Him, "What sign do You show to us, since You do these things?"
Jesus answered and said to them, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up."
Then the Jews said, "It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will You raise it up in three days?"
But He was speaking of the temple of His body.
Therefore, when He had risen from the dead, His disciples remembered that He had said this to them; and they believed the Scripture and the word which Jesus had said.
Now when He was in Jerusalem at the Passover, during the feast, many believed in His name when they saw the signs which He did.
But Jesus did not commit Himself to them, because He knew all men,
and had no need that anyone should testify of man, for He knew what was in man. | English | NL | 3707f6fb274afc2e0ce7e24ec25bafd9254f359761f73b02d9dd13934b07d0c4 |
On June 4, 1805, a ship from London sailed into the harbor of Philadelphia, and a toothless 56-year-old Italian man disembarked. He was completely broke, having gambled away all his money on the two-month passage from Europe, so he borrowed $32 to pay the customs taxes on his violin, his tea urn, his carpet and his trunk of Italian literature.
An observer at the scene would never have guessed that here stood one of the greatest librettists in the history of music, but sure enough, it was Lorenzo Da Ponte, a name that would be forever yoked to the beloved operas that his graceful, witty and songlike poetry enabled Mozart to create: "Le Nozze di Figaro," "Don Giovanni" and "Così Fan Tutte."
Da Ponte never tired of dropping Mozart's name, but his time in Vienna as the poet of the Italian opera, appointed by Emperor Joseph II, was in truth only one exciting episode in a long and fantastically colorful life. After leaving Vienna in 1791 and wending his way through Europe for more than a decade, seemingly always on the run from creditors and plagued by financial woes, Da Ponte joined his unofficial wife and children in this country. He lived out his final three decades here as a tireless emissary of Italian culture, a poet of the European Enlightenment magisterially adrift in a young, rough-and-tumble America. He died in New York in 1838 at 89.
Even today, the story of Da Ponte's American chapter remains little known, despite the entertaining memoirs he left behind, recounting not only his picaresque adventures in Europe as a connoisseur of feminine beauty and friend of Casanova, but also his experiences in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania, running a grocery store, trading in medical supplies and liquor, selling Italian books, importing an Italian opera company and, finally, teaching the language and literature he loved to students, both in private lessons and as the first professor of Italian at Columbia University. It was an afterlife worthy of his stage creations.
This week Columbia's Italian Academy for Advanced Studies is celebrating the 200th anniversary of Da Ponte's arrival in America. "Lorenzo Da Ponte, a Bridge From Italy to New York" includes three vocal recitals, beginning tonight with the mezzo-soprano Krista River and the pianist Alison D'Amato performing settings of Da Ponte texts by Mozart, Bellini, Verdi, Storace and others. The Da Ponte focus continues on Oct. 10 and 11, with an academic symposium and an exhibition devoted to his life and legacy, co-sponsored by the Da Ponte Institute of Vienna.
"Da Ponte was the first representative of cosmopolitan enlightened European culture in America," said David Freedberg, director of the Italian Academy. "He was the bridge. There's something telling and very sad about the fact that he remains a completely unknown figure in the history of American cultural life. America ignored him when he came and has continued to ignore him. This is how we're trying to celebrate him."
Born into a Jewish family in Ceneda in 1749, Da Ponte was converted and baptized after his mother's death so that his father could marry a young Catholic woman. He entered the seminary, where he received a rigorous classical education, and even became a priest before embarking on what one might call protracted field research for his future work on "Don Giovanni." By the time he arrived in America, however, he had become more of a family man and used his wife's money to open a grocery store, chuckling in his memoirs about how his "poet's hand" was now asked to measure out tea and tobacco.
But business suited Da Ponte as poorly as the priesthood. His memoirs, while famously exaggerated, present him as a kind of magnet for rogues and rapscallions, or as he described them, "the poisonous leeches who are ever in pursuit of honest people to suck their blood and repay them then with disdain, criticism, and often slander." Da Ponte was constantly on the verge of financial ruin induced by a combination of gullibility, genuine misfortune and the incorrigible generosity of his big Italian heart.
His next incarnation as a teacher and cultural impresario suited him far better, though it led to no greater financial security. He got his start thanks to a chance meeting with Clement Moore, later immortalized as the author of "The Night Before Christmas." The well-connected Moore helped Da Ponte convince prominent New York families to send their sons and daughters to him to study Italian language and literature. Judging from surviving anecdotes, Da Ponte was a devoted and gifted teacher, even building a small stage in his house on which his students could perform. But the teaching business was not steady, and Da Ponte returned to odd jobs, trading goods and taking in boarders, to whom a newspaper ad promised that "a knowledge of Italian may be acquired without additional expense."
According to his biographer, Sheila Hodges, the shortage of Italian books in New York was a tremendous obstacle for Da Ponte, and he was shocked to discover how hard it was to find an Italian dictionary. Even Columbia's library, he reported, had only one "worm-eaten Boccaccio with a broken binding." He began importing books, opened a bookstore and traveled door-to-door hawking Dante, Machiavelli, Petrarch and others. By the end of his life he claimed to have imported more than 26,000 volumes, many of which ended up at the Library of Congress, the New York Public Library and Columbia University.
But Da Ponte knew that Italian books alone could not win over the American public. They needed -- of course -- the Italian opera, which he described simply as "the noblest and most pleasurable of all the many spectacles the human intelligence ever invented." Already an octogenarian, he raised the money to bring a company of 53 Italian singers, for a tour that nearly bankrupted him. Da Ponte was forced to sell his beloved books, and he addressed them in a little poem that will be on display at the Columbia exhibition: "My heart is torn apart in giving you away; for in one single moment I lose what I love most."
Still one more scheme followed, as Da Ponte raised funds for a lavish Italian Opera House that opened in New York in 1833 and burned down six years later. Not surprisingly, by the end of his life he was an embittered old man. He lived an eternity by the standards of the day, but not quite long enough to see Italian culture flower here a half century later.
The current acknowledgment is indeed overdue. Even during his lifetime, Da Ponte lamented: "In more than twenty years not one charitable writer has been found who has deigned to put down in black on a small piece of paper, so that the literary world, and in particular the Italians, may learn about it, what I have done in America!" | English | NL | 01544b4f9c46ccd82527bf83906c8eee11d13343740cd3bda44cd7365e46b19a |
Authors: Helen Brenna
Tags: #An Island To Remember
The kid stepped off the sidewalk and onto the cobblestone road. A carriage clip-clopped its merry way down the street. Young driver. College kid. Two more steps and—
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” The carriage driver called, spotting the child.
Too late. Brakes weren’t holding. A bystander on the sidewalk called, “Watch out!” Jonas shot out into the street. The mother turned and screamed. Jonas dodged a bicyclist and the lead horse, scooped up the kid, and deposited him on the sidewalk.
The carriage slowed to a stop. “Everyone all right?” the driver asked.
“Peachy,” Jonas grunted as pain seized him.
“Oh, my God.” The mother lifted the little boy into her arms, looking as if she might faint.
“Are you all right?” The father held Jonas’s gaze.
Clenching his jaw, Jonas nodded and waited for the pain to subside.
“Thank you,” the man said. “Is there some—”
“No. Don’t worry about it.”
Limping back across the street, Jonas walked up to the first restaurant he ran across, a place called Duffy’s Pub. Laughter and music spilled out onto the sidewalk and, not in the mood for people, he almost turned away. Then the scent of garlic and grilled meat wafted toward him from the alley and his stomach made the decision for him.
Inside, he surveyed the crowd. From the dress and paraphernalia, tourists most assuredly mixed with locals at the tables and booths. Immediately, his eyes latched on Missy at the bar, standing next to the good doctor. Knowing her highbrow background, it seemed strange seeing her in this kind of setting, but there was something about a bar that brought out the best in Missy. Laughing and smiling, she looked more gorgeous than the first night he’d met her.
Doctor Sean surely noticed. He was tall, had to lean down to talk in her ear. She laughed at whatever he said and they both looked at something in her arms.
What the—? A baby. So focused on her interacting with the doctor, he’d totally missed the fact that she was holding a little boy. The sight of her smiling at the kid tugged at Jonas’s heart in a strange way.
While they’d been married they’d mentioned kids only once. Waiting had been the consensus and she’d seemed content. She was young. She had all the time in the world for children. And him? He’d wanted to be more stable before they went that route. A house. A job that didn’t take him out of town or undercover.
Clearly, her vision had changed. She wanted kids. Now.
She glanced at Sean and they laughed together, apparently at something the baby had done. Again, jealousy reared up inside Jonas. He was about to turn around and find another restaurant when she caught sight of him. No way to back out now.
Ignoring the lingering ache in his side, he walked over to where she was standing at the bar. “Hey.”
“Hi.” When she gripped the crystals on the necklace around her neck, presumably seeking protection from him, he looked away. He’d never wanted to hurt her. He’d truly thought he’d been doing her a favor by dying. Coming back? That he hadn’t given much thought, but who could think with a bullet wound in the side?
“Jonas. This is Sarah, Hannah, Sean and Garrett,” Missy said, making introductions. “Everyone, this is my brother, Jonas.”
He nodded at each person in turn, but the doctor only glared at him. When the Setterbergs joined the group, Jonas straightened his shoulders and prepared himself for a few more dirty looks. There was no point in trying to butter them up with a smile. They already hated him.
“Erica, bring this man a beer,” Ron said, patting Jonas on the back. “He just saved a little boy out front from getting run over by a horse.”
As Ron went on explaining what happened, Jonas ducked his head. The last thing he wanted was to draw more attention to himself.
Jan raised her eyebrows at him and whispered, “Guess sometimes there’s more to a man than meets the eye.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Jonas muttered.
“That’s some fast action,” Sarah said. “You must be feeling better.”
Jonas glanced at the woman, wondering what exactly that comment meant. Missy wouldn’t have told anyone about his gunshot wound. “Yeah, thanks, I do feel better,” he hedged. “Except I’m starving.”
“You can order something from Erica,” Garrett said, studying him, taking him apart piece by piece. “My wife.”
If that man wasn’t a cop, Jonas wasn’t Bureau. “Thanks.” Jonas turned as the bartender set a frosty mug of beer in front of him and ordered a basket of chicken fingers as an appetizer, as well as a tenderloin steak, complete with a baked potato, green beans and a salad.
From there the group peppered him with questions to which he responded with what he hoped were innocuous half truths. He’d spent most of the past four years lying to infiltrate and then operate amidst a drug cartel. What was one more night?
As soon as the group let up on their interrogation, Missy pulled him slightly aside. “Thank you for saving that little boy.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Maybe if you kept real food in your house, your guests wouldn’t need to head into town for a decent meal.”
She glanced away.
Jonas felt the stirrings of a long-dormant conscience chew at his stomach. “I’ll go someplace else. Sound like a better plan?”
“You can’t. Everyone here will think it’s odd. Funny, but my girlfriends want to get to know my
“Tell them the truth, Miss.”
“Why should I? You’ll be gone in no time. I still want to live here. In anonymity. In peace.”
Once upon a time, there used to be a decent, loving man under that cold, hard shell. To bring him out she would’ve run her hands along his shoulders, or dragged her fingers across his scalp to ease his tension. Plant a gentle, quiet kiss on his cheek. He would’ve glanced at her and all his worries would’ve whooshed out of him like a balloon losing air. Then he would’ve focused all that attention on her. There was no better feeling in the world than being the focus of Jonas’s attention.
But that was a long time ago, Missy mused. Another life.
Jonas turned from the bar with his second beer and inadvertently brushed his arm along hers. For a moment, his gaze latched on to hers and it was as if they were alone together in the room, remembering, reliving.
She inched away from him, but the crowd seemed to only push him closer. As if sensing her growing agitation, Sean whispered in her ear, “Come on. Let’s dance.”
Grateful for the distraction, Missy followed him onto the floor.
“Is it just me, or was the tension getting thick over there?” he asked, smiling.
She chuckled and walked into his arms for a slow rock song.
“How’d you end up marrying that guy, anyway? He doesn’t seem like your type.”
“No, I suppose not.” What was her type? A variety of men had come and gone through Duffy’s over the past several years. Golfers, fishermen, old, young, rich, poor. She’d flirted here and there, even dated on occasion, but there’d never once been a man like Jonas.
Sex may have been what had brought her to him, but what had kept her in his arms, what had convinced her to spend the rest of her life with Jonas, had been the way he’d simply let her be. The exact opposite of her father, he’d never once tried to control, direct or change her. Whether she wanted to learn yoga, or how to throw clay pots, taking a cooking class or working at a women’s shelter, he’d supported her every move. If only he’d loved her more than his job.
She glanced toward the bar and found Jonas watching her and Sean, his gaze entirely unreadable. He took a long pull on his beer, but his eyes never left the two of them.
Sean spun her around. “Don’t look now, but he’s watching.”
She laughed. Sean could always make her laugh. When they spun back around, Jonas was standing a foot away. Sean stopped.
“I’d like to dance with my…sister, if you don’t mind.”
Sean glared at Jonas and then glanced at Missy. Jonas never took his eyes off her face.
“It’s all right,” she said, knowing she’d draw more attention to them by refusing.
Sean stepped back and Jonas immediately took her hand and drew her to the far corner of the floor where they weren’t at all visible to her friends at the bar. The song on the jukebox was a new rock song with a fairly fast beat, but he held out his arms for a slow dance.
“No.” She shook her head.
Before she could turn away, he tugged her into his arms and moved half-time, if even, to the beat of the music.
“If I were Sean,” he murmured, “there’s no way in hell I’d let you dance with me.”
“Well, you’re not Sean. Not even close.”
“He’s not your type, Missy.”
“Oh, and you are?” She tried to pull away, but the bullet wound apparently hadn’t impacted his arm strength. His hold on her was like a vise. He wasn’t going to let go.
For a moment, she stopped fighting it. Closing her eyes, she let herself imagine they’d gone back in time to the first few months of their marriage, when they’d been blissfully happy, to a time when his work hadn’t yet intruded.
Resting his cheek against the side of her head, he brought her hand to his chest and drew her closer. She felt the solid, but quick thudding of his heart under her hand as his hips pressed against hers, and something warm and liquid and needy fired to life inside her. “What do you want, Jonas?”
“That’s simple,” he whispered in her ear. “You.” His voice was raspy and soft and made her stomach quiver.
“You had your chance.”
Before this went too far, she yanked away from him and quickly made an exit along one side of the dance floor. All of her friends at the bar were too busy talking and laughing to notice her heading to the bathroom. She pushed open the door and breathed a sigh of relief that there was no one at the sinks and the stalls were empty, giving her a chance to compose herself. Running her hands under cold water, she splashed her cheeks.
Now what? If she’d known Jonas was going to come here, she would’ve gone straight home after work. Then again, better late than never. She left the bathroom, planning to quietly exit via the alley, only to find Garrett waiting for her in the hall.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Actually, I’m not feeling all that well. I think I’ll head home.” She moved toward the rear exit.
“Missy?” Garrett said softly. “I see the way Jonas watches you. If he’s your brother, I’m the King of freaking England.”
“I’m sorry, Garrett.” She turned. “It’s…private.”
“Just tell me one thing. Are you safe?”
In the way he meant? “Yes. Absolutely.”
“Okay then.” Garrett nodded. “You need help, day or night, all you got to do is call.”
“I know that, Garrett.” Guilt over misleading the islanders overwhelmed her. “Thank you.” Somehow, someway, she had to find a way to make things right with her friends. Soon. “Will you tell everyone I’ve gone home?”
“Sure.” Garrett went back to the bar.
Missy walked the rest of the way down the hall and pushed through the rear exit. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath and relaxed. Alone. Thank God.
“Going somewhere?” Jonas was leaning against the brick wall of the building, obviously having anticipated her move.
“Home.” She took a step toward Main, but he blocked her path. “Don’t touch me.” She put up her hands to warn him off. If he kissed her, she’d be a goner. His hands, she could maybe fight, but his lips, his mouth on hers? She had no defense against him.
He didn’t move. His feet remained planted in the same spot on the cobblestone, but to Missy it felt as if he’d come to stand only inches from her. She could’ve sworn she felt his breath fan her neck, his heat on her arms.
“Why, Missy?” he breathed. “What are you afraid of?” His gaze moved to her lips. He came toward her and slowly, slowly bent his head toward her. His mouth settled on her forehead. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to.
Closing her eyes, her head tilted back as if it were suddenly as heavy as a bowling ball. His lips trailed down her nose. It seemed forever before the first, warm stroke of his lips against her mouth. Then his tongue licked at hers, and a groan sounded. Hers, his, she couldn’t be sure.
“We had our chance, Jonas,” she whispered. “Everything went bad.”
“Not everything.” His gaze simmered with memories and she felt herself melting with the heat coming off him. “I know one thing that was always good between us.”
“No more talking,” he said, bending his head toward her. “All it ever did was get us into trouble.” His lips sliding against her cheek and down her neck.
She pressed back against the brick wall, wishing she could slip through it, knowing exactly what was going to happen if she couldn’t stop this. She put her hands against his chest, in a ridiculously feeble attempt to push him away. He only laced his fingers through hers and slowly drew her hands over her head. Then he was against her, pressing into her and all she wanted was to be under him, to feel his weight pressing on her.
“We always had this,” he murmured against her lips and kissed her. He pushed the line, was insistent, but not needy. Resolute in his movements, but not arrogant.
She tilted her head, unintentionally urging him on and he dipped his tongue inside her mouth, at once testing and teasing. He knew her better than she knew herself, read her body, her touch, her sighs. She would never be able to walk away from him. Not while his hands were on her, not while she wanted him with an ache four years in the making.
Her bones turned liquid, her want quickly spiraled into need. There was only one thing she could do to stop this madness. “No,” she breathed, knowing he would never force her.
“You don’t mean that.”
She closed her eyes and pushed the word from her mouth. “No!”
His hands and lips stilled for a moment. “You’re as much mine today, Missy, as you were that first night in Quantico. There’s no other man who can make you feel the way I do, and you know it.”
She ran her hand over her mouth, trying to dispel the tingling sensation. “Just because you can, Jonas, doesn’t mean you should.” Summoning every ounce of willpower, she turned and walked swiftly home. | English | NL | 8e999e779c8c4b909b3b1810c24072a23beb2da8df760b74d7606ea9ad1a55e7 |
William Kade was a renowned fighter who fought hard and played dirty. He titillated all women and was rejected by none – he was an Original Bad Boy.
An orphan who came from nothing, William became a ruthless businessman who desired to build an empire from a gaming club and an illegal fight club with his best friend and mentor, Charles Lindon.
But when profits declined, Charles and William ventured into a new world and decided to open the first hardcore sex club in the U.S. More money was needed to expand their business; however, when debts of the gambling club weren’t being paid, they were forced to take drastic measures to secure a steady cash flow. Drastic measures that involved Ivy, a woman William already had unfinished business with. A woman that might be the only female that equally annoyed and intrigued him.
When William and Ivy start to play a game, the stakes become higher with each passing day until no one can find a sane way out anymore.
No one feels the depth of your pain, only your own heart.
A dark, erotic historical romance.
Book one of The Original Bad Boys series. All books in this series are standalones and can be read in random order.
From Soraya Naomi, Amazon Bestselling Author of the Mafia Romance, Chicago Syndicate series.
“Liar,” he said softly with an icy bite. “I don’t bore you, and my dear Ivy, you do the exact opposite to me.” He drew her even closer to him. “Don’t tempt me.” An amused warning was directed at her.
“How am I tempting you?” she threw back with an absolute bothered countenance.
He gave her a dark, jaded smile and didn’t answer her since he didn’t comprehend himself how she was tempting him. William was having a lot of trouble melting this ice princess, and why he’d actually asked her to dance in the first place evaded him right now. She was exasperating; why did she have an aversion to him? It surprised him that he possessed such an infatuation for this perfect stranger.
As he took in her delicate features, he remembered why he’d asked her to dance. She was oblivious to how she shimmered with an innate sensuality. There was something in her sky-blue eyes that betrayed a hidden desire, or fear. He couldn’t quite make out which one, and usually, he could read people easily because Charles had taught William to notice and how to interpret people’s mannerisms. And he still didn’t know her age but guessed she must be eighteen or nineteen.
Finally, when some of the other guests started to watch their closeness, William allowed her to take a small step back, and he ended their dance in uncomfortable silence. He escorted Ivy away from the crowded dance floor as people kept brushing past him and decided he’d had enough of teasing her.
“My lady.” He bowed slightly and winked, detecting a small twitch in her pretty pink lips.
She inclined her chin, and he turned, feeling her gaze burning into his back as he walked away, toward Charles on the other side of the room.
William was unsure how he felt about their odd encounters, and he couldn’t refrain from looking back one more time. Ivy had a full grin on her face, causing William to frown at this weird woman. He shook his head and joined Charles; however, before he could even open his mouth, there was an uproar among a few of the couples who were dancing nearby.
William and Charles scrutinized the commotion.
The musicians kept playing, but a stream of couples moved to the side, and one man’s voice came booming over the music, “Who took it? No one leaves this ballroom! I knew I felt something a few minutes ago!” Said gentleman was checking all his pockets.
As William watched the man, a strange sensation came over him, and he searched for Ivy, who was now holding a tall glass in her hand, staring at him. There was something in the way she was smirking at him that made him check his own inside jacket pocket, and he was completely surprised to find a lightweight wallet in there – one that was not his.
He muttered under his breath, “Are you kidding me?!”
William glared back at Ivy while gritting his teeth; he couldn’t believe she’d just set him up.
“William.” Charles regarded him with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“She fucking set me up!”
The crease in Charles’s forehead deepened as he stepped closer to William so no one overheard their words. “What are you talking about?”
I read many genres but favor intense, dark, seductive, and provocative novels where the male character loves fiercely, without remorse or boundaries. I also adore forbidden love tales and have an odd fascination with kidnapping romances. No, I don't secretly want to be kidnapped, though!
I have a passionate obsession with the written word and indulge in chocolate pastries much too often.
My debut novel For Fallon (Chicago Syndicate, #1) was released on July 26, 2014. I’m honored that For Fallon won “Best Breakout Novel 2014” in the Novel Grounds Semi Annual Literary Awards. | English | NL | 3be9e9164e59e6da03c25ab3c2d460dc17319dac8547e49c372816d1b5907a13 |
A castoff wide receiver from the Miami
Dolphins, Chicago-area native Gary Fencik was acquired by the Bears in 1976 and
quickly was switched to safety. By 1977, Fencik was starting in the defensive
backfield with fellow safety Doug Plank, a duo dubbed the "Hitmen". And hit
they did as the Plank/Fencik combo was known and feared throughout the NFL.
Fencik played free safety, and while the strong safety next to him changed many
times (from Plank to Todd Bell to Dave Duerson), Fencik missed very few games
in his NFL career. He made the Pro Bowl in 1980-1981 and was named to the
all-NFL team the latter year as well. A play etched in Bear fans' memories was
the vicious hit he put on a Redskin during the 1985 meeting between the two
teams at Soldier Field, when Fencik went airborne to level his opponent.
Fencik's retirement in 1987 was overshadowed by that of teammate Walter Payton,
but Fencik was still honored on the field as a rare Bear. He retired at the
Bears' leader in interceptions (38) and tackles. | English | NL | c510bc9217a2c34345d2807f9703e6b2b8648c4da5d6966c11eb7cc78abe440c |
Gelder Kunz, Dora van - Red spots all over the emotional field
Type of Spiritual Experience
A description of the experience
Breakthrough to Creativity – Dr Shafica Karagulla
Diane proved to be a constant source of amazement to me. I discovered that not only was she aware of the condition of the physical body and its energy field but she also saw an emotional or sentient field. According to her description this field extends a foot to eighteen inches from the periphery of the body and is ovoid in form. In this field she sees colors and energy patterns which indicate emotional states and conditions.
One afternoon Diane arrived for some of our experimental work and I was late finishing an interview with a former patient who had insisted on seeing me. The particular patient was an extremely self-centered individual who actually had very little wrong with her. She always insisted upon getting as much attention as possible from everybody in her vicinity. I am inclined to be rather impatient with people who seem to want attention and who are not truly ill. I finally ushered the patient in question to the door, pleasantly and in my best professional manner. I was giving every appearance of being unruffled and in the best of moods. Knowing that Diane could see the emotional field, I turned to her and asked her what she thought of my present emotional state.
She replied with her characteristic straightforwardness, "You are very exasperated and irritated. The patient annoyed you very much."
"How do you know?" I asked, somewhat taken aback that she had read me so clearly.
Diane laughed. "I see little red spots all over your emotional field, like measles."
I had to admit that she was correct. I concluded that it was difficult to hide anything from Diane, and that it was fortunate that her friends were not aware of this particular aspect of her HSP ability. | English | NL | 419dda078b3f42061cdf7cdf3ce42a4d03658ab2416f631a525cca89bd717cde |
Jackie Chan is a man who can punch bricks clean in half while holding a raw egg without breaking the egg and is capable of beating people to death with everything from a ladder to a broom. One thing Chan has trouble with however is speaking English, which is how while filming Rush Hour 3 someone managed to make him admit to watching horse porn.
Now although Chan has been appearing in movies speaking English since the 80’s and has even dubbed over a bunch of his own movies, Chan wasn’t fluent in English for many years after arriving in the US in the late 70’s.
Chan initially learned English through immersion, arriving in the US in the late 70’s and basically spending his time absorbing every piece of Western media he could get his hands on. Although Chan reportedly picked up on English exceptionally quickly and could arguably speak the language better than 98% of his co-stars could speak Chinese after only a few months, he still struggled with its finer points.
As a result, for most of his English films Chan had to be coached by the production crew on how to pronounce certain words, resulting in him being spoon-fed most of his lines phonetically.
This led to a lot of shenanigans behinds the scenes, most notably on the set of Rush Hour 3 where Chan seemingly had more trouble shooting dialogue scenes than fight scenes. For example, for one scene in which Chan’s character casually suggests watching some pornography, he had to do like 20 takes. The crew, spying the opportunity for mischief, decided it would be funny to suggest a variety of things Chan’s character could specifically seek out in his adult entertainment. This resulted in outtakes which show Chan admitting to liking everything from lesbian prison porn to having a foot fetish.
Most amusingly one of the lines Chan was fed was “I like the ones with the horses“, prompting almost instantaneous scene-ruining and barely stifled laughter from the crew. Chan, sensing something is amiss, breaks character and asks a member of the crew “are you teaching me bad words?” as Chris Tucker totally loses his shit .
Moments later, the exact same thing happens again when Chan is told to admit to liking pornography with hairy women in it. | English | NL | 6c72f94122f4845ec70505b3faa0cd09e6ed9abe629ef38515f3e16d3c9933e7 |
Hello and today I’m starting a new series called “The anomalies” where I basically analyse diverse characters that are out of the ordinary in the category their based like… Hikigaya Hachiman from SNAFU in the school romance genre.
Genre: Game, psychological
Duration: 2 seasons, 18 eps(ongoing)
The way Yumeko is first portrayed in the first gamble she participates in already introduces who she is to the audience and why she’s the main character as she’s a demon dressed in white since when she’s outside of gambling we see her as innocent and pure but once she gets deep into a gamble she transforms into almost an unreadable manipulative sadist but, one that we can easily love as what she brings to the gaming genre is fresh; in my opinion at least since I’ve never seen a character quite like her.
I think I’d also class her into the gamechanger category basically meaning characters that mess with the school system like Ayanokouji in classroom of the elite. I think this is due to how she constantly breaks her opponents psychologically exposing their faults and methods to gambling which is basically “stop cheating” or like exposing their belief of how gambling should work. You could even say she’s a fascist since she constantly reinstates her belief of the essence of gambling pushing this onto others whether that’s her intention or not followed with the insane over the top faces she pulls.
Yumeko is well known as a compulsive gambler as she doesn’t have the typical intentions a gamble offers like most people would gamble to win money or a prize but what makes Yumeko unique is her goal to purely enjoy the risks of gambling as she gets off from the danger a gamble holds which is what makes her hard to read as she gambles purely for the pleasure with no other ulterior motive (mostly) which is why she’s such a cool character, the level of obsession shown through her facial expressions and actions are abnormal no matter how crazy the stakes are separating her from just another character in an anime.
Regarding her purpose in the anime/ her goal assigned by the storyline is from our perspective as an audience, is to reconstruct the gambling system of the school as she faces each of the student council members one by one gradually approaching her goal which is to gamble with the president Kirari who she acknowledges as an opponent with the same belief and view of gambling like she does.
She is an absolute unique character in my favourites solely due to how insane she is and how she lusts over risks because every time you see her have these “orgasms” the gamble just escalates more tension then it carries as if it were a different character with the same gambling then they just wouldn’t be able to escalate the scene as crazy as Yumeko makes it out to be.
The second season on the other hand provides us more insight to who Yumeko was before the academy as *SPOILER ALERT* , we get a new set of villains to go up against Jabami or rather Kirari to become president and own the academy which turns out to be multiple families related to Kirari and Yumeko as well and from Yumeko’s perspective, she seems to want to avoid her relationship with them and kind of got me thinking that she was an outcast in the family as we see a similar character that’s treated as sort of an outcast to the families who’s name is Rei Batsubami.
As for her influence to develop character around her, she acts as a demeaning catalyst by firstly bringing people down so that she can control them to her will or rather utterly destroys them breaking down who they were and rebuilding them with her beliefs and desire which is what’s required to be her ‘friend’ as one example of this influence is the character Sumeragi who was the first member of the student council she faced.
Whilst her influence to characters at first is portrayed as bad were followed with another scene that justifies this into a good thing altering our perspective of what we first thought to the opposite which just reinforces how unpredictable Yumeko is as a character.
other then that I hoped you enjoyed this blog, thank you for reading it till the end (or not) and although it’s hard to kind off talk about character development in Kakegurui since there’s no before or after comparison of Yumeko as she stays the same, I still enjoyed writing this and I’m thinking of making my next one based on… yh, still don’t know but I’ll think of one eventually. Bye! | English | NL | ebc12ad359628969b661696a8a404d1a546b66d047b5cbc2a5c36ab36ef96bdb |
About Jesus washes the feet of his disciples
Just before the agony of Jesus began, he decided to give a feast for his disciples. He thoroughly prepared the so-called Passover meal. Also his traitor Judas was of the party. While he was eating, Jesus stood up and began to wash the feet of his disciples. One by one. He also washed the feet of Judas. Jesus said: "If I have washed your feet, you must also wash each others' feet. For I have given you an example: what I have done for you, you must do likewise. " By washing their feet he gave us a lesson of humility and willingness to serve the other. | English | NL | 35fa7dd5572e813fe8c5830364f06f171bd3161200a46db1b47657bdcadcba63 |
known to the laundress, and to all who have seen cooked arrowroot. If this paste be dried by evaporation, it does not regain its former insolubility, but readily dissolves in hot or cold water. This is what I should describe as cooked starch.
Starch may be roasted as well as boiled, but with very different effects. The changes that then occur are much more decided, and very interesting. I will describe them in my next.—Knowledge.
|HOW FLIES HANG ON.|
IT was believed at one time that flies and some other insects owe the faculty of running over smooth bodies like glass to the numerous hairs with which their feet are provided catching in the pores of the material. The absurdity of this supposition is readily apparent on examining glass with the microscope; and no naturalist can be found in these days to uphold it. Another theory, which has been frequently advanced, explains the fact by affirming that the feet terminate in little suckers, by the application of which to the smooth surface the insect is able to adhere by the force of the pressure of the air, in the same manner that the street-boy fastens his leather sucker tightly to the flagging. Blackwall's investigations have demonstrated that such a contact as is here supposed does not take place. He has seen flies running over the inner sides of the bell-glass receiver of an air-pump from which the air had been exhausted. If we examine the foot of a fly through the microscope, we shall find that there are no suckers on it, but that the foot-cushions are furnished with very fine hairs that prevent all close contact with the glass. The theory in question which invokes the pressure of the air was first broached by Dr. Derham, and was accepted by most of his contemporary entomologists. Other observers, among them Dr. Hooke, were of the opinion that the insects were able to attach themselves to the glass by virtue of some sticky matter in or on the hair. Blackwall explained the fact by saying that a viscous substance flowed from each hair; and probably the majority of the later entomologists have accepted this explanation. In answer to it, we may say that, if there really were a flow of a viscous fluid from the hairs, the flies would not be able to move after they had rested in one spot for a little while, for the liquid would have dried or hardened so as to detain them; but we know that the insect can always fly away instantaneously, even if it has remained in the same place for hours without moving.
I have concluded from my experiments that it is not the pressure of the air nor the power of an adhesive liquid that gives flies the fac- | English | NL | cdf49bfcf1a974c995ce1f8679164a4bec98285ac0cbe8ef3d1d29bd3242a15a |
The first book of my CanLit Project was actually finished a few days ago, but I am only just now getting time to write about it. I quite enjoyed it, but it was different than I was expecting. I hadn’t read any of the reviews before reading it, except for what was on the back of the book.
I was expecting to read a light, maybe quirky story about a young girl in the 1940s. Instead, the story was dark, suspenseful, at times violent, with many magical and spiritual elements. The main character, Beth, really has a rough time of it during the year this book takes place.
“My name is Beth Weeks. My story takes place in the midst of the Second World War, the year I turned 15, the year the world fell apart and began to come together again.”
Beth has to put up with her unstable father, bullying from kids at school, the unwanted attention from the boys and men around her, a confusing friendship with a girl her age, and some strange and scary thing following her when she goes walking on her own.
“…I saw a motion in the grass coming towards me, a splitting of the grass as if an animal or a man were running through it, but there was nothing there. Terrified, I pulled harder from the bramble, tearing my skirt. The swishing of grass filled up my ears and came at me faster than anything possible.”
Beth listened to stories told by Bertha Moses, who was a friend of her mother’s from the reserve. She told stories about coyotes and shape-shifters that sounded like they couldn’t possibly be true, but which scared her even more.
“The stories weren’t a welcome thing. I’d have to carry them now into the woods with me, and they’d jump on me.”
There was almost nowhere Beth could go where she could feel safe. Not even her own house. Her mother did her best, but was already being pushed to her own limits. Her brother ran off to join the war. In the end, she was left with Billy, who was one of the hired hands on their farm, and who seemed to be the only one left watching out for her.
A part of this book I really enjoyed was reading about the scrapbook that belonged to Beth’s mother. The scrapbook was her treasure, and it was filled with favourite recipes and other bits and pieces of her life. The descriptions of the way the food was made was almost soothing for me as I read them.
“There was all our morning’s work laid out on the table, all wealth and good eating and joy.”
“All hell breaking loose, and I decided to make cake.”
So, where does the lightning come in? One night when Beth is out in the fields, bringing in the cows, lightning strikes her arm. From then on, she refers to it as her lightning arm, and from to time to time it behaves as though it has a mind of its own.
And, remember the flowers falling from the sky that was part of the praise on the back of the book? Well, flowers did rain from the sky, and it was beautiful.
“I pressed my face against the window and saw a rain begin to fall, so gently the raindrops seemed to float. Then I saw they weren’t raindrops, they were flowers, violet flax, fluttering to the ground. In no time at all the rain covered the earth in flowers.”
Do I recommend this book? Yes. Although it was a lot darker than I expected it to be, the story drew me in, I liked the cast of characters, and I wanted to find out what the heck was going on. This book is interesting, unpredictable, and unique.
A bit about the Author: Since writing The Cure for Death By Lightning, Gail Anderson-Dergatz has also written A Recipe For Bees, A Rhinestone Button, and Turtle Valley. A Recipe For Bees and The Cure for Death By Lightning were international best sellers, and were both finalists for the Giller Prize.
I will let you know what my next book for this project is in my next post! | English | NL | 84712353e244fa8ad9b3e99e1076b879e8cbeb94f0f23ef33ada91ae939a9490 |
Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!
Stumpy found an old blanket in one of the store rooms and wrapped it around Helen.
Helen thanked him, put her arm around him, and used him for support as she hobbled toward the exit. The museum was deserted now, a vast empty warehouse of antiquities. .
“Get me out of the dinosaur room,” she said.
Entering the Hall of Biodiversity, they found that they were not alone after all. A single gentleman stood examining the endangered species wall. As Helen and Stumpy limped closer, the man seemed to grow in both dignity and stature. Helen could not take her eyes off of him. He stood nearly seven feet tall and wore a gray double-breasted overcoat and a black bowler hat. He had a pronounced jaw and forehead and wore a monocle over his left eye that he used to study the exhibits.
“Oh, hello,” he said upon noticing their approach. “How do you do?” He gave a slight bow and extended his hand.
“I’ve been better,” Helen said, ignoring his offer. She continued to stare at the massive gentleman. There was something familiar about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Have we met?” She asked.
The gentleman sighed. “No,” he said. “Not officially.” He removed his black leather gloves and placed them in his hip pocket.
Helen honed in on his hairy knuckles. Her eyes darted up to his unibrow. “It’s you,” she said. “You’re the Monkey Man Monster.”
“MMM,” whispered Stumpy.
Helen turned away. “You killed Eric.”
“I am terribly sorry about that,” the man said. Really, he was more of a man than a monkey or a monster at this point. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever forgive me. Just know that I hate myself for what I’ve done. I was acting on instinct, but I like to think I’ve evolved since then.”
“It happened yesterday.”
“Yes, well, I no longer feel the need to impose my will on others. I no longer go looking for conservatives to bash the shit out of with my club.” He lifted a silver-handled walking stick to indicate that he no longer carried a club.
“Bully for you,” Helen said. “I suppose next you’ll blame it all on your tragic upbringing.”
“It’s true, mine was a rough childhood. My father was eaten by a saber-tooth tiger. My mother, trampled by a Woolly mammoth. I’ve fended for myself ever since I was very young, and yes, it has been a struggle to survive at times, but I can’t blame my actions entirely on my environment. I made my own choices, and now I’ll have to live with them.”
“How did you survive?” Stumpy asked. “Why are you here?”
“That’s something I’ve been asking myself for a long time,” said the newly civilized man. “I guess it’s something we all ask ourselves from time to time.”
“Yes, but you died hundreds of thousands of years ago.”
“Oh yes, that. Funny thing, really. I never died. The last thing I remember from those days was going for a quick nap on top of a glacier. The next thing I knew it was 1998 and the world had become new and incredibly strange.”
“Where were you during all that time?” Stumpy asked.
“For years I was buried under the hockey rink at the old Boston Garden. I thawed out prior to its demolition, and I’ve been wandering around ever since. It’s taken me a while, but I think I’m finally starting to adapt to my new environment.”
“I’d say you’re up to the Victorian Era,” Helen said.
“Again, I do apologize for killing your boyfriend. It was a savage thing to do. I’ve since forsworn acts of violence and have dedicated my remaining years to atoning for such barbarism. In fact,” he lifted a gold pocket watch out of his vest, “I’ll soon be on my way to volunteer at a local community center.”
Helen studied his face for cracks in his facade.
He smiled back sweetly.
“What did you say your name was?” Helen asked.
“Oh, I’m afraid I didn’t. Terribly sorry. My Christian name is Ug, but these days I go by Thaddeus.” He bowed deeply.
“I think I’ll call you Tad,” Helen said.
“Very good,” said Tad.
“You know,” Helen said, extending her elbow. “I happen to be going near the community center myself.”
“Good show,” Tad said, taking her arm. “Allow me to escort you.” He slipped his timepiece into his pocket, adjusted his monocle, and away they went.
Stumpy trailed behind them. “You know there’s still something I don’t understand. How did the dinosaur ghosts come back from extinction and what happened to them when you shot them with that blizzblaster?”
“Oh Stumpy,” Helen said, tussling his hair. “You’re such an inquisitive boy.”
“I’m thirty two.”
“All in good time,” Helen said. “All in good time.”
As they made their way down the front steps, a swat team rushed passed them, heading in the opposite direction. Helen paused, prompting Tad to ask if there was something he could do to assist her. Helen shook her head. "Tad, this may be a little forward of me, but would you mind telling me if you have any particular political affiliations?"
"I say," Tad said, raising an eyebrows and dropping his monocle. "I suppose it would be alright. I fancy myself a libertarian.”
Helen gasped and touched her heart. Now what was she getting herself into?
Go to epilogue
Go to epilogue | English | NL | f205beb005adf152e2b481b09d5c5600000c1663ffe56bffc18dc86320c97075 |
Here are some key facts:
- Anthony Michael Bourdain was born in 1956 in New York. His father was a classical music executive with Columbia Records and of French descent.
- His mother was a New York Times copy editor and Jewish descent.
- He raised as an agnostic.
- He married his high-school sweetheart, Nancy Putkoski, from 1985 to 2005. In 2007 he married Italian born Ottavia Busia, a former MMA fighter; his daughter Ariane, was born later that year. They were still married at the time of his demise but he was dating another Italian, Asia Argento.
Cooking the Chart
The popular birth time is 8:35 am but we have slightly rectified it to 8:10 am to work better with his biography. There is no hospital in Manhattan specified so we picked Midtown.
This gives him an Ascendant of 06.37 Leo showing he has many talents that will propel him to the top of his profession, and is outspoken about his viewpoints taking as his guide the prevailing winds.
He has a water grand trine, from Mars in Pisces in the eighth house to Saturn in the fourth in Scorpio to Leo 01 so this is out of quadrature, but so close to Cancer we are allowing it. This is a rather unfortunate trine and shows Bourdain’s abrupt tendency to jump from one bad habit to another, historically all three planets are malefics. He was always influenced by his peers (he got into drugs in the 1980s because everyone around him was doing it, went to cooking school when it was the rage and hung himself when a friend Kate Spade did it).
The Mars in the eighth suggests he would die by violent means. The Saturn in the fourth highlights the influence of his father and paternal grandparent, who were natives of France: he specialized in their cuisin and “returned” to his patristic homeland to die. Uranus in the twelfth highlights his inability to deal with changes in his public life (his company was bankrupt) and personal stress — he was not divorced from his second wife, and his girlfriend had broken up with him unable to handle his moods.
Bourdain was a smart fellow shown by his Mercury and Sun in different houses and signs, so his ego and logic were not always in tandem: but that is not a bad thing, as it makes him independent allowing his logic to lead the way and force him from to break with his too publicity driven ego.
Bourdain died in Kaysersberg, France on June 8th. The time of death is unknown as he found only after he missed breakfast. It’s possible it is far earlier than our 5:32 am, so the angles and chart are approximate. Notice that the radix Saturn is square his transiting Part of Fortune ( symbol the Insignia of an esoteric brotherhood) and Mars (an integrated circuit) on the seventh house cusp. The latter aspect is thought by French astrologer Choisnard to be important at deaths. | English | NL | 1f798619dab1ccb9f8f0c6000bc85c3643c425a7e2abdc21579ea11b5bbe90ff |
A sneak peek at the next thrilling Lore of the Underlings episode,
which I’m writing as we speak (Episode 4 ~ Preview 5)
The watchman suddenly spun around, away from Morio and Vaam, and struggled up the tilted floor to the other end of the rectangled room. And there he faced the massive door through which they had passed a few hours before, cast in as prisoners by the Guard and left alone to stew.
He squinted at it and tipped his head, using what weakling light he had. Then the young man motioned with his strong hand. “Look at this,” he said.
Morio, heartened, did not wait or even think to hesitate. He eagerly crawled to the door on all fours, pausing only to let out a sneeze and a snort. In fact, he flew with such ease on his knees that he met his friend in no time.
Then they stared side by side at the rosewood, those men, each on his own and the both of them. The tall one from his steady feet. The shorter still stuck to his seat.
John Cap pondered what he saw and pressed a palm to his handsome jaw. “These panels — they seem to be carved with scenes, just like they’re telling a story. Do you recognize them? Do you know what they mean?”
The porkly man looked as best he could while wiping his nose on a tattered sleeve. “Hmmm, yes… I believe… Ah, indeed! Now that could be…”
“Yo. Are you going to tell me?”
Morio beamed a childlike light that all but lit the gloomy room. “I shall have no higher calling in life.” He pointed way up. “Let’s start at the top.”
John Cap eyed the most distant square where a man becrowned and in flowing robes led a long line of the young. They marched two by two from a gleaming city. “Who is that guy, the one with the beard? He looks kind of kingly to me.”
“Kingly? Yes, oh I should say! A Semperor of Syland he must be. Perhaps the last of his line — the one who sent these poor folk here before the Troubled Times.”
“In the next scene the bearded man is gone and the people seem to be wandering…”
“Lost. Lordless and forlorn. With countless of their untold number frail and falling for four panels more. And longish panels they are at that. They take a good half of the door. See there? What an epic journey it must have been, a quest to test the best of men, and women and children as well…” Morio nodded knowingly. “But this is the gist of the few fabled tales that I’d heard somewhere and a time ago. So I’d swear that it all rings true to me.”
“And that brings us to here,” said John Cap. He stretched out his fingers to touch the figures and shapes before him at arm’s length. The rosewood was smooth against his skin and smelled of something flowerish, a fragrance set free when it met his flesh. He could tell that it had been tooled and rubbed well with perfumed oils to make it shine. But his findings too made him raise a brow, for such craft did not fit in this box of pyne.
And another surprise — these panes portrayed a happier time. “Something has changed. What’s happening?”
… to be continued. Stay tuned! | English | NL | 04e26f762a8505f32ee3f1398f64bc42b7ef0ff1498efafb31bed250f3bdf235 |
On January 23, in 1874, Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, second son of Queen Victoria, married Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia, daughter of Alexander II, Emperor of Russia at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, Russia. Queen Victoria didn’t attend the ceremony – indeed, she had been against the match during the marriage negotiations, as was the Russian Emperor -and was instead represented by her eldest son, Albert Edward, Prince of Wales (“Bertie”) and his wife, Alexandra of Denmark, Princess of Wales.
The couple originally met during a trip to Germany in the summer of 1868, when Alfred was visiting his older sister, Alice, married to Prince Louis of Hesse. They wouldn’t meet again until the summer of 1871, again in Germany, where Marie had accompanied her parents and Alfred had Bertie and Alexandra. There the couple had the opportunity to spend substantial time together and apparently fell in love. They were reported to share a passion for music – Marie played the piano and Alfred the violin – and spent a remarked-upon amount of time in each other’s company.
By the end of the visit, the couple had apparently told their families they wished to marry, but no engagement announcement would be forthcoming. Alexander II was extremely close to his daughter and was loath to lose her, while his wife, the Tsarina, formerly known as Marie of Hesse, thought the British cold and strange. Meanwhile, Queen Victoria’s sentiments weren’t any friendlier: Mutual mistrust of both cultures still existed from the Crimean War, which had ended in Russian defeat in 1856. Added on to those sensitivities was Marie’s Orthodox faith, which would be entirely foreign to the House of Hanover.
Negotiations begun in 1871 stalled in 1872, but were re-started in January 1873. Rumors circulated through Europe that Marie had “compromised herself” with one of her father’s aides-de-camp, though Alfred refused to believe the stories. Instead, he jumped through every hoop the Romanovs put before him, while both mothers worked fruitlessly to distract their children with other suitors.
In April Alfred met Marie and the Tsarina in Sorrento, Italy, and in July he traveled to Germany to meet with Alexander where he formally asked for Marie’s hand and was accepted. Alfred promptly telegrammed his mother: “Maria and I were engaged this morning. Cannot say how happy I am. Hope your blessing rests on us.”
In her diary, Queen Victoria wrote, “”Not knowing Marie, and realizing that there may still be many difficulties, my thoughts and feelings are rather mixed.” In a letter to her eldest daughter, the Crown Princess of Prussia, she wrote, “The murder is out.”
The Tsar agreed up on a hefty dowry for his daughter and gave her several priceless jewels from the Romanov collection, including a parure that had belonged to Catherine the Great. However, it all nearly came to naught when Queen Victoria requested the girl be sent to Balmoral Castle in Scotland to meet her, was refused, and instead issued a counter-offer to meet in-between in Germany. The answer was viewed as wildly insulting by Queen Victoria, who said:
“I … who have been nearly twenty years longer on the throne than the Emperor of Russia … and who am a Reigning Sovereign … should be ready to run to the slightest call of the mighty Russians … like any little Princess.”
The Tsar, meanwhile, was nonplussed by Victoria’s insistence that an Anglican service be held in addition to an Orthodox one, though he did agree to it.
Alfred arrived in St. Petersburg with Bertie and Alexandra on January 4, the ceremony, split into two parts – the Orthodox and the Anglican – occurring just under three weeks later. The Tsar, devastated to lose his daughter, was reported to look pale throughout the wedding, but stated he knew it was for “her happiness.” It was said that the lavish celebrations that followed, which overwhelmed British guests, were meant to convince Alfred to make his home in Russia, but the couple departed after a several weeks-long honeymoon, arriving in England on March 7.
The Tsar, for his part, kept their honeymoon suite decorated as-was until his death, holding out hope his daughter would return. The room would eventually become the bedroom of Nicholas II and his wife, Alfred’s niece, Alix of Hesse, in 1894.
Marie and Queen Victoria finally came face-to-face at Windsor Castle. The Queen wrote about the meeting in her diary, saying:
“I took dear Marie in my arms and kissed her warmly several times. I was quite nervous and trembling, so long had I been in expectation … Dear Marie has a very friendly manner, a pleasant face, beautiful skin and fine bright eyes … She speaks English wonderfully well.”
The young couple were given Clarence House as their London base, as well as a country estate of Eastwell Park in Kent. And it was here that the couple’s first two children were born, a son named Alfred after his father, and a girl named Marie, but always called Missy, after her mother. The couple would go on to have three more daughters, as well as a stillborn son.
Unfortunately, despite a strong start and good intentions, the marriage quickly began to suffer. Marie detested England, London in particular. She didn’t care for most of Alfred’s siblings. She found visiting Queen Victoria to be boring and, hardly unsurprising given strict adherence to mourning the late Prince Consort, depressing. Alfred, like his elder brother, the Prince of Wales, was a serial philanderer.
Marie sparred with the Queen and her sisters-in-law over the matter of precedence. As the Russian Emperor’s only daughter, she was used to outranking all women with the exception of her mother. However, in England, it was impossible for her to precede the Princess of Wales, as the wife of the future king. In retaliation, Marie took delight in showing off the large jewels her father had gifted her, which consistently overshadowed the British collection, including the Queen’s. As the daughter of the British Ambassador to Russia noted at the time:
“The Queen compared the Duchess’s tiara with those of her own daughters, shrugging her shoulders like a bird whose plumage has been ruffled, her mouth drawn down at the corners, in an expression which those who knew her had learned to dread.”
Beginning in 1878, the couple began to spend large amounts of time outside of England. With Alfred the heir to his paternal uncle, Earnest, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, they spent time at his court in Coburg, and Marie made numerous trips back to Russia to be with her parents. In 1881, Alexander II was assassinated and Marie returned home for his funeral and to witness the coronation of her brother, Alexander III.
In 1887, the couple moved permanently to Coburg and she oversaw the building of Edinburgh Palace in Coburg, which house the couple’s ample art collection and where she was able to entertain in Russian style. The marriage, however, had almost completely deteriorated. By the mid-1880s, Alfred was an alcoholic and the couple spent as little time together as possible. This worked for a few years when Alfred was able to decamp from Coburg to various naval bases, however in 1893 his uncle Ernest died and he inherited the duchy.
The time together didn’t help the relationship. In 1898, Marie wrote to her eldest daughter, Missy, then Crown Princess of Romania, “If only you knew how easy and comfortable life is without him.”
On January 23, 1899 Alfred and Marie celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary, during which their eldest child and only son, Alfred, committed suicide. His death would fully drive his parents apart, with Alfred blaming Marie for the tragedy. During his funeral, Marie broke with ceremony and began sobbing hysterically.
Alfred, devastated by his son’s death, never fully recovered and his health deteriorated quickly. He died in his sleep in July 1900 with Marie and their three youngest daughters at his bedside.
Marie spent her widowhood primarily in Germany, however she did visit England on occasion – she was with Queen Victoria at Osborne House when her mother-in-law passed away on January 22, 1901. She spent most of her time focused on her daughters and supporting them through their own marriages. In 1901, following the Queen’s death, her second daughter, Victoria Melita, known as “Ducky,” divorced her husband and first cousin, Ernest, Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt, and came to live with Marie for a time. Ducky would go on to marry Kirill Vladimirovich, Grand Duke of Russia, pleasing her mother with a Russian match.
When World War I broke out in 1914, Marie’s loyalties were divided, but painfully, she sided with Germany over her homeland. She was forced to watch as many of her relatives were assassinated or forced into exile – indeed, she would be the only child of Alexander II to live through World War I. She wrote, in 1917, that:
“At the age of 63, I am very fresh in mind, if not in body, and I can support with patience and resignation a sad and perhaps miserable end of life which is in store for my old age… Sometimes I also seem to despair, but not about myself, but about the state of things in general.”
Harassed for her Russian heritage in Germany, Marie relocated to Zurich, Switzerland where she was reunited with her daughters, Missy and Ducky. She died there on October 25, 1920, age 67. Shortly before her death, she would write:
“I am too utterly disgusted with the present state of the world and mankind in general… They have destroyed and ruined my beloved Russia, my much-loved Germany”
It’s a sad story, especially given its promising beginning. Beloved by her father and genuinely in love with her husband when she married him, it would have been impossible to foretell how Marie’s life would unfold once she reached England.
The wedding, however, was lovely.
See more on the Timeline | English | NL | 5ab45060c34de584ce10d17e9281d2130b8471be963389f270f18d3519996cb3 |
Rasbihari waited in a dark area by the riverside. It was Diwali festival night, and like the rest of city, the flight of steps leading down to Ganga river were lit up by thousands of lamps, making the atmosphere surreal and magical. One of the oldest inhabited heritage cities in the world, Varanasi has always been mesmerising at night. The steps where he was sitting was however away from the celebrations, it was silent and nobody was around.
He had made up his mind, he had to end his life tonight. The situation at work and home had turned into a veritable battlefield – the eldest son, Rasbihari had become a pariah in his large extended family because his wrong decisions had led the family business to the brink of bankruptcy. His wife had also left his home a few hours ago, with their children, swearing never to return. With no one to turn to, he thought that the waters of river Ganga were his only refuge.
While Rasbihari was thinking of how to die, he heard the faint sound of anklets. Startled, he turned around to see who the woman was. He saw no one. It was all dark, other than the faint glow coming from a nearby small temple of Goddess Kali, which lit up a part of the water.
Sure that he had imagined the sound, Rasbihari started brooding again. A few minutes later, he again heard the anklets. This time the sound was more distinctive and he could hear it clearly. It seemed that she was deliberately making the sound to get his attention. Rasbihari was a worshipper of Goddess Kali, and knew that no negative energies could harm him.
Then, he saw her. He could feel his heart thumping, as he made out the many armed silhouette, which in a flash merged into the darkness. He could again hear the anklets going fast towards the temple.
Rasbihari gathered all his courage to follow the sound. As he approached the little temple, the sound stopped. When he stepped inside the temple, tears welled up in his eyes. He could feel a great wave of love wash over him, as he stood before the idol of the goddess. Rasbihari could not stop crying. He knew who had brought him here, and he also understood why. She did not want him to die and had drawn him away to a place where he would feel secure in her presence. Just like a mother’s love gives strength to her child, he could feel the strength of the Dark Goddess. Full of remorse, he sat down on the floor of the temple and did not realise when he fell asleep crying.
The next dawn, the priest was startled to see him lying at the foot of the idol. Woken up by the priest, Rasbihari walked home a different man. He was aware now that he had to face life and its challenges. There was a reason for him to be alive, and he had to fulfill his life purpose. | English | NL | 71e43cb442bfcac0e19d32ff4c0b8f940c51097e4decacf0ba1c3889d00a52ab |
Looking towards doing my first oral history interview, I feel a little nervous but I am also genuinely interested in hearing my interviewee’s experience working as a female mathematics lecturer. I am also intrigued to find out more about how my interviewee’s social background has influenced her education and career choice. I have some general concerns about conducting my first interview: firstly, I am most worried about the interviewee only providing short answers to my questions rather than elaborating on them. I am also worried about my whether the interviewee will like my interview style. I hope that that there will not be too many awkward silences and that the interview will flow well. I am also wary of probing into areas that are potentially upsetting or uncomfortable for the interviewee to talk about, such as childhood.
My interviewee has taught mathematics at Royal Holloway for over forty years so she is clearly a very experienced lecturer. She still works at the university part time so it is possible that she may be reluctant to reflect on her experience at Royal Holloway in a negative light. As she has been at the university for so long, it will be interesting to hear how the college has changed over time, as well as changing attitudes towards female lecturers, especially in the field of mathematics. The interview will take place in the interviewee’s office which is beneficial because the setting may compliment her memories of working at Royal Holloway. My only concern with this is that the interviewee has mentioned that students may pop into her office at some point to discuss revision plans and she appears to be on a tight schedule.
Within the next two weeks I will have completed my interviews for the Women in Science Oral History Project. Due to the fact that this is my first oral history project and that the history which I present will be vital to the archives at Royal Holloway, I have had to put a lot of thought into the processes leading up to the interviews.
Before contacting my assigned alumni I had to make sure I had enough background knowledge on her life and her education. From the information in her student files I discovered that my subject graduated from Royal Holloway in 1947 and went on to pursue further study at many prestigious institutions before landing a job in the medical research field. Therefore, she is clearly a very well educated and elderly woman and I will need to take both of these factors into account when conducting the interview
My assigned alumni had also prepared some short notes within the files that I was sent. Within these she expressed her concern over the content of the interviews. She specifically requested that the interview should be conducted under her maiden name and should primarily focus on her working life and education at Royal Holloway, not her private life. The subject’s privacy and wishes are of upmost importance within this process; therefore I will be complying with her requests. I hope to be able to gather interesting and relevant information while adhering to my subject’s wishes.
Speaking to the subject over the phone prior to the interviews was a great way for us to get acquainted with each other. I believe that our 20 minute conversation that included introductions, further explanation of the project and the arrangement of interview dates helped to put us both at ease about the upcoming interviews. She was even kind enough to send me very detailed instructions for the public transport I need to find her house. I am looking forward to meeting my subject for the Women in Science project. I believe that her long and seemingly very interesting life will make a vital oral history for the often-overlooked story of women in science.
Before the first interview with a Bedford College science alumnus, I was anxious about the quality and quantity of my questions – would there be enough? Would they relate to her life at all? I had pretty much no idea what her life story was – had she continued with science after Bedford? Was she married? I even asked a friend to pretend to be a 70-year-old lady to try and work out if the questions would work! (Bizarrely, most of his answers were accurate to my interviewee’s life!)
Heading into the second interview, the nerves are back. I want to improve on the errors I made last time: asking some questions which were in hindsight leading, missing out some meta-information from the beginning. But I’ve already asked all the ‘easy’ questions: we covered early life, college, and career extensively in the last interview. What I now need to go more in depth about her scientific work, and the traumatic experiences we somewhat skated over last time. I need to ask about gender in science without imposing a narrative of discrimination on a lady who might not have felt that way – as somewhat indicated by previous answers. For these subjects, I’m on unfamiliar turf – we covered the more solid terrain of college food and career trajectory in the first interview. But I’m a bit stumped for more questions; we both ended the last interview questioning what more there is to say. Hopefully I can recapture the rapport we developed in the last session, and allow her to look further into her memories of her life.
It feels slightly odd capturing a life history for an archive but not for my own historical project. While we’ve been given a particular brief, it feels like a bit of a disadvantage to not have a personal agenda I’m searching for. There are no questions I have to ask for use in a project, only to ensure the best and most useful oral history interview possible. I want to cover all eventualities, to assist the college, future researchers, and of course, the subject herself.
When I first heard that we might be working on a project involving interviewing female science graduates from Royal Holloway and Bedford College I must admit I was a little apprehensive. I was worried that I might not have a sufficiently scientific background myself to do the interview justice. What if the person I was allocated was going to talk to me about some extremely complicated piece of post-doctoral chemistry? How would I respond? Would I make the right noises? How would I even know what was going on? I could foresee despondency and panic. Alternatively, thinking about experiences with some of my own older relatives, there were alternative scenarios in which the interviewee was either extremely deaf resulting in a great deal of shouting and confusion, or else prone to repeat the same story several times in one sitting interspersed with the statement “I’m eighty-four you know” at regular intervals.
As it turns out, I was worrying over nothing. When I spoke to my interviewee over the phone to arrange our interview dates she was very friendly, joking that she was glad I called when I did as she was working in the garden and needed an excuse to come in doors to make a cup of tea. She gave the impression that she is very much looking forward to taking part in the project and I must say I’m looking forward to interviewing her.
My interviewee is a Physics graduate from Bedford College (so I must be careful to not refer to the project as if it is solely about Royal Holloway) and this is interesting in itself as there will be lots to ask her about life at Bedford and around Regent’s Park in the 1950s. Born in the 1930s, I’m hoping to find out about her memories of life as a child in wartime Britain and if that was one of the things that drew her towards science as a career. After University she worked as a secondary school teacher and it will be interesting to perhaps explore the many changes she would have seen in post-war education, especially as her career spanned the rise and fall of the grammar schools. I also know that she was involved in local politics after retiring from teaching and maintains an interest in the arts, so I’m looking forward to hearing about that part of her story too.
All of this is great, but now I have some more worries. Will two 90 minute sessions be enough? Will my batteries hold out? Will we go off on an interesting tangent and not talk about Bedford College enough? At least with two interviews we have a bit of flexibility to allow for problems like these. My other worry, is striking the balance between not speaking too much myself (because it’s not a normal two-way conversation) and making sure that she knows I’m interested and engaged in what she’s saying.
It will be a good thing to record my interviewee’s memories, not just for our college archives but for her own family. Over the years I heard a lot of stories and anecdotes from my older relatives, but rarely wrote any down and certainly never sound recorded any because I foolishly kidded myself that they would be around forever. Now they’re gone and I wish I’d have had the foresight to carry out interviews like this on my own parents.
I’m planning to interview a former groundsman at Horton Mental Hospital, formerly Horton Asylum, in Epsom. The former admin block, which is now expensive housing, is pictured above. This will be a second interview. In the first we talked about his childhood – he’s a local boy born and bred – and his time working at the hospital as a young man in the late 1970s. He talked about his job and his recollections of working alongside patients in the gardens. His is an interesting perspective; his job meant he was literally and metaphorically ‘outside’ the hospital. Although he got to know some of the patients, much remained mysterious – their comings and goings, the inner workings of the hospital and even the conditions from which they suffered. He was part of a team charged with making sure the hospital grounds looked attractive; an important consideration for the Horton’s management from the time the hospital opened in 1902. His memories of this part of his working life were generally positive, and although he recalled that some of patients suffered greatly from their illnesses, he gave the impression he thought the hospital was a reasonably good environment for them.
After he left Horton, my interviewee lived and worked in the Middle East for some years, where he married and became a father. He touched on what it was like to return and live in Epsom with his wife and daughter after the hospitals had closed, and I would like to explore the layers of his experiences of the hospital – as a child growing up in a town where it was a significant presence, as a worker there, and as someone returning in middle age and reflecting on the meaning of those experiences both at the time and now.
I would also like to explore his relationship to the physical place in the second interview. In particular, I would like to talk about the Horton water tower (on the left of the photo, behind the admin block). Water towers were an iconic feature of Victorian and Edwardian asylums; their ‘brooding, majestic’ presence was evoked by then Minister of Health Enoch Powell in a 1961 speech advocating the closure of the country’s mental hospitals. This listed, but rather industrial, building survived the demolition of most of the hospital’s infrastructure but was pulled down in 2012 after a long-running campaign by local people who felt it was unsightly and out of place – and possibly dangerous – on the modern housing estate that had been built around it. I must declare an interest here; I have always had a slightly romantic view of two historical Epsoms geographically separated by the town centre. Until 2012, you could glimpse both from the end of my road; on one side the grandstand at Epsom Downs symbolising posh, equestrian Epsom and on the other (and much closer to me) the water tower at Horton, associated with pauper lunatics and the ethnically diverse working class area that developed around the hospital cluster. When the water tower came down I felt it was part of an ongoing process of the town turning its back on an uncomfortable history. My interviewee, to my surprise, saw it completely differently. He was clear that although he thinks the hospitals should be remembered, to him the tower was a symbol of oppression and he’s glad it came down. I was taken aback partly because his own memories of life at the hospital did not seem particularly negative. On reflection, I thought about the research he told me he had done into the history of the hospitals and I wondered if he was taking a wider view of the historical experiences of patients. I am interested in the relationship between this dual perspective of his own personal experiences and the historical view he has formed from his reading.
My main concern about the interview is that we will not be able to pick up the rapport I felt we established in the first interview, and that therefore he will be unwilling to explore his memories in more depth and consider their meaning for him. Perhaps he will feel that he has already said what he wanted to say – in which case I feel a bit anxious that it will be down to me to prompt and encourage his recollections. Conversely, he knows we share an interest in the history of the hospitals, and if things go well I am aware that I must make sure that the focus of the interview is his memories rather than his research.
Mrs. Hamilton was eleven years old when the Second World War broke out. Through an interview with her I am hoping to find out more not only more about her lived experiences, but more about the experiences of women and girls during the Second World War.
But this is not only the information I hope to learn from the interview. I hope to learn a new level of listening in order to better conduct the interview. I also hope to learn how to appropriately time questions so I don’t rush the interview.
I found it relatively easily to find a person to interview, so my main concerns come from the interview process itself. I’m very nervous because for reasons ranging from the fact that Mrs. Hamilton speaks very quietly and I want to make sure that the recorder will pick up her voice properly to more major concerns where I don’t want this to feel like an interrogation. In other words I’m concerned with finding a balance and landing in an interview space, rather than a visit or an interrogation.
For my interview I expect many things. I expect for a new viewpoint that I never could have imagined. While I may have some idea what my interviewee has done in the past it will take until their sharing for me to fully understand their story. This part of the interview will undoubtably be the most exciting. Like many people, I intend to have full knowledge of the interviewee and their interest, it is in the pitfalls of my research where the exciting and interesting points will likely fall. These stories will be the unique and entertaining experiences each of us hold within us waiting to be shared. In these stories will I learn things about my interviewee, the topic, and myself I had no intention of learning, and this will be exciting.
I also expect that I will be challenged. My preconceptions prior to the interview will be tested and likely changed. I will also be challenged to provide strong talking points presented in a clear, easy to comprehend manner. One of my main challenges in everyday speaking can be my wording and clear use of speech. This will only be expanded upon during the interview and it will be up to myself to create an atmosphere of comfort and understanding and not pose questions that are poorly worded.
In a similar manner, I expect that I will learn a new level of listening. I will be forced to do many things at a time: checking recording levels, thinking of my next question or topic, and mainly, listening to the stories of the interviewee. This overload of mental stimulation will create a whirlwind of activity in addition to my earlier posed concerns. I intend on conquering this through a process of deep breaths, selected starting topics for fallback if necessary, and most importantly by focusing on the interviewee. While this project is intended to prepare myself with Oral History skills, it is just importantly to get the story of my interviewee into the public and archived. I must remember that they are the one with the interesting stories and my job is to gather these stories. By realizing this, I will allow myself freedom to ask another “fallback” starting topic to recollect my thoughts and begin a new focus of the interview. I do not fully anticipate this, but in case it happens, I feel prepared to manage a situation like this. | English | NL | a4f4bd97e58b3e8016a6ee486683f46dc6cc534bac7a2430e81eefffd907886b |
Breygrah kept to herself, mostly. Again, solitude was no stranger to her, but generally when she chose it, she was isolated physically as well. By choice. Solitude while surrounded by others fairly frequently was a new creature entirely. She was, essentially, the only Horn. The mantle was not heavy, and she would carry it to her death even if it meant to do it alone. There was much hope in the possibilities of the greatness they could accomplish together, for the Horde and for the Tauren people, but now she felt foolish. No one sought her. At least, she could not remember off-hand the last time someone spoke to her for a reason other than their own desires. That was fine with her.
But, no. After a moment of thinking, she remembered. Gancha the Grimtotem met with her several times in Thunder Totem by chance, and he was always pleasant. Always wonderful company. One of the newer Horns. It was nice to be able to share her thoughts on the Isles with another that experience them. If she had to experience this new world with its highs and lows, completely and absolutely on her own, her heart was eased that another (for the few moments they were) shared these new experiences with one another.
She sprinkling of times she allowed herself, she fought on the battlefield with Shokkra the orc. She was gruff and angry as ever, and it was a supremely welcome constant. A familiarity that reminded her of not so much better times, but things that one recognizes are generally a comfort. The orc was her sister, and had become a staple of Frea's life as well. Breygrah of course didn't agree with her methods most of the time, but if anyone had ever proven themselves to be resilient, ferocious, and passionate in all they did, it was Shokkra. The orc was akin to Frea in temper, craze, and hardiness. Shokkra would teach her to endure, survive, prevail against the odds. Breygrah would teach her compassion, consideration, discretion.
The child was her priority. She had to care for Frea. She had to go home to her, be there for her every moment she promised she would be to maintain the girl's stability. Breygrah went into the battlegrounds less. She relied on her shield even more than she did in Draenor. She aided all she saw in the field, of course. Mostly because of her good heart and caring nature, but increasingly often she considered that safety came with numbers, against hostile Alliance and the Legion. Of course she passed by others all the time, friendly and otherwise. Most she knew in passing alone and eventually offered a wave or nod. Most didn't try to harm her, thankfully. It was more than she could have hoped for in the past, but it was enough to keep her confident that she would return to the girl as sure as the tides.
Frea was no longer Konro's orphan. She was Breygrah's child. | English | NL | 6b83f01fc7be6226d26e4d18188b5c4e62fa8675390ab4b1a91fadd8449082c1 |
The Magic of Making Up is among the most famous books that TW Jackson has written. The 62-page e-book focuses in helping people who are having relationship problems and trying to get their ex back. The e-book is written in an easy to follow guide to assist people get their ex back easily. His Magic of Making up is so popular around the world that by searching the name “TW Jackson” on search engines will give you hundreds and hundreds of information regarding him and his book.
What makes TW Jackson’s advices much better than the others? He has helped many of us around the world together with his advices and their testimonials can prove it. He even reads letters sent to him from people thanking him on the good job he is doing in helping people with relationship problems. He has helped over 50,000 people in 77 different countries get their ex back and recover relationships.
TW Jackson admits that he was never a psychologist, a doctor, or a relationship counselor. He had not had any degree in the field of psychology, but what made him good in handling relationship problems is because of his own experiences. Growing up in a military family, TW Jackson had been surrounded by people dealing with relationship problems. He pain close attention to these problems and started figuring out ways to fix broken relationships and prevent them from becoming separate. He thought of the reasons why or how breakups are happening.
TW Jackson himself endured relationship difficulties and he is aware exactly how agonizing it can be in a breakup – frequent crying and moping, appetite loss, playing sad music, to be unproductive, along with the undeniable desire to always speak with your ex. If you’ve liked what you’ve read by this author, then make sure you check the other extra topics by him which are aimed at helping the readers to obtain greater outcomes – Magic of Making Up. See to it that you invest some time reading and understanding these helpful articles as it’s going to benefit you in more than one way.
His full understanding of relationships and also separations was based on his personal encounters. This understanding helped him get connected to many people in order to find the easiest way to think of a system that may help people who have difficulties in their relationships.
Magic of Making Up was specifically written to assist people in getting their ex back and fix relationships in the simplest way. TW Jackson’s book is designed as an easy step-by-step guide to win your ex back using his unconventional method. He often states that timing is the key. He mentioned that chasing him or her right after separating and begging to make up with you will only push him/her further away. His methods require proper timing. The idea is to follow his methods one step each time. If you follow his guide intensively, then surely there is a greater chance you get your ex back.
Too many people had attempted to get their ex back, but failed ultimately. You need a proper plan to succeed in getting your ex back. Learning more about TW Jackson’s advices can help you a lot more on your plan of getting him or her back. He has helped many and will surely help you too. As a way to get more tips from the very same author, please go by means of – Magic of Making Up Review.
TW Jackson has helped a lot of people with their relationships and has been recommended to many people. | English | NL | dbe7d97955a15b1378dcf0c2277cbbcea3f122e592714c6c848a03a34577e4bf |
After we had passed down a village street a quarter of a mile long, bordered on either side by floral combinations of this description, the sight began to pall, and I wondered how it was possible that any flowers well watered and cared for could produce such a feeling of positive aversion as well as eye-strained fatigue; also, if this was all that the Cortrights had driven us many miles to see, when it was so much more interesting to lounge on either of the porches of their own cottage, the one commanding the sea and the other the sand garden, the low dunes, and the marsh meadows.
"It is only half a mile farther on," said Aunt La-vinia, quick to feel that we were becoming bored, without our having apparently given any sign to that effect.
"It! What is it?" asked Bart, while I, without shame it is confessed, having a ravenous appetite, through outdoor living, hoped that it was some quaint and neat little inn that "refreshed travellers," as it was expressed in old-time wording.
"How singular!" ejaculated Aunt Lavinia; "I thought I told you last night when we were in the garden - well, it must have been in a dream instead. It is the garden of Mrs. Marchant, wholly of fragrant things; it is on the little cross-road, beyond that strip of woods up there," and she waved toward a slight rise in the land that was regarded as a hill of considerable importance in this flat country.
"It does not contain.merely a single bed of sweet odours like Barbara's and mine, but is a garden an acre in extent, where everything admitted has fra-grance, either in flower or leaf. We chanced upon it quite by accident, Martin and I, when driving ourselves down from Oaklands, across country, as it were, to Gray Rocks, by keeping to shady lanes, byways, and pent roads, where it was often necessary to take down bars and sometimes verge on trespassing by going through farmyards in order to continue our way.
"After traversing a wood road of unusual beauty, where everything broken and unsightly had been carefully removed that ferns and wild shrubs might have full chance of life, we came suddenly upon a white picket gate covered by an arched trellis, beyond which in the vista could be seen a modest house of the real colonial time, set in the midst of a garden.
"At once we realized the fact that the lane was also a part of the garden in that it was evidently the daily walk of some one who loved nature, and we looked about for a way of retracing our steps. At the same moment two female figures approached the gate from the other side. At the distance at which we were I could only see that one was tall and slender, was diressed all in pure white, and crowned by a mass of hair to match, while the other woman was short and stocky, and the way in which she opened the gate and held it back told that whatever her age might be she was an attendant, though probably an intimate one.
"In another moment they discovered us, and as Martin alighted from the vehicle to apologize for our intrusion the tall figure immediately retreated to the garden, so quickly and without apparent motion that we were both startled, for the way of moving is peculiar to those whose feet do not really tread the earth after the manner of their fellows; and before we had quite recovered ourselves the stout woman had advanced and we saw by the pleasant smile her round face wore that she was not aggrieved at the intrusion but seemed pleased to meet human beings in that out-of-the-way place rather than rabbits, many of which had scampered away as we came down the lane.
"Martin explained our dilemma and asked if we might gain the highway without retracing our steps. The woman hesitated a moment, and then said, 'If you come through the gate and turn sharp to the right, you can go out across the apple orchard by taking down a single set of bars, only you'll have to lead your horse, sir, for the trees are set thick and are heavy laden. I'd let you cross the bit of grass to the drive by the back gate yonder but that it would grieve Mrs. Marchant to see the turf so much as pressed with a wheel; she'd feel and know it somehow, even if she didn't see it.'
"'Mrs. Marchant! Not Mrs. Chester Marchant?' cried Martin, while the far-away echo of something recalled by the name troubled the ears of my memory.
"'Yes, sir, the very same! Did you know Dr. Marchant, sir? The minute I laid eyes on you two I thought you were of her kind!' replied the woman, pointing backward over her shoulder and settling herself against the shaft and side of Brown Tom, the horse, as if expecting and making ready for a comfortable chat.
"As she stood thus I could take a full look at her without intrusiveness. Apparently well over sixty years old, and her face lines telling of many troubles, U yet she had not a gray hair in her head and her poise was of an independent landowner rather than an occupier of another's home. I also saw at a glance that whatever her present position might be, she had not been born in service, but was probably a native of local importance, who, for some reason perfectly satisfactory to herself, was 'accommodating.'
"'Dr. Marchant, Dr. Russell, and I were college mates,' said Martin, briefly, 'and after he and his son died so suddenly I was told that his widow was mentally ill and that none could see her, and later that she had died, or else the wording was so that I inferred as much/ and the very recollection seemed to set Martin dreaming. And I did not wonder, for there had never been a more brilliant and devoted couple than Abbie and Chester Marchant, and I still remember the shock of it when word came that both father and son had been killed by the same runaway accident, though it was nearly twenty years ago.
"'She was ill, sir, was Mrs. Marchant; too ill to see anybody. For a long time she wouldn't believe that the accident had happened, and when she really sensed it, she was as good as dead for nigh five years. One day some of her people came to me - 'twas the year after my own husband died - and asked if I would take a lady and her nurse here to live with me for the summer. They told me of her sickness and how she was always talking of some cottage in a garden of sweet-smelling flowers where she had lived one happy summer with her husband and her boy, and they placed the house as mine. | English | NL | 5b04748543818bc0a56e8cd0e58b8ea15469526814df7852cccbbd47907e0cc6 |
Peter Angelis (5 November 1685 – 1734), variously recorded as Pieter Angellis, Pieter Anchillus, Pieter van Angellis or Pieter Angelles, was a painter active in Flanders, Germany, Italy, England and France.
Peter Angelis was born at Dunkirk in 1685. After learning the rudiments of art in his native town, he visited Flanders and Germany, and spent some time at Antwerp, where he was made a master of the Guild of St. Luke, in 1715-16; and at Düsseldorf, where he had the opportunity of educating himself by studying the paintings in the Electoral Gallery. He painted conversation-pieces, and landscapes with small figures, into which he often introduced fruit and fish.
In about 1719 he moved to England where he met with great success and stayed for sixteen years. In 1727 he set out for Italy, and spent three years at Rome, where his pictures were admired. But being of a reserved disposition, and without ostentation, he exhibited his works with reluctance, his studious and sober temper inclining him more to the pursuit of his art than to the advancement of his fortune. He intended to return to England, but when he reached Rennes, in Brittany, he found his work in such demand there that he decided to stay. He died in Rennes in 1734. [source] | English | NL | 3610564addddd0349c679c06ed3fcc11899460d48b498591c754d97781af0bc4 |
So… kind of finally, we get around to this guy. The cover image for this article is a far less common (to me…?) image of the composer, not the one below that everyone’s used to seeing:
Anyway, he’s outstandingly famous now for a few of his more outrageous compositions, at least at the time. This small handful of works has ended up representing the composer more than just about anything else, and they were indeed historical and career-making. Let’s talk about him.
Igor Fyodorovich Stravinsky was born on June 17, 1882 outside of St. Petersburg to a family of distant Polish descent. Eventually expected by his family to study law, he entered the University of St. Petersburg, where he basically, it seems, never went to class. Wikipedia says “he attended fewer than fifty class sessions during his four years of study. in 1902, then (the year before the cover photo for this post was taken, 1903), he went to stay in Heidelberg with Rimsky-Korsakov, who suggested he take private composition lessons instead of go to the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Some tragic circumstances seemed to work out in favor of Stravinsky’s musical career. His father died of cancer in 1903, and his university closed in 1905 after Russia’s Bloody Sunday, meaning he (probably fortunately) couldn’t take his law examinations and got a “half course diploma in 1906.” He continued studying twice a week with RK, a new father figure in his life, until RK’s death in 1908, at the age of 64-ish. He then decided to marry his first cousin, have a few kids and start publishing some pretty famous works around 1909. His biography on Wikipedia entirely skips over the work we will discuss on Thursday, and compared to what he did starting in 1910, it does pale in significance. Fortunately Sergei Diaghilev, that ballet guy, was present to hear a few of Stravinsky’s earliest works performed and ultimately commission him to score The Firebird.
We will tell the story of that piece once we get to it, but it meant travel to Paris and Switzerland, the former where all the ballet and musical action was, the latter where he spent his winters. Summers were in Russia. After the enormous success of The Firebird, he churned out two more works for the Ballets Russes: Petrushka in 1911 and The Rite of Spring in 1913. After a terrible bout with typhoid and premiere of his first opera, he was able to return to Ukraine to grab some family belongings and get the hell outta Dodge before World War I began. Due to that and the Russian Revolution (and maybe, more likely than not, the second World War), Stravinsky wouldn’t set food on his home soil again until 1962.
He suffered for a period since he was receiving practically zero royalties from his work in Russia, but, as it seems would be the case for most of the rest of his life, always managed to find wealthy patrons to help him out, and he continued to write fantastic things, including his Histoire du Soldat in 1918 and Pulcinella in 1920. Among one of his best supporters was French piano maker Pleyel (Chopin’s Pleyel).
Aside from an affair and full-on double life all the way up to his first wife’s death of tuberculosis which also killed a daughter, things in Paris seemed to be fantastic for Stravinsky. After this rough patch, they moved to America, this time because of the Second World War. It seems somehow fitting that he moved to West Hollywood, and although people view him (for obvious reasons) as a Russian composer, and think primarily of his time in France, he spent more time in America (specifically living in L.A.) than he did in any other city. But having moved there at 57 years old, it was not an easy transition for him.
Stravinsky’s professional life encompassed most of the 20th century, including many of its modern classical music styles, and he influenced composers both during and after his lifetime. In 1959, he was awarded the Sonning Award, Denmark’s highest musical honour. In 1962, he accepted an invitation to return to Leningrad for a series of concerts. During his stay in the USSR, he visited Moscow and met several leading Soviet composers, including Dmitri Shostakovich and Aram Khachaturian.
He eventually moved to New York in 1969, living there for only a few years before he died of heart failure in 1971, aged 88.
This quick and un-detailed biography discusses very little of his music, mostly because I want to discuss that when we get around to the individual pieces. His music, though, is cleanly divided on Wikipedia into three stages:
That’s quite a clean designation, and most people know of the works from the first period, for example, his ballets for Diaghilev that made such a splash. The very earliest of that early period, however, is perhaps not very well known, and it is with his opus one on Thursday that we shall begin. What, though, of his influence?
Wikipedia, which basically has an entire section on this, says:
Stravinsky has been called “one of music’s truly epochal innovators”. The most important aspect of Stravinsky’s work, aside from his technical innovations (including in rhythm and harmony), is the ‘changing face’ of his compositional style while always ‘retaining a distinctive, essential identity’
Instead of describing the individual qualities of his musical works in specific musical terms, it shall suffice to say the man had an incredible command of the orchestra and a fantastic creativity for creating new and interesting sounds. His earliest pieces, under RK, were for large orchestral forces and while they (including our work Thursday) might seem like homework exercises, they have great merit of their own, and it wasn’t long before he used that same large orchestra to do fantastic things with harmony, rhythm, use of ostinati, all of these things creating a distinctly unique sound, such as in The Firebird or Le Sacre du Printemps (I suppose I should have been using the French names throughout). However, his neoclassical phase is as wonderful as any, and he shows his ability to pinpoint such exact sound and styles, like in Pulcinella, a wonderfully neoclassical work that gets its point across exquisitely, but still lets you know who its creator was and that it was not, in fact, written many centuries ago but is a work of the modern era.
It’s hard to sum up the work of a man like this, with such significant works, but it’s notable that he also had a close relationship with a woman about whom was written or first Influential People article, one Nadia Boulanger, who was not mentioned once in his article. In any case, I lazily quote the end of the Wikipedia article:
Stravinsky’s reputation in Russia and the USSR rose and fell. Performances of his music were banned from around 1933 until 1962, the year Nikita Khrushchev invited him to the USSR for an official state visit. In 1972, an official proclamation by the Soviet Minister of Culture, Ekaterina Furtseva, ordered Soviet musicians to “study and admire” Stravinsky’s music and she made hostility toward it a potential offence.
While Stravinsky’s music has been criticized for its range of styles, scholars had “gradually begun to perceive unifying elements in Stravinsky’s music” by the 1980s. Earlier writers, such as Aaron Copland, Elliott Carter, Boris de Schloezer, and Virgil Thomson, writing in Modern Music (a quarterly review published between 1925 and 1946), could find only a common “‘seriousness’ of ‘tone’ or of ‘purpose’, ‘the exact correlation between the goal and the means’, or a dry ‘ant-like neatness'”
It seems an almost insurmountable task to write a simple little article about a man who had such a large, varied career, and it’s a shame I’ve been at this so long and hardly even mentioned his name, but that’s finally being solved.
The work of his we will address on Thursday is merely a place to start, and I am very excited to move on to more of his more enduring works. See you then. | English | NL | d5d63c7248ba4fc4ff679207d0a64106076d1ba32ac57b37e1a073a9f2a1ab78 |
Scone Cold Killer (All-Day Breakfast Cafe Mystery, Book 1) by Lena Gregory
January 23, 2018
Paperback: 192 pages
E-Book ASIN: B06Y52XG4B
About the Book:
For Florida diner owner Gia Morelli, there’s no such thing as too much breakfast—unless it kills you . . .
When Gia Morelli’s marriage falls apart, she knows it’s time to get out of New York. Her husband was a scam artist who swindled half the millionaires in town, and she doesn’t want to be there when they decide to take revenge. On the spur of the moment, she follows her best friend to a small town in Central Florida, where she braves snakes, bears, and giant spiders to open a cheery little diner called the All-Day Breakfast Café. Owning a restaurant has been her lifelong dream, but it turns into a nightmare the morning she opens her dumpster and finds her ex-husband crammed inside. As the suspect du jour, Gia will have to scramble fast to prove her innocence before a killer orders another cup of murder . . .
Scone Cold Killer is the first book in Lena Gregory's new All-Day Breakfast Cafe Mystery series.
After her husband is outed as a swindler and a cheat, Gia Morelli flees New York to beautiful, sunny Florida. Her best friend secured housing for her and Gia also purchased a small diner. Her world comes crashing down again when her ex's body is found stuffed in the dumpster out behind the diner on opening morning. With many enemies and people who want him dead, and of course suspect Gia is one of them, her dream may very well crash and burn before she even gets to make it a reality.
Fortunately, Gia has support in form of her best friend, Savannah, and several of the townsfolk have rallied around her. Gia also has the support of Hunt, the detective in charge of the case, who just happens to be Savannah's cousin. Of course, Gia does have motive, what with the betrayal, cheating, and alternate life that Bradley was leading behind her back, and is considered a suspect for that reason. She knows she didn't do it and so do her friends, and now she has to figure out who did do it to keep her reputation from being permanently ruined and to keep her safe. Apparently whoever was after her husband has also made her a target.
I really enjoyed Scone Cold Killer. The book is paced really well - not too fast and not too slow. I was pulled in from the very beginning and engaged in the plot. The character development was done well. We get to know the characters pretty well and learn backstory without being bogged down with useless filler. The story was fun, exciting, suspenseful, and parts of it were sad as you realized the full extent of what Gia's husband did and put her through. The world was constructed well and I was able to visualize the story.
Gia is a broken woman. She was betrayed horribly by someone that was supposed to love her and have her back. She does not come to Florida without emotional baggage. Gia also has stalkers in Florida, just like in New York. Gia has a strength about her that the reader can feel. The author does not, at any time, write her as weak or unstable. She's just had a very rough past that she thought she would escape by moving away from her former life and completely starting over. Samantha and Hunt are stability characters for Gia. Savannah is a wonderful best friend and Hunt proves to be another person who has Gia's back when the circus that is her past comes to town.
Gia does do some pretty questionable things in Scone Cold Killer that made me shake my head. A stranger walks in looking for not only a job but a place to stay, too. This character pretty much bullies his way into the kitchen and the apartment above the diner. No resume, no real interview, no background check, reference check - nothing. After everything she's been through in New York and now in Florida, I found it really hard to believe that she could accept a stranger as quickly as she did. Also, she breaks into her ex's hotel room and takes potential evidence. She's already at the top of the suspect list.....
Despite the couple of issues I had, Scone Cold Killer was an enjoyable cozy mystery. The characters are all likable and the setting in Florida is nice. the light chemistry between Gia and Hunt is nice. I prefer a little bit of soft romance in my cozy mysteries. I like the author's writing style and love her Bay Island Mystery series, too. I look forward to book 2 in the All-Day Breakfast Cafe Mystery series.
Enter the Giveaway Here: | English | NL | 0091e104f21bfee37aa3b214b16c063b691cd524e3f35389b4843457b725dab2 |
God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son. John 3:16
Jesus was rich in sacrifice. He sacrificed His time, energy, and efforts. He sacrificed his comforts of home to connect with people. He sacrificed recognition of men for reconciliation of men to God. He sacrificed energy to take care of others, trusting that God would replenish Him at the proper time. He sacrificed His right to get even with His killers. He sacrificed earthly recognition, comfort, approval, pleasures, power, and passions. He did so knowing that His sacrifices were not unnoticed. He knew that beyond recognition would be celebration. He knew He was scoring touchdowns for God versus sitting out, loosing yardage, or settling for a field goal. He was even hungry enough to go all the way, and lay down the costliest sacrifice of all up to the altar of others’ free will, and didn’t try to force anyone into heaven.
Conversely, the character of Christ cannot form in the heart of a man who is not willing to sacrifice, which shows your love for him. The key to real sacrifice is believing that the glory of God is more important than anything you are giving up.
God knows that when you are obeying His will, you are trusting in His love for you. God’s requirement for obedience is not for Him, it’s for you. He knows — love conquers all.
Thank you Father, I am concentrating everyday on your love for me. | English | NL | 87700023bbaa1dee1181eab3c32b0eba6b6f488cf0847a6a713c3b44562a9e71 |
Mina Spitz, a lifetime resident of Woodland Creek, has been alone longer than she cares to remember. Her powers are changing and they’re more than the bloodline inheritance from her mother. She has a feeling that the identity of her father has something to do with it.
Rollo Frost is new to town. He’s tall, dark, dangerous, and everyone knows it. Relocating his pack to Woodland Creek, he’s determined to put the secrets that haunt him to rest. The problem is he doesn’t know the truth behind those secrets and may never know.
Rollo becomes enthralled with Mina, wanting to know her secret, and his pack isn’t happy about it.
Mina has the power to destroy everything Rollo’s built, she just doesn’t know it…yet.
When life-altering secrets are exposed, their worlds collide in a way they never expected.
After sinking the eight ball into the corner pocket, I replaced my stick in the holder and walked over to him and held out my hand. I hadn’t gotten his name and hadn’t cared to. He was either new to town or just passing through, not that either mattered to me. He’d taken in my womanly shape and let his ego—and maybe the booze-- get to him. After insulting me, I’d accepted his challenge as some of the regulars looked on, giggling.
Some may have classified me as a ‘shark’ but that wasn’t really my problem. He’d seen me as an easy win, and I proved him wrong. I could smell the stink that lingered on him. Permeating the air around me, even the aroma of peanuts and alcohol couldn’t hide his stench. Of course my senses were keen and came in handy now and then. He was a shifter and I guessed a canine of some kind.
Tired of waiting, I demanded my money. “Deal’s a deal. Hand it over.”
He scoffed and swaggered in drunkenness as he leaned in closer. “You’s a snake.”
Leaning back, trying to avoid his nasty breath fanning my face, I spit out. “No, not a snake.” I heard some snickers from the bar, but ignored them. “But I may go rabid on your ass if you don’t hand over my money.”
That seemed to get his attention. But just as quick he turned from me and stumbled toward a corner table. I stayed several steps behind as I observed those sitting there. They too were new to town or passing through. I didn’t recognize any of them and I knew everyone in Woodland Creek—at least everyone who mattered.
As he took his seat, completely ignoring my presence, my eyes immediately found a pair of green-blue eyes sitting on the other side of the table. I was momentarily drawn into them and blinked, breaking the spell. There was something about him, besides the fact that he was rugged and big. I wondered how tall he was, knowing his height had to be significant. My senses had been off lately so I couldn’t get the read on him that I wanted to. His hair was long and dark and he had it pulled back loosely. His face was covered in a beard that was in desperate need of a trim. A leather coat covered his shoulders as I took in their width.
His mouth curled into a smile before he turned back to the woman hanging on his side. Rolling my eyes I turned back to my competitor. Placing my hands on the table, I leaned in and demanded my money once again.
“This is the last time I’m going to say it. You lost fair and square.”
He snarled at me and the rest of the table grew silent. The ambiance changed and I stood up fully, taking a step back. My eyes met the green-blue ones once again as they shifted to gold. He was a shifter, too. Hell, probably they all were and I knew in that moment that most likely they weren’t just passing through.
“Zeke, what d’ya owe the lady?”
“She hustled me, I don’t owe her anything.”
The same girl from before turned her attention to Zeke as she mumbled, “She ain’t no lady!” She watched me, waiting for a reaction. Scouring my body, she taunted me. “In fact, I bet she works for an hourly wage on the corner.”
I had a temper and before I knew it, I was nose to nose with her, leaning across the table spitting out, “You can find out how much of a lady I’m not. Just say one more word.”
Green-blue eyes—my name for him—stood and everyone paid attention. He was taller than I imagined and his hair was longer, too. He walked around the table and stood in front of me. Leering down at me, his eyes flashed gold again. When I didn’t flinch, his expression became curious, examining me closely. If he didn’t know what I was, he was a good actor.
I was growing uncomfortable, when he suggested, “If I were you, I’d let it go. Zeke here has a bad temper and I’d hate to see him lose that temper on a sweet thing like you.”
Ugh. I was utterly disgusted. “I’m no sweet thing. Maybe you should warn Zeke about my temper.”
“What’s your name?” He took another step closer as I tilted my neck up to see him. If he thought he could intimidate me, he was wrong… Maybe. “Mine’s Rollo.” He stuck his hand between us and smiled.
Groaning, I leaned around him so my eyes could meet Zeke’s. “Keep the money. Maybe use it to get groomed and bathed.” Zeke lurched up, but Rollo, with a smile on his face, put his hand up and Zeke sat right back down, making it evident that Rollo was their leader.
Grinning at me he said, “You’ve got balls.”
“If you mean bigger than his,” nodding toward Zeke, I confirmed, “Bet your ass I do.” It was a lost cause. Zeke could keep his forty bucks and get bent. I had more important things to deal with.
That got Rollo to smile. A chill ran up my spine and I knew I had to go. Turning, I stalked toward the door, grabbing my own leather jacket off my stool at the bar as I walked by.
I walked out of Vider’s into the cold night and inhaled deeply, but another scent caught my attention. Turning, Rollo was walking out the door and headed right for me. Marching toward my store, the next one down, I picked up my pace. I didn’t have time for a random hookup, not tonight.
“Hey, you didn’t tell me your name.”
Shouting over my shoulder, I replied, “I know I didn’t.”
I've dreamed of writing romance novels since I was little. After having baby #4, who may or may not have been fathered by Christian Grey, I decided it was time to pursue my dreams.
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We’re going to begin looking at 2 Corinthians chapter 11, verse 22 and following. You can open to that section in your Bible while I make a few introductory remarks. If I were to title this portion of Scripture, I might title it, “Humble Boasting. Humble Boasting.”
Frankly, boasting and humility are generally mutually exclusive, incompatible, if not, in fact, opposites. But the apostle Paul does a marvelous job here of humble boasting. He boasts defending his own superiority to the other teachers and apostles – false apostles who had come to Corinth – and while boasting of his superiority, maintains his humility at the same time. This is a great challenge, and Paul feels the tension of being forced to defend himself, being forced really to show himself superior to the false apostles, and at the same time, not compromise his humility. Doing such a carefully balancing act is not easy, and for him was undesirable, even to attempt it; but he finally is forced into it.
In doing so, he gives us what turns out to be one of the most wonderful and insightful sections of Scripture anywhere in his writings, and, I think, maybe the richest example of humility anywhere in the New Testament, apart from our Lord Himself. Here is the real test of a man’s humility: Can he be humble when he’s boasting about what is true of himself? He is forced here to show his superiority to the false apostles, and does so, yet never compromises his humility. It is a remarkable, remarkable portion of Scripture.
I don’t need to remind you; but for those of you who haven’t been here, just briefly to say this. Second Corinthians was written to the church at Corinth by Paul in defense of his ministry, because some false apostles had come in preaching a different gospel, a different Jesus. They were agents of Satan. They were disguised as ministers of light. They were disguised as servants of righteousness. They were the agents of hell and false doctrine. They brought in damning lies.
The Corinthians were seduced by them, began to believe them, give them the pulpit, let them preach and teach. Paul confronts that, deals with it the best he can with a personal letter, even a visit. And when he starts to see things turn back toward him, he writes this letter to affirm permanently in their minds his credibility.
Remember, the false apostles, in order to gain a hearing, had to discredit Paul, because the people loved Paul. Paul had founded their church, spent nearly two years with them; and he had been their teacher, he was the servant of God and the messenger of the truth. And so in order for them to teach their lies, they had to destroy Paul, and so they assassinated his character every way they could. It was successful in the minds of some people, and they had turned from Paul to the false apostles, forcing Paul, finally, to this self-defense.
Now he has been, throughout 2 Corinthians, saying a lot of things about the nature of his ministry, the character of his ministry, the character of his life. He’s been answering a lot of the accusations. But finally here, in 2 Corinthians 11:22, he actually compares himself to the false apostles. Heretofore he hasn’t done that, but here he does it in no uncertain terms. And the purpose of this section – and actually begins in verse 22 and runs all the way down to verse 13 of chapter 12, so it’s a long section.
The purpose of this section is to show Paul as superior; he is better than the false apostles. That’s a hard thing for him to do, because he’s more comfortable talking about himself as the chief of sinners; does not like to talk about his superiority, even though it is true. He won’t say more than is true; he made that very clear back in chapter 10, verses 13 to 15. He won’t speak beyond what he ought to say. He won’t overstate the case. He will speak truthfully. But even speaking truthfully about what is true about him, about his real and genuine superiority is a hard thing for him to swallow. But the whole necessary defense must be done.
Now he’s had a hard time getting started. Starting in chapter 10, he could have just launched into the comparison. But in verse 12 he said, “We are not bold to do this. We’re not bold or eager or anxious to burst into this comparison.” And so starting in chapter 10, verse 12, clear through chapter 11, verse 21, he’s been giving a series of disclaimers, in effect saying, “This is foolish. This is fleshly. This is forced, and I don’t want to do it.” And he’s just been saying that over and over with all those disclaimers. He wants us to understand how distasteful it is for these false teachers to set an agenda for him that forces him to have to brag about himself. He doesn’t like that.
He doesn’t have a model in Jesus doing that, and he doesn’t like to have to follow a model set by false teachers. But he has no choice. It is foolish, it is fleshly, it is forced; but it is necessary. It’s necessary to preserve the gospel. It’s necessary to protect the church. It’s necessary to honor the Lord. He must show that he is superior to the false apostles so that they will be rejected; and with the rejection of those men, the rejection of their lying message. It is distasteful. It is necessary. Finally, finally we come to verse 22, and he is ready to present his apostolic credentials. And as I said, in doing so, he gives us a powerful example of humility, because he shows us humility in the midst of necessary boasting.
Now the section that we’re going to look at really is a fascinating one. We’re just going to get in to verses 22, 23, 24, and 25 briefly this morning. There’s a distinction between verse 22 and the rest of the passage, and I’ll show you what it is.
In verse 22, would you notice three times he says, “So am I. So am I. So am I.” However, in verse 23, he says, “I more so; in far more, far more,” – there’s a very great distinction there. In verse 22, he shows where he’s equal with the false apostles. In verse 23 and following, he shows where he is superior to them. So he starts out by talking about where they’re equal: “So am I. So am I. So am I,” he says in verse 22. “Are they Hebrews? Are they Israelites? Are they descendants of Abraham? I am too.” There is equality there, and a necessary equality, because apostles needed to be racially in that heritage.
But then in verse 23 he launches into his superiority: “I more so.” And from then on, down to the end of verse 13 in chapter 12, he shows his superiority. But he starts with his equality. Verse 22 then puts him on an equal footing with them in terms of heritage. Look at it: “Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I. Are they descendants of Abraham? So am I.”
It may well have been, by the way, that the false apostles were questioning this. It may well have been that they had spread some lies about Paul not having the right racial credentials. In fact, they may have said that since he was born in Tarsus he really didn’t fit. All the original twelve apostles were Jews, therefore they were all Israelites, they were descendants from Jacob. They were all children of Abraham, because, of course, Jacob came from Abraham. So they were all descendants of Abraham, they were all Israelites. And they were all Hebrews. That is to say they were of the nationality of the Hebrews, and they spoke the language which is called Hebrew.
So they would be classified then as Jews and Palestinian Jews, as opposed to Greek Jews that spoke Greek or something else. They were all true Jews, Palestinian Jews. And with the exception of Judas, by the way, they were all Galileans. They all came from the northern part of Palestine known as Galilee, which was the more rural part, being north of the great metropolis of Jerusalem.
So all the apostles were Jews, all of them were Palestinian Jews; and with the exception of Judas who was certainly disqualified as an apostle, all of them were Galilean Jews. Any one then claiming to be an apostle would have to show that he was a Jew, and that he was a true Jew, a Palestinian Jew. The false apostles may have been accusing Paul of not fitting the qualifications of being an apostle because he was born in Tarsus, which is a Gentile city, and therefore indicating he did not belong. Tarsus, by the way, was in Cilicia, which is along the northern part of the Mediterranean where modern Turkey exists today. It’s outside Palestine, and therefore they may have been accusing him of being an intruder into the apostolic realm since he didn’t have a birthright credential.
Well, Paul wants to answer that. It is right, true apostles are ethnically pure, Aramaic and Hebrew-speaking Jews of Palestine rather than Greek-speaking Jews of the dispersion. But Paul is going to answer that question, and here’s how he does it. “Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I. Are they descendants of Abraham? So am I.” It’s really three ways of saying the same thing, although we could break it up a little bit.
Hebrews sort of refers to the Jewish people ethnically and linguistically. They are the Hebrew people who basically are associated with the Hebrew language. The root of that is probably from Eber. In the genealogy of Genesis 11, verses 15 to 17, as you go through the genealogy of the Jewish people, there is a person there by the name of Eber of whom Abraham is a descendant. Eber probably is the one who contributed Hebrew, which was the name given first to Abraham in Genesis 14:13. So it probably goes back to the fact that he was a descendant from Eber.
Foreigners used it of the Jews; they called them Hebrews, descendants of Eber. And the Jews also used it of themselves; you’ll find that in Genesis 40, and Genesis 43. Both the Jews used it, and others used it of them as well. They accepted it as a moniker which stuck.
Paul, born in Tarsus, however, was still a Hebrew in every sense. In Philippians 3:5 he calls himself “a Hebrew of Hebrews,” which means when it came to nationality and it came to ethnicity and it came to linguistics, he was every bit a Hebrew. He knew Aramaic, he lived his whole life in Palestine, and he followed all the Hebrew traditions to the very letter, fastidious to the max, even being a Pharisee. This apparently was an issue in his life, because he mentions it in Acts 22 and verse 3, “I am a Jew.” He was addressing them in the Hebrew dialect it says. “I am a Jew, born in Tarsus of Cilicia, but brought up in this city,” – meaning Jerusalem – “educated under Gamaliel,” – who was the premier teacher of the Jewish law of his day – “strictly according to the law of our fathers, being zealous for God just as you are all today.” So he says, “Look,: - he has been teaching in Hebrew – “I am a Jew. I was born outside of Palestine, but I’ve been brought up in this city, educated under Gamaliel, educated strictly as a Pharisee according to the law, zealous for God,” et cetera.
In the twenty-sixth chapter of Acts, and verses 4 and 5, he gives a similar defense of himself. He says, “So then, all Jews know my manner of life from my youth up, which from the beginning was spent among my own nation and at Jerusalem.” So, obviously, he was born in Cilicia. But very early, very early as a very young child came to Jerusalem. “And since they have known about me for a long time previously, if they’re willing to testify, that I lived as a Pharisee according to the strictest sect of our religion,” and so forth.
So everybody knew Paul. He had been there since he was a very small child, he had been raised. He fit the qualification of being a Hebrew in every sense, ethnically and linguistically. And then he says, “Are they Israelites?” That refers, perhaps, to their descent from Jacob, which speaks of their social life, their religious life; and he followed that as well. He was in every sense an Israelite. He was faithful to the society, to the religion of the Jews.
And then he says, “Are they descendants of Abraham? So am I.” He was here referring to his covenant identification. Socially, religiously, covenantally, linguistically, nationally, ethnically; every way you cut it, he was equal to them. He was within the Jewish culture, following all the Israelite habits of society and religion. He was a part of the theocratic kingdom, he took his identity with God’s chosen people in the promised land that God had pledged to Abraham, and he was enjoying the covenant privileges and the covenant promises and blessings of God promised to Abraham in Genesis chapter 12. So in every area – ethnicity, language, religion, society, theology, covenant promise – he says, “I am equal. I am equal.” That’s his whole point here in that verse where he says, “I the same,” or, “So am I,” in the English.
If you look at Philippians 3 for a moment you get another place where he affirmed all of these credentials. Philippians 3:4, “If anyone has a mind to put confidence in the flesh, I far more. I’m telling you, even as the Jews go,” – he says – “my credentials exceed everybody else’s. I was circumcised the eighth day,” – verse 5 – “of the nation of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin,” – which is a very noble tribe – “a Hebrew of Hebrews;” – meaning he kept all of the traditions and spoke the language – “as to the law, a Pharisee;” – there were only about six thousand of them in the world at that time, and he was one of them; they were fanatics about keeping the law – “as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to the righteousness which is in the law, found blameless.” In other words, he followed the prescriptions of Judaism to the max. So he had all the right credentials to be chosen as an apostle from the standpoint of birthright, from the standpoint of heritage. And what he is saying then in verse 22 is, “I’m equal to them in my inherited credentials as far as race and religion goes.”
But then coming to verse 23, he gets to the real point; and the real point here is to show not that he’s equal, but that he is superior. And this has been hard to come by, but he finally arrived, and he’s now willing to give his defense, and it is a defense of his superiority. The Corinthians should stop listening to the false teachers and turn back to Paul, because he is superior to them in every way. And he does this, as I said, in a remarkable way, at the same time maintaining his humility completely.
Now if you were in the situation that Paul was in, and you were asked to do this, and you were supposed to defend yourself as a true apostle of Jesus Christ, and you were to show them you were superior to the false apostles who were ravaging the church, and you wanted to make your best case, how would you approach it? If somebody asked you your credentials, what would you say?
Well, you might be expected to say, “Well I’ve had a tremendous background. I was born in the Gentile world, so I have some orientation there. I’ve been trained here in Jerusalem; I know my culture very well. I have been privileged to sit at the feet of Gamaliel, the most outstanding teacher; he was my trainer. I have had tremendous and immense experience in travel all over this part of the world. I have traversed this part of the world; I have met numerous people. I have rubbed elbows and shoulders with the elite of every culture: the hierarchy of Jerusalem, Gentile leaders, governors,” and so forth and so on. Later on in his life even kings as well.
He could have said, “I have planted numbers of churches. I have gotten to know leading people in various cities, and had the privilege of leading them to Christ. And I have watched large masses of crowds be saved under my preaching. I’ve seen people burn idols and destroy idols in the response to the gospel. I’ve had an immense impact on the men that I’ve discipled who are now out preaching and teaching,” and so forth and so on. He could have given a lot of credentials like that.
But he doesn’t. In verse 23, this is what he says: “Are they servants of Christ?” And the very statement itself makes him sick, so he says, “I speak as if insane,” as an aside.
What does that mean? Well, to call false apostles servants of Christ at all is repulsive to him. So he says, “Are they servants of Christ?” only for the sake of argument. And then he has to add the disclaimer, “I speak as if insane.” No false apostle is a true servant of Christ, this is just for the sake of argument. There’s a bit of sarcasm in it. And he can’t just leave it at that, he has to add, “I speak as if insane.” What an insanity to even suggest this for the sake of argument. “But are they servants of Christ? I far more. It’s insane to even think of it.”
By the way, the word “insane” is a stronger word than the word “fool.” The word “fool” used in verse 17 and used again in verse 21, fool or foolishness, aphrōn, aphrosunē comes from phroneō which means “to think.” The word for “insane” is paraphroneō, which literally means “to be beside yourself,” para meaning “to be beside” or “alongside,” “to be beside your mind.” The word phroneō, “to think” or “referring to the mind,” “To be out of your mind,” that’s where it comes from, or “to be beside yourself,” which is another way of saying, “You’re insane.” Paul says, “I’m a madman to even suggest that they’re servants of Christ; but for the sake of argument I have to say it. And I more so.”
Far better minister of Christ then they are. In what pertained to their birth privileges, he was equal. In what related to the truth of Jesus Christ, he was far superior. And his credentials will now be listed to make his point.
First credential: “In far more labors, in far more imprisonments, beaten times without number, often in danger of death. Five times I received from the Jews thirty-nine lashes. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked, a night and a day I spent in the deep. I’ve been on frequent journeys, in dangers from rivers, dangers from robbers, dangers from my countrymen, dangers from the Gentiles, dangers in the cities, dangers in the wilderness, dangers on the sea, dangers among false brethren; I’ve been in labor and hardship, through many sleepless nights, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure.”
What? This is an apostolic credential? This sounds like a man who needs to do a reality check on the way he’s approaching life. This is a guy who should hear a suggestion about changing his style of ministry. If ever a guy needed to read a book on being seeker-friendly, this is the guy. I mean, this guy is creating havoc every step he takes.
In what sense is this a credential? This just sounds like a credential to verify what he said in the parenthesis, “I speak as if insane.” This would sound like the credentials of a man’s insanity. How does he get himself into so many messes? How can a man possibly live such an irresponsible life: being imprisoned, beaten so many times he can’t count them, living in danger of death; five times having been lashed by the Jews, three times beaten by the Gentiles; stoned, shipwrecked? And then in verse 26, just a long summation of things, and verse 27 as well. What’s wrong with this man? How is it that he’s living this life, and in what sense could this possibly be conceived as evidence of his apostleship?
Go back to Matthew chapter 10, and I’ll answer that question. Matthew chapter 10: “Jesus calls His disciples together, summons them,” – verse 1 – “empowers them, gives them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, heal every kind of disease, every kind of sickness,” then they’re identified for us in verses 2 through 4. So this is Jesus commissioning the disciples; He sends them out. He says in verse 7, “Go and preach. Go and preach the kingdom.”
And then verse 16. Now this is ordination; this is their commissioning. Here’s what he says, verse 16: “I send you out as sheep in the midst of” – what? – “wolves.” That is, folks, right off the bat, a hostile environment, true? “I’m just putting you like sheep in the middle of a wolf pack.” That is a threatening situation for the sheep. That’s how it’s going to be. You go out and minister, and you’re going to be like sheep in a wolf pack.
Verse 17: “Beware of men.” They are the wolves, by the way. The metaphor is put aside and the reality is now given. “Beware of men, they will deliver you up to the courts and they will scourge you in their synagogues; and you shall even be brought before governors and kings for My sake, as a testimony to them and to the Gentiles.”
Now He’s talking here about the apostles, of which Paul was to be one. Paul then is caught up in that prophecy and that pledge. And you want to know something? Paul was a living fulfillment of it, wasn’t he? He was like a sheep in the midst of wolves. Everywhere he went they tried to devour him, they tried to eat him, they tried to destroy him. They delivered him to courts, did they not? Don’t we see him in court, after court, after court in the book of Acts, having to defend himself, having to answer some magistrate or some governor or some ruler, and later on in the book of Acts some king, whether it’s Agrippa, or Festus, or Felix, or whoever it is? He’s always at some tribunal. Eventually he’s at Rome and he’s put in prison there, and later on back in prison in Rome again, and he has to make another defense, and nobody’s there with him, as he says to Timothy.
Was he scourged? Yes he was scourged. “Scourged in their synagogues you will be.” And Paul was scourged five times; and scourgings took place in the synagogues. “And you’ll be brought before governors and kings for My sake.” That is a prophecy. That’s a prophecy Jesus gave of what’s going to happen to the apostles. So look at Paul’s life; and if you want to ask whether he’s an apostle, see if he fulfilled the prophecy. The credentials of the man starts with his suffering, because that’s exactly what Jesus said would be characteristic of the life of an apostle; and that’s what’s true of him.
Down in verse 34 – well, go back to verse 19 for a minute, I don’t want to leave it yet. “When they deliver you up,” – literally a word meaning “to deliver someone over to a sentencing.” “When they deliver you up, do not become anxious about how or what you will speak; it’ll be given you in that hour what to speak.” In other words, “I’ll be there with you and I’ll put the words in your mouth.”
“It’s not you who speaks, the Spirit of your Father who speaks in you.” This is a promise of inspiration to these apostles. “And brother will deliver up brother to death, and a father his child; and children will rise up against parents and cause them to be put to death. You’ll be hated on account of My name,” and so forth. “And when they persecute you in one place, go to the next place; just keep going.”
Verse 24, He says, “A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a slave above his master.” The point is, “If they persecuted Me, they’ll persecute you. I’m your teacher; you’re not going to be any different than Me. If I was your teacher and they hated Me, they’re going to hate you, because you’re a reflection of what I taught. If I was your master and they hated Me, they’re going to hate you, because you’re a reflection of what I commanded.”
Verse 25: “The disciple is going to be like his teacher, the slave is going to be like his master. That’s not only true in the terms that you’re going to behave like them, but you’re going to be treated like them. So that’s how it’s going to be.”
Turn to John 15, and in John 15 you have the pledge of the very same thing in another context. Later on in the life of Jesus He reaffirms these things to the apostles again, in John 15, verse 18: “If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you. Don’t be surprised, that’s how it’s going to be. If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you’re not of the world, but I choose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.”
And then He reiterates what He said in Matthew: “Remember the word that I said to you, ‘A slave is not greater than his master.’ If they persecuted Me, they’ll persecute you. If they kept My word, they’ll keep yours also. All these things they’ll do to you for My namesake, because they do not know the One who sent Me. Because they reject Me, because they reject God, My Father, they’re going to reject you; because you preach about Me and about God, they’re going to treat you the same way they treated Me. They hate My Father,” – He says in verse 23 – “and they hate Me, and they’re going to hate you.”
Chapter 16, verse 2: “They’re going to make you outcasts from the synagogue. The hour is going to come when they think that they are doing service to God by killing you.” And who did that? Who is the perfect illustration of that? Paul. He was a Jew who thought he was doing service to God by killing believers. He lived on both sides of that pledge. Chapter 16 ends, verse 33, “In the world you’ll have trouble. Just remember, I’ve overcome the world.”
Jesus made it very clear to the apostles that there was going to be a life of suffering. They were going to be before courts and judges and trials and kings, incarcerations and beatings. They were going to suffer immensely; they were going to be hated, and resisted, and resented. And that is the nature of the issue of ministry, because what you’re doing in ministry is you’re taking the truth into the midst of lies, you’re taking the message of God into the kingdom of darkness run by Satan, and that creates a hostile reaction.
You say, “Well, that’s a very generic pledge to the apostles, and Paul wasn’t there.” But he was one of the apostles, as you well know, so that certainly could extrapolate to refer to him. But if you want a specific one, go to Acts 9. And here in Acts 9 is a specific prophecy given to Paul that, indeed, he would suffer.
The Lord speaks to Ananias, in whose house Paul was after, you remember, the Lord had struck him blind on the Damascus road, and the Lord was working on him; Paul responding. And the Lord speaks to Ananias, and says, “Paul is a chosen instrument of Mine to bear My name before the Gentiles and kings and the sons of Israel.” And immediately says this; he doesn’t say, “I’ll show how much success he’ll have.” “I will show him how much he must” – what? – “suffer for My namesake.” It’s the way it is.
And how long did it take? Not long. Verse 22: “Saul kept increasing in strength and confounding the Jews who lived at Damascus by proving that this Jesus was the Christ.” And verse 23 tells us, “The Jews plotted together to do away with him.” They wanted him dead. And that’s the way it always was, it just really never was any different than that.
In the twentieth chapter of Acts, verse 22, Paul says, “I’m on my way to Jerusalem, not knowing what’ll happen to me there, except that the Holy Spirit solemnly testifies to me in every city saying that bonds and afflictions await me.” I mean, that was the way he lived his life. I’ve often said that when he went into a town, he didn’t ask what the hotel was like, he asked what the jail was like, because he knew that’s where he’d end up. I mean, it was the working out of the principle of 2 Timothy 3:12, “All who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.”
But it was more than that, it was a specific apostolic prophecy. The false apostles had letters of commendation, they said, chapter 3 verse 1 of 2 Corinthians; but Paul had the scars of Jesus. Galatians 6:17, “I bear in my body the marks of Jesus Christ.” “You want some apostolic credentials? Let me take off my shirt and I’ll show them to you. I’ll show you my apostolic credentials. I’ll show you the scars that I bear because of Jesus Christ.”
So the first mark of his authenticity is his suffering. And it was just a constant matter of his life. Chapter 1 of 2 Corinthians, verse 4, affliction he mentions, affliction all around. He’s only four verses into the epistle. Second Corinthians 1:4, “affliction” he mentions twice. Verse 5, “sufferings abundant.” Verse 6, “afflicted, sufferings,” again. Verse 7, “sufferings.” Verse 8, “affliction, burdened excessively.” Verse 9, “The sentence of death within ourselves.” Verse 10, “A great peril of death.” And that’s how it goes.
Chapter 4, verse 8, “Afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.” Verse 10, “Always carrying in our body the dying of Jesus.” In other words, for the cause of Jesus knowing that every day could be your last, constantly being delivered over to death, “Death works in us,” verse 12. Why? “Because I believed, therefore I spoke.” And as long as he spoke exactly what he believed, he confronted the ungodly culture. He was on the brink of death every day.
Chapter 6, same thing, verse 4, “endurances and afflictions, hardships, distresses, beatings, imprisonments, tumults, labors, sleeplessness, hunger.” That was his life. And in chapter 12, verse 10, he mentions, “insults, distresses, persecutions, difficulties,” as a way of life.
So back to our text, 2 Corinthians 11; and I want to take our time through this. This is not something you can rush through. This is the man’s life, and there’s so much example in here for all of us. He says, “I’ve been in far more labors and far more imprisonments, beaten times without number, often in danger of death.”
There’s his first credential: far more kopos. That’s work to the point of sweat and exhaustion, labors. “I’ve worked a lot harder in a lot more difficult situations.” False teachers are just fat cats, they just get rich at other people’s expense. They create a life of ease. They eliminate all trauma. Satan doesn’t attack them, because they’re a part of his enterprise, understand that?
There’s a little principle to remember. In this life, God does not do all of His judgment on the kingdom of darkness; that awaits the life to come, doesn’t it? And so the kingdom of darkness does well in our society. It’s taking over our culture, isn’t it? Taking over our world; it already has. And we see it expanding all the time while the church fights for its existence. That’s because this is not the time when God is assaulting the kingdom of darkness, this is the time when the kingdom of darkness is assaulting God. And so we are the ones that find that our enterprise is difficult; Satan finds his relatively easy. He’s dealing with the unconverted, the unregenerate, and they fall wonderfully into place.
False teachers flourish in the society in which we live. They flourish in our world run by Satan. They succeed; they become the fat cats. It’s the people who confront the darkness and who give their life for the sake of the gospel that pay the price; they’re the ones that experience the hostility. But forever, we will be rewarded by the absence of that hostility; and forever, the ungodly and the false teachers will be rewarded by the presence of the fury of God.
So in verse 23, he says, “Far more labors, much harder work, far more imprisonments.” The book of Acts only gives one of Paul’s imprisonments, it’s in the sixteenth chapter; it’s when he was put in prison in Philippi. He was beaten up pretty badly, he and Silas.
And then they were put in stocks. Stocks were wooden, just like you’d think they would be; and ancient stocks they stretched – they had a series of holes, depending on the size of the man, and they’d stretch his arms and his legs as wide as they could, and then lock them in that extreme stretched position, so that the agony would be excruciating. It wasn’t just like this with your hands hanging through the stocks, as sometimes you see depicted in the Salem witch trials. But this was an extreme agony, and the tight muscles, the cramping. He had experienced that imprisonment, and it’s recorded in the sixteenth chapter of Acts. That’s the only one in the book of Acts really; that’s the only specific imprisonment discussed.
It is prophesied in Acts 20, as we just read, that he’s going to be put in chains and in prison when he gets to Jerusalem. And we do know that when he got to Jerusalem he did have an incarceration there, and the Romans were trying to figure out what to do with him, because of the riot that started in the temple. And, eventually, they took him to Caesarea, and he was kept in Caesarea for a while. So those imprisonments are referred to, but we don’t know any details about them.
We also know that that imprisonment at Rome, at the end of the book of Acts in chapter 28, was an imprisonment where he wasn’t actually in a dungeon or a cell, but that he had a guard that was there guarding him all the time; but he had a certain amount of freedom. It was an imprisonment, but it was a modified one.
Later on, there was another imprisonment in Rome at which time he was beheaded, according to tradition, and his life was ended. So we do know there were a couple of Roman imprisonments. There was a time in Caesarea when he was incarcerated there waiting to go to trial in Rome for two years, and there was the time in Jerusalem that was predicted in Acts chapter 20, and there was the Philippian imprisonment. But there were more than that. We don’t know how many imprisonments there actually were.
Clement, writing in A.D. 96, says that Paul was in prison seven times. And, of course, in A.D. 96 they’d have a pretty good idea, because it would have been passed down from mouth to mouth. At that time, John, they believe, wrote the Apocalypse, the book of Revelation in A.D. 96, or one of the apostles would have still even been alive, and traditions would have been pretty accurate. So he was in prison very, very often, and always for the cause of Christ, always for the preaching of the gospel.
Along with his imprisonments, it says, he was beaten times without number. He couldn’t count them, the beatings. In the sixteenth chapter of Acts, the Philippian imprisonment, in verse 22, it says he was beaten with rods; and verse 23, they inflicted on him many blows, is what it says. Verse 24 tells us about some of the beatings: five times the Jews gave him thirty-nine lashes; three times the Romans, Gentiles, beat him with rods. That’s eight times. We don’t know how many more times. He says he can’t even count them. He gives you some illustrations. “There’s at least eight: five times from the Jews, three times from the Romans. But I can’t count all the beatings I’ve had,” many more not recorded.
Acts is very selective, by the way. When you go through the book of Acts, very, very selective. It gives summations and selected illustrations, not at all comprehensive of all of the events in the life of Paul. The man suffered incredibly.
At the end of verse 23, he says he was often in danger of death. How often? Every day. Every day. First Corinthians 15:31, he says, “I die daily.” I’ve heard people spiritualize that and say you need to die to self daily. Well, I understand the spiritual meaning of that; but that’s not what Paul was saying. Paul was saying, “I die daily in this sense: I live through my death every day, because I realize every day could be my death.”
You know, if you know you’re going to die and you start to anticipate the reality of death, you live through that death mentally, emotionally. And he lived through it every single day. Every single day he knew could be his last. Everybody was plotting to kill him. From back in Acts 9, which I read to you earlier, when he’d been preaching around Damascus, it says in verse 23 that the Jews plotted together to do away with him. In verse 29 it says he was talking and arguing with the Hellenistic Jews, and they were attempting to put him to death. Later on we find the Nabatean Arabians who had a colony in the city, came along with the Jews and joined the Jews together to try to put him to death; and those people weren’t even a part of the Jewish community. And then it was in chapter 13, they were trying to kill him; and then chapter 14 of Acts, they tried to kill him; and then chapter 17, they tried to kill him; and then chapter 21, they tried to kill him.
I mean, he lived his whole life like that; and that’s what he was referring to earlier in chapter 4, which I read to you, when he said he had the sentence of death on himself every day. Every single day he knew could be his last. Riots started when he preached. Whole stadiums of people came after him. Rulers tried to kill him. He had to be hustled away. He even gives an incident at the end of this chapter, which we’ll describe, where he had to be taken out of Damascus by a basket taken out over the window that dropped out over the city wall, and lowered in a basket to escape with his life. And that was at the beginning of his ministry, I would say a rather defining moment. It’s the way it always was. He faced death every day. He lived on the edge of life, never wavered in his commitment, never ever changed his message, never tried to cover up the truth.
You see, prosperity, popularity, and acceptance are usually the marks of compromise. If the society likes you, there must be compromise somewhere. You expect the kingdom of darkness to be hostile, don’t you? You expect those who hate the truth and hate the God of the truth and the Christ of the truth to be hostile. False teachers, as I said, they’re the fat cats, they’re the prosperous, they’re the successful, they’re the popular, they’re accepted, because they’re part of the evil system itself.
In verse 24, he gets a little more definitive in his summation: “Five times I received from the Jews thirty-nine lashes.” Just a little Jewish history here for a minute. The Jews didn’t have penitentiaries, prisons. That was not a Jewish idea. The Jews had a very good system of dealing with wickedness. If the crime was serious enough, the perpetrator was executed immediately, end of issue; and a strong message is sent when justice is swift and final.
However, if there was a lesser offense than a capital offense, Deuteronomy chapter 25, verses 1 to 5 prescribed this very lashing. It was in the Deuteronomic law, the twenty-fifth chapter of Deuteronomy, God prescribed it. And in that passage it says, “Don’t give more than forty blows, less the person be degraded.” Isn’t that interesting? There was a certain amount of honor in committing a crime, taking your hits, making restitution, and going on with your life. You made it right, you took your blows, and you went on with life.
We exercise that all the time with our children. The Bible advocates, “Spare the rod and” – what? – “spoil the child,” use corporeal punishment on a child. There’s a certain dignity in taking your lumps and making restitution for what you’ve done wrong, and going on with your dignity.
It was the Quakers in our country that started penitentiaries, and they started them because they thought that if people who did wicked things just sat around long enough they’d think about what they did and be sorry. That’s why they called them penitentiaries, because they thought they’d make people penitent. They don’t, as we well know, and there’s never any restitution; and judgment is not swift and corporeal.
But that’s what was done in ancient Israel. And so when there was a certain crime committed of significant nature, the Jews were still allowed, although they were not allowed to execute a person any longer. The Romans wouldn’t give them that right, they had to go to the Romans; that’s why they had to go to the Romans to have Jesus executed. They still had the right to do this, and there would be a master of the synagogue, he was called, because this would be done in the synagogue. This is church discipline corporeally. And the master of the synagogue, according to the Mishnah, which is the codification of Jewish law, this is how it went.
The punishment would be brought out in this manner: The victim would put his two hands wide, and they would be attached to pillars or posts on either side, so they’d be stretched like this. The chest and back would be bared to the waist. Behind the man would be a large stone on the ground, elevating the master of the synagogue who would inflict the blows, so that he had leverage and could reach clear across the shoulders so that he could whip the chest as well, and he would be able to keep his footing on that stone. An instrument of a thick strap of cowhide split into three six-inch strands and then thickened somehow was used in this whipping. One-third of the blows had to be delivered on the chest, and two-thirds of the blows on the back and the shoulders. And it was required by the Mishnah that the master use one hand – and this was his trade, so he was good at it – use one hand and hit every one of the hits with all his might.
And the Mishnah provided that if the victim died, the scourger bore no guilt. Forty was the limit of blows to create these welts and sometimes cuts on the body. But the traditional way of the Jews was to stop at thirty-nine in case they might have muffed up on the count. They didn’t want to break the law in their fastidiousness, so they stopped at thirty-nine. Fastidious about the law, they were busy beating the prophets this way, according to Matthew chapter 23, verse 34, Jesus said, “You beat the prophets like this.”
They beat all the wrong people; and here they are beating the apostle of Jesus Christ, Paul himself. All those permanent welts and scars all over his body that he got from those – what would it be? – a hundred and ninety-five lashes, leaving scars all over his body, were what he was meaning in Galatians 6:17 when he said, “I bear in my body the marks of Jesus Christ.” They would all be trophies of his devotion to Jesus Christ. If anybody asked him if he was sold out to Christ, he’d just take off his tunic; that would be enough.
You see, that is the badge of his apostleship. And the question for the false apostles is, “Where are your scars?” because if they hated Jesus, they’re going to hate who represents Him. “Have they hated you? Where are your scars? Where is the hostility in your ministry? Where are your detractors? Where are your enemies? Where are the people trying to destroy you, trying to undermine you? Where are they? Because if you represent Jesus, they hated Him, they’ll hate you. They resented Him, they’ll resent you.”
In verse 25, he says, “I was beaten with rods three times.” This is what the Romans did; they got these flexible sticks, rough sticks, flexible sticks, and they just bound them all together and they used it as a whip – like a whip, but it would inflict a blow for each stick that touched the skin. That’s what happened to him in Acts 16 at the Philippian jail. Verse 22 says he was beaten with rods. That’s what they did to him there. That was one of the three times. And you’re talking about five times he had been lashed, three times he had been beaten with rods, and this is before he wrote 2 Corinthians; and he still has more ministry after that. This is just up to this point.
And he adds also in verse 25, “Once I was stoned.” That was at Lystra – you can read about it in Acts 14:19 – he was stoned. They were so made at him for preaching the gospel; and this wasn’t a Jewish anger, this was a Gentile environment. They took him out of the city and they stoned him. What they would do in stoning a person was drop him off of an edge like this, down below, and then they would just get on top and just smash down large boulders to crush him.
And it says in Acts 14:19, that they supposed he was dead, they surmised he was dead. He probably was not dead, because the verb “supposing” usually in the New Testament means “to surmise something that is not true.” And if he was dead, then he would have had to be raised from the dead, because he got up and went on preaching, as you know. And resurrection wouldn’t be minimized. No resurrection in the book of Acts is presented ambiguously.
There is a resurrection of Dorcas and it’s not ambiguous. There’s a resurrection of Eutychus, you know, who fell asleep during a sermon and died, fell out the window and died. There should be severe punishment on anybody who does that, actually. They went down there, raised him from the dead, brought him back up. So none of the resurrections in the book of Acts are ambiguous. It would be impossible to believe that Paul had actually had a resurrection and it was treated with ambiguity. So the fact that it doesn’t identify a resurrection indicates probably wasn’t one.
Also, people often think that, in chapter 12 here, where he talks about when he went to heaven fourteen years ago, the fourteen years ago would have been much earlier than the time he was at Lystra, so that wouldn’t be the incident that qualified. So all we can say was, he was stoned, but didn’t die; and he was left for dead. They literally tried to crush his life out. Came within, perhaps, a few breaths of dying under the bloody crushing, but he survived.
Then he says, “Three times I was shipwrecked.” Now the best we can add them up – take my word for it – probably took about twenty voyages, about nine of them before he wrote 2 Corinthians, and nine or ten of them afterwards. We know the ones that he took before 2 Corinthians; they’re recorded in the book of Acts chapter 9, 11, 13; chapter 14, 16, 17, and 18. You see he’s going here and there in these ships. And out of those nine voyages, and maybe some others that he took, he had three shipwrecks. Shipwrecks were very common in those days. And he had those shipwrecks.
By the way, that does not include the shipwreck in Acts 27 which was much later in his life, and a number of other, probably at least nine or ten more journeys by ship that he took after he wrote 2 Corinthians which would add up to the twenty. Just in the first half of that he had had three shipwrecks. So, you know, there’s about a thirty-three-and-a-third percent you get on a ship you’re going to have a shipwreck. I mean, that’s pretty bad odds.
But the man had to go where he had to go, because he was under mandate from God. And one of those shipwrecks, he says, “I spent a night and a day in the deep.” What does he mean? He means that for twenty-four hours he was hanging on to a piece of wreckage in the middle of the sea before he was rescued. Acts doesn’t tell us about that. In fact, it doesn’t tell us about a lot of things; this is just a summation. It’s just a brief summation of what the man went through.
I can’t force myself to rush through this, this is his life. I mean, he lived this. I can’t pass it by lightly, that’s why I’m having such a hard time getting past this. It’s going to take us awhile to work through these things, because I want you to really understand what he endured. But are you beginning to see that this is the stuff that marked him out as a true preacher, because he fulfilled prophecies that Jesus made of what would happen to the apostles, because he fulfilled a prophecy directly given by Jesus in Damascus to Ananias of what would happen to him and how much he would suffer; because it is only reasonable to assume that a man of great power and uncompromising conviction and preaching clarity who confronts the kingdom of darkness is going to get this kind of reaction. And in those times, it was a tougher world.
Today, I think if you’re as faithful as Paul was then, you’re going to get the same kind of reaction; it just can’t be carried out in the same way. We’re a bit more refined in our hostility today; but the hostility is still there. Sometimes, however, when I read these things about Paul, I feel absolutely useless, worthless, like I haven’t even begun to understand what the price of ministry is.
This man got exactly what he should have expected to get from the world around him, just exactly what His Savior got, His Lord got, right? And that was the mark of his true apostleship. You say you’re a servant of Jesus Christ; show me your scars, show me the hostility, show me the rejection, show me the alienation, show me what it’s meant in your family. You took a stand for a spiritual scriptural principle even in the Christian family and your family didn’t like it; that’s a scar. You proclaimed Jesus Christ in an unbelieving environment and you suffered for it. Maybe you didn’t get a promotion. Maybe you got alienated. Maybe you didn’t get the grade you should have gotten in a class because you wrote a paper that advocated what the Bible teaches about a certain issue, not what the professor things. That’s a scar.
These are more civil times, I suppose, in some way; although they’re fast becoming rather uncivilized, it appears. We may all be finding that out in the next quarter of a century, or less. But Paul says, “I’m an apostle, far more than you, and here are my scars to prove it.” You cannot live a life uncompromisingly confronting the kingdom of darkness and not have some scars to show. And those are your badge of authenticity.
Father, thank You for the insight You’ve given us into this amazing and incredible man. What a model he is for us. And we feel, as I said, like nothing, so small, who have suffered so little, and he suffered so much. But there was so much joy in it for him because of what you were accomplishing through him. He could say, “Rejoice always, and again I say rejoice. In everything give thanks.”
We thank You for his example. Thank You for his humility in the midst of his boasting. Yes, he’s boasting about his superior credentials, but they’re just evidences of his humility. He thought nothing of himself, but literally gave himself away, enduring whatever came, because he cared more about the truth and about the Savior. Give us that courage and those convictions and while we speak the truth in love and compassion, we speak it unequivocally, uncompromisingly, no matter what the price. Give us some of those scars that indicate that we, indeed, bear the marks of Jesus Christ. If You were here, they would treat You just like they did the first time. And since we’re Your servants and You’re our teacher, we expect to be treated that way too. Lord, that can’t be mitigated unless we compromise the truth, which is to abandon our calling and our faithfulness.
Keep us faithful, Lord. Give us great opportunity. Give us some fruit and some joy and some reward along with the difficulties, even as You did Paul, whose heart rejoiced in his crown of rejoicing, even those who had come to faith through his ministry. We thank You for these things in Christ’s name. Amen.
This article is also available and sold as a booklet. | English | NL | 16930f1bad5e4d71bcd30b51a427b1fc0e77ac3f0dca7bf2ef8dc89b2a168c86 |
(AP) David E. Easterly, vice chairman of Cox Enterprises Inc. and a former publisher of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, said Tuesday he is retiring after 32 years at the company.
Easterly, 59, will continue working as a consultant for the Atlanta-based media company and remain vice chairman of Cox Enterprises’ board and a member of the boards of Cox’s radio and newspaper divisions.
G. Dennis Berry, Cox Enterprises’ president and chief operating officer, has assumed Easterly’s duties.
This week, Easterly said he plans to help teach a business course at Morehouse College. Also, “I have a pitiful golf game I hope to improve and I will try to find as many fish to catch as I possibly can,” he said.
Easterly served as a member of The Associated Press board for nine years, departing in 2001.
He joined Cox’s headquarters staff in 1981 as vice president of operations for Cox Newspapers and was named publisher of the Journal-Constitution, the company’s flagship newspaper, in 1984. He was named president of Cox Newspapers in 1986 and president of its parent, Cox Enterprises, in 1994. He became vice chairman in 2000.
Easterly began his career as a reporter at the Dayton (Ohio) Daily News in 1970. | English | NL | 4f730c0c0a19dd55aa35a32b03cbd9c4a829b28f2af27bbf182fbec2e19d332c |
Zhao LanZhi As soon as he returned to the county government office, the adult showed great solicitude to him. He felt that Zhao LanZhi had a close relationship with the queen of heaven. The government interrogates the procuress and pei childe, procuress fear to confess all. It turned out that he had been friendly with ruyue, but ruyue did not know about his smuggling of ahfurong. Later, ruyue found out about smuggling, and pei had followed Ming Hui Betrothal to want to get rid of as the month, simply hit the killer killed as the month. The owner of the spice shop told me that the spice he gave himself was more powerful than the ordinary ahiong, which could make people hallucinate and kill people. The public therefore understood as the cause of death, although Mr. Pei still pleaded not guilty, but also did not allow him to disown.
Ye YuanAn Taking duan xiaoyu back to see stone, stone to her gratitude. Ye YuanAn saw that the boy lay on the wood all day and slept happily. He named him mu le. The boy seemed to be very happy to hear the name, stone quickly said, to be a slave in the ye family is very lucky. Mule didn't answer. He played with the scorpion he had caught. Ye YuanAn thought it was fun to play with the scorpion and got bitten.
Ming Hui prefecture secretly went to heaven to visit pei in prison. She said she believed that pei didn't smuggle ah furong, because he was from a wealthy family and didn't even have to take risks. Pei told Ming Hui that he was in love with ruyue at the beginning, but later he broke contact with ruyue after getting acquainted with him. Ming Hui county believed his words, and she decided to rescue him.
Ming Hui prefecture arrived at the court to try the case of pei's drug trafficking and murder. He pointed out that there were still doubts in the case. Ming Hui, the mayor of the city, told the crowd that the tien man was so cautious that he could not write his real name on the spice shop owner's bill. As for the death of ruyue, Ming Hui Lord said that pei had a good relationship with ruyue, and he also promised to let ruyue be a concubine after marriage, so pei had no reason to kill ruyue. Ming Hui county analysis of the orderly, so that Mr. Pei smoothly exonerate.
Later, she learned that Ming Hui county had exonerated pei. She appreciated Ming Hui county's boldness, but felt that Ming Hui county had to marry people and could not be used by himself.The queen asked Zhao LanZhi if Ming Hui jun had influenced his plan. Zhao LanZhi said not only no, but also help. The emperor had a headache and was very angry with the emperor. Ye YuanAn learned from her stepmother that Ming Hui Lord was going to marry prince pei after three days, and immediately ran out.
Pei went to meet Ming Hui county privately and said that he did get nine star beads. He gave them to Ming Hui county as a pledge of love. Ming Hui is very proud of his wife. In fact, all she does is to get nine star beads. In fact, she doesn't want to marry Mr. Pei. In fact, master Ming Hui favored jiang forbearance. She told jiang forbearance that she would be married in two days, and she would no longer be able to play xiao and sword with him. Jiang put his arms around Ming Hui's wife and told her not to marry pei, but Ming Hui said he couldn't do anything for himself. Jiang remembered that he had been in the army, and told everyone about Ming Hui's mood. Although jiang was a manu, he grew up with Ming Hui prefecture as a child, a childhood relationship between childhood and childhood.
Mr. Pei was ill and ill, and he knew he could not make it. Pei told Zhao LanZhi that he recognized jiang's love for Ming Hui county and did not know what to do. Knowing that he had contracted the poison of ahiong, he could not get rid of it any more. He also told of seeing jiang ren in the pavilion of thousands of branches, when jiang ying had a strange face and did not know him. Pei's words led Zhao LanZhi to suspect jiang yan. After all, pei did not need to be involved in ah furong's business.
Pei told Zhao LanZhi that he was indeed in love with ruyue at the beginning, but he knew that he was in poor health and agreed with ruyue to be married again in the afterlife. For example, in order to make pei childe good, he gave his nine star beads to pei gong, but in the thousands of his pavilion infected with the drug. Such as month hoped that pei childe took himself to leave, but pei childe retreated. Like the moon can not stand the dark day of life, lit a hibiscus suicide.
Ye yuanning to the stable, want to ride the mule breeding red, mule did not pay attention to ye yuanning. Today, Ye YuanAn was going out. The stone told mule to wait outside. The first time mule saw Ye yuan in her dress, he was so shocked that only Ye yuan was in his eyes. Ye YuanAn gave him the wooden waist tag to keep well. She named him a new name Mu Le . Yu Wang Fu zhang lantern, in preparation for Ming Hui county marriage matters. Jiang forbearance looked at the red candles in the palace, feeling very lost. Zhao LanZhi saw that Ye YuanAn was wearing a woman's dress. Although he saw something in front of him, he saw nothing on the surface.Pei and Ming Hui appeared in front of the public dressed in wedding clothes. After they had visited the high court, pei felt that the current Ming Hui county was like the month, and said many love words to the month, which scared Ming Hui county. But Zhao LanZhi noticed something was wrong and started to fight with jiang. | English | NL | 893679d01399b94b87d5719e77c187d9bc45175a5b261725055a63b16275c06a |
One always got an education from my mother, in clever ways not all kids were privileged to.
As a kid, I collected those grubby little “Peanuts” paperbacks. I had quite the collection, and had packed them when off to college for the first time. It would have been easy for Mom to just tell me not to bring this geekish collection of books at all. However, Mom took a more delicate, and constructive, route, telling me to hold off until second semester. She said: “If you bring them right away, people will think you’re weird. But if you wait until you have friends, people will accept it as a weird thing their friend does.”
That turned out to be right on. She didn’t want me to be an outcast, but also didn’t want me to be afraid of being eccentric. Mom had been a bookish kid and knew that being different had its downsides — but just as many upsides that, in fact, made life worth living for we, the weird. She was always good at teaching me how to manage the same balancing act.
But I recall another episode in which Mom’s comfort with the quirky took a different turn. One afternoon when I was 13, we pulled into our driveway at 12:29 p.m. I was fascinated at the time by ancient TV shows (I still am), and an “I Love Lucy” rerun was on at 12:30. This was before VCRs, so you had to catch shows when they were on or never see them.
Mom was getting through the front door slowly, so I squeezed past her to catch the opening credits, which to me had some kind of mystique for reasons I forget. I turned the TV on and was standing there watching Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz being written in the little heart when Mom blew in and — snap! — turned the set off and pointed me into a chair.
“You know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t learn to be more patient?” she asked.
“What?” I said.
“You’re going to have premature ejaculations as a man! Do you know what that is?”
“You’ll be having sex with your wife and you’ll always finish too fast. People divorce over that, you know. Think about it!”
And she turned and left the room, only to come back a couple of beats later to say: “And you know what else? Your orgasms will be weak!”
Yes, that is exactly what she said, and as odd as that scene seems, in all of its eccentricity it was a rather brilliant way of getting across the virtues of patience. To present it as a matter of Goofus and Gallant principle would have been less effective, too abstract. Fear of future inabilities of a grisly nature, and a general sense that impatience could correlate with a general kind of sloppiness, or even an inability to smell the proverbial roses, made me mull over patience in a real way that day and later.
The lesson I took from the whole encounter, beyond inchoate visions of the relevant after-hours matter, was that you had to hand it to Mom for speaking what had been, in all of its oddity, on her mind. “Be patient” would have been ordinary. “Impatience might affect your bedroom performance as an adult” was not ordinary, but she said it and, really, the lesson had its uses.
It was that day that I said to myself that I was going to start going with my gut in terms of opinions. It seemed to me that if it worked for Mom it could work for me, and it looked a lot more satisfying than going around tamping yourself down. The result has been my reputation in some quarters as a contrarian. The idea seems to be that I deliberately devise opinions that I know will get people going, or that I for some reason relish people being angry with me.
That may be true of some contrarians out there, but for me, it is always a matter of simply expressing what I genuinely feel, 1) because it would be dishonest not to, and 2) because as often as not, stating something many weren’t expecting has as many plusses as minuses.
So, I have written that in America, opera should be performed in English as much as possible, despite that Italian has pretty vowels. I have also written that Shakespeare’s plays, when performed, should have their vocabulary adjusted to modern equivalents when the old meaning is no longer available to anyone but scholars (e.g., to Shakespeare “generous” meant “noble”). Both opinions regularly elicit mail screaming that I have no business being a professor and so on, but I know that if Mom had felt as I do, none of that vitriol would have stopped her — and in the meantime, her view would have gotten some people thinking.
I also think that ending the war on drugs would largely heal America’s racial divide. The drug war destroys black neighborhoods and is central in driving the poisonous relationship between the police and black people. My sense is that most prefer to hear that black people need to start emphasizing family values, or that white people need to examine their privilege. I’m not sure either prospect is as useful as making it so that the police have much less reason to enter black neighborhoods, which is what ending the drug war would accomplish.
Many think I’m crazy on that, too, but Mom taught me to embrace my crazy. Within reason, of course. But in my mind, my supposedly contrarian essence, which gets me in trouble in my academic linguistics work as well, all traces to how I felt as my mother left that TV room for real that afternoon.
The reader probably has two questions.
As to one, my parents’ marriage, in fact, did not last. However, the reasons were not connected to any issues of what we might call hardiness.
As to the other question, I have my flaws, but I grew up to be a perfectly patient man. | English | NL | 5a09096676ef3ca520d3b1e7f41efebababe7201bb6da4a4c2f6e88b3885783a |
Researchers have made a major breakthrough in predicting which parents are more likely to have a child with autism. They've discovered that cases of autism seem to occur in neighbourhood clusters where people with higher-than-average levels of education tend to live. It's already known that better-educated people are more likely to have a child with an autism spectrum disorder, and they tend to gravitate to specific neighbourhoods, as researchers discovered when they analysed various regions of California. As a result, rates of autism were twice as high as those outside of those areas, they found. (Source: Autism Research, published online, 4 January 2010; doi: 10.1002/aur.110). | English | NL | 6147722d09cfe7d10edb7628da2e50bda254fecc78e9d252baec02fc9c4e4703 |
Just a recap here for those who maybe don’t know: While I was climbing up the SF-writing ladder, in fact, if I recollect correctly, when I was working on The Parasite for Tanjen Books, I ended up chatting to the mother of a friend. Now, both the mother and father of said friend were smart cookies – both were vets. She gave me some advice on punctuation that has stayed with me ever since, but she also loaned me a veterinary book on helminthology, which is the study of parasitic worms.
I was at once fascinated. Firstly the book reminded me of books my mother had studied during teacher training and which I pored over as a child, what with their anatomical pictures or internal organs, musculature, skeletons etc.
(Oh, on a side note that was very much a formative period of my life: as her main subject in teacher training she studied mycology (fungi) which, for a kid, was great. Not only did we go to woodlands hunting for these weird and wonderful things but we could also eat them, which appealed to the hunter-gatherer in me. Now I can identify quite a lot of British fungi and of course this interest led to mycelia … which led to Jain tech)
Secondly, I found the intricate life cycles of these creatures fascinating, just as I was boggled by the way they could manipulate or physically change their hosts. Some of this went into The Parasite, an awful lot of it went into short stories: The Thrake, Cave Fish, Choudapt, Putrefactors, Spatterjay, Snairls and Shell Game to name but a few. Then, of course, when it came time for me to write a book after Gridlinked I picked up two of those short stories – Snairls and Spatterjay – and used them as the launch pad for The Skinner and the two ensuing books.
So what am I waffling on about? Well, the above is why I was so glad Vaude passed on the link to Parasite of the Day
(thanks Vaude). This is just my kind of stuff. I am almost certainly going to read every article on that site. Also thanks to Dr Tommy Leung who has just changed the black background of that site to make it easier to read!
Oh, and some character in my books has definitely got to be hit by a weaponized version of the above
. I can see him/her dying horribly while sprouting mushrooms. | English | NL | 48271b833120b78b92365182daea3012844a580b877d3e7168f8b5c709f1b00a |
I have heard that Rothschild once went on a journey. Along the way the wheels of his carriage broke; repairmen were called, but before the work was done the Sabbath arrived.
Rothschild saw he could not reach his destination before the arrival of the Sabbath, so he left his driver to watch the carriage, took his belongings, and set off for the nearest town. I have not heard the name of that place—if you would like to know, go and check the communal ledgers of those towns.
He arrived in town and entered the inn. He rented a room, dressed himself for the Sabbath, took his own prayer book, and went to the main synagogue—for the Rothschilds pray according to Ashkenazic custom, and in those small town synagogues one never knows what prayer custom he’ll encounter, whether Ashkenazic or Sephardic. This was different in the large synagogues where they maintained the customs of their forefathers, that is, to pray according to the Ashkenazic practice as was done throughout the generations.
He went and sat—not up front, not in the back, but in the middle. Not in the back, so as not to display false modesty; not in the front, because in a place in which one is unknown he shouldn’t put on airs. Rather, he chose a seat with neither fake humility nor haughtiness.
They sat and recited the Song of Songs and prayed the afternoon service. Upon finishing the Friday afternoon service everyone waited, without opening a prayer book to recite the Sabbath prayers.
Rothschild saw that the sun had set yet no one had started reciting the prayers for welcoming the Sabbath. He looked at his watch, he looked at the window, and he looked at the schedule on the wall. Rothschild asked, “The time to welcome the Sabbath has arrived, why aren’t we reciting the prayers?” They responded, “We are waiting for the Patron to arrive in synagogue, for we do not pray until he arrives, but he’ll surely arrive soon, since the sexton has already gone to get him.”
As they were talking the door opened and in walked the sexton, who called out, “Sha-a-a…!” informing one and all that the Patron was about to enter. Everyone answered, “The Patron is coming! The Patron is coming!”
Rothschild raised his eyes and saw a corpulent man, as wide around the middle as he was tall, dressed in silks and sables, with his face set toward the east.
The Patron reached the eastern wall at the front of the synagogue and sat in his place, all the while puffing and panting from his walk.
The prayer leader approached him, bowed, and asked, “What does your honor think? May we welcome the Sabbath?” The Patron nodded yes. The prayer leader retreated, with his face toward the Patron and his backside to the congregation, ascended the platform, wrapped himself in a tallit, and began the prayers.
After the prayers everyone pushed and shoved to approach the Patron, bow to him with awe and reverence, and wish him a Shabbat Shalom, while he nodded his head in affirmation as if to say the same.
Back at the inn, between the main course and the Sabbath songs, Rothschild asked the innkeeper about the man they had all waited for to begin the prayer service. The innkeeper looked with shock and surprise at his guest and said, “Well, he’s our Patron, of course! Haven’t you heard about our Patron, mister? He’s world renowned. I’m astounded that you haven’t heard of him.”
Rothschild asked what business this Patron is in. “What business is he in?!” replied the innkeeper. “That’s a tough question to answer. Were we to have all night I wouldn’t be able to list all of his dealings. In his right hand he holds the entire city, in his left lies life and death. If a person hasn’t bought his grave in full before he dies, then his children must purchase it—to say nothing of the headstone—from the Patron. From his little pinky hangs the business of the Great Synagogue and all its furnishings, to say nothing of all the pledges and donations that are made to it, as well as the communal estates and unclaimed inheritances, the charitable funds, etc., etc.”
The innkeeper grew agitated at his guest, who heard all this yet displayed no awe. But being a forgiving man he went on. “Even in his youth he was a great businessman, especially when it came to matters of charity. Before he was 9 years old he had established a welfare fund. Every week the other boys would bring him coins, and he would dispense them to the needy. He set up another charity—it didn’t have a name but its purpose was clear. As we know there are poor folks who never get a sip of wine. On Friday night they recite Kiddush over a loaf of bread, in the morning on two or three drops of schnapps, and Havdalah on a glass of tea. For the Four Cups at the Passover Seder they soak some raisins in water. The Patron’s good heart was aroused, and he asked, ‘Just because they are poor should they not drink wine? If not for Kiddush and Havdalah, then at least for the Four Cups of Passover.’ What did he do? He told his friends to get money from their fathers—some got, others didn’t. He wrote down in a ledger the amounts each brought every week, up until the time they’d each go off to get married. As for the wine, well, for an important poor person he’d measure out for the Four Cups, for an average beggar he’d pour just for the Cup of Elijah. And there were other charitable organizations he started in his youth, which he still manages, even though they cost more than they bring in. But let’s stop talking of money and focus on that which we are permitted to discuss on the Sabbath, as we sing in the hymn, ‘Your business concerns are forbidden; so too financial calculations./ Reflections are permitted and arranging matches for young girls…’ Well, when it comes to arranging marriages, shidduchim, for one’s children, not everyone is as lucky as our Patron!”
He poured a glass for his guest and one for himself, drank, and shouted LeChaim! LeChaim! “What was I saying? Oh yes, the marriages of the Patron’s sons and daughters. Five daughters and four sons, and he’s managed to marry off each of them. I’ll make do with telling you of the eldest daughters—for really, there’s no difference between the older and younger except the pedigrees of each son-in-law, certainly no difference in the dowries paid. As he gave to the older so he gave to the younger. Similarly with his sons, except of course the way of the world is to give larger dowries to the daughters, but he certainly gave many times more to his sons than their wives brought to the marriage—for he sought good pedigrees in their brides, and not mere wealth. I see the guest isn’t touching his glass? We manage with the schnapps the Patron doles out for us. Actually, the son-in-law of his second daughter’s husband holds the liquor franchise, not the Patron himself. But let’s get back to talking about the husband of the eldest daughter. LeChaim!”
“So, for his eldest daughter the Patron selected the son of a renowned family, whose forefathers had served in the rabbinate around the world, and the Patron arranged for this son-in-law to be appointed the rabbi of our own town. Some say he paid 10,000 silver guldens to the town to have the son-in-law appointed rabbi, aside from what he had to pay the matchmakers. Matchmakers for marriage, and matchmakers between rabbis and towns! Even the communal leaders benefited a bit from the Patron’s gifts. He would send them wine in silver bottles; the clever among them wouldn’t return the bottles, and yet the boy had not yet secured the rabbinic post. Suddenly all types of rumors and accusations were making their way to the authorities about our local rabbinate. What do such rumors have to do with anything? Well, just as we might ask about one Jew ‘informing’ on another, we might question the whole act of having the boy appointed—if a community needs a rabbi in the first place, why should it need to be bought off and bribed? Both questions can be resolved with one answer: When Moses ascended Mount Sinai to receive the tablets of stone, the Israelites made the Golden Calf, and when he descended he heard the sounds of war in the camp.
“But better than the rabbinic son-in-law was the husband of the second daughter, who had nothing to do with religious business and focused on this-worldly commerce. At first we thought he might be a secular, ‘enlightened’ maskil, since he wore his yarmulke tilted slightly to the left, but soon we saw he’s a real man and his head tilts only for the sake of money. His father-in-law leased the liquor tax-collecting post for him, and soon enough he was master of every drop in town. At first anyone who was able would bring liquor from elsewhere, for they said the Patron’s liquor is diluted with water. They put guards in the four corners of town, and anyone caught with imported liquor would be forced to buy an equal measure of our own brew, and he’d be made to drink it down on the spot. Fortunately our town’s liquor isn’t intoxicating! I see the guest isn’t listening?” “Oh, I’m listening,” replied Rothschild.
The innkeeper’s wife told her husband, “Tell the guest about the great feast.” He replied, “If you mean the dairy feast, I was about to tell it, but it seems to me the guest isn’t interested in hearing.” Rothschild asked, “What was the story?”
The innkeeper said, “The Patron secured a position as tax collector on meat for a different son-in-law. When his son was born, they arranged a huge feast for the day of the brit. The son-in-law’s father came, but he would not eat meat slaughtered out of town. So, they took all the meat that had been prepared for the feast and gave it away—a third to the priest, a third to the mayor, and the final third was split, half to the judge and half to the constable. They then arranged a new meal with only dairy foods. Such a meal may have been eaten on the very first holiday of Shavuot after the Torah was given on Sinai. Since then, no such dairy feast has been seen of this magnitude. For the three days before and three after not a drop of milk could be found in town—not even for pregnant and nursing women, nor for the infirm.”
In the morning Rothschild arose and went to the synagogue. After they recited the first introductory prayers, everyone sat and waited. Rothschild asked, “Why aren’t we continuing with the service?” They replied, “Your question indicates you’re an out-of-towner, for if not you’d never ask such a question.” They wished him well, and asked where he was from, and where he was going, and the like. What did Rothschild reply? Not every questioner is necessarily interested in hearing answers, and they were certainly of this sort. In terms of his question itself, they answered, “We were awaiting the Patron’s arrival. And it’s almost certain that he’ll arrive soon, since the sexton has already gone to call him. If so, why has he delayed until now? Either he’s drinking his tea, or his wife is looking for a clean handkerchief in honor of the Sabbath.”
While they were explaining these things to the guest, in walked the Patron, wearing sable, matching the shtreimel on his head, except that this was made of tail furs and velvet, while that is made of silk and skins. The sexton followed close behind, carrying the Patron’s tallit, prayer book, and Bible, while all stood in place until he reached his place and sat. The prayer leader approached him, bowed, and inquired if the time to start the prayers had arrived. The Patron nodded yes.
When it came time to remove the Torah scroll from the ark, they came to ask the Patron who should be honored with being called to the Torah for an aliyah. They also told him of the guest who was present and that he appears to be a man of stable means. The Patron glanced at the guest and replied, “If he’s neither a Cohen nor a Levi, you can call him for the seventh aliyah.”
When the Patron was honored with the third aliyah the congregation rose to its feet. The crowd parted as the Patron passed amongst them on his way to the Torah, his heavy tallit crowned with a silver sash and seam, with its tzitzit fringes trailing behind him, carried like a veil train by the sexton who was following. He ascended the platform and recited the blessings, to which the crowd answered with a hearty Amen! As he had gone up to the platform, so too he returned to his place, with the crowd at attention, parting the way as he passed back to his seat.
The guest was called for the seventh aliyah. In the prayer for his welfare following the aliyah, the deputy sexton leaned in to hear how much the guest would pledge. Said the guest, “Eighteen guldens times 18 times the net wealth of your Patron.”
Pandemonium broke out in the synagogue, whose members had never heard of such a sum. In truth, the world isn’t lacking rich Jews, as the Talmud relates about the three rich men of Jerusalem at the time of the Temple’s destruction, who had enough provisions in store to keep Jerusalem fed for 21 years during the siege. Even in latter generations, we’ve heard of wealthy Jews like Reb Mordechai Meisel in Prague, who did many charitable acts in his city and with his own money built the Great Synagogue, and a bathhouse, and paved Jews’ Street with stone, and paid for the weddings of many indigent brides, in addition to many other good deeds. Similarly Reb Izaak bar Yeklish, who found a treasure of gold hidden in his stove and built a large synagogue that was named in his honor. Even in our generation there are fabulously wealthy Jews, like Reb Moses Montefiore in London, and like Rothschild, and some say a new rich man named Baron Hirsch has been discovered, although it’s unclear if his name is Hirsch or if it’s Baron, or if Baron is his family name, as we’ve seen Jews with royal names like Koenig, Duchas, Herzog, Feurst, Graff, and even Kaiser. To say nothing of our own Patron—when suddenly along comes a guest and pledges 18 guldens times 18 times the net wealth of our Patron. This was particularly puzzling to the innkeeper, who liked to think of himself as a good judge of a guest’s worth, based on what he eats and drinks, how he conducts himself, etc., but this guest didn’t request any special meals, nor did he ask for more than his share of meat and fish and tzimmes. He behaved like a perfectly regular fellow, except for requesting a private room. In fact he saw the inn was empty of any other guests, and he could have had the big room with seven beds, or the smaller four-person room, alone to himself, without having to pay extra for a private room.
After the Sabbath ended the whole town came to the inn. I don’t mean to imply they rushed the concluding services, or skipped any passages of the prayers, but they abbreviated the extra hymns and hurried along to get to the inn.
So, immediately following Havdalah the whole town assembled at the inn. This one came with a pitcher, that one with a barrel, another carrying a vat or a sack or a pillowcase or a quilt emptied of its down. No one absented himself, and everyone came holding some receptacle, for our Patron is inestimably wealthy, so imagine how much money would be 18 times 18 that amount? As for the poor man, who has no pillowcase, he removed his yarmulke from his head and held it upturned before the guest. As the Talmud says, “Poverty follows the poor.” Every townsman will fill his pot with wealth, while this pauper will have to suffice with one small yarmulke full of gold. Yet still, we shouldn’t turn our noses up at a yarmulke full of gold.
While the town came to take its fill from Rothschild’s pledge, he was calmly circling his room reciting all of the songs and hymns for the departure of the Sabbath. They informed him that the whole town was waiting. He took a scrap of paper to mark his place in the prayer book and exited his room.
He saw the whole population with pots in their hands. He wished them a good week, and said, “I hear you’ve been waiting for me? To what do I owe this great honor?” They replied, “We’ve come to collect on your pledge made at the time of Torah reading.”
He told them, “That which I pledged I will pay, and my promises I shall keep. Be certain I won’t change my vow, not by a hair’s breadth, but I have a tradition from my fathers not to enter a deal without inspecting it first. So, please wait until I return home and I will send one of my men to check exactly how much is 18 times 18 times the worth of your Patron. In case you don’t believe me, here is my card”—printed with the name Rothschild on it. The townsfolk left and returned to their homes in peace, for they knew Rothschild was good for the money.
The town was split into vying groups, and each group was split into disagreeing factions, each debating what should be done with the wealth soon to pour into town. Even were they to make weddings for each orphan, clothe and shoe each schoolchild, purchase crutches for each cripple, bread for the hungry, a new fence for the cemetery, and grease the palm of each police officer, judge, and regional official, make wigs for each wife of the assimilationists so they shouldn’t go out to the market with uncovered heads—still there would be no end to the balance of funds left from Rothschild’s pledge!
While they stood debating what to do first and what to do before that, a new face arrived in town. No one knew who he was or why he’d arrived, but they guessed it must be Rothschild’s man.
How did they guess it was Rothschild’s man? For when the innkeeper boasted that just last week Rothschild himself had been a guest under his roof, the man didn’t seem surprised. And when the innkeeper told him news of Rothschild’s pledge, the man asked about the worth of the patron. When the innkeeper saw his words interested the man, he spun his tale of the Patron’s worth, to his own amazement and that of his guest. He was amazed at how much he had to tell about the Patron’s affairs; the guest was amazed at how much the Patron had.
Initially he felt that the guest’s questions were merely superficial. As he went on he saw the guest took note of each and every detail, asking him to repeat many points.
Just as the guest interrogated the innkeeper, so too with each person he met in town. Just as the innkeeper regaled him, so too did each townsman. At first they thought he wasn’t paying attention, but then from his questions they saw he didn’t forget a single word they said. Yet he inquired if there was any evidence for the tales they told, or if they were just gossiping, as is the habit of folk from small towns. Clearly he must be Rothschild’s agent, for if not, why ask about all the details? Obviously he was sent to assess the worth of the Patron, so as to determine what 18 times 18 times that amount would equal. For the Rothschilds keep their word, and if they pledge, then they pay—but just as they guard their promises so too they guard their pocketbooks. Not just from deals do the rich grow wealthy, but from watching that each penny should not be spent for naught. This is why Rothschild sent a special agent to assess the value of the Patron. Yet it’s still a bit difficult, for if he’s Rothschild’s employee why was his clothing nicer than that worn by Rothschild himself? If you’d like, I can answer with a quote from the Talmud, “The wealthy are cheap”—Rothschild, the richest of the rich, is frugal. Clearly this is so, for while at the inn he didn’t ask for extra food. If you prefer, it should be obvious: Rothschild is “clothed” by his good name, whereas his employee, who is after all merely one of his servants, needs fancy clothing, so none should disparage him. As the saying goes, “Where one is unknown, the clothing makes the man.” An important person needs to be distinguished in his dress, so if he comes to a place where none know him, he will be recognized and honored as an important man.
And so, Rothschild’s agent arrived and rented two rooms at the inn, the room Rothschild had taken, plus a spare room to hold all of the ledgers. Even though the inn was not large, it had five rooms, three downstairs, and two above. The upstairs rooms were rented by Rothschild’s man.
He sat and listened, and inspected, and examined the affairs of the Patron, those in town and those in other places, those from which he profited and those from which he derived other benefits—whether in cash or in gifts. Nothing escaped the eye of the guest. Even the communal and charitable affairs that the Patron stood at the head of. Even though he was busy going over the accounts, he warmly received each visitor, sat and talked over a glass of tea and bit of cake, showing respect for all, even those who came merely to chit-chat. Occasionally he would look suspicious, and sometimes he would ask, “Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?”
Thus he sat and listened, and inspected, and examined the affairs of the Patron—those that formed his main income, and those that were just “icing on the cake,” as well as those he was merely a figurehead for, such as the charities and communal funds and the like. There was no aspect of the Patron’s affairs that the agent didn’t inspect. Certain things didn’t require chasing after, for one fact would naturally reveal another. Other details made their way to his ear on their own, for if you listen carefully to a person’s conversation, you learn things you didn’t even think to ask about.
How long did Rothschild’s agent spend in town? A month, two months, or three or more? In all cases, Rothschild didn’t suffer any loss, for in the end he was exempt from paying the town even one penny. Ah, but he’d pledged 18 guldens times 18 times the net wealth of the Patron? It turned out that Rothschild’s accountant determined that the Patron didn’t even have one penny of his own, never had, and all his days he ate and drank at the community’s expense. His clothes and house were paid for with communal funds. Everything! Him, his wife the Patroness, their sons, daughters, sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, grandchildren, the nursemaids and manservants! Similarly the fancy feasts he would make, whether of meat or dairy. So too the bribes and gifts for the non-Jewish officials. All the money was brought from public funds, belonging both to the living and the dead. The living? These were monies from taxes the Patron had imposed. The dead? The costs of burial plots and headstones paid in full by anyone who needed one. The living? Pledges and vows, charity boxes and communal estates and unclaimed inheritances. The dead? Their children in America sent money to the patron to distribute to the poor in their memory. And even vacations at the spa that he and his wife and children took each year were paid for with public funds.
We see that wealth brings benefit to the rich, for merely being thought of as rich is a good omen for making a living. This fellow, who was merely presumed to be rich, ate and drank, growing a proper double chin, living the good life all his days—how much more so a truly wealthy man like Rothschild, whose luck is steadfast in each and every business deal, including in our story of this Patron? For he pledged 18 guldens times 18 times the net wealth of the Patron, yet in the end he didn’t need to pay up even one penny.
From this we learn that a person shouldn’t rely on what others think, even should the whole world say such-and-such about So-and-So; one must examine things for himself. Rothschild, who checked it out, was off the hook to pay. What would you have done in Rothschild’s place? You would have relied on what others said, and you would have lost.
Translated from Hebrew by Jeffrey Saks. For more on this story click here. Saks is the founding director of ATID. This original translation is forthcoming in a new anthology of Agnon’s short stories, Forevermore: Stories of the Old World and the New, edited by Jeffrey Saks, to be published by the Toby Press as part of its S.Y. Agnon Library, featuring the writing of the Nobel laureate in new and revised English translations. Saks’ courses given at the Agnon House in Jerusalem are broadcast at WebYeshiva.org/Agnon. | English | NL | 9c9e277b5b50e654f87a866005768d829f9f1ca494b3d6b0a297b1b0b4f68b37 |
Another brilliant series by the renowned author Rick Riordan, and this time with Egyptian mythology.
The Kane siblings have two very different lives ever since their mother died. Carter, raised in the US, the oldest, travels the world with his father, being home-schooled and used to the fact he never stayed in one place long enough to make friends; and Sadie, taken under their grandparents wing in the UK, goes to school, has friends, but only has the chance to see her father and brother no more than a few times a year. Their lives change forever when an accident unleashes the gods of Egypt into the world, the good and the bad ones. They soon discover that the gods are unable to stay on their plain unless they take a human host, one strong enough to sustain them. Thrown into a world that was hidden from them, Carter and Sadie find themselves on a race against time to save the most important person to them and stop Set, God of Chaos, from destroying the world.
Rick Riordan did it again: a mind-blowing and involving middle-grade novel that all ages can enjoy. In this novel, he takes on one of the most complex religions and manages to make it very simple to the eye of his readers.
The story-line is very solid and the reader is taken on an adventure of a lifetime with the Kane siblings. All the mythological myths, legends, and godly characters are very well represented and their story is presented in a way that will keep even the younger readers engaged in the story and the characters. The novel is fast-paced, filled with action and unexpected twists that will leave the reader second-guessing throughout the story. There are two perspectives in the novel, both from Sadie and Carter which allows the reader to get to know them simultaneously and have a better understanding of the story.
The characters are amazing. For the first time, the main characters of this novel are brother and sister and with such dynamics that is both refreshing and very entertaining. I think readers with siblings will be able to identify to some of their thoughts about each other and their reactions. At the same time, I think the author did a great job in developing their relationship since they were raised apart. In the end, they don’t know each other that well and struggle to understand one another. Furthermore, Carter and Sadie are very different: Carter is humble, methodical, logical and with a vast knowledge of Egyptian culture; and Sadie is sassy, rebellious and usually acts before thinking. Both characters are very well-developed as well as the secondary characters, which become more important throughout the story.
I really enjoyed this book and I can’t recommend it highly enough. It’s an action-packed adventure that will impress all ages. | English | NL | 351318267da22c99202f6b502e4e3de69433282b9586f6dd431a31305a6dad3b |
Captain Corey Gibson
Captain Corey Gibson was born at the former Castle Air Force Base and raised in Atwater, CA where he graduated from Atwater High School in 1993. He was hired as a volunteer Reserve Deputy Sheriff by the Merced County Sheriff’s Office in 1997. In 1998, Captain Gibson attended the Ray Simon Police Academy in Modesto, CA and upon completing the academy was hired as a full-time Deputy Sheriff with the Merced County Sheriff’s Office.
As a deputy sheriff, Gibson worked a variety of assignments including patrol, field training officer, Special Weapon and Tactics (S.W.A.T.), the Dive Team, boating enforcement and as a detective assigned to the Major Crimes Unit.
Gibson was promoted to the rank of Sheriff Sergeant in 2011, where he worked patrol and oversaw the field training program for newly hired deputy sheriffs. Eventually, Gibson was assigned to Court Security where he insured the safety of the judicial staff and the public at all the court facilities in Merced County.
In May of 2016, Gibson was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant and was assigned to the Corrections Bureau where at different times he was assigned as the commanding officer of the Main Jail and the John Latorraca Correctional Center.
In October of 2017, Sheriff Vernon H.Warnke promoted Gibson to the rank of Captain and assigned him to the Correction’s Bureau. As the Captain of Corrections, he is responsible for the correctional facilities, court security, the Civil Bureau and community supervision of inmates released on electronic monitoring. Captain Gibson also acts as the Law Enforcement Mutual Aid and Search and Rescue Coordinator for Merced County with the California Office of Emergency Services.
Captain Gibson graduated from Merced College with an Associate in Arts degree in Criminal Justice. He went on to earn his undergraduate degree in Criminal Justice from the California State University, Stanislaus. Gibson was also awarded the Life-Saving Medal with Valor for his actions as a member of the S.W.A.T. team in 2010 during a hostage rescue mission. | English | NL | b1ce0ea0664e25cb140b9108e02939d000ece3aa4aef3516e521e5ecee9abd8e |
In the summer and autumn of 2014 and also in the autumn of 2018 there were exhibitions at the church based on the names which appear on the three war memorials which were raised in the Parish after the First World War. That is the Roll of of Honour at St Faith's Church, the Roll of Honour in King Edward School and the main memorial at the Clock in Gaywood.
In 1914 the Parish of Gaywood included King Edward school and the Highgate area of Kings Lynn as well as the Gaywood Parish as it now stands.
Local people supplied family stories and artefacts which have been recorded separately in files which were also part of the exhibition.
The original exhibition ran until 23rd November 2014 and was greatly appreciated by many visitors. It could not have been mounted without the help that was given to us by the Heritage Lottery Fund, the Imperial War Museum and Image Group Limited for whose contributions we extend our thanks.
So that much of the information that was on display is still available full details of the "epitaphs" at the exhibition can be found here. | English | NL | 81a0de5757c4e4141d0a77468e4743dda009ff156f6b3709293181f493cc9643 |
The Birth of the Protestant Churches
By: Grover C. Rowe
About the Book
This history on the birth of the Protestant Churches was written to enlighten the people concerning the Churches’ origin. Author Grover C. Rowe hopes this mission was accomplished.
About the Author
Grover C. Rowe, a young at heart author, was born into an impoverished family in the mid 1930s. His parents, Hicks and Willie Mae Rowe, lived in Cocoa, Florida, in a small wooden house with their nine children. They attended the St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church on their street. There were two things that Grover’s parents emphasized: knowing God and being well-educated.
Rowe was baptized early in life. His zeal for knowledge led him to graduate from Monroe High in Cocoa, Florida, and then from Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University in Tallahassee. Grover was then drafted and served in the United States Army. After his discharge, he taught at Monroe High in Cocoa. That is until Uncle Sam shouted, “Recall,” and off he went again to serve his country. Following this tour of duty, Rowe worked in security at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station in Florida until his retirement twenty-nine years later.
God’s church has been such an integral part of Rowe’s life that he chose to study how to simplify its history and development for others searching to understand the church. It’s taken him years of reading, fact-checking, investigating and then time composing his book. Hopefully, this book will benefit you and you will enjoy reading it. | English | NL | 512804645fa171ccb06afb31f05daf18e25ab920fc915f54eeb66bcfc35da428 |
An 18-year old girl, Ramute Macvyte, was walking through fields of clover at 11:00 p.m. on Friday, July 13, 1962. Coming from the barn past the cows, she saw an unusual light. As she got closer, she said that it resembled the big altar from the Skiemoniu parish. Many candles were burning on it. Standing on the altar was Holy Mary – wearing a white gown with blue ribbons. Her hands were held as a priest saying Holy Mass. Over her head were dark heavens where many stars glistened. Her hair was blonde and fell to her feet.
Ramute was frightened and wanted to run home to tell her parents so that they could come see. But, after starting to run home, she thought that she should ask Mary if she would wait for her to come back. Turning around, she saw that everything had disappeared. She tied up the cow and went home to tell her mother what she had seen. But her mother suggested that she might have imagined it all. Ramute insisted that it was true and had lasted for 5 minutes.
On Saturday, July 14, her mother told Grasilda Duntiene from Janonis what Ramute had seen. Ramute also shared her story directly with this lady – and then all agreed that she should return to the same spot at the same time that night. Despite asking her mother and sister Anna to go with her, they refused — only because it was raining. So Ramute took her Rosary with her and left. When she got to the corner of the barn, she became frightened and started reciting the Rosary. Slowly she moved forward, and when she was near the well, Mary appeared to her. She suddenly fell to her knees. This time, Mary was standing on a little table covered with a white cloth with golden crosses. Mary appeared exactly the same as the day before but with a crown on her head. Her left hand was toward her breast and holding a branch. She couldn’t see her feet (covered by the white robe) but leaned forward to kiss the area where her feet would be.
“Why, Holy Mary, did you appear a second time to me? Why don’t you appear to priests and bishops and holy people rather than to such an insignificant piece of dust?”
Mary: “My pure child, you are worth it.”
R: “Holy Mary, keep mankind from death and sickness.”
Mary: “I will help mankind if man turns to prayer, and I will protect you from death; otherwise you would have died this month near St. James’ day (July 25). Friday would have been your day of death. Ask people not to eat meat on Fridays. Ask those who believe my holy words to say a small prayer. To the non-believers, say nothing.”
Ramute said that Mary was crying golden tears which fell like 5-kopeck coins.
Around the table golden clover bloomed. She asked Mary if she could have some of each.
“The clover and the tears are of no value. I will do something greater to make people start to pray, and the whole world will sparkle and shimmer. There is no greater fortune than what you have seen today.”
Ramute was crying the whole time, and Mary told her to stop and go home, happier, to awaken her brothers, sisters, and parents. When they say their prayers, she is to tell them then what she has seen.
Mary: “And now I leave you a long, healthy, happy life.”
R: “When will you again appear?”
Mary: “I will not appear here again. I will appear in Egypt soon with two angels. If anything goes wrong, come here to pray, and I will give you advice.”
Then Mary floated over her head and disappeared. Ramute went home and did as Mary had asked.
On July 15 many uniformed military men chased people and beat them to keep them away from the apparition site. The state authorities had forbidden people to go there to pray. Yet, on July 25, Marijona Tamasoniene and her two daughters, Aldona and Elizabeth, and their children, Genute and Stasyte, traveled from Zaltiskiu to seek the site in order to pray there. Cautioned by Ramute’s parents not to do so, they begged to hide instead in a haystack near the barn and pray there. Ramute’s mother and sister, Anna, coaxed them to come out of the haystack, and, as they did, the haystack and clover disappeared, and a bright light appeared. Ramute’s mother fell to her knees – feeling “as if she were thrown to the ground by its brilliant projections”. All of them saw the strange light. Anna ran into the house to tell Ramute and her father what she had seen. The father ran out of the house just in time to see the light fading away.
One important aspect of these encounters was Mary’s announcement that she would soon appear in Egypt – which she did — just six years later! | English | NL | 7669ef7e1534890769e88830e7ced3d95d25177aae26f9c4aebc9fa82c9d576b |
(This is the text of the now out-of-print children’s book published in England by Hunt & Thorpe and, in translation, in several European counties. As yet there has been no US edition — the American religious publishers I submitted it to judged it too secular while secular publishers found it too religious. The illustrations are by Len Munnik. A nearly complete set of his drawings for the book is here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jimforest/sets/72157642153355175/)
by Jim Forest
People tell me how lucky I am to be a whale — biggest creature on earth, go where I like, no need of money, built in shower, my picture in National Geographic magazine.
It’s true, up to a point. Being a whale has its bright side. I wouldn’t trade places with man or elephant, not for all the shrimp in the Pacific. On the other flipper, being a whale has its dark side.
On top of that a whale has to eat more than you can imagine. It goes with being immense. We haven’t much choice about what goes in when we open our mouths and the quality has been going down. We get a lot of plastic these days.
Then there are whale hunters with their harpoons. It’s a lucky whale who lives long enough to become a grandparent. I’ve been one of the few to reach a ripe old age.
Keep in mind that you’re listening to the oldest living whale, a rider of the currents for three thousand years. A true ancient. Big as I am, there is hardly space in me for all my stories. I could tell you tales from now till the olives are ripe on the north pole.
My strangest story concerns a man named Jonah. Probably you’ve heard about Jonah. He has his own book in the Bible. He became quite famous, not that he would approve of that. He was shy when I swallowed him and even shyer when I unswallowed him.
A cranky fellow, Jonah was, all elbows and whiskers and words with needles in them, the most uncomfortable item that ever took up residence in me.
I’ll never forget the day I became his hiding place. There was the sort of storm that happens once every hundred years and in the middle of it a sailing ship with a band of frantic men on board — a sight to make a whale weep.
The sailors were more desperate than the wind, praying to this god and that, promising to do all sorts of things if only they lived to tell about it, and, just in case their gods weren’t interested, throwing the cargo overboard to lighten up the ship.
Then they dragged poor Jonah up from the hold. He had been hiding out down below. “Call upon your God,” the captain said to Jonah. “Maybe your God will listen.”
“I’m not on speaking terms with God,” Jonah told him.
“But aren’t you a Jew?” he asked, “and don’t Jews pray?”
“Yes, I’m a Jew. I worship the one God who made the oceans and the dry land. But God and I are having an argument. I decided the only solution was to move. I hoped God wouldn’t pay attention to me in Tarshish but it’s clear I’m not allowed to go that way.”
Jonah insisted that the storm was all his fault and said the only way to save the ship was to throw him into the waves.
“Throw yourself in,” the sailors told him. “Impossible,” he said. “Suicide is a sin.”
The sailors were decent men. They didn’t want to do it at first. But the storm got worse and finally they gave in. The sailors never saw me. What they noticed was that no sooner had they given Jonah the heave-ho than there was a patch of blue in the sky and the winds were dying down. This impressed them no end. Several of them took to Jonah’s God from that day on.
I swallowed Jonah on the spur of the moment. Not to eat him! Whales have no taste for people. No, it was a just a friendly gesture. My mother always said, “Do the right thing.” She once saved a whaler, though some of the family criticized her for it. “If your enemy is drowning, rescue him,” she said. Very devout, my mother was. A bit of it must have rubbed off on me.
Jonah was no trouble the first day. He slept like a log, and felt like one.
When he woke up the next day, this same Jonah who wouldn’t pray on the ship hardly stopped praying. He knew all the psalms by heart.
I asked what the trouble was. It turned out that God was urging him to be a prophet.
“Get up,” God had said to him, “go to Nineveh and speak out against that city’s wicked ways.”
“Why didn’t you say yes?” I asked. “Interesting work and travel to a famous city besides.”
“I have no taste for the job,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, the people of Nineveh can drop dead. Haven’t you heard about them? I told God to burn their city down. Divine wrath — that’s what they need.”
It wasn’t only Nineveh Jonah complained about but his donkey, his rabbi, his neighbors, even God.
“Some God,” he said. “I’m supposed to tell people that their city will be destroyed. What if they repent? Sure as the sun rises in the east, God will forgive them.”
By the third day, Jonah began to look at things from a different angle. It wasn’t that he had changed his mind about Nineveh but he wanted some fresh air. “You win, God,” he said, “I’ll go. It can’t be any worse in Nineveh than it is here.”
Hours later I heaved him out onto a beach. Not a word of thanks did I get for delivering him safe and sound to dry land. All he said was, “See you around.” then off he walked, ignoring the seaweed still clinging to him. He looked like a walking aquarium. Jonah was never one to look in the mirror.
Years later, thanks to a man on a raft from Nineveh, I heard what happened.
“Once inside the city gates that Jonah fellow started giving speeches listing our faults and promising that the city would be turned to charcoal. Perhaps his fishy smell made us pay attention. Also he was the only thing in the market square that was free. Whatever the reason, we listened. A man like that, you had to listen! And what if he was right?
“Finally we repented — fasting, wearing sack cloth, rubbing ourselves with ashes, from the king right down to the street sweepers like me.”
In the end it was as Jonah predicted. God spared the city.
“It was a great disappointment to Jonah,” the man from Nineveh told me. “He never liked our city and wouldn’t even sleep within the walls at night. As soon as it was obvious we had been forgiven and we people started eating and wearing our usual clothes, Jonah began the long walk back to his home in Galilee. I last saw him as he walked out the city gate, complaining still and shaking his fist in the air.”
I doubt Jonah ever liked the merciful side of God. The amazing thing was that God liked Jonah anyway and found something useful for him to do despite his grumpiness. There’s no accounting for God when it comes to that sort of thing. Whales are easier to love.
Young whales sometimes ask me, “Would you do it again?” “I would if I had to,” I tell them, “but let’s hope I’ll be spared. Prophets are hard to swallow.”
* * * | English | NL | 1462ad49e87d25182bd2e93786accc164f7143971c6900109f6905be140d04b7 |
Fripulya – so Ukrainian artist Fedir Tetyanich called himself. This is an artist and a philosopher. He can be called a representative of space techno-romanticism. His famous work is the biotechnosphere, the habitation of the future, which he created from the secondary raw material. The artist is one of the first well-known art performer artists. In his performances he emphasized that a person is free, he is the part of the space, a part of infinity. In his work, two main lines can be distinguished – to show man as a representative of the technosphere, and the second one is a topic of Ukrainian history. The most famous is his picture with Ivan Sirko, over which he worked for many years. | English | NL | 312dd2f1ce181be82dfd793fef90a098a3e32727e5a355a3b8d85cd30bbdd3cd |
For well over a decade I have spent countless hours among the hummingbirds. Days, weeks and months have been spent watching the more detailed information of how they behave and react in every situation. I wouldn't consider myself one that knows all the different species, but one that understands a great deal about one. I don't know why I keyed in on one species when I first started, but I went full force on understanding everything I possibly could about the one, and would consider myself more of a hummingbird behaviorist. I didn't learn my information from other books, but rather invested the time right at the source. There were questions, and lots of them that I desired to know in which I couldn't find any answers. So when I decided to learn about the Ruby-throat hummingbird, I stopped at nothing to understand every detail about their behavior. What I soon discovered is that every fanned tail, head wag, squeak or head drop had a purpose. Every movement had a motive, but it was a matter of solving the mystery behind them all. After millions of sightings I don't know if there's anything unusual left to see. Of course, there will always be some information that is beyond our reach, but much of what's been revealed to us I've seen, and multiple times over. From mating to feeding and fighting, it's all become quite familiar and I can safely say I can usually read the signals. I can honestly say that I've learned a lot about one species alone. Now there are several thousand to go, but not enough time in my life to learn them all. There are other people that have also invested their lifetime learning just one species, and I fully understand the intrigue of learning just one to the fullest because I've done that, and it's incredibly rewarding, but then there are times when I wish I had spread out my time and efforts to learn a little fragment about many species.
By a simple glance at this image, this young male Ruby-throat has dropped his head to indicate that he's focusing on another hummingbird above him. That dropped head and straight focus tells us he sees another hummingbird, and is intimidated by its presence. If he was the owner of that garden area and didn't want to leave his perch, he'd do a side to side head wag to show his authority over the intruder. In this case he simply sat, dropped his head and focused, hoping the other would give him a free pass.
N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. July 30, 2018
He arrived in Spring with a newly grown wardrobe, and every fiber of every feather glistened like like polished metal. The morning sun reflected brilliantly off every feature as he was handsomely dressed for mating season. He located the bathing fountain and cleaned himself up regularly to be the top bird in the garden. He put on a display with his brilliant colors. His metallic olive jacket and tuxedo contrasted nicely to his brilliant red gorget. He worked like no other bird to guard and protect his colorful kingdom. Every flower and feeder was under his authority, and no access was granted without his permission. His protection was more fierce than a watchdog, and his eyesight was more precise than doppler radar. Simply put, he was spectacular in every way.
Today, he's long gone from our garden but the memories still linger, and the photos will have to be sufficient until next Spring.
Adult male Ruby-throat hummingbird. N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. May 28, 2018.
As young hummingbirds grow up in the nest, they will strengthen their wings by firmly grasping hold of their cottonlike nest or a branch very nearby, and power up their little motor. They start very young, and by the time they are ready to leave the nest they have built up an endurance to fly or at least do short bursts to another nearby branch. They soon have the ability to fly like most adult hummingbirds, but lack the special abilities to fly and feed from awkward flowers. It really doesn't take long once they've been chased or engaged in battles to build up the muscles needed for greater endurance. But within the first few days away from the nest they still lack the strength in those wing muscles to perform like an adult. They will gradually increase their feeding time, and/or learn which food sources require less energy to feed.
This young Ruby-throat solved the problem after it tired out and perched on a Delphinium branch. It shuffled along the branch and just poked around in the flowers, no matter how awkwardly it had to contort it's body. Young hummingbirds can often times be identified by this behavior. They will perch in flowers and regain energy, even if just for a few seconds. They may be little but they're not lazy. It's just to regain strength, and then it's back to business. Adults will refuse awkward flowers unless they're the only ones available.
Young Male Ruby-throat hummingbird. N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. August 2, 2018
From the first hummingbird sighting of the year to the very last, not one is forgettable. I've experienced moments, as have many of you, that are impossible to erase from our minds. From the time a little hummingbird sat at our deck table and watched while my wife and I ate dinner, to the many times I've watered the plants and had hummingbirds sit on those same flowers to partake in a bit of the shower, they are permanently ingrained in me. Hours upon hours have been spent just sitting and watching their antics, and each and every one gets set permanently into memory. There are not many things that can have such an impact on us, where we remember the finest details of every circumstance of every sighting in our garden. It's not just a time passer, but a passion that keeps us returning day after day and year after year. These little creatures are precious, beautiful, and a constant reminder of what's good in this world. They are a powerful little piece of nature that can transform a bad day into a great one, and an addiction that only brings smiles and satisfaction. Each and every time we see one it provides a reminder and connection to the very one who sent them. They are truly blessings beyond belief.
This young male Ruby-throat hummingbird tired out from the flower feeding and chose the closest perch to us. It sat on the hummingbird solar light as I snapped several shots and captured minutes of video. N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. July 28, 2018.
It seems like such a short time ago that the perennials were poking through the ground and I sat in the garden waiting for my first hummingbird to arrive, and today I'm watching the snow fall in my back yard. I really had a wonderful summer and I'm sad to see it go, but I remain excited about what's to come next season. Today I pieced together some images that kind of sums up the season I had from Spring to snowfall.
Ziggy, my dominant Ruby-throat hummingbird showed up at his normal time and I believe he was as excited as I was when he arrived to the feeders and fountain. He took quick control of his garden, preened frequently and waited on the soon to arrive females. We planted flowers around the May long weekend in hopes they'd be thick and colorful when the young would arrive later in the season. Migrant birds soon filled the yard, sang their songs, and began nesting in and around our garden. This female American Goldfinch plucked cluster after cluster of the cotton we provided to build its nest in early July(late nesters).
Soon after, the Delphiniums started to bloom, and the nectar rich garden started to attract young hummingbirds from all across the countryside. The chorus of songbirds in Springtime eventually produced young birds of all species that colored up the garden with their playfulness. Every species seemed to be successful in nesting. The yard filled up with young birds, both feeding from the feeders and throughout the trees as they maintained and cared for our garden.
Late in the season smoke billowed in from the mountain fires. The air was thick, but the sunsets were magnificent.
It was about the hottest day we'd had through summer, but was mid-migration for the hummingbirds. The fighting and chasing was frantic throughout the garden. One migrant showed up and gave me a few good opportunities to capture his advanced maturity. His throat was evident of a male, but more so than we usually see from any of the young before they head south. Sometimes we get a young male with a freckle or one dark feather that reflects one spot of red, but this one had a full throat of incoming dark feathers. By the time he reaches the gardens of my friends in the south he'll have a patchy red throat, and by next Spring he'll be hard to separate from all the other males dressed with a full red gorget.
He chased in the hot temperatures and then sat and panted like a dog. Here he sits with his mouth open, not because he was angry at another bird, but desperately tried to cool himself off before joining into the chase again.
Juvenile male Ruby-throat hummingbird. N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Mid-August 2018
There comes a point when you just have so many pictures that you try to catch hummingbirds in awkward or unusual positions. There's only so many photos you can take before many start looking like the others. So while these youngsters just sat in the plants, I tried to capture them every time they would preen.
Even though hummingbirds weren't built to walk, they do have strength in their legs. They use their legs in combat, shuffling along branches or around a feeder, and holding onto their perch when wild winds toss them around. Those are mighty little muscles that grip for hours through the most violent storms. Just imagine while the branches are being tossed about, they can grip tightly and balance their body. In comparison to other birds or animals, they have legs built for power. This was all planned out in the design of nature, for their survival. Larger birds with a greater mass are not affected as much when standing in the wind, but the smaller you go with birds and even insects, the mightier their legs and wings are.
Their legs may look tiny and fragile, but in relation to their body, they have powerful little pipes.
Here is a series of pic's that I took of young Ruby-throat hummingbirds while they cleaned and scratched. August 2018. N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
Here's a common question that's asked, and there is a simple explanation. First of all I want to exclude regions that have many hummingbirds for this reason - When the population is much bigger, it becomes impossible for one bird to chase away all other hummingbirds. They still remain cranky and continue to squeak out a warning, but when there are multiple birds all doing the same thing, they just try and work their way into a feeding opportunity.
For the rest of the population that has far fewer birds, something different occurs. Hummingbirds are seriously possessive of their food. Once they've fed from a feeder, and in their own mind determined it's now theirs, they start to protect that source. If they catch another bird feeding at their food source, they quickly fight to protect it. As the number of birds increase you sometimes get situations where a few birds start believing they each own that feeder, and so they fight and chase each other around the yard. Then you get the situation where certain birds are pushed out of feeders. Each feeder has an owner already, and the rest have to sneak in for feeding opportunities. Occasionally you'll get a sneaker that finds an open feeder while the owner is away or sleeping on the job. That sneaker isn't in aggression mode. It just wants to grab a feed as quickly as it can without getting noticed. Finally, you get a second sneaker that arrives at a feeder with another sneaker already there. Neither wants any trouble, and they are just hoping the other won't be too upset with sharing. Neither one is in aggression mode, because both of them each know they are the trespasser and neither one owns that feeder. Sometimes you get one peaking around at the other just to make sure they're in agreement, but then it's back to feeding.
There is a pecking order within the hummingbird world. Some birds just know they are at the top. Ziggy(my dominant male) for example, he doesn't question whether he can take on another bird, he knows it. Over time, and several combats later, the toughest will take over, and the others simply understand that. If sharing means they get in a feed, then they'll accept that. When the young start to discover and practice scare tactics, they will fly up into the face of another, and flare the tail and wings to try and intimidate. Sometimes it's effective and they realize the power they contain, while other times they realize it was a really big mistake while being chased around the garden a dozen times.
Two non-confrontational Ruby-throat hummingbirds just wanting a drink N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Mid-August 2018
If you were to see these 4 hummingbirds at your feeders, would you dare to think that one is out of its territory, or would you just assume they are all the same species, or even the same bird?
Birds typically stay within their common territory but sometimes you get a wanderer, and now that I've stated that one is not like the others, you're probably trying to find the difference. They are very similar, but when you start to look at the finer details, you'll probably notice a freckle on the throat of one bird. If you noticed that and thought you found the bird out of place, then you'd be wrong. It's also a Ruby-throat. It can be very difficult to separate the species, especially the young or the females.
Sometimes it comes down to recognizing the behavior to know the difference, and that was my case. They're all captured at a distance of 40 - 100 feet away from myself, so I thought nothing of it, but then one started acting a bit different from the others. One got my attention, and then I started to watch more carefully. The subtle differences were enough for me to question even the slightest possibility of a stranger among us. I grabbed my binoculars and also noticed a slight variation in color from the rest. Ruby-throats are olive colored on the back, but light gray on the front, except for the adult males which have the faint olive tuxedo, with the whitish/grey shirt underneath it. I've seen the odd young Ruby that shows a buff coloring around the flank area, but that's about it. The stranger in our yard looked like the other Rubies, but upon a closer look I noticed a slight buff coloring on the front shoulder down to the flank. This is where I noticed something was up. I started to watch that particular bird a whole lot more carefully. Then the behavior seemed far more dramatic from the others. I've seen enough Rubies to know what common behavior is, but this one was different in sound, appearance and behavior.
It flew over our heads before noticing another bird at a feeder below. It did an intimidation drop out of the sky like no Ruby I'd ever seen, and the sound brought the biggest smile to my face. It was a Calliope! Hundreds of miles from its territory and it ended up in my garden. You couldn't imagine my excitement! I managed several more photos as close as I could get before it also decided to leave for good. It headed east, yes east! This means many other gardens will have this Calliope visiting from far outside its territory, but will anyone notice? I really believe the rare sightings could be even more common if we could all more easily identify the different species, including myself. Fortunately for myself, this young male stuck around for several hours before I finally clued in.
For those who are still wondering which bird is different from the rest...it's the first one.
N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Mid August 2018
For those who don't take pictures, but admire others for their hummingbird shots, you couldn't imagine the amount of time that goes into setting up, sitting motionless, and snapping thousands of shots, only to come out with a handful of beauties by the end of the season. It's incredibly time consuming, and the muscles in your hands, arms, and back can certainly tell you how difficult it is. Blurry eyes after hours of pic's and headaches from such intense focus and attention can give you incredible fatigue, but please don't feel sorry for us. There is nowhere we'd rather be, and nothing we'd rather be doing. Those sore muscles are nothing compared to the rewards we get when we capture the perfect shots.
After hours, days, and even weeks of capturing hummers in the garden, I ended up with about 50 shots that capture the color, position, background, crispness and detail better than the rest. This young male Ruby-throat allowed me about 50 decent shots, but this particular one really got my attention.
Zinnias are a really good target flower for young hummingbirds. They are attracted to the large bright flowers, and are easy to feed from. I would consider these one my top 5 favorites for attracting young hummingbirds.
N.E. of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Early August, 2018
Author of Jewel of the North. Please post your comments and questions. | English | NL | 5b28687d4880bbf7789f94ec7b5b0d7bcee8f1a74c4398d3d15ab190c65adaeb |
When a court divides property in a Texas divorce, it presumes all property possessed by either spouse during the marriage or upon the divorce is community property. Community property is all property acquired by other spouse during the marriage, other than separate property. Separate property is either property owned or claimed by the spouse before the marriage or acquired by one spouse during the marriage by gift, devise, or descent. Personal injury recoveries are separate property, but the community estate may recover for medical expenses , lost earning capacity, and other expenses the community estate incurred due to the injury. The spouse asserting that the property is separate has the burden of showing which part of the settlement is separate property. Language in a settlement agreement identifying the basis for the payment may displace the presumption of community property and create a new presumption that the funds are separate property. In such cases, the spouse claiming the property is community property must provide evidence to rebut the presumption that it is separate.
A husband recently challenged the trial court’s property division, partly because it denied his reimbursement claim related to funds from a settlement. He had settled a discrimination claim against his employer during the marriage. The settlement included mental anguish, pain and suffering, and physical injuries, but did not include back pay or front pay. He agreed to resign as part of the settlement. He deposited the funds into a savings account.
Funds from the savings account were used to make a down payment on the couple’s home, the monthly mortgage, and the final payment. The mortgage was in the husband’s name, but the deed was in both names.
The trial court awarded the house and household furnishings to the husband. The husband argued the house was bought with his separate property and he should be reimbursed. The court did not award him that reimbursement, and in fact awarded the wife $160,000 and granted her an owelty lien on the property. The court also awarded her a disproportionate share of the community estate. The husband appealed.
He argued that the trial court erred by not awarding him reimbursement for the payments for the home that were made with his separate property. A party asserting property is separate must present clear and convincing evidence to overcome the presumption that the property is part of the community estate. The party generally must be able to trace the property and present evidence of how and when it was obtained.
The husband argued the funds received for pain and anguish were separate property. He argued that the language in the settlement agreement made clear that it did not include lost wages and instead was for mental anguish, pain and suffering, and similar injuries.
The appeals court noted that the settlement agreement also included a confidentiality provision. The trial court cited the language in the confidentiality provision stating the settlement agreement could not be used as evidence in any proceeding other than one between the parties to the agreement. The trial court therefore found that the other language in the settlement could not be used as evidence, and the appeals court agreed. The husband therefore did not raise the presumption that the property was separate and still had to overcome the presumption that it was community property.
There was a statement from the bank showing that the net amount of the settlement was deposited, but the husband did not testify or present other evidence showing when the account was opened, how much was in the account when the couple married, or the other deposits and withdrawals. The appeals court found he failed to trace the funds used to pay for the home back to separate property.
The appeals court found the trial court had not abused its discretion in denying the husband’s reimbursement claim. Although the husband raised several other issues, the appeals court overruled them all and affirmed the trial court.
In this case, it appears the funds in question were of a type that is generally separate property. The settlement agreement identified the claims being settled, and they all would have resulted in separate property. However, due to the confidentiality provision of the settlement agreement, the court would not consider it. The issue here was not that the husband was wrong in characterizing the property as separate, but that he was unable to prove he was correct. If you are facing a high asset divorce, the experienced Texas divorce attorneys at McClure Law Group can help you identify the proof you need to support your case. Please call 214.692.8200 for a consultation.
More Blog Posts: | English | NL | 3b9d6e1cbc7db42ec2f041a585dc793a021c8d60b27a69981fc2792310c408a3 |
Rabbit hole art from Deviant Art
It is remarkably easy to head off down a genealogical rabbit hole and, following a trail you believe will lead in one direction, find yourself arriving by quite another route.
A case in point relates to a Chancery document I recently requested from the National Archives because it referred both to a family called Bayly and a John Augier. I have wanted for a long time to establish who was the John Augier who was father of the remarkable Augier sisters about whom I have written before. The spelling of Bayly is an unusual one and I already knew of Zachary Bayly, the uncle of the Jamaican historian Bryan Edwards,who had extensive connections with Jamaica. In addition the Bayly family in the Chancery case came from Bristol, a city with extensive trading and slavery connections, and not far from the Wiltshire roots of Zachary Bayly. So far so good.
The Chancery case dated 1717 was a complex one and, like many cases within Jamaica, made the more so by the deaths of most of the protagonists! Put as simply as I can John Rowe of Bristol was suing for the inheritance of his dead son, a minor also called John Rowe. The child’s mother was Mary Bayly the daughter of Samuel Bayly whose other children were Anne and Richard. In her Will written about 1703 Mary Grant, the Bayly girls grandmother left them a substantial inheritance in money, Plate and furniture. She made various provisions for how the money was to be divided in the event of the deaths of either of the young women and for Mary’s son John Rowe. The Trustees in the various Wills involved included several of the Bayly brothers and their cousin Thomas Weare (like his cousins a mercer).
Samuel Bayly was a mercer of the City of Bristol and his brothers were also mercers and linen drapers. His brother Richard was also a soap boiler. John Rowe senior’s case was that Richard Bayly had claimed to be insolvent and so offered to pay only twelve shillings in the pound to his creditors, which included the Trust fund. He believed that Richard Bayly had in fact paid some of his creditors in full. Rowe said that Samuel Bayly had promised to make good any deficiency on behalf of young John Rowe, but had not done so before his death in about 1708 despite owning considerable property at Henbury about five miles from Bristol.
Meanwhile Samuel’s son Richard Bayly had married Mary Hayes and then died leaving her free to marry John Augier. John Rowe’s contention was that the various Trustees of the legacy of Mary Grant had conspired together with John Augier to pretend that Richard Bayly senior’s business had failed and hence to defraud the only descendant entitled to that legacy – the now dead John Rowe junior. Since John Rowe senior was administrator of his infant son’s property, and indeed would inherit anything he left, he was effectively suing on his own behalf! Moreover in addition to the various items left by Mary Grant he also claimed that John Augier and his wife had taken a bed from a house in Bristol High Street to which John Rowe was entitled.
If you would like to read the full details of the case I have transcribed the document because although it is not a Jamaica suit it is probably fairly typical of the kinds of arguments that arose when estates went unadministered and legatees died before claiming their inheritance. At the very least John Rowe was requesting that the Court should enforce the provision of evidence by those he was suing to demonstrate what had happened to the property and to provide full accounts for the expenses. For example Rowe claimed that more had apparently been spent on his mother-in-law’s funeral than the fifty pounds she had specified in her Will.
Reading some of the Bayly family Wills it seems likely that they were telling the truth about the failure of Richard Bayly’s business and that Samuel Bayly had tried to make some kind of provision for little John Rowe. Whether Richard Bayly had actually lost some of the Trust fund fraudulently propping up his failing business we will never know.
And what about the Jamaican connections I had been searching for? I have so far failed to link this Bayly merchant family in Bristol with the family of Zachary Bayly, which is not to say such a link may not exist. But certainly the John Augier cited in the case is not the John Augier who died in Jamaica about 1720.
However it turns out there is a Jamaica connection.
The Bayly brothers had a sister called Mary who married the wonderfully named Uzziel Bussell. Uzziel had a father William Bussell, a Bristol baker, who died about February 1679/80 and in his Will (not proved until after the death of Uzziel in 1695) mentioned his brother Edmund in Jamaica. William did not sign his Will but made his mark and so was either illiterate or too ill to be able sign and therefore it is reasonable to assume that his brother’s name should have been Edward. For one of the original settlers in Jamaica was Edward Bussell. There is some evidence that the Bussell family may have been non-conformists and so may have left England at the Restoration, having been on the ‘wrong’ side in the Civil War.
Edward Bussell and his wife Grace had seven children baptised in the parish of St Andrew between 1666 and 1681. Edward was recorded as owning eleven acres of land in the first survey of Jamaica in 1670 and there is also a grant of 60 acres to ‘Francis Bussell and Smith’. Edward’s son William lived to grow up, married and had at least one child, another William baptised in 1682. There are eight Bussell burials in St Andrew between 1689 and 1702, and although it is impossible to distinguish father from son and mother from daughter where they share the same name, it seems likely that Edward died in 1693 and his wife in 1702.
Although there were Bussells in Jamaica in the nineteenth century the probability is that the early settler family had died out by the first decade of the eighteenth century, as had so many of the first colonists. Whether their connection with the Bayly family of Bristol is in any way related to the decision made by Zachary Bayly to go there half a century later remains to be discovered.
And I am still searching for the origins of John Augier! | English | NL | 24304e5501b3fdfd953bc82c23c4b583228c829b7666aede2b092b85d4da31ef |
Richard Hell was born Richard Meyers on October 2, 1949.
In 1969, He and friend Tom Verlaine started a band called Neon Boys, later changing their name to Television.
Television became the first "punk" band to play CBGBs and became the club's house band.
In 1975 Hell quite Television, it just so happened that that same week Jerry Nolan and Johnny Thunders quite The New York Dolls. They joined together and started The Heartbreakers.
They were notorious for being a band made up of junkies. Showing their love for smack in the song "Chinese Rock", originally written by Dee Dee Ramone.
Richard Hell was the first to start cutting up his clothes and putting holes and safety pins in his clothes. He was a major influence on the punk style and attitude, being stated as a major influence on the famed english punk store "Sex".
Hell quit The Heartbreakers in 1976, it is rumored that one of his main reasons for quitting was conflict between him and Thunders and Hell started dating Thunder's long time girlfriend Sable Starr.
That same year he started the band Richard Hell & The Voidoids with Robert Quine, Ivan Julian, and Marc Bell
In 1977, they release their debut album Blank Generation.
The song "Blank Generation" being the best known song.
They only released one more album, Destiny Street, before they broke up. Destiny Street being less successful because the line up of the band had changed. Hell and Quine being the only original members.
Since the break up of The Voidoids, Hell has only released one more album with the band Dim Stars in the early 1990s. He has also become an accomplished writer, releasing eight books since 1992.
But he will always be remembered for his ripped shirts, cool guy attitude, and the amazing music he created. | English | NL | 5ee44fa7f0d1f0bb4e77c4b3f3d0f477ea2b74c53e948a30706444de938dc612 |
Throughout the ages civilizations have tried to find ways to deal with plumbing issues – everything from cleaning themselves, to getting fresh drinking water, to dealing with human waste. Although some societies did better than others, there were just a few men who really contributed to modern plumbing as we now know it. These inventors and innovators have changed how we do things today and each in their own way made life a little bit easier for the rest of us. Here are a few of them along with their contributions:
Sir John Harrington
This former poet was the godson to Queen Elizabeth I, and although she liked him he was sent away for telling inappropriate stories. While away from the Court, he invented and installed the first ever flushing toilet. After reconciling with the Queen, Harrington showed her his invention which she was impressed by. Unfortunately, the flushing didn’t do more than get rid of the waste to a pan below the toilet so the invention never really took off. The English kept using their chamberpots until a working toilet that connected to real plumbing was invented.
Yes, you read that right. There’s a very good reason you’ve heard someone say they’re going to the crapper. Thomas Crapper, another Englishman, was an apprentice plumber under his older brother and was the first man to really bring plumbing to the forefront of people’s minds. He spoke to anyone and everyone about sanitary plumbing and he later supplied the plumbing for Prince Edward VII. His company, Thomas Crapper & Co., supplied numerous toilets during WWII and since the company name was stamped on all the toilets, soldiers would say they were going to the crapper and everyone knew what they were talking about.
William Feetham, another Englishman, was the first person to invent a mechanical shower. He was originally a stove maker from London, but he devised a contraption so people could shower. It worked by using a pump which forced water into a container which was placed above the head. A chain was connected to the container and when the person showering would pull the chain the water would drop down on them. Over the years the shower would improve greatly, with it eventually being connected to pipes bringing in the water and pipes draining the old water.
There are too many names to even consider when it comes to those who improved on these inventions. However, due to our quest to be clean at a convenience, improvements are made constantly and continually. Take for example the water heater. It used to take time to reheat the water after you used up your supply, but now there are tankless water heaters which can give hot water on demand. It’s fun to just imagine what the plumbing improvements of tomorrow will include! | English | NL | 7cf02db507fc5abba98533eed0775b6cada93195ca1dd07f35d2e601f785b18d |
SummaryHave you ever thought about what could have been? Here is a story about Gokaiger but it's not Captain Marvelous it's Captain Millfy and her money grubbing Gokai Yellow Marvie-chan. Super Sentai is owned by Toei Company, Ltd. I own nothing but the idea.
Chapter 1Explosions were happening all over Japan as the Space Empire Zangyack attacked. This was the greatest threat the Earth had ever faced. The Zangyack had taken many planets in their ambition to take over the Galaxy and the Earth was next. Luckily the Earth had several protectors of peace, love, dreams, and justice. THE SUPER SENTAI.
34 teams with almost 200 members. All fighting for the same goal. PROTECTING THE EARTH. They had never faced an enemy like this before. The battle was an epic struggle of good versus evil. It came to be known as the Great Legend War. With every team from Goranger to Goseiger fighting alongside one another to protect the smiles of the people of Earth. But as the battle came to a close, Akaranger knew that the only way that this battle could come to an end is if they combined all of their might and power to create one attack that would destroy the attacking fleet. It worked but at a price, the Super Sentai lost their powers. Which were scattered throughout the universe.
Sometime later a red pirate ship drifted past Earth’s moon.
“I can feel it the greatest treasure in the universe is there.” a robotic bird said as he flew in the main area of the ship.
“Really?” a young man in a green jacket said. As he rushed to the console and pushed some buttons so that the Earth could be seen on the screen. The young man’s name was Don “Doc” Dogoier. He was the technological genius of the team. “But what is it doing on a backwater planet like that?” he asked his nakama.
“I don’t care.” a male voice said as he juggles jewels. “To me, all I see is sparkling jewels,” he said with a smile.
“Same as always Marvie-chan.” another man said as he walked into the room.
“Joe is excited too. He’s just hiding it well.” Marvie-chan said with a smile and kissed his boyfriend on the cheek.
Marvie-chan is Marvelous and is very money conscious as he would like to say. Money grubbing as others would call him. And his boyfriend Joe Gibken. Joe was a master with his sword and would never break his calm cool demeanor for most things.
“The people must live in peace and harmony there,” a female voice said as she sat on the lap of her Captain.
With one hand in a treasure chest full of strangely shaped keys and the other around the woman sitting on her lap, the Captain smiled.
“It’s there I can feel it,” the Captain said she leaned down and kissed her Captain.
The woman sitting on the lap of their Captain was Ahim de Millfy. And the Captain was Captain Millfy her wife.
“Of course Captain-sama.” Ahim smiled at her.
At this point, alarms were going off in the cabin. Marvie-chan went to the console and tried to push in the right buttons to get the screen to work and show them what the problem was.
“Mou, Doc,” Marvie-chan said as he failed.
Doc took over the console and pushed the right buttons. And that’s when they saw the Zangyack fleet approaching.
“No, they’re after the bounties on our heads.” Doc started to freak out, but Marvie-chan elbowed him in the gut.
“What do we do, Captain?” Joe asked.
Everyone turned to look at the Captain who smiled up at her wife.
“We go through them. They are in the way after all,” she said with a smile as she held up a key shaped like a ranger.
* * *“So it’s those pirates with the bounty huh?” a random Sugormin said looking at their wanted posters.
“Capture them for the money!” he yelled to his army of Gormin Sailors.
* * *They smiled as they manned all Battlestations so to speak. Gokai Red was her spot in the cockpit. “Fire portside cannons!” Gokai Red commanded.
And they did as she ordered and fire the cannons hitting a bunch of Zangyack ships destroying them. She then aimed her ship right at another on hitting it with the bow of the ship plowing right through the Zangyack.
* * *“They think they’re clever?” he said as he watched his ships getting destroyed by the GokaiGallon.
“Full power!” he yelled to his men who fired everything that they had the ship.
“Haha. That got them,” he said. But just at that moment the GokaiOh the giant robot of the team escaped the flame.
* * *“Not going down that easy.” Gokai Red said as the GokaiOh easily went through the rest of the fleet making it look like child’s play.
“It’s now a straight route to the Earth.” Gokai Yellow said.
“I hope the treasure’s really there.” Gokai Green said.
“It’s there. Let’s go.” Gokai Red said as she turned the wheel and the five components of GokaiOh split and returned inside the GokaiGallon.
* * *It was a peaceful day for the people of Tokyo when overhead they spotted the GokaiGallon flying over them. They were shocked when two anchors dropped from the Gallon and into the sidewalk. Then our five heroes propelled down from the Gallon to stand on top of a building.
“We are Kaizoku Sentai Gokaiger, and I’m Captain Millfy. We have come for the greatest treasure in the universe. Tell us what you know.” Captain Millfy said through a megaphone to the people below. Everyone looked at each other not sure of what to make of this.
“Don’t try and hide it,” Marvie-chan said as he juggled his jewels yanking the megaphone from his Captain.
“Perhaps you are bit too harsh Marvie-chan,” Ahim said as she took the megaphone.
“You commoner. Yes, you have you heard of such a treasure?” she asked with a nurturing voice.
“No, I haven’t. And I doubt anyone on the planet has,” he said with everyone in agreement.
“What do we do now Captain?” Joe asked, looking to his Captain.
Captain Millfy thought about it for a moment. “We eat,” she said, walking away from her team with her wife running to catch up to her with a smile.
“What are we going to do for money? We don’t have the currency here?” Doc asked.
Captain Millfy stopped. “Marvie-chan, one of your jewels,” she said nonchalantly.
“EH?!?” he asked nearly dropping one on the spot.
* * *“This is only a loan. You have to pay me back every cent.” Marvie-chan moaned as he counted the 10 million yen that they had gotten for one of his jewels.
“You know that he will never pay back that loan right?” Joe asked Doc, who just smiled at his Captain, who had Ahim on one arm looking at her lovingly.
“Yup, so where are we going to yet. With 10 million yen someplace fancy?” he asked with a smile and everyone looked excited.
* * *Instead of someplace fancy like Doc wanted the Captain picked a little curry shop.
“With all this money why did you pick this place?” Doc complained, sitting across from Marvie-chan counting his money and Joe.
“I like the smell,” Millfy said with a smile as her wife rested her head on her shoulder as they waited for there meals at the counter.
“Safari Curry.” the server said as he handed out the food.
“Itadakimasu,” they all said as they were about to eat, but there was an explosion from outside and the restaurant was destroyed.
That’s when Marvie-chan spotted the money that had blown everywhere. “AHHHHH! Save the money,” he yelled as he ran around the restaurant gathering up all the money.
“What about the meal?” Millfy asked the guy behind the counter.
“That’s out of the question,” he said as he cowered behind the broken counter.
The team went outside and looked up in the sky to see more of the Zangyank ships in the sky. “Oh mou, pick another planet to destroy,” Marvie-chan complained clutching the money.
“This is bad that’s the Gigant Horse,” Doc said spotting the biggest of the ships in the fleet.
“They only bring that out if they’re serious about destroying the planet,” Joe said.
“What do we do Captain-sama?” Ahim asked her wife.
“For know, we go back to the Gallon,” she said, looking at her nakama.
They started to make there way back to the Gallon, but they found a group of kindergartners cowering behind there teachers. Ahim stopped looking at them she couldn’t move. “What is it Ahim?” Millfy asked her wife. Then they looked and saw the kids.
“I hate to say it. But maybe this planet has no future?” Marvie-chan said, looking at the action commander enjoying this too much.
“I don’t like it,” she said to everyone who looked at her.
“Please spare the children. Please?” one teacher begged to the action commander standing above her.
“I will do no such thing. There screams give me pleasure.” he laughed but then his weapon was shot from his hands.
“Your those pirates. What do you want here do you want to join the fun?” he asked them.
“Shut up, Baka,” Marvie-chan said.
“Baka?” he asked enraged.
“I don’t like you and pirates make guys they don’t like, walk the plank.” Captain Millfy said as they brought out ranger keys.
“Gokai Change!” they said.
“Gokai Red,” Millfy said.
“Gokai Blue,” Joe said.
“Gokai Yellow,” Marvie-chan said.
“Gokai Green,” Doc said.
“Gokai Pink,” Ahim said.
“Kaizoku Sentai Gokaiger!” everyone said together.
“Let’s make this showy,” Millfy said as they went into battle.
And true to her word they did everything show. As they fought.
“C-Can they be the 35 Super Sentai?” one of the teachers asked.
Each of the members of the Gokaiger did as their Captain ordered. Gokai Pink swing around and firing at Gormin with her Gokai Gun. And when she stopped she swung her Gokai Saber slashing through more. Marvie-chan was just as showy firing his Gokai Gun at any Gormin he saw as he ran. “Out of the way!” he yelled as he kicked one from the second floor of a demolished building.
Gokai Blue was the perfect swordsman always. As he jumped from rubble to rubble he sliced through as many Gormin as he could. Doc the clown showman of the group jump from an oil rigging and landed on a zip line that one of them had set up. And as he bounced on the line he took out as many as he could firing his gun. Gokai Red was the perfect fighter as always. She was able to fight and slice through any of her foes that she saw. But she never lost sight of where her crew was and flung her Gokai Saber at a Gormin that was attacking Joe.
“Doc,” Gokai Red said knowing that Doc was nearby.
“Yes,” he said. He then flung his Saber to his Captain. And Joe realizing what his Captain wanted next flung his Gun to her as well.
Gokai Red then kicked the Gun to Gokai Green as she caught the saber that Doc had flung. Gokai Green then grabbed the gun and started firing both guns as Gokai Blue showed that he was an even better two-sword style user. Slicing through rockets sent his way.
“Ahim.” Gokai Yellow said he tossed his gun to Ahim.
“Understood.” as she did the same tossing Marvie-chan her saber.
And then the two of them showed that they were also very showy with there weapons. As Ahim shot down as many as she could while Marvie-chan displayed some sword skills of his own using the zip lines in the hilt and whipping them around like they were an extension of his body. “Ah, Mou,” Marvie-chan complained as more of them showed up.
“There’s a ton of them,” Marvie-chan said.
“Then we use that,” Millfy said to them as they gathered.
“That,” Joe said.
“That should work,” Doc said.
“Yeah,” Marvie-chan said.
“That’s a good idea,” Ahim said.
They each pushed the top button on the belt buckle and it swung around to show another Ranger Key. But not the keys that they had used to become the Gokaiger it was a different key altogether.
“Gokai Change!” they said as they did what they had done the first time.
“Teacher what is that?” one of the children asked seeing the new suits.
“The first Super Sentai formed on Earth!” she said looking on in shock.
“That’s Himitsu Sentai Goranger right? But how?!” the other teacher asked.
“Goranger Hurricane!” Ahim said, pulling out a multi-colored football.
“Goranger Hurricane. A Garbage truck!” Millfy said as they took their places.
“Doc-san!” Ahim said as she tossed the football to Doc who kicked into the air.
“Marvie-chan!” he said, passing it to him.
“Joe!” he said as he kicked to him. Who caught it in mid-air and held it out.
“Millfy!” he said.
“ENDBALL!!” she screamed as she kicked it. It landed a few feet behind the Gormin, turning it into a garbage truck. And as the Gormin tried to figure out how that truck just came out of the ball it started to suck them all up into it. And drove away. Then some Sugormin with some more Gormin showed up.
“Persistent aren’t they?” Doc asked.
They grouped together again.
“Gokai Change!” they said.
They turned into yet another team from Earths past. Swinging their samurai swords as they fought.
“Gii Magika!” they said together and sent five-element tornadoes at their enemy destroying them.
“That was very showy. But it ends here. I have grown tired of you.” the action commander said. He fired his attack at them who took. Then jumped out of the fire as the Gokaiger. And slashed through him once for each of them.
“The finisher,” Millfy said, releasing a key slot on the saber then pulled out her own Gokai Red key and inserted it. The others did the same. And then slapped down the slot as the swords began to glow.
They then slashed their swords sending five-colored energy slashes blowing him up.
* * *“What is it?” Ahim asked as she saw the group of kids.
“Thank you!” one of the kids said.
“For saving us before we really thank you.” the teacher said.
Millfy looked a little flabbergasted as she walked away.
“What are you saying?” Joe asked as he did the same.
“We’re pirates. We just came looking for treasure.” Marvie-chan said as he walked away himself.
“Then why did you fight for us?” the other teacher asked.
“That was...” Ahim said looking at her wife walking away.
“The curry rice,” she said.
“We were angry they interrupted our meal of curry rice. That’s all that was,” she said with a smile.
“That’s why you don’t have to thank us,” Doc said looking at the kids with a smile. As the five of them walked away and back to the Gallon.
« Last Edit: July 28, 2019, 04:23:01 AM by CaptainNinnin » | English | NL | e33f19dd7c238517510b3b721426d2d44317a2d9e82659c6d6f45212afc5acf1 |
God declares that he will ultimately conquer all his enemies and rescue his people, calling them to dwell in his glorious presence for all eternity and will accomplish all of this through the life, death and resurrection of the Messiah.
In heaven there is nothing common or passing, that only what is holy and eternal will remain, and that we will all be priests serving in God’s heavenly temple.
On the Last Day, God’s patience will run out and he will come in terrifying justice to judge all his enemies.
God makes a way for sinners to enter into heaven as he turns the sword of judgment upon himself, thereby opening a way for sinful man to enter into his presence without bringing defilement upon it.
On the Last Day, God will remove all false teaching and worship and leave only truth and pure worship, which will define heaven for all eternity.
Simply put, the cross of Christ forms the basis of the church’s salvation and the pattern for her future.
The Last Day will come at the church’s darkest hour, when the whole world stands against her, but God will deliver her by judging the world.
God foretells the judgment he will render on Israel for her apostasy, which will culminate when they betray the Good Shepherd for 30 shekels of silver.
God expands his promise to judge his enemies and deliver his people by promising his people a share in his victory, his life, his land and his holiness because they have been united to him.
God promises to judge false leaders within his household and to lead his people through the wilderness of this world on their way to the Kingdom of Heaven.
Zechariah 9 declares that the coming of Jesus, as king, and the building of his kingdom will be marked out by the drawing of Gentiles to himself for salvation.
Zechariah foretells the coming victory of the Messianic-King, which will be won through humiliation and weakness.
Grace replaces wrath as God promises to bless his people despite their failures.
The Jews totally missed the point of the fasts, thinking they were for God’s benefit and not theirs, and in-so-doing missed the very thing they were meant to learn (namely that pridefully rejecting God leads to destruction).
Between his first and second coming, Jesus is active in the building of his church as his temple and his kingdom and he employs us as helpers in building it through the work of evangelism.
Today I want to show that the kingdom of God is a reward given by the Father to the Son for keeping all the terms of the Counsel of Peace – the covenant that was made between the members of the Trinity.
God will, on the Last Day, achieve a perfect and universal rest, by conquering his (and our) enemies as they assemble themselves in an attempt to capture heaven.
The woman Wickedness is the false church that honors God with her lips, but pursues an earthly religion of self-righteousness and will meet with judgment on the Last Day as she is expelled from the Promised Land and cast into the abyss.
Those who seek to establish their inheritance in the things of this world will find those possessions destroyed in wrath of God.
The Lord uses his church to build his church by the power of the Holy Spirit, through the ministry of the word (of the cross). | English | NL | d2e52c27842c88d15051860ff50fa8537e850281c4fa358ccd533c81dd644d7a |
by Susan Tobin
Forrestine Paulay collaborated with Alan Lomax in creating the method of cross-cultural dance analysis known as Choreometrics. A former dancer, she is a movement analyst, teacher, and consultant in cross-cultural movement style. She is also a co-developer of the Laban Effort/Shape training program, which together with physiotherapist Irmgard Bartenieff and Martha Davis, she taught at the Dance Notation Bureau in New York in the early 1960s. Paulay studied Rudolf Laban's system of movement analysis with Bartenieff, one of Laban's foremost pupils, who had applied his principles of human movement patterns and movement education to physical therapy, dance therapy, and movement-oriented psychological research. She also worked with psychiatrist Judith Kestenberg's Developmental Study Group, in which she broke ground by demonstrating the importance of Pre-Shaping in movement as comparable to that of Pre-Effort. Paulay, Bartenieff, and Kestenberg traveled to England to study Laban's work in Effort with Lisa Ullman, Marion North, Warren Lamb, and others who had worked with him prior to his death in 1958. Bartenieff and Paulay joined Lomax's Performance Style Project in 1965 and contributed a chapter to the book Folk Song Style and Culture (1968).
Forrestine Paulay was born in Manhattan Beach, California. She fell in love with dance at age three when she watched her older sister dance. When she was four, the family relocated to Hemet, California, because her father, an attorney, needed to live further away from the sea for health reasons. Their new home was a 10-acre farm where Paulay recalls they harvested "apricots, walnuts, and grapefruit, and raised and showed registered Jersey cattle." She graduated early from High School, and then studied dance for two years in Los Angeles with distinguished ballet teachers Rozelle Frey and Mia Slavenska. Initially a ballet dancer, she later moved to modern dance. Upon her marriage she moved to Connecticut where she taught movement in the Drama Department at Yale, while her husband, a future cardiologist, was enrolled in medical school. Subsequently they moved to New York where Paulay performed with Nona Sherman.
When Paulay and Bartenieff joined Lomax's Choreometrics Project they brought with them the Laban Effort/Shape system, a well-tested qualitative method for evaluating and recording the dynamics of movement. For the next four years they collected and viewed filmed examples of work and dance from hundreds of cultures and, through a rigorous comparative process, adapted the Laban principles that had been used to reveal intra-cultural or individual difference in movement style into variables that could facilitate perception of intercultural variation. One of the ideas the Choreometrics team set out to test — and which necessitated the acquisition of an enormous amount of documentary footage from a variety of sources — was that dance epitomizes the style of movement widespread in a tradition, particularly that which once powered the main productive activities in pre-industrial societies and eras. They therefore also collected and examined film of people at work. It was found that, by and large, dance mirrors the movements necessary to carry out the main recurrent tasks of subsistence which are or once were fundamental in those particular societies and times.
In 1970 when Bartenieff left, Paulay became Associate Director of the Choreometrics Project, and through the early 1970s she and Lomax further expanded the Choreometrics system. They developed the coding system; assembled, selected, and analyzed the film samples; trained coders; analyzed data; and produced four documentary films, Dance and Human History (1970), Palm Play (1977), Step Style (1977) and The Longest Trail (1984), and an accompanying teaching handbook. The films have now been reissued with new material by John Bishop on the DVD Rhythms of Earth, and are available from Media Generation. Paulay and Lomax also coauthored an unpublished book, World Dance.
From 1984–85 Paulay worked with Alan Lomax and Roswell Rudd on The Urban Strain, a study of American popular music and dance that used the techniques of both Cantometrics and Choreometrics to analyze film and recordings made commercially throughout the twentieth century. In addition to the Cantometrics descriptors, new ones were required for the novel vocal and orchestral techniques and effects, often enhanced or created by electronic technology, of twentieth century popular music. The study showed that crossovers between African and European-derived performance modes produced many innovations in music and dance, and that signature combinations of African and European expressive systems actually did emerge in every decade.
Paulay was actively involved with Lomax's work until his stroke in 1996, and she still consults with ACE on Performance Style Research and Choreometrics. She has her Ph.D. in therapeutic counseling and is now a focusing-oriented psychotherapist using movement and energy work in private practice in New York. She is a student of the philosopher/psychologist Eugene Gendlin's "Philosophy of the Implicit", and also a teacher in training in the Diamond Approach spiritual path.
Extensive conversations between Alan Lomax and Forrestine Paulay, and Lomax, Paulay, and Roswell Rudd were recorded on tape and can be heard in our Discussions and Interviews and Lectures catalog.
Transcription of Interview of Forrestine Paulay by John Bishop (2006) for the DVD Rhythms of Earth (2008)
Paulay: As a dancer, I learned so much about meaning of dance through this Project. When I came into the work, I thought of meaning as the meaning to me, as the dancer. I thought of it as also the meaning of the particular piece, or the meaning of the particular ballet, and this is fairly typical of dancers, and they've been quite concerned about retaining that meaning. But when I think about what I saw in terms of what I was just describing — ike the villagers in France dancing and turning their hands and then seeing them turning the wine — meaning takes on another whole dimension, and it doesn't in any way undermine the importance of dance or its meaning. What it does is — it gives its roots in living, and it really is about what is important in life — to live in this culture that we're living in. So meaning reverberates into the whole of life experience. It's not just, "I am going to express myself," it's, "I am expressing myself and all the rest of this — about who I am and how I live and how I survive." It isn't just the particular expertise of this individual: it's how this individual has expertly digested and projected the whole of the culture. It actually produces something much more significant, when one understands that. Dance has much more significance, not less, when looked [at] within this framework.
I got involved with Alan's work because he was a student of Birdwhistell's; and, after he had begun to get findings from the Cantometric Project, he wanted to test the communications hypothesis that if you look at other expressive forms, you'll find analogous patterns — if you look at the same level. He was looking at dance as communication within the framework of anthropology: culture. So he was surprised, because he didn't find any correlations for the metric system in Cantometrics; and Birdwhistell, his teacher, suggested that song style was not a primary communication but was derived perhaps from dance. And so that's when he said, "Well, all right, so, lets's look at dance."
It was Birdwhistell who actually suggested that the Laban system of movement analysis might be the most appropriate for looking and finding the level of pattern that would correlate with the kind of pattern that he'd been finding in Cantometrics, and, perhaps, because it was a more primary system of communication than song, he might find out something about meter.
One of the other reasons why Alan wanted to look at dance is because, when he listened to song performance, he could sense in it something about the body — the physical stance that produced that kind of sound — and he wanted to see it, and he wanted to make it more than just something abstract, like a sound, but he wanted to put the bones and the flesh on it, literally.
At that time Irmgard [Bartenieff] and I had been teaching classes along with a third person [Martha Davis] at what was then called the Dance Notation Bureau. And Alan called up and said he wanted someone to look at dance and to help develop a system for looking at dance cross culturally. So Irmgard came on to the Project and brought me with her.
Irmgard studied some of Laban's work, which was called "Effort" at that time (it's Laban-Lamb, actually), and I had gone to England with her and had studied there with Marian North and some of the major teachers of the Laban work. So, we were not doing the Laban Notation, but we were doing something called "Effort," which, as our work was done here, became something called "Effort/Shape," because we were interested — and perhaps as dancers — interested not only in the specific energy underlying the impulse or the carrying out of an action but the actual shaping of the whole body and its relationship to space. So when we came on the Project, it wasn't really to use Laban Notation, because it wasn't to record movement so it could then be read by and re-performed by anyone. We were interested in the qualities of movement. So the Effort /Shape work was particularly suited, on one level, for the study that Alan wanted. On another level, it wasn't suited at all, because Effort/Shape was being used within a culture to look at cultural differences among individuals.
So, when we first started looking, we got so much detail. I can remember looking at the Georgia Sea Islanders. We were fascinated, because we were seeing the differences between all the individual performers, and we were noting all of that. And, very excited, Irmgard and I came to Alan and said, "Look, this is happening here! And this performer is different from that!" And Alan is sitting there thinking, "Oooh" (or I thought he was thinking, "Oooh"). Clearly something was not the way he had hoped we were going to be bringing our findings to him. And that's when we also began to get an education from Alan. This work that he is doing is on a different level. We're not looking for individual creativity, individual differences in emotional expression, but we were looking — and he was looking — for what kind of patterns really differentiate large groups of people from each other. OK?
So, we went back, and we looked again. And we looked and we looked, and we looked at a tremendous amount of footage. We gathered footage from all over, in order to begin to say: What is the level of pattern that we've got to look for that's going to make the kinds of distinctions that one intuitively felt when one looked at cultures as varied as the Eskimo and the Tajik? Or the Tibetan herders that you [John Bishop] so beautifully filmed?
And we would look at — not only at the dance — but we were looking at the work, because, by looking at the work, we began to see patterns that resembled — that related to — that seemed to feed the creative development of the dance within the culture. And we found that by looking at the dance first and then looking at the main kinds of work activities, the main kinds of social gatherings in the culture, we began to see pattern at the level that began to differentiate one culture from another and not one individual from another.
In Choreometrics we really were looking at the level that people were presenting as, "This is who I am." In other words, people were presenting themselves as wanting to be seen. The dance performance was public performance — it's meant to be seen. So, we were looking at what Alan always used to call "the good and the beautiful."
We tried to find a way of describing it that was simple and that if we told someone else about it in those words they could say, "Oh, yes, well, I can see that, too!" So we started by putting together a working film that had examples from the different cultures, and we would show it to different people and say, "Ok we're going to look at how the torso is used here," for example. That became one of the major distinguishers in the Choreometrics Project. Just how is the torso used? Is it used as one solid piece, or are segments of the torso articulated? We called it "one unit" (torso) versus "multi-unit" (torso). Then we made some finer distinctions in there, because we found those interesting, and we developed a scale, where we could see certain differences, whether, say, it was more in the upper torso that was used versus the pelvis; or whether there was a play between the pelvis and the upper torso; or whether it was basically the torso being used pretty much as a solid unit; but, was there an emphasis on the diagonal in the torso, which showed a little more differentiation? So this is how we set up the first coding system. So that was the step with the pilot film that we used, and then we began to do some coding — we got in certain students to come and code. And we were seeing — were we getting a reasonable amount of consensus? We did consensus studies fairly early on to see if the measures that we were looking at were measures that everyday people, people without a lot of movement training, could also see.
This never could have been done without computers. And in the beginning it was extremely laborious. Punch cards had to be made from all the data that we coded and then flipped into the mainframe, and then — we had rooms filled with data. Alan would spend hours pouring through these datasheets, just hours, and looking at the pattern that was coming out. It was an enormously important part of the project that really only Alan could do.
He had done the Cantometrics, and because he had worked intimately with Irmgard and me "looking at the footage" and then later on with me and we often coded together. So he really — he knew what it meant. And he would pour through that, and he'd look at the numbers and he'd call me, and I'd be coding. He'd call me and say, "Look at this!" And I'd see this stream of numbers and patterns and such. And he'd say, "Look what's happening here! Look what this is showing!" He'd just be so excited as findings would come out like this. He would find the findings in all of this the data.
He was looking for correlations. Well, he would look at that, but he would also look at correlations between the Choreometric results and the Cantometric results (which he knew). He would look at the correlations between Choreometrics results and the societal results (he had done the work on George Murdock's Ethnographic Atlas, so he had that information). And correlations were run between Choreometrics, the Ethnographic data; Choreometrics, Cantometrics; Choreometrics, the Phonotactics (the other work that he did); Choreometrics — and he did some work with breath [Minutage]. So, all the various systems and things that he looked at — he would put those together and look at the correlations. And he would find that certain parameters would correlate with Cantometrics; certain parameters would correlate with the social data; certain parameters would correlate with Cantometrics and the social data. So this is what he was looking at. [It was] enormously complex work that he was doing.
What is so exciting about this system is that it is open: and someone can take our correlations, and they can run them against whatever else they're looking at, if they're looking cross culturally. They can also take what they're looking at within a culture and run it against the cross-cultural system and see, "Ah! Where does that fit in?" Where does what they are looking at fit in this whole other work that we did? And that can give other kinds of information to someone who is looking at the cultural level.
So one of the things that studying the Choreometrics system and really exposing oneself to the variation of the world "what it does is — it brings to consciousness what one is using unconsciously and the measurements that one is constantly applying, all the time — as a culture member we're constantly applying the measures from our own culture and we're looking at these things. It's looking at these cultures, so that one can find the true significance of dance: what you're actually doing there — when you're dancing. | English | NL | 7d3e7ed8f3333b9021cc6a862ebb03e4175663f3142fffd183c15cda89849b6a |
It was the week after 9/11. Everyone was in shock, naturally, and doing their best to climb out of their own personal hell however they could. In my mother’s case, the shock manifested itself as a long-forgotten buried sensation of physical visceral fear that used to be part of the daily existence for her in communist Russia. For Jews in communist Russia. For most of the American society, it translated into a sudden burst of sincere patriotism. American flags of all sizes were everywhere, and for the first time, even the most bitter of cynics were regarding them completely void of irony.
But life goes on, and the President implored that the people go on with their lives, make waffles, go shopping, go to work.
Patient #1 was a 5 year old boy, brought in by his mom. He had amblyopia: one eye sees better than the other, and you have to patch the good eye to strengthen the bad eye. Here was a little boy who could only see out of his bad eye.
“He knows,” said the mom, “that some very bad people did a very bad thing, and hurt a lot of other people. But they have been caught, and punished and there is NOTHING to be afraid of.”
The little boy blinks his weak eye. Everyone nods. Nothing to be afraid of at all.
Patient #2 was Mrs. Connelly. She was a 75 year old woman with a long medical history, who came to the eye doctor regularly, walking independently with a heavy-duty walker, the kind that has the tennis balls on the legs. She was round; she had a pasty, child-like face, with a perpetual sheepish smile, and clear bright blue eyes. That day, she was also wearing a bright yellow helmet.
“I have started falling,” she explained. “I fell many times, right on my head. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes a most unpleasant sound. So I got this helmet. This way, I am practically invincible.”
The top of the helmet, not unlike the dome of the Capitol, was decorated by a toothpick with a tiny American flag, which rocked a bit as she walkered herself slowly to the exam room. | English | NL | a9e898d1839349ea7a18a70bfb8a8b48c06f908c72c91968014f7aa4517361ae |
If you enjoy drunken ranting, some violence, and drama then The Hairy Ape, by Eugene O’Neill, is the perfect play for you. The story is about a New York fireman, Yank, who drinks, tries to act like he is the best, and is always trying to “tink”. Yank, and the rest of his firemen crew, are all drunks and they always argue and threaten one another, but usually people refer to them as Neanderthals or apes. The whole crew is against upper class society and always complain about it, then trying to claim they don’t want to be a part of it. They spit on the idea that they would live their lives like the rich and sophisticated. The story really gets started when the daughter of the crew’s boss comes down to watch them work. Yank wildly looks at her, while trying to build morale for his team, and she makes a disgusted face and refers to him as a “filthy beast”. This sends Yank into a fit of rage and he vows to take revenge on her and the upper class. He runs into a series of unfortunate mishaps like being imprisoned and not fitting in.
The play really focuses on what lower class means. The story outlines the disrespect upper class people show to the lesser of citizens. Yank learns the hard way what the world saw him as. He found out that he was just a particular individual that didn’t really belong anywhere.
By Craig S. | English | NL | 1a9b2c32ae0e6cefa6e04192e4e040ba177198409d1f6a0531ea0e9b92b447f8 |
Russian singer Stas Mikhailov and his beautiful wife
Russian singer Stas Mikhailov and his beautiful wife. Perhaps the biggest compliment a woman can hear – when she is taken for a sister of her own daughter. That’s what often happens to the 40-year-old wife of the richest singer in Russia Inna Mikhailova and her 14-year-old daughter, Eva. The richest Russian singer, according to Russian Forbes magazine, Stas Mikhailov met his future wife Ina in 2006. She came to his concert – beautiful and indifferent. She did not ask for an autograph admiringly, as all his other fans, and simply thanked him for the concert and left. They met at a party after the concert, the romantic courtship followed.
Stanislav Mikhailov was born on April 27, 1969 in Sochi, Krasnodar Krai in the family of the pilot and a nurse. According to Mikhailov, he studied in a music school not more than two weeks, and the first guitar chords were shown to him by the elder brother – also a pilot. Stanislav studied in Minsk flight school for 7 months, but dropped out and was called up for military service in Rostov-on-Don. There he was a driver at the headquarters of the Air Force of the North Caucasus Military District. Demobilized, Stas studied in Tambov Institute of Culture, but did not finish it. He returned to his native Sochi, where he began to work – from baking bisquits to playing the guitar in Sochi restaurants.
In 1992, Stas Mikhailov went to Moscow, where he was unsuccessfully engaged in transported videotapes. In 1992, Stanislav wrote the first known song – “Candle”. In 1996, after several years of work in the theater, went to St. Petersburg, because he wanted to complete his debut album – “Spark”, which appeared as early as 1997, but, according to Mikhailov, did not bring the expected income. Due to this failure Stanislav and his family returned to Sochi, finally moving to Moscow only at the beginning of the 2000s. Soon Stas Mikhailov’s song “Without You” sounded on the radio, which became a hit. In 2004, Mikhailov recorded his second music video, and the following year appeared on “Radio Chanson”. In March 2006, Stas successfully performs at Concert Hall “Oktyabrsky”.
At the end of the year there was his first solo concert in Moscow in the concert hall of the hotel “Cosmos”. In April 2008, Stas Mikhailov first time performed on the stage of the State Kremlin Palace.
Wedding of Ina and Stas took place in August of 2011. The couple has six children: two children of Stas – 11-year-old Nikita from his first marriage with Inna Gorb, and 7-year-old daughter Daria (from Natalia Zotova), Inna’s children from her first marriage with the player Andrei Kanchelskis – 19-year-old Andrey and 13-year-old Eva, and two daughters of Inna and Stas – 3-year-old Ivanna and 5-month-old Mary. The singer says that does not divide the children, and calls them all “our children.” | English | NL | 73c43e208c47eb010b31d202b767936bf0ea0c11eb2aebf936982f4e8a7e2625 |
Koster's idea had players start with an additional character slot locked to the Jedi class. These Jedi would start out as "weak as a kitten," and they'd build up their powers by using and practicing the Force. The twist was, whenever a Jedi used the Force in range of anything Imperial, Darth Vader's Death Squadron would be alerted and someone would hunt the player down with a mission to kill. It would start with Stormtroopers, then build to harder bounty hunters like Boba Fett, and eventually, Darth Vader himself. Not many people would make it to Vader, though.
"These would be brutal fights," Koster writes. "Odds are you'd just die. So hiding and training very carefully would be essential. But it wouldn't matter, of course. As you advanced, your powers would get 'noisier' and cooler." And when you died, you died. Your stats would be posted to a leaderboard where other players could admire how far you made it, but if you wanted to be a Jedi again, you'd have to start over. Also, any Jedi that fought Darth Vader would die, guaranteed. "It would be rigged," he says. Players who made it that far wouldn't be totally out of luck, however: They'd get a special emote for their main character that would allow them to summon the ghosts of every Jedi who had made it to Vader.
"All the bragging rights would carry over to your other character," Koster writes. "Heck, I had a picture in my mind of the most amazing player summoning up not one, but a whole set of them -- the most badass player would have a coterie of Jedi advisors, hovering around their campfire, as they showed up."
The powers that be, however, didn't enjoy the idea of permadeath, so the Jedi sub-class never happened. In his blog post, Koster runs through the myriad problems that assailed Star Wars Galaxies' development, demonstrating once again how complex and risky it is to build any MMO. It's an honest and enlightening read. | English | NL | fb0407e3dd46e7ae1ad6caa64f301d4f33f1038b64977bd371da963b4ebeaedc |
I've always been drawn to language and learning about cultures around the world.
I studied International Studies and Spanish Language at Seattle University and completed my Master's in Teaching in 2010.
I live in Tacoma, WA with my husband and our 3 children. I've also lived abroad in Spain and El Salvador.
Teaching Spanish is so rewarding and fun. I love what I do!
Casita Mia means “my little house”.
I strive to ensure that my students feel welcomed, and at home in my classes.
My hope is that students and caregivers leave my classes feeling excited about Spanish and empowered to engage with Spanish speakers the world over.
Whether Preschool, Elementary, or Parent-Child, Casita Mia classes all have one thing in common - Fun! And Spanish of course.
I base my teaching off of research in language acquisition, mimicking the way children naturally learn a first-language. Think of a toddler learning their first words - how do you teach them? Talk to them, read to them, sing to them, play with them!
Another method you'll see in my classes is TPR (total physical response). We move our bodies as we sing songs, read stories, and play games. This helps learners create memories - in Spanish!
My experience as an educator and mother guide me in creating emergent curriculum based on student interest, changing seasons, and various themes that keep learning relevant to children's lives.
Miss Anna has been exposed to Spanish language since she was very young - from her Puerto Rican side of the family. She joined her father in his after-school Spanish club and took Spanish classes in high school. She continued to take Spanish in college, and earned her Bachelor’s degree in Social Justice from Greenville University, where she also took classes in child psychology.
Later, Anna became involved in immigrant rights as she worked with undocumented populations in the Midwest. She has taken several courses in education and child development since then.
Anna has been involved in childcare and early education for the last nine years, most recently as Yoga Wild’s “Studio Nanny.” I am so thrilled to have her join Casita Mia!
Anna lives in Tacoma with her son and husband. She is excited to teach Spanish; to get to be silly, and imaginative, to play and sing and tell stories - all while helping to make Spanish more wide-spread and accessible to children and parents. She believes that Spanish language is for everyone! | English | NL | 3d4e27eddb674f8d278a86e0216a4b41fb366170f69acf3f38c4f9d899f16674 |
You know the HEADSHIP (Husbandly & Ecclesiastical Authoritative Dominance, Subverting Her Into her Place) Bible? John Piper and Gavin Peacock just gave us another peek into their Bibles. This time, it is from Genesis 2 and 3.
…9 The Lord God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground—trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food. In the middle of the garden were the tree of life and the tree of increased authority over another human…
16 And the Lord God commanded the man, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; 17 but you must not eat from the tree of increased authority over another human, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.”…
3 Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?”
2 The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, 3 but God did say, “You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.”
4 “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. 5 “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, having authority over Adam.”
6 When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining authority, she took some and ate it. She kept it away from her husband because she wanted to usurp his authority, but he grabbed and he ate it. 7 Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized the power balance between them was disturbed…
I simply cannot understand how these men say: “Eve was a queen who tried to become a king and lost true womanhood” (Peacock). I do not see how Piper could think the serpent’s aim was to upset God’s divine plan by tempting Eve to seize power over Adam by eating the fruit; how the temptation to “become like God” is (according to Piper) actually a temptation to decide who gets to lead and who must submit, upsetting God’s natural order of male headship. Unless, of course, their Bible really has a tree of authority and not a tree of knowledge of good and evil. | English | NL | e8a5fbfcbe813e805880868d3a9a1ae1e3120d3024e34eb2466368f7b7f29ff1 |
by Tracie Delaney
Winning Ace #1
Publication Date: May 29, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Serial
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When the opportunity arises for journalist Tally McKenzie to meet tennis ace Cash Gallagher, she grabs it without hesitation. Desperate for a killer story to advance her career, she’ll have to betray her idol and her own morals into the bargain if she is to succeed.
Renowned bad boy Cash wants one thing; to remain at the top of his game. He’s fought hard to get there, and he’s not about to lose his crown, especially over a woman.
When Cash divulges personal information, Tally seizes her chance and writes an explosive article. Incensed, Cash sets out to get his revenge. Except the darling of centre court gets more than he bargained for—a passionate affair with a woman he should detest.
But Cash is a man with secrets—secrets that could destroy his career. Dare he take the risk? Or is the cost too great, even for his perfect match.
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Cash stared at his feet. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. And then he muttered, “Screw it” under his breath.
He strode across the kitchen and captured her face between his hands. His mouth crushed down on hers. This was no slow approach. Cash devoured her. He nipped at her bottom lip, and on reflex, she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to dart inside. The kiss happened so quickly she struggled to process it. When her brain caught up, a thrill of ecstasy rushed through her. This wasn’t a dream, nor was it some fifteen-year-old girl full of hormones, pressing her lips against the centrefold of a teen magazine, hoping it would spring to life and kiss her back.
With desire surging through her body, her knees buckled, and she sank a couple of inches before a strong arm wrapped around her waist, supporting her. Just as she was about to run out of air, Cash tore his mouth away, and his lips feathered across her cheek, her ear, her neck as she gasped for breath.
“What’s happening to me?” he muttered, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.
Her stomach convulsed with need. “Cash, I—”
He cut her off as his mouth consumed hers once again. She entwined her fingers in his hair because if she didn’t anchor them, they could end up anywhere. Cash didn’t merely kiss. He possessed. His hands burrowed beneath her shirt, and with a flick of his fingers, he unhooked her bra. But when his palm moulded to her breast, a wave of panic hit her. This was moving too fast. Way too fast.
Tearing her mouth from his, she gulped in as much air as she could handle. Her lungs burned, and she turned her head to the side as he made another move to kiss her. His thumbs brushed her nipples, his lips fastening onto her neck, and as a rush of wetness pooled between her legs, Tally knew she had approximately five seconds to call a halt to this. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to resist him.
“Please stop,” she whispered.
He paused. His lips were still touching her neck, although they’d stopped moving, and his breath was hot against her skin. He raised his head and cupped her face, his thumbs skimming across her burning cheeks. “I don’t want to stop.”
God, she didn’t want him to either. And he had to know it. Her heaving chest, short breaths, and damp skin would tell him that she was turned on, more turned on than she’d been in her whole life. Fighting the devil on her shoulder and the desire in her heart was exhausting.
When her lips parted, Cash lowered his head to capture her mouth once more, but if she let him touch her again, she was done for. Another notch on a bedpost that already had a serious case of hives.
“No!” She pushed the flat of her hand against his hard chest. He immediately stepped back. His eyes narrowed, and the soft, full lips that had been fixed to hers moments before were now pressed into a thin white slash.
He strode out of the kitchen, leaving her alone. Mortified, she refastened her bra and tucked in her shirt. When she’d recovered enough to follow him into the hallway, he was standing by a wide-open front door.
“Isaac will take you back to work.”
“Just go, Natalia. And be thankful I’m not going to put in a formal complaint about how you got that story.”
Her throat tightened, and choking back a sob, she ran outside.
ABOUT TRACIE DELANEY
Tracie Delaney is the author of the Winning Ace trilogy. She loves nothing more than immersing herself in a good romance, although she sometimes, rather cheekily, makes her characters wait for their HEA.
When she isn’t writing or sitting around with her head stuck in a book, she can often be found watching The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones or any tennis match involving Roger Federer. Her greatest fear is running out of coffee.
Tracie studied accountancy, gaining her qualification in 2001. Her maths teacher would no doubt be stunned by this revelation considering Tracie could barely add two plus two at high school.
Tracie lives in the North West of England with her amazingly supportive husband. They both share a love of dogs, travel and wine. | English | NL | cc9db1cf93ce4f56f03907fc4273499f6a0b631eacb299813a13f55c1e29ae3e |
Hello readers and welcome to the second half of the 2018 Reading List. For this portion I have been combining works of authors or genres, last time taking a look at two from James Baldwin. This time I decided to shake things up even more and take a “detour into drama,” reading some of what are considered the best stage plays of all time: Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, and a “novel in dramatic form” The Sunset Limited by Cormac McCarthy. The first two pieces should be pretty well known so I won’t spend much time going over the plot and characters in favor of comparing/contrasting these works.
Death of a Salesman. This was Arthur Miller’s first true masterpiece of the stage, and I was blown away upon reading it. The tale of Willy Loman and his slow spiral into depression and death over the course of a day is not only an amazing story, but the way Miller uses the medium to tell it is even more impressive. I would say the most important bits for writers were the use of repetition and the use of contradiction. Loman and his sons both stress things they believe to be true (Willy being “well liked,” his uncle “walked into the jungle and came out rich”) but also contradict themselves repeatedly (Loman curses his eldest son one minute, then praises him the next). This, combined with the radical use of the stage to show how memory operates, makes this a true landmark of the form.
Our Town. This was an author I had never read, and decided to start with what is considered his greatest. While I was struck by the well-known properties of this piece (almost no props or settings - even for basic things like books, using ladders to evoke going upstairs, stage manager directly addressing the audience, etc) what really hit home for me was the underlying existential questions, especially those evoked in the third act. Viewed as a conversation with death, this was an extraordinary critique of the American way of viewing it and compares quite favorably with Miller’s consideration of the subject around a decade later.
The Sunset Limited. This “novel in dramatic form” was recommended to me by my editor Libby after I showed her a (bad) short story I wrote a few years back called a “Conversation with God.” And while parts of this piece were instructive for me, I found overall the work not nearly as good as McCarthy’s “actual” books. While his impressive use of dialogue is present throughout, literally driving the action, I was struck by some of the choices McCarthy made. For one example, the characters are known as “white” and “black” because of their skin color and disposition on life, but he consistently refers to “the black” in his state instructions while referring to the other gentleman as “professor” or something of the like. While this may have been intentional to show that “black” actually represents the death that “white” seeks by throwing himself in front of a train (“the Sunset Ltd”) I still found it jarring and possibly beneath such a talent to portray race in such a way. That being said, I still found benefits to reading this work given my recent struggle to escape the religious indoctrination of my youth.
All in all, while I think readers can find a lot more beneficial lessons in McCarthy’s novels, I would definitely recommend the other two dramatic works to anyone like me who has yet to read them or is interested in the stage. While the Reading List is always going to focus on books first and foremost, I enjoyed taking this little “detour” and hope to do the same with other literary genres as I close out this year and look to the next.
Speaking of what’s coming up, I will be back into literary territory with another author I have never read - Jack Kerouac. I’ll be taking on both On the Road and its semi-sequel The Dharma Bums. As always, thanks for reading and writing!
Back in 2015 when I started this blog, I wrote a piece about vacations that comes to mind every now and again. I penned it about a month after getting laid off and moving to a new apartment, and was quite uncertain about the direction of my life. My point here isn’t to really mess with that post (it holds its own lessons from the first time I went camping), but to rather find out how much I have changed since then.
This week we got to spend the entire week at the resort near the Chippewa Flowage. My mother-in-law was kind enough to rent two cabins this year so my wife Mary and I got one pretty much all to ourselves. The view from this cabin was extraordinary, and I found myself doing little else than sitting around staring at the lake for parts of the day. While I enjoyed every minute of being out there this week, I did learn some more about myself as a human and as a writer that I thought I should detail here.
So without further ado, more lessons to be learned from the wilderness above and beyond my earlier post on vacations and how they matter.
I may be going out into the woods for the third year, but I still have no idea what I’m doing. This became apparent the longer we spent out here, as the woodsy mentality accumulated by my wife’s family continued to overshadow any initiative I may have eked out. Most of them were constantly surveilling the fire pit making sure it was always going, they all knew how to get a rod ready for a line, and I wouldn’t have known the first thing about setting up a tent like their cousins do every year. I also almost hurt my wife in a dumb stunt with a canoe that taught me to listen up and pay attention to the people who are out here and know what they are doing.
The woods are a great place to unplug, but you don’t have to all the time. I made a big point in the previous vacation post by saying how I turned off my phone the entire trip. While that worked back then, I decided to take a different tack this time around and not only leave the phone on (this was partially to keep in contact with the cat sitter each day) but to document some of the trip on Twitter. I also brought my laptop but managed to check my email once the whole time.
Previous inebriations don’t do the trick. I once had a pretty unhealthy addiction to both cigarettes and alcohol, and while I have conquered both, this trip is always a gateway to getting back into both things. After a week I have it pretty well decided: I don’t like drinking and never will, and same with the smokes. I may have thought I needed such substances to have a good time (that was certainly my mindset circa 2006, and even somewhat circa 2015) but today I know that I don’t.
I love my life. As mentioned, the previous post regarding this Wisconsin trip was written at a time in which my life felt very much in flux. Just got fired, new apartment, going out on vacation where I don’t know a thing (not everything has changed). This time I had a bit more of a revelation: we tried to plan out stuff to do all week but even though we had seven days of pretty much nothing to do, we still didn’t get it all done. This made me think differently about our own lives and how day-to-day we try to cram in as much as possible. We think this should be done in “real” life but in actuality, if most of us had all the free time a week could offer we still couldn’t prioritize it all. Part of the trick is to just enjoy it, and this trip has taught me all the more how to do just that: I love our apartment, my wife, our kitties, and my career. Getting away from it all is important, but so is understanding what “it all” really is. The next step now that I’m back in Minnesota and back to work, is continuing the work with a new perspective.
Vacations (still) matter. It’s all in how you use the time, and what you get out of it.
Hello readers and welcome to the second half of the 2018 Reading List. To wrap up the first half I took on another female author and read Wise Blood. For the latter half of the year I’m going to switch up the formula but still continue to get as many books read in this year as I can. To that end, I’m going to put some titles together and see how they combine to show deeper writing lessons. As I said last time, it felt right to read James Baldwin now, so I this month I took on his 1963 classic The Fire Next Time and his 1957 novel Giovanni’s Room. Both were stunning in their own ways, so I want to get to the major lessons writers can learn from this landmark American author.
Using the novel/essay to speak about society. This is the entire point of The Fire Next Time, and I must say even in 2018 I don’t think I have come across as searing a dissection of religion and the ways it is used to manipulate people. The poignancy here comes from Baldwin’s refusal to make this a color issue, as he denounces both whites’ use of Christianity to cover up their racist minds, and blacks’ relatively more recent use of Islam to further a similar goal. As he discusses at length, both religions were used to preach an idea of a separation of the races, which Baldwin denounces in very stark terms as the opposite of what is needed in this nation. As we can see even today, this vision proved incredibly prophetic. This lesson can also be found in Giovanni’s Room, especially involving the way homosexuality was viewed in the West around this time (the main character describes it as against the law, which in many states it was at the time).
Use of imagery. This was possibly the highlight of Giovanni’s Room, as Baldwin uses basic language to describe the world of Paris (made up of stones that reflect light during the summer and repel it during the winter) and the people he meets (Giovanni and his “boyish” legs, his “leonine” figure, Jacques in his presence appears “very frail and old”), painting a world of intrigue the main character David is attempting to navigate. Though the story reflects Baldwin’s own of escaping cloistered America, David soon learns to resent most of Europe and its inhabitants as a scandal grows from his time in Paris.
Using the novel to reflect your own life. This is a lesson I continue to learn in new and different ways, and without a doubt Giovanni’s Room is a huge example of this. It is well known this book is a parallel to Baldwin’s own time spent in Europe, but he digs even deeper to dissect his relationship with Giovanni, in whose room they both stay for a period, and his own internal shameful thoughts and what they are doing. This becomes even more enhanced when David’s fiancee Hella arrives and he attempts to lead a double life, which leads to Giovanni’s ruin and eventual killing of another character. The end chapters of the novel become incredibly moving and deep as David puzzles through what he should do and while the ending is quite tragic, it contains much to understand about life in the world at this time.
I would highly recommend this author to anyone who seeks a better understanding of race and gender relations during the Cold War, and there were few more powerful American voices on this than Baldwin’s. I definitely will return to this author to gain more insight into these topics.
Up next, as promised I’m shifting the Reading List into a different territory, but one I’ve become more interested in over the years: drama. To that end I will be reading a pair of the greatest stage plays even written, Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman and Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, as well as possibly another “sort-of” drama if I have time. And stay tuned for an essay concerning what writers are for (especially now), as I have approached the ten-year mark of doing it in one form or another. Thanks as always for reading.
John Abraham is an author and freelance journalist located in the Twin Cities, where he lives with his wife Mary and their two cats. This blog is his attempt to catalog all the events that culminate a local writer's life. | English | NL | ffc5e8f7572098d9252d9903539abcd03f3ed7776a4baefedcc0f55caac42ff9 |
User Review - Flag as inappropriate
One problem with the book -- Katherine Parr. She married Sir Edward Borough, grandson of the 2nd Baron who was declared insane, never called to Parliament as the "2nd Baron", and died in 1528. Katherine and Sir Edward were married in 1529, he died in 1533. The author didn't do her research on Queen Katherine before she wrote this book, obviously. | English | NL | 01da79bdd5a5d6ee2e9c5ae7fce6ac41959dc974c2321553c3d9780ef13ef018 |
“She just didn’t hope. Didn’t know how to begin to hope.
I imagine that after thirty years the machinery for hoping requires more than twenty-four hours to get started, to get into motion again…..
“And she was still groping, you see. She was still trying to find something which that mind which had apparently not run very much in thirty years, could believe in, admit to be actual, real. And I think that she found it there, at Hightower’s, for the first time: someone to whom she could tell it, who would listen to her. Very likely that was the first time she had ever told it. And very likely she learned it herself then for the first time, actually saw it whole and real at the same time with Hightower. “
–William Faulkner, The Light in August, Chapter 19 | English | NL | 486d4fce9fb9f89522c5392203a69bbb6ec92f29d9e46da4a1d608743e76359c |
Monday, February 11th
16 The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, 17 and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.
When you became born again, that is exactly what happened, you were re-born. Through His amazing love and sacrifice, you were spiritually and supernaturally made like Him, as if you had never sinned. What this really means in the simplest of descriptions is that your heart of sin was removed and His heart of love took its place. In other words, you received a spiritual heart transplant. You are now a child of God, His son or daughter, and royalty in His Kingdom. You are now tasked with being a carrier of the same love that He has shown you. That love has now become your standard of living. Anything less than living by this love is falling short of the position that He has placed you in. You are an heir to the throne of God, you are His child just like Jesus, your big brother. Love is in the ‘Heir’, and you are His heir. His very own child that He gave up His life for. His love is in you, it’s your job to let it be the controlling force in every decision, response, and situation that presents itself to you. Allow His Holy Spirit to lead you in a love walk that will change the lives of everyone you come in contact with. – Love and Blessings, Pastor Jeff. | English | NL | fe75d58839a6bb2feb8734db64a640a2116e369bea08bb032991b39bf3d4c408 |
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