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The other recording of Parker and Navarro we have is pure gold. While the date is often questioned, it is believed to have taken place at Birdland in late 1949 or early 1950. The band is Parker, Navarro, Bud Powell on piano, Tommy Potter
on bass, and either Art Blakey
or Roy Haynes on drums. (I vote that it was Blakey) On up-tempo pieces Parker invited Navarro into the highest level of his musical world for a trumpet player: four bar exchanges of direct conversation. Parker was testing himself and the trumpet player when he would do this. Going deeper, in the heat of the moment, Parker was willing to walk away from the harmony to a degree and embrace chromaticism in pursuit of the exchange of ideas. As Carl Woideck points out, on "The Street Beat" Parker attempted two chromatic gambits to incredible effect. On "Dizzy Atmosphere" he played augmented triads ascending by whole steps cutting across the tonality. Perhaps the environment with Navarro, Powell, and Blakey pushed him over the edge into some of the first harmolodics ever played! Even in direct exchange with Parker, Navarro still sounded somewhat relaxed! While he may not have been at full power on this date, he stood with Parker as a collaborator leaving us begging for a formal studio encounter that never got to take place. Tragically, tuberculosis exacerbated with a heroin addiction led to Navarro's death in the hospital on July 6th, 1950 at 26 years old. Puerto-Rico based trumpeter
Ras Miguel is Navarro's nephew and through him I was able to play Navarro's trumpet mouthpiece. I can't deny that while playing it, I just seemed to mystically feel his phrasing, his feeling, down in my bones. Line construction seemed urgent, but I felt the confidence to just let it happen. Navarro was always fluid and never sounded like he was trying to figure out what he was doing. He stood tall as one of Bird's trumpets, if only for a few bright moments.
The notorious Chet Baker (1929-1988) was next in my study of trumpet players under Bird's wing. Baker was 23 and won an audition to play with Parker on a visit to Los Angeles
in 1952. On a crisp Indiana following Parker, Baker may have played more bop than at any other time in his career, constructing lines and almost quoting "Donna Lee." On "Irresistible You," Baker played louder, attempting double time and upper register playing, in a short solo. On "Liza," Baker played more aggressively trying to match the fast tempo.
In 1953 Baker joined Parker for a West Coast Tour. At the University of Oregon on "Ornithology," Baker tried to play the original head arrangement with triplets on the turnaround and had a hard time keeping up, his solo was unrecorded. On "Barbados," Baker tried to improvise through the head presumably not knowing it. Interestingly enough, with Baker's tone and pacing on the head improvisation, he sounded much more like himself. Again, his solo was edited out. Parker took "Cool Blues" up-tempo and we can hear Baker in exchanges with Parker and drummer Shelly Manne
. He kept up by playing it cool. Baker's time with the pianoless quartet with Gerry Mulligan
in 1952 must have helped him continue to grow. He mostly survived his encounters with Parker. He didn't play with him enough to take on a student roll. No doubt that their brief exchange had a lifelong impact on him. Baker claimed to start heroin use in 1957, however the early '50s is more likely. His final decade spent mostly in Europe is considered his strongest.
Rolf Ericson (1922-1997) is one of the most interesting of Bird's trumpets. In November 1950 Billy Shaw set up a tour of Sweden as a single. 28-year-old Rolf Ericson became Bird's trumpeter. It is believed that Parker was off heroin but drinking heavily at the time. Ericson had already been stateside with Charlie Barnet
and Woody Herman
. He started playing after hearing Louis Armstrong in person. He was a true original with his own distinct puckish sound and had the chops and ideas to go with it. While he clearly listened to Bird's previous trumpets, he has an altogether different approach playing his own style that really wasn't bop or swing. Parker clearly enjoyed the exchange on four recorded tunes. All the tempos were slower and more relaxed as perhaps Parker sought an easier accessed common ground with the Swedish musicians. On "Cool Blues," Ericson responded to Parker's phrases just like someone who understood he said, and then added his own response back to him. They just got each other and were clearly having fun understanding each other. On "Anthropology," Parker sounds inspired. The challenge was to respond with ideas, and Ericson only tapped out once with a display of upper register range. At times they achieved a similar linear connection. Parker sometimes even responded to Ericson instead of always "speaking first." On "Scrapple From The Apple," Ericson snuck in some "Ornithology." During "Fine And Dandy," Ericson fully reached the status of a collaborator with Parker, despite his limited experience. Back in the United States, he recorded three times with Charles Mingus, and he was with Duke Ellington
from 1963-1971, the ultimate stamp of jazz authenticity. Parker and Ericson's exchange speaks volumes to a shared humanity and is a luminescent moment in Bird's Trumpets.
Joe Gordon and Herb Pomeroy
The final two trumpeters to cross paths with Bird on a significant level were both hired when he went to play in Boston
. Twenty-four-year-old Joe Gordon (1928-1963) played with Parker in 1952 at the Hi-Hat. Though on YouTube Herbie Williams is listed on trumpet, Lawrence Koch has identified Gordon, as well as Charles Mingus
on bass, Roy Haynes
on drums, and Dick Twardzik
on piano. Symphony Sid announced this line-up after they played "Groovin' High." Gordon was a professional and possessed a super clean technique, almost too clean, void of tension. He didn't have his own sound yet and sounds like he was listening to Davis and Gillespie. There's no wrinkle or surprise, but more like a blueprint when he played solos. He worked for Parker, but Parker's impact on him and their playing relationship was difficult to determine, though Bird did enjoy his work. Gordon was prolific, playing with Dexter Gordon
, Thelonious Monk, and Gillespie's big band before he died in a fire in 1963. | English | NL | 76a23874889dab332f792da918ba7e4f0ee7aeb23bfb7999a3caee2892d9fd89 |
Reprinted with special care for all American History students and History lovers, Thomas Paineâ s Common Sense is one of the most important pamphlets ever published in American history. Common Sense inspired people in the Thirteen Colonies to declare and fight for independence from Great Britain in 1776. The clear and simple language used by Paine to explain the advantages of and the need for immediate independence are still just as inspiring as they were over 200 years ago.
Common Sense was published anonymously on January 10, 1776 and was sold and distributed widely around the colonies. George Washington had it read aloud to all his troops, which at the time had surrounded the British army in Boston. In proportion to the population of the colonies in 1776, it had the largest sale and circulation of any book ever published in American history. Paine, a brilliant man, structured Common Sense as if it were a sermon and reasoned in a style that common people understood.
References to todayâ s political atmosphere can certainly be compared to the writing of Paine in Common Sense. For those who have history buffs in their lives, this pamphlet is a must-own, as it shaped the future of America during the Revolutionary era. | English | NL | 43c30f939274ab9b1f3414ead8d22464a5af155e8b7614397b740a96fbecc188 |
After reading The Externally Focused Church years ago, Toni was so challenged by the concepts it presented she began an outreach ministry at her church as a volunteer leader. That experience is the basis for her upcoming book. Today, Toni is employed as a full time staff member of Princeton Alliance Church where her church outreach journey continues.
In the past, she served as a contributing writer at Circles of Faith and a guest poster on God Sized Dreams, and for the past several years she has been a regular contributor of devotionals to The Quiet Hour. Some of her devotionals have also appeared on christiandevotions.us. Toni has over a decade of experience in commercial writing, and taught Writing for Radio/TV at a local community college for five years.
Because of that, Toni is as comfortable in front of a microphone as she is behind a keyboard which is where she has spent much time writing the book and her blog, Lakeside Lessons, which shares eternal perspective in everyday experiences.
In addition to the many volunteers serving during special outreach events, she has recruited and trained a small army of approximately 100 volunteers who serve in a variety of capacities on a weekly or monthly basis throughout the ministry. In 2012, she received Mercer County’s Woman of Achievement Award for her outreach work.
But the truth of the matter is, despite all that experience, she is most comfortable walking alongside others as God leads. After the publication of her book, Toni’s future plans include creating an online companion course, seminars, and even retreats for pastors and church leaders to help them grow their own local church outreach ministry. | English | NL | 9fd1fab9b0151d585ba154011593e94a9b1286459728bf0f8ac5e23ef7da70a5 |
British abolitionist Thomas Clarkson set out in 1806 to tell the story of Quakers, to help the larger English-speaking world understand these foreign-seeming Friends. He titled the work, A Portraiture of Quakerism. Why Quakers? As Clarkson puts it, he had been “thrown frequently into the company of the people, called Quakers” in his work against the slave trade, and he “conceived a desire of writing their moral history.” But Clarkson’s explanation doesn’t quite work. This book – presumably conceived in 1787 – didn’t come to fruition for almost 20 years. If the subject – near to Clarkson’s heart – was as important as he claimed, then why did the inexhaustible writer, speaker, publisher, and organizer keep putting off the project?
Some historians have suggested that the book – published when it was – proved politically expedient.
Clarkson had founded the Committee for the Abolition of the Slave Trade. He had interviewed 20,000 sailors as part of his research. He had ridden on horseback more than 35,000 miles in his search for artifacts and evidence. He had published essay after essay against the slave trade. He had convinced William Wilberforce to present legislation, year after year, that if passed, would have abolished the slave trade. But in 1794, war with France had largely ended the debate in Parliament, and Clarkson was tired. He retired from the movement, bought a home, married, and had a child. Then, 10 years later, as the war was coming to an end, Clarkson saw an opportunity for victory.
He wrote a book, a book that normalized Quakers in order to give public appeal to a cause that had largely been championed by this marginalized religious sect. And it worked. Within a year of the book’s publication, the Slave Trade Act was passed.
But what about the book? What exactly does Clarkson say about Quakers?
He says that no matter the issue, Quakers will consistently “reason on principle, and not upon consequences.” He says that Quakerism itself is a system that leads “towards purity and perfection.” He says that Quakers “never make a sacrifice of conscience.” He says that Quakers are “anxious for the moral improvement of mankind.” He says that “we seldom see a noisy or irascible Quaker.” He says that although Quakers are just as apt as others to enjoy wine with a meal, “neither drunkenness, nor any situation approaching to drunkenness, is known in the Quaker companies.”
Clarkson says that Quakerism, at heart, is “an attempt at practical Christianity . . . as far as it can be carried.”
Quakers “never make a sacrifice of conscience.” | English | NL | 1942e16d7dcb5d0107e6786b5f7085cf04dbdfbe913b31ead233aa557ea70a63 |
Dave's New Job
I want to thank reader DW for giving me the idea that turned into this story.
“So, when are you going to do it?” Gale asked softly even as she squirmed with Chimlin's face buried between her legs.
“When...am I...going...to do...what?” Dave responded between ragged pants, his hard cock sliding easily in and out of Chimlin's warm dripping pussy from behind, only a moment away from filling the young woman with his sticky sperm.
“Fuck her, of course...you know...my twelve year old daughter...the one you are teaching about sex...the one that was begging to be fucked a little while ago,” Gale grunted before grabbing the back of Chimlin's head and groaning loudly as the younger woman sucked a climax from Gale's throbbing clit.
Dave's back arched as he filled Chimlin with his cum before rolling off to one side. Jerry crawled up behind the younger woman to lick Dave's jism dripping from her pussy and rim her tight asshole.
“You still haven't answered my question,” Gale said quietly as she and Dave watched Jerry bring Chimlin to two body quaking orgasms.
“I'm still trying to figure out how to proceed,” Dave replied, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Gale over Chimlin's writing body, “but given that everyone, including the twins, seems more that ready to go, I'm sure it will be sometime soon.”
“We do hope so,” Gale smiled wickedly, reaching over to pinch one of Chimlin's nipples as the younger woman moaned loudly. “You have no idea how anxious I am to see Jerry's cock plunging into our daughter's pussy, not to mention feeling my son's dick cumming inside of me.”
They both looked on in silence as Jerry crawled on top of Chimlin and very quickly shot his cum into her. Gale leaned over to kiss Chimlin and then Jerry before rising to her feet, extending her hand to Dave.
“Let's get a cold drink before bed,” she murmured to Dave as she lead him toward the kitchen, “and tonight it's my turn to fuck your brains out.”
With only one week of school remaining, the kids' homework mostly consisted of studying for final exams. Since both twins were excellent students, they hurried through those tasks to get to the special instructions in which they were truly interested at that point.
“What can we do next?” Alice asked, laying on the bed with her fingers still splitting her pussy lips after masturbating next to her brother for Dave's approval. “I think we know how to play with ourselves.”
Alex nodded his agreement even as some of his spent watery cum dibbled down his side. Dave's cock was rock hard in his hand standing over them, equally enthralled with the twelve year old boy's deflating dick and his sister's moist glistening pink slit.
“Have you two touched each other yet?” he asked thumbing away a droplet of precum bubbling up on the tip of his cock.
The twins glanced at each other guiltily, each waiting for the other to answer. Dave just grinned at them for a moment, their silence telling him everything he needed to know.
“OK, so you did, that's not a problem,” he continued with a bright smile. “I assumed you did but I had to ask to be sure. Now we're going to practice getting the other to cum with your hands, starting with me.”
He lay down between them holding his cock straight up. First, he had Alice wrap both her hands around his dick and stroke him a couple of times, then had Alex do the same. The twins went back and forth like that until Dave could hold back no longer, his cum spraying on to his belly before finally dripping over Alice's fingers.
“Wow that was really good,” Dave murmured after he caught his breath, pulling both of them down for a tongue lashing kiss, “now let's try it on each other with Alice first.”
Alice lay down between them, smiling brightly as she eagerly spread her thighs as far as she could manage. Dave showed Alex how to fondle his sister's tiny tits, getting the nipples hard as she moaned lowly. While keeping one hand on her tit, he took Alex's other hand and guided his middle finger slowly up through her puffy pussy lips, stopping on the hard nub of her developing clit.
“Now rub her clit in little circles, not pressing too hard,” Dave instructed Alex, keeping his finger on top of the boy's.
“That feel good, Alice?” he asked even as the twelve year old girl writhed against her brother's finger.
“Oh yes, that's wonderful,” she moaned, her hips pressing upward against the finger, “just do it...faster and...harder.”
Dave pressed Alex's fingertip down harder over her clit and moved it even faster. Alice began to thrash her hips against her brother's finger wildly, letting out a loud groan when her back arched and her entire body quivered, a massive orgasm surging through her body. She clamped her thighs around their hands, stopping them from continuing to caress her clit as her climax subsided.
“That was awesome,” she managed to murmur after a few moments, releasing their hands and grinning up at them both, “even better than when I make myself cum.”
“We aim to please, ma'am,” Dave chuckled, reaching over to cup Alex's hardened dick and balls in his hand. “I think your brother is ready for you to jerk him off now.”
Alice scrambled to her knees smiling brightly while Alex lay on his back. She easily encircled her brother's hard cock with her fingers of one hand while Dave reached down and gently squeezed the boy's balls.
“Just like you did with me,” Dave told her softly, “up and down and as he starts to tremble, go faster and faster.”
It didn't take long for Alex to begin moaning and squirming, followed by shooting four spurts of watery cum on to his belly and his sister's hand. Dave grinned and, without saying a word, bent forward and scooped up some of that semen with his tongue, showing his coated tongue to them both before gulping the jism down. Alice looked at him in surprise before smiling brightly and licked up some of her brother's cum too.
“Kinda salty but doesn't taste bad,” she commented, swirling the jism around in the mouth, swallowing that tidbit when Dave nodded his head at her.
“Good...and tomorrow, we'll try some more things together,” Dave grinned.
“Did you help each other cum yet today?” Dave asked, sitting with the twins on the king sized bed the next evening.
“Twice,” Alex answered, “once when we first woke up and then again after school. Want us to do it again now?”
“Very good,” Dave replied with a devilish grin, “but no, we're going to try something else tonight and for the next few days...using your tongue and mouth.”
He directed Alex to stand
next to the bed while he and Alice knelt on the floor in
front of the twelve year old boy. Alex's four inch dick pointed straight out at them both.
“Now watch what I do,” Dave instructed Alice, placing his fingers around the base of Alex's cock and flipping his tongue across the head.
Alex looked down, surprised yet grinning as a low moan escaped from his mouth. Dave smiled up at the boy, then slowly licked down the length of Alex's short shaft, encircled his tight balls and licked back to the head. Alex trembled, steadying himself with a hand in Dave's shoulder.
“You try,” Dave said quietly, pulling back from the boy's dick and holding the hard shaft out for his sister.
Alice took her brother's cock in her hand and tentatively flicked the tip of her tongue over the tip. Alex moaned again, his fingertips gripping Dave's shoulder a little tighter. Alice continued, mimicking Dave by licking down one side of Alex's dick, over his balls and back up the other.
“Oh, wow, that feels really good,” Alex whimpered, a droplet of mostly clear precum bubbling from the head of his dick.
“Just wait, it gets way better,” Dave grinned, his own cock throbbing in his hand as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the head of Alex's dick.
Alex's eyes widened while letting out a louder groan. Dave parted his lips far enough for Alice to see the way he was twirling that cock head around with his tongue. Then, rolling his eyes up to look at the twelve year old boy's face, Dave slowly took the entirety of Alex's dick into his mouth until his nose pressed against the boy's wispy pubic hair.
Dave slowly pulled back, keeping his lips firmly around Alex's dick until the head popped out of his mouth. He turned and grinned at Alice even as another droplet of precum dribbled from Alex's cock.
“Now, you do it,” Dave murmured softly to Alice, “but be careful not to scrape your teeth on his dick.”
Alice smiled at Dave before leaning forward to take the cock Dave held up for her into her mouth. He could see from the way her jaw moved she was swirling her tongue around the head of her brother's cock.
Dave's own dick was throbbing so hard he was afraid the slightest touch would make his shoot his cum right then. Instead, he put one hand on the back of Alice's head and the other on Alex's ass.
Alex closed his eyes and moaned lowly as his sister took all of his dick into her mouth. When she started to pull back, Dave held her head, whispering softly into her ear.
“Keep going up and down on his dick. He's going to cum in your mouth and you don't want to let a drop spill out.”
Alice started bobbing up and down as Alex's legs trembled and his body stiffened. Dave slid his hand down her back when Alex put both of his hands on her head and started pumping his hips, his dick sliding ever deeper into his sister's throat.
When Dave's finger split her ass cheeks, Alice obligingly wriggled around, spreading her thighs enough he could slide a finger through her warm damp pussy lips. She pressed her hip down against his hand even as she more energetically sucked her brother's cock.
“Oh...that feels...so...so good,” Alex moaned, pulling his sister's head hard against him, ramming his dick as deep into her throat as he could possibly go. “Don't...don't stop...I'm...so close...I'm...I'm...cumming.”
“Keep his cock in your mouth until he gets soft,” Dave instructed Alice, dragging a fingertip back and forth through her pussy slit. “Remember when you tasted him before, so don't swallow either...let his cum coat your tongue and show us when he's done.”
With one final loud groan, Alex's body stiffened, his cum spurting into Alice's mouth for a few seconds. Then he relaxed, stepped back so this cock slipped out from between her lips and sat down on the bed looking a little dazed.
Alice turned her head to Dave, smiling brightly before opening her mouth and sticking out her cum covered tongue. Dave leaned forward and kissed her, swirling his tongue in her mouth, sharing the spent jism until it was completely dissolved.
“So, what do you think?” Dave asked the twelve year old boy after breaking off the kiss.
“That was great, even better than my hand or hers,” Alex replied, still panting a little raggedly.
“How about you, Alice?”
“I liked it and his cum didn't taste bad or anything,” she answered.
“That's good,” Dave said with a big grin, “because you should always swallow when someone cums in your mouth...both of you.”
They stopped for a few minutes to get a cold drink, then Dave directed Alice to get on the bed and spread her legs wide apart.
“Now, I'll show Alex how to lick your pussy until you cum on his face.”
His breath caught in his throat when he looked down to see the way the twelve year old girl's taut pussy slit blossomed open when she spread her thighs and pulled her knees up. Dave had Alex kneel close to get a good look as he positioned himself between Alice's knees, the faint scent of her sex, mixed with just a hint of her piss, wafting up to fill his nose.
He glanced over at Alex then up at Alice before extending his tongue and gently splitting her tight yet moist pussy lips. Alice groaned softly, her eyes widening even as her smile brightened.
Dave flicked his tongue up and down several more times as Alice's hips began to rotate and push back against him. The first musky taste of the twelve year old's moist pussy nearly overwhelmed him, causing his cock to throb and a droplet of precum to bubble from the tip. For her part, Alice writhed on his tongue, moaning lowly as she felt another orgasm swelling up in her cunt.
“Don't...don't stop,” she whimpered, pressing back against Dave's face, his nose buried in her thin pussy hair, his tongue flitting across her throbbing clit faster and faster, “oh...god...god...that's...so...so...good!”
At that point, Dave wasn't able to stop even if he wanted to...and he most definitely did not want to. With every flick of his tongue he could feel more of the twelve year old girl's pussy juices seeping from her tighty cunt, the musky taste filling his mouth as the pungent fluids coated his tongue.
He slipped a hand under her ass, pulling her to him even tighter as she moaned louder. Her trembling thighs told Dave Alice was right on the edge of another body spanning orgasm and he had every intention of making it her most memorable yet.
His lips encased her clit, holding the throbbing nub tightly while flicking the tip of his tongue over it faster and faster. At the same time, Dave slipped his other hand down, his index finger finding the dripping warm hole leading to the deepest recesses of Alice's young cunt.
Dave's finger slid smoothly into that tight, warm, moist channel past his second knuckle until the tip of his fingers contacted the young girl's still developing pulsing spongy g-spot.
Alice's back arched and her eyes rolled back into her head.
Dave sucked her clit deeply into his mouth.
Alice's entire body quivered as she began thrashing wildly.
Dave pressed his fingertip against her throbbing g-spot as hard as he could.
Alice screamed...and screamed...and screamed.
For Dave, it seemed like the young girl shrieked and thrashed for a very long time, when in reality, the entire episode probably lasted less than minute. Alice went completely limp, panting heavily and crumpled on the bed.
Next to her, Alex looked on in astonishment, his four inch dick rock hard in his hand. Dave raised his face from between Alice's thighs, his chin and cheeks glistening with the girl's pussy juices.
“I think your sister needs a few minutes to recover,” Dave grinned at Alex as he rose into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, “so you come over here and show me what you learned about sucking a cock.”
Alex returned the devilish grin, eagerly positioning himself between Dave's legs. He cupped Dave's balls in one hand while holding the base with the other. He looked up, keeping his eyes locked on Dave's as he dragged his tongue across the head.
Dave moaned lowly watching the first droplet of his precum smear across the boy's tongue. He leaned back on his elbows next to Alice, letting the familiar tingle in his balls grow as Alex wrapped his lips around Dave's dick and started bobbing his head up and down.
A flash of movement to his side caught Dave's attention and he turned to see Alice propping herself up on one elbow watching her brother. She smiled at Dave, dipped two fingers into her pussy and offered them up for Dave to sniff and lick.
“That was really nice,” she cooed, rubbing her fingers through her puffy wet pussy slit and again holding them up for him to lick.
Dave fell backwards, pulling the young girl to him for a passionate kiss even as he started to pump his hips into her brother's throat. Alice held the kiss for a moment before sitting back up.
“I want to watch him suck you and see your cum fill his mouth,” she said to Dave before turning toward her brother.
“Sit on my face looking his way, so you can see while I lick your pussy again,” Dave instructed her.
Alice straddled his head, settling her still damp and very pungent cunt down over his face. Dave reached up to twirl her budding nipples in his fingers even as he again dragged his tongue through her warm slit.
“Don't forget to show me your tongue and then swallow all his cum,” he heard Alice tell her brother as his thighs began to quiver.
He sank his tongue as deep as he could manage in Alice's pussy hole with his nose pressed firmly against her puckered asshole. She ground her cunt into his face. He lost track of anything but the overwhelming pleasure surging through his body as his cum exploded into Alex's mouth.
They all lay breathing raggedly for a few moments after Dave's deflated cock slipped from Alex's mouth. When Alex rose up, Alice crawled over to him, pulling his head down for a tongue lashing kiss, sharing Dave's spent semen with her brother. Then the two of them climbed up next to him, each kissing him passionately until the remainder of his cum dissolved in all three of their mouths. He pulled them both down for a warm embrace, his hand rubbing over both of their taut asses.
“Are we done for tonight?” Alex asked, reaching over to put his hand on Dave's limp dick.
“We better not be,” Alice chimed in, her hand joining her brother's while she looked up at Dave expectantly, “Alex hasn't licked my pussy yet.”
“She does have a point and it is something you need to learn how to do,” Dave agreed with a chuckle, sitting up and directing Alice to get on her back with her legs spread wide.
Alex positioned himself right above his sister's puffy pussy on his knees as Dave asked. Alice reached down to spread her pussy lips with her fingers as Alex gently licked her from her asshole to her clit a couple of times. Dave knelt next to them, gently fondling Alex's stiffening dock with one hand and Alice's tiny tits with the other.
“Very good,” Dave whispered to Alex as Alice began to moan softly, “now flick her clit with your tongue.”
Alice's body quivered as her brother began sucking her clit. Dave bent forward and sucked one of her tits into his mouth for a moment before straightening up and looking back at Alex.
“Slide your finger up through her slit until you find her pussy hole,” he instructed the young boy, “and then very gently slip that finger into her while sucking her clit harder.”
Alex did as he was told and his sister writhed harder on his finger and face.
“Oh...good...that's...so...good...don't stop,” she moaned, reaching down to pull Alex's face harder against her cunt.
“Oh, yes, make her cum all over your face,” Dave exclaimed, giving Alice another passionate kiss as she shrieked her orgasm into his mouth.
When she went limp, Dave broke off he kiss and Alex looked up with his face coated with his sister's pussy juices. Dave's cock was rock hard and throbbing, as was the twelve year old boy's. Dave reached over, pulled Alex close then leaned forward to take that four inch dick in his mouth. It only took a few seconds for Alex's cum to erupt in Dave's mouth.
Dave wiped a drop that dribbled down to his chin away with the back of his hands. The twins looked up at him grinning happily.
“One more thing before
we're done tonight,” he smiled at them, moving over to the
chair near the bed, “I want you to suck and lick me together
until I cum in both your mouths.”
Both twins eagerly agreed, quickly falling to their knees between his legs where he sat on a chair. His cock stood straight out, gently throbbing in his hand. Alice sucked the head of his dick while Alex licked his balls. Without any prompting, one of them probe his asshole with a finger as they took turns bobbing up and down on his rigid shaft.
He only lasted a couple of minutes before grabbing the back of both of their heads, his cum exploding first into Alex's mouth and then into his sister's. When he finally looked down, they were both grinning at him devilishly and then opened their mouths together to show him his semen coating their tongues.
“Remember what a good cock sucker always does,” Dave grinned.
They closed their mouths and gulped down his jism before laughing as they replied in unison.
“Always swallow the cum.”
(I do welcome any comments and will try to respond to all I get at firstname.lastname@example.org. Please remember that NIFTY needs your support. If you want the stories to continue, it's up to you to donate at <http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html>) | English | NL | 9fbbf839c22e2da590514629282560092753d5e032bb7fe37feae17cc8f31951 |
Visionary Frederick Crook delivers us to 2130 Earth where the rule of law exists in memory only and scores are settled with mortars. Have we come full circle, or are we on the precipice of something new and greater?
OF KNIGHT & DEVIL
It is July 2130, less than a year after the destruction of the Cape Canaveral Spaceport, the last of its kind in America. Major Reginald Mattersly of the British Army’s SRR has been slowly making his way to the west coast, where he wishes to find a home on the beach and live out the remainder of his life.
These plans are cut short when he is ambushed in Nevada by a mysterious trio of armed men. To his rescue comes a man of the 82nd Airborne who calls himself Elias Mulhaney. The two of them continue on to a town called Lovelock, currently embattled with their neighbors in Reno.
The mayor of Lovelock, Jazz Hernandez, is the prime target of her former lover, Gillespie, the mayor of Reno. His mentality: If he can’t have her, no one can.
Mattersly and Mulhaney band together to infiltrate the city of Reno to rescue her kidnapped niece, Nora, and destroy the factory that provides Gillespie’s military power.
In a post-Great Exodus Earth where there is no law and no national government, can there still be justice?
“I have to reload here,” Mulhaney said. “Both belts are about out.”
“Do it. Quickly,” Reginald replied.
Just as he finished speaking, an explosion rocked the parking garage.
“What the hell was that?” Elias wondered aloud and froze. “Artillery?”
“Just reload, now!” Reginald ordered. Seeing no one beyond his driver’s window, the major dared open his driver’s hatch to listen.
Another explosion rocked the building, this time more violently. Angel opened the infantry hatch and took a look behind them. Bits of concrete and dust filled the air around the two machines. Just as she was ducking back inside, a third explosion struck the building, directly above them. The outer hull was struck with falling concrete from the ceiling.
“Mortars!” Reginald shouted into the microphone for the benefit of their new ally, Sergeant Schamski. He slammed the driver’s hatch, locked it, and extracted himself from the seat, leaving the helmet behind. “Angel, get into the driver’s position and move if I tell you. We are being shelled!” With that order given, the major snatched up his Dragunov and lowered the rear ramp.
“Major, I don’t know how to drive this thing!” she protested.
“Just do it! Shut the door when I get clear!” he shouted as the next mortar round struck against the side of the parking structure, this time on their floor. Mattersly was shielded by flying bits of concrete by Necromancer, which was immediately covered in dust.
Reginald used the dust as cover for his run to the southwest corner of the building. He had judged from the trajectory of the first three rounds that whoever was launching the mortars would be found in that direction. He crouched low as he met with the wall, pulled his beret from his tunic’s breast pocket and placed it on his head. The action was more out of necessity than pride, for the gray surface of the cap would not reflect the sunlight.
Another mortar round struck nearly the same place as before, only one floor below. Wasting no time, he took a peek over the top of the waist-high wall, where his eyes found another large hotel across the street. Having adjusted his eyes for distance, he immediately located the mortar crew, which had taken a room on a floor slightly below the level of the garage on which Necromancer and Wolfhunter were trapped.
He quickly reset his eyesight to normal and brought up his Dragunov, being careful to remain in the shadows. Reginald watched as the crew fired a sixth round. In seconds, it was clear that this one was going to be rather close. He lay flat and covered his head as the round struck just left of his position, taking out the short wall and the leading edge of the pavement. Mattersly felt several bits of concrete strike him and was covered by dust.
His ears rang despite the audio devices’ cancellation attempts and his eyes burned from the dust. Reginald noted that Necromancer had again opened fire on targets trying to come up to their level. Without further thought, the major rose upon one knee, lifted his rifle to his shoulder and located a target. It was the mercenary attending or perhaps firing the mortar.
Reginald squeezed the trigger and dropped him. Training told him to move to another location, but he had found Renoite militia to be undertrained and inexperienced. He found a second target. This one was another militiaman which came to the aid of the man Reginald had just brought down. With another squeeze of the trigger, the second man was felled.
This time, Mattersly did drop to the floor to crawl to another location. It was none too soon, as the place where he had just fired from was struck with a smattering of assault weapon rounds, returned from the militiamen supporting the mortar. As the two Stryker’s fired at targets that he could not see, the major lifted his body onto his knee and prepared to take another look. Just then, the seventh round struck the parking garage, close enough to knock him flat.
“Frederick H. Crook is a masterful storyteller. He pits good against evil with a way different from most writers in the genre. The dialog is crisp and believable.” ~ Frank Scozzari
“The entire book takes place over the course of a few days and honestly, I was bummed when it ended. You will never get bored reading this book.” ~ Melissa Massey-Maroni
“I loved each page of this tale of hope. Anyone who still believes in the magic of heroism, should definitely have Of Knight & Devil in their bookcase.” ~ Susan Lynn Solomon
Frederick was born in Chicago in 1970 and now lives in Villa Park with his wife, Rae and their three dachshunds. He began by writing fictional works all through high school, but didn’t take himself seriously until 2009, when Frederick began writing his first novel, The Dregs of Exodus, which was self-published in late 2010. This was followed up with another novel, The Pirates of Exodus in 2012.
Throughout that year and 2013, he continued writing and published four short stories in eBook form for Kindle. Runt Pulse, The Fortress of Albion, Lunar Troll, and Campanelli: The Ping Tom Affair.
His third novel, Campanelli: Sentinel, was picked up by Solstice Publishing in late 2014. Minuteman Merlin was released for the Kindle by Solstice Publishing in March of 2015 and followed up by his fourth novel, Of Knight & Devil in September.
He is currently an editor for Solstice Publishing and working on novel number five, another Frank Campanelli dystopian crime thriller.
Amazon Author Page
Thanks for dropping by Blog Funkhauser Frederick. Good luck with the book and all the best for 2016! | English | NL | b9d1d4f4392d2d79fd113231c5c1addfe9430a9f74f9477f3e15b93b902382a9 |
Morale Building Quotes from Dalton Trumbo:
“Everybody now seems to be talking about democracy. I don’t understand this. As I think of it, democracy isn’t like a Sunday suit to be brought out and worn only for parades. It’s the kind of life a decent man leads, it’s something to live for, and to die for.”
“The chief internal enemies of any state are those public officials who betray the trust imposed upon them by the people.”
“We’ll free every slave in every town and region. Can anybody get a bigger army than that ?”
“I fought fire with oil.”
Famed author and screenwriter Dalton Trumbo was born on December 9, 1905, in Montrose, Colorado. After embarking on a successful career with Warner Bros., in 1947 Trumbo joined nine colleagues in refusing to testify before Congress regarding their Communist ties. The so-called “Hollywood Ten” were blacklisted from that time until the early 1960s. Trumbo died of a heart attack on September 10, 1976, in Los Angeles, California.
James Dalton Trumbo was born in Montrose, Colorado, on December 9, 1905, the first son of shoe-store clerk Orus and his wife, Maud. When Trumbo was 3 years old, his family moved to nearby Grand Junction, where he would spend his youth. While attending high school there, he indulged an early interest in writing by working as a cub reporter for a local paper.
Trumbo continued his journalistic pursuits while attending the University of Colorado before leaving the state in 1925 to join his family, who had moved to Los Angeles after he graduated high school. When his father died the following year, Trumbo took a job in a bakery to help support his mother and younger sisters. He worked there for nearly 10 years while cranking out countless short stories and novels—none of which he could find a publisher for—attending the University of California and working several other odd jobs.
In the early 1930s, Trumbo began to write professionally, publishing articles and stories in magazines such as the Saturday Evening Post, Vanity Fair and the Hollywood Spectator. He became the managing editor of the Spectator in 1934, a year that also saw him publish his first novel, Eclipse, as well as land a job as a script reader in the Warner Bros. story department. Then in 1935 Trumbo signed a contract with the studio as a junior writer, launching what would prove to be a long—and complicated—career.
In 1936 Trumbo received his first screenwriting credit, specifically for the crime drama Road Gang, and over the course of the next 10 years became one of the most successful and sought after writers in Hollywood. Some highlights among his many credits are A Man to Remember (1938), the 1940 romantic drama Kitty Foyle (which starred Ginger Rogers and earned Trumbo his first Academy Award nomination, for best adapted screenplay) and the highly lauded World War II drama Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (1944), starring Spencer Tracy and Robert Mitchum.
During this time, Trumbo was finding success away from the studio as well. In 1939 he married Cleo Fincher, with whom he would have three children, and in September of that year he achieved his peak as a novelist with the antiwar story Johnny Got His Gun. The novel received a National Book Award and has been adapted numerous times for radio, stage and screen.
Although the success of Johnny Got His Gun earned Trumbo notoriety as an author, the work eventually garnered him a fair share of unwanted attention as well. Like many intellectuals and artists at the time, Trumbo was a member of the Communist Party and during his career had frequently taken unpopular left-leaning political positions. But when he received fan letters from Nazi sympathizers who had misunderstood his intentions with Johnny Got His Gun, Trumbo reported them to the FBI. Rather than pursue the letter writers, however, the bureau opened an investigation of Trumbo.
In October 1947, as postwar paranoia about the perceived threat of Communism was ramping up in the United States, Trumbo was among a group of 10 Hollywood directors and writers called to testify before the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC), which was charged with investigating whether Communist sympathizers had propagandized American audiences. Trumbo and the other nine individuals summoned all refused to testify, and as a consequence, the “Hollywood Ten” were found guilty of contempt of Congress. They were subsequently blacklisted by the heads of the major studios, and in 1950 Trumbo served almost a year in prison.
Following his release, Trumbo was unable to find work in California and moved his family to Mexico City. From there, he continued to write screenplays, which he was able to sell by using either pseudonyms or other writers to act as fronts for his work. During this time, Trumbo wrote at least 10 screenplays that were made into films—including the 1953 classic Roman Holiday, starring Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn—as well as doing an unknown quantity of revision work on many others.
Finally, in 1957, after nearly a decade of working in exile, Trumbo at last saw an opportunity to return to Hollywood, when his screenplay for The Brave One—written under the pseudonym Robert Rich—received an Academy Award. When journalists were subsequently unable to find the mysterious Robert Rich for comment, it was soon surmised that the film had in fact been written by Trumbo. This and other similar incidents involving blacklisted writers led to a general reexamination of the practice, with support for the concept quickly weakening in the industry.
The year after “Robert Rich” won the Oscar for The Brave One, Trumbo was hired to write the adaptation for the Biblical epic Exodus, and in 1959 he was chosen by Kirk Douglas to author the screenplay for Spartacus. Trumbo’s authorship of these two highly successful pictures was revealed shortly before their release in 1960, along with the announcement that Trumbo would receive credit for his work. Shortly thereafter he was readmitted to the Writers Guild of America, effectively bringing the blacklist to an end.
Trumbo returned to work in earnest and for the remainder of his life continued his prolific and successful output. Of the many screenplays that he wrote during this post-blacklist era, some highlights are the Kirk Douglas western Lonely Are the Brave (1962), the Golden Globe–nominated crime drama The Fixer (1968) and the 1973 prison classic Papillon, starring Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman. Revisiting the work that was at the root of so much of his past troubles, Trumbo wrote and directed a 1971 film adaption of Johnny Got His Gun, for which he received two awards at the Cannes Film Festival. Several years later he was finally delivered his Oscar for The Brave One.
A heavy smoker for much of his life, in 1973 Trumbo was diagnosed with lung cancer. He died of a heart attack while in hospice care several years later, on September 10, 1976, in Los Angeles, California, and donated his body to science. In 1993, 40 years after the film’s release, Trumbo was posthumously awarded an Oscar for his screenplay for Roman Holiday.
Since his death, Dalton Trumbo has been the subject of a variety of different works, including a 2003 Broadway play called Trumbo: Red, White and Blacklisted and a related 2009 documentary. In September 2015, a new biographical drama titled Trumbo premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival. Starring Bryan Cranston as Trumbo, and with a cast that includes Helen Mirren, John Goodman, Diane Lane and Louis C.K., the film is scheduled for a November 2015 domestic release. | English | NL | ed32e6b07ac449531e219ff233494085bde93bc45e56d9bd77eb2a8a8b332d9c |
For many of our pupils expressing their emotions or thoughts can be difficult.
The use of creative curriculum modules is important to give them a way in which they can develop a creative thought process and learn the simple joy of producing something original.
The picture is an example of an independent piece of writing that one of our pupils is very proud of. He usually struggles to produce even a few sentences , but in this instance he was keen to share his story. Our staff worked hard to capture his imagination and encouraged to produce something he could truly call his own original creation. | English | NL | b3631845e2db08c7afbc4b922b7a54100a019229ef3a2f6ec7b870c1d7a6a848 |
It is rare that 5 suffer from loneliness. Fleets are usually energetic and seek new experiences and acquaintances, so they like to surround themselves with people. They are able to establish lasting interpersonal relationships, which obviously affects the quality and duration of their later relationships.
The 5 attract dream partners to each other, which helps them to have their personality and charm. They spread the charm around them, which makes people hurry directly towards them. It is often the case that a fifth deep inside the soul is afraid of every serious feeling and commitment, so when the happiness is near - she simply escapes.
The downside of the 5 is that he falls into various complexes that he cannot cope with. He is seldom a romantic and also likes to hide his feelings. Shyness and complexities can hinder from expressing his feelings.
Five has the power to attract the opposite sex, although it is not always aware of this. It can sometimes seduce, even without knowing it.
The Life Path is of a general character, which is what the Zodiac Signs in astrology are. To find out more, you need to make a Numerology Report, which is created on the basis of your date of birth and your name. Such a report is a kind of a Map of Life, thanks to which we understand the events of our life, the sense of our relationships, and also where we are heading and, above all, for what purpose. | English | NL | 0b67a561abc76cef8e1fd26edb14ad265d2b0a88ba7ec82ffc45e7f8399bc299 |
Alice Bast didn't have luck on her side. Starting around the age of 26, she just kept getting sicker. She had constant diarrhea, chronic migraines, extreme fatigue, canker sores, and bloating, and her fingers and toes tingled.
"I would go to the doctor for my GI issues," Bast remembers, "but they treated me for that symptom, rather than looking at a cause."
Medication seemed to help in the short-term, despite her lack of a diagnosis, and she began to feel OK. That was when she got pregnant, and her GI symptoms made a raging comeback.
"I knew something was wrong," she says. "But the doctors kept telling me everything seemed fine."
Tragically, Bast's instincts proved correct: In utero, her baby eventually suffered from a condition called intrauterine growth restriction, in which the fetus grows at a very delayed rated or ceases growing altogether. While the reasons can range from infection to high blood pressure, the cause in her case was unclear.
At nine months pregnant, she delivered a stillborn baby.
Her heartbreak was unbearable, but Bast pushed on, desperate for another child. She went on to grieve three miscarriages in a row — their causes all indeterminate.
Finally, she got pregnant with an embryo that stuck and would eventually become her daughter Linnea. But her pregnancy was far from smooth. She was put on bed rest for the last 2 1/2 months, required an emergency C-section, and delivered a 2-pound baby.
"[Linnea] proceeded to grow stronger and I proceeded to grow weaker," Bast recalls. "I am 5-foot-9 and ended up 105 pounds."
Bast knew she needed answers, but no one was providing them. Her ob-gyn was so weary of her mysterious case that he even told her she would have to find another doctor if she got pregnant again.
As she bounced from doctor to doctor, they told her she had postpartum depression or irritable bowel syndrome. Of the many gastric and blood tests she underwent, nothing showed up.
"People have diarrhea," one doctor told her condescendingly.
Her concerns went ignored until she visited the dentist one day. He took one look at her mouth and told her there was something seriously wrong with her. Her teeth were brittle, her gums bleeding.
Meanwhile, her GI doctor had put her on a high-carbohydrate diet, which made her symptoms spiral out of control.
"I couldn't even walk around the block without having to run to the bathroom," she says.
Recounting her troubles to a friend who was a veterinarian, Bast received advice that would change her life: "Sometimes animals have trouble with grains," her friend said. "Ask your doctor to test you for a disease associated with gluten. It's called celiac."
By this point, Bast was 34 years old and meeting with doctor no. 22, another GI specialist. She told him her friend's suspicions about celiac disease, an autoimmune disorder triggered by consuming the gluten protein, which is found in wheat, barley, and rye.
When a person with the disease eats gluten, it triggers the immune system to fight back, leading to damage in the intestine; nutrients have a harder time getting absorbed and symptoms like diarrhea, vitamin deficiencies, and malnutrition are common.
Despite Bast's insistence that she was a candidate for testing, the doctor at first denied her, telling her she was "too tall" to have celiac, citing a common misconception that celiac always shows up initially in childhood and stunts the child's growth.
But Bast begged him for the simple blood antibody test that can diagnose celiac.
"Here's my arm," she told him. "I've had every other test known to man."
Sure enough, the test came back positive. She then had her first endoscopy, a procedure in which a camera attached to a tube explores a person's digestive tract, to confirm the diagnosis.
"I was so relieved," Bast says. "I thought I was dying of cancer."
Doctors didn't know it then, but left untreated, the disorder is now known to be associated with reproductive health struggles like hers, in addition to anxiety, depression, thyroid disease, and osteoporosis. Bast suffered from all of these except osteoporosis.
"For many women, unexplained infertility is the only sign of undiagnosed celiac disease," says Dr. Michelle Pietzak, an assistant professor of clinical pediatrics at the University of Southern Keck School of Medicine, and head of the Division of Pediatric Gastroenterology and Nutrition at Los Angeles County Hospital. "Some studies indicate that celiac disease may occur in as many as 4 to 8 percent of women with unexplained infertility."
Specific genes may confer a higher risk of developing celiac — but it doesn't just show up in childhood. Environmental triggers such as pregnancy, surgery, infection, or severe emotional distress can trigger the onset of the disease. In Bast's case, her doctors now suspect that a parasite infection she got on a trip to Mexico around the age of 26 triggered it, though no one can say definitively.
About 1 percent of the U.S. general population suffers from the disease, though Pietzak says that around 83 percent of those people are not currently diagnosed or are misdiagnosed with conditions like irritable bowel syndrome and lactose intolerance.
"As soon as I went on a gluten-free diet, I started to feel better and better," Bast says.
But when she was diagnosed back in 1994, the availability and affordability of gluten-free food was limited and she had to order some from Canada. Eating out was practically impossible.
Bast's background was in business development, and with her newfound lifestyle, she set out to improve the food options and raise awareness for patients like herself. She went back to school to gain expertise in running a non-profit, then launched her now-famous foundation called Beyond Celiac.
Thanks in part to her efforts, gluten-free food has become mainstream. The organization is also heavily involved in promoting further research about this serious genetic disease.
Today, Bast is doing well managing her symptoms, though not perfectly. Even though she advocates for herself in restaurants, she still gets served gluten once or twice a month, which can lead to a burning sensation on her skin, stomach upset, and migraines. It can be socially isolating to follow such a diet, she says, but "it's worth it to be able to restore my health as much as possible and get back to living."
And to get one's fertility back.
"Doctors have observed that many women successfully conceive after a year or more upon receiving a diagnosis, maintaining a strict gluten-free diet, and taking vitamin supplements," Pietzak says.
Bast and her foundation are looking ahead toward the biggest payoff of all: They have set out to cure celiac. Luckily, there are a few drug treatments being developed that could potentially replace or supplement a gluten-free diet, and clinical trials are underway.
Until then, Bast advises people who suspect they might have celiac to get tested by a doctor and not just try cutting out certain foods on their own, without proper medical instruction. For those struggling to adapt to new dietary restrictions, she offers reassuring words:
"Embrace a gluten-free diet. The world is a lot better than it was 25 years ago. You can do it, and there's hope for the future." | English | NL | ae95aeb96abb0eb4386575b57c32d5baec6b9939f1b9ed76e0a726bd7b8c5aba |
I started reading Mark's Gospel last night. Burned through 8 chapters and enjoyed it immensely. I should finish the book tonight if all goes well. Mark is without a doubt my favorite of the four Gospels.
Another thing I cannot help but notice when I read Mark's Gospel is that there is an overwhelming sense that everything Mark writes is designed to evoke a response from us. There is a question that is being asked by the author that stretches from the front of the book to the back: What are you going to do with Jesus? Or, perhaps, How are you going to respond to Jesus when he invades your world and disrupts your life? Because disrupt it he will–either for better or worse–and we will be confronted with a choice to do something about this strange person who seems to appear out of thin-air and walk onto the world's stage: "At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan…After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God" (1:9, 14).
Everything is going along for people in those days and then Jesus comes along and starts making a mess of things: he is binding up strong men, turning children against parents, driving demons out of the land and ruining animal herds, and rattling the theological cages of the religious elitists: "Who is this man?" people ask. Winds obey. Demons obey. Storms are calmed. He doesn't fast. Disease flees. He eats with dirty hands. He speaks in riddles. This is the fellow who dares to talk about the nature of the kingdom of God? He cannot even tell the difference between someone who is dead and someone who is sleeping. Yet he teaches as one with authority, he heals, and he forgives sin. Worse yet, he eats with sinners and tax-collectors.
And react people did. They tried to trap him. The laughed at him. They begged him to leave. They begged to go with him. They accused him. They thought he was out of his mind. They ignored him. They trusted him. They listened to him. They were amazed by him. They pleaded with him. They took offense at him. They amazed him. They took advantage of him. They demonstrated faith. They lacked faith. All that, probably more, in just the first eight chapters.
So it gets me thinking every time I read Mark: how would I respond to Jesus if one day he just showed up in my neighborhood or my school or my funeral or my wedding or a party I was hosting or while I was rowing a boat across a lake? I wonder what I would do. I wonder how I would respond? I wonder how I would feel if I met a person who just looked at me and loved me for no other reason than the fact that I am me.
Because that is who people met when they met Jesus. | English | NL | b30d2cffb47ae449f87182be1e1c01576da7c6446ce849e7b5762a08589960a9 |
Twelfth Night with the Earl
When a headstrong beauty clashes with the man she once loved, she’s determined that the spirit of Christmas will open his mind, heal his heart, and perhaps give them a reason to celebrate—for many seasons to come . . .
As far as Ethan Fortescue is concerned, his family’s seat in Cornwall is only a source of torment, one that he’s managed to avoid for two years. Now that he’s the Earl of Devon however, he can close the door on his haunted past by locking up the cursed place for good. But upon arriving at Cleves Court, he is shocked to find the house aglow with Christmas celebrations, filled with music and laughter. And right at the center of the holiday madness is the infuriating—and eternally tempting—Theodosia Sheridan . . .
Thea has always loved the town of Cleves, especially at the holidays. As a girl, she also loved Ethan with all her heart. It’s painful to see how his brother’s tragic death has embittered him. Still, she will do anything to make sure the town thrives—even if it means going to battle with Ethan to save Cleves Court. Now she has only until Twelfth Night to make a Christmas miracle happen—by proving that his childhood home can be a source of love and wonder. But before long, she finds herself wondering if she’s trying to save the house—or its handsome master…
Christmas Eve, 1816, 7:00 p.m.
Somewhere between the Duke’s Head Inn and here, he’d fallen off the edge of England and into the deepest pit of hell.
Hell, or Cornwall. Same bloody thing.
The Duke’s Head.
Ethan snorted. Pity he wasn’t in the mood for a laugh, because that was damn amusing. The Duke’s Head was the only inn in the tiny village of Cleves, and it was the last place a duke would be caught dead, with or without his head.
His horse stumbled as Ethan led him around another of Cornwall’s endless muddy puddles. Christ, it was dark here. He wouldn’t have believed any place in England could be this dark if he hadn’t seen it himself. Or not seen it, as it happened, because it was too bloody dark to see bloody anything. Well, except for his flask. He could see that because he had it clutched in his hand, and a bloody good thing too, because a man doomed to spend Christmas in the wilds of bloody Cornwall bloody well better keep a flask to hand at all times.
He paused to count, the flask hovering in front of his lips.
Six bloodies in less than a minute.
There was a chance—just the merest possibility, of course—he wasn’t overflowing with the joys of the season.
Ah, well. At least he was overflowing with whiskey.
He tipped the silver flask to his lips and took another swallow. What he lacked in Christmas cheer he more than made up for in drink, and it wasn’t as if any of the servants left at Cleves Court were in a position to scold him for his drunkenness. He was the Earl of bloody Devon now, and in the year since he’d become his lordship, he’d discovered earls were permitted to behave rather badly, indeed. Not as badly as marquesses and dukes, but badly enough, and no one seemed to trouble themselves much about it.
Perhaps that’s how his father had become such a wastrel. Too much . . . Earling? Earlishness? Lordshippery? Ethan frowned. It was one of those, but it didn’t matter which. Whatever you called it, it amounted to the same thing—some earl or other had behaved badly, so the new earl was obliged to ride to bloody Cornwall in the cold and dark to clean up the disaster the previous wastrel of an earl had left behind.
That it would be a disaster, Ethan hadn’t the slightest doubt. The last time he’d been to his country seat it was teetering on the edge of disreputable, and that was two years ago. He hadn’t the faintest idea why his father hadn’t shut the cursed place down altogether as he’d promised he would, but whatever whim had moved the old earl was no doubt fleeting, like most of his whims.
God knew once his father abandoned something, he never looked back.
He’d have forgotten all about the place the moment he returned to London, and by now the old pile would be collapsing into rubble. With only a handful of servants left to tend to it, it would be dark and freezing, and likely damp as well, with cobwebs thick enough to smother Ethan in his sleep, and servants who hadn’t the faintest notion how to look after an earl.
What if they led him to some godforsaken room with damp walls, uncarpeted floors and mice-infested sheets? What if they didn’t even have sheets, or proper lamps or candles? Or, dear God, what if he should run out of whiskey while he was trapped in that old tomb, and was forced into tedious sobriety?
Damn it, perhaps he should have dragged Fenton with him to Cornwall, after all. He’d considered it, but Cleves Court was barely civilized. His fussy London valet would be in fits of horror over the savagery of it all, and Ethan didn’t want another useless servant about, wringing his hands and making things difficult. This visit was bound to be unpleasant enough without Fenton’s hysterics to contend with.
No, it was best to keep things simple. Wrestle his way through the wilds of Cornwall to Cleves Court, issue orders for the house to be closed at once, stay long enough to see those orders carried out, then get back to London before his supply of whiskey was depleted.
But he’d have to see to it he had a proper bedchamber. He was an earl, after all, and accustomed to his comforts. He’d need something with sheets and without mice, and he’d prefer better music, as well, instead of that incessant picking on the pianoforte keys, but he supposed it was too much to ask anyone at Cleves Court would know how to play the pianoforte—
Music? What the devil?
Ethan brought his horse to a halt and stared down at the flask in his hand. Good Lord, how much whiskey had he drank? He was so far in his cups he must be hallucinating, because there wasn’t a blessed thing for miles around here aside from Cleves Court, and the music couldn’t be coming from there.
It was damned odd, but it seemed as if someone at Cleves Court was playing the pianoforte. If you could call it playing, that is. Pick, pick, pick. He couldn’t quite decipher the song, but it was something irritatingly festive. Without realizing he did it, he began to hum along under his breath, trying to place it.
Four calling birds, three French hens . . .
Oh, Christ. It was the Twelve bloody Days of bloody Christmas. Christmas music in general was intolerable, but he loathed this song in particular. A man might be partial to milkmaids, and eight of them at once could prove amusing, but what the devil was he to do with French hens and a bloody partridge? They’d only get in the way.
Ah, well. It was nothing more whiskey couldn’t cure.
Ethan drained his flask and urged his horse forward, but once he crested the hill he stopped a second time, his gaze frozen on his ancestral estate nestled at the notch in the hill just below him.
Light spilled from every downstairs window and cast a cheerful glow onto the drive in front of the house, which was crowded with wagons and carriages. Even from this distance he could see people passing to and fro in front of the windows, and hear voices and an occasional shriek of muffled laughter. The delectable scent of sugared apples and roasted meat drifted through the air, and Ethan’s stomach let out an insistent growl.
Laughter, music, and sugared sweets? He might be in his cups, but he wasn’t so foxed he couldn’t see what was right in front of his eyes. Some presumptuous devil was running amok at his estate, without his knowledge or permission.
Ethan tucked his flask into his pocket, kicked his horse into a run, and shot down the hill toward the house. Damnation. He’d only just arrived, and already he was being thrown headlong into sobriety.
A few coachmen were loitering in the drive, but they were distracted by cups of ale, so he dismounted and tied his horse himself, grumbling at the neglect. What bloody good was it being the earl if he didn’t get to shout orders, and then stand back like a proper aristocrat while the servants rushed about in a panic to do his bidding?
He strolled through the front door, squinting at the sudden light. Christ. It appeared they did have candles and lamps at Cleves Court, because the place was brighter than a London ballroom. A dozen or so people hung about, and the entire entryway was smothered in kissing balls and evergreens.
Bloody hell. It looked as if Christmas had gotten foxed, and then cast up its accounts all over Cleves Court.
There was a rather nice-looking Christmas punch on a table at his elbow, so Ethan snatched up the glass. Whiskey was preferable, but he’d drunk it all, so the punch would have to do.
He raised the glass to his lips, took a healthy swallow, spluttered, and then stared down at the glass, aghast. For God’s sake, who made a punch without brandy? It was a disgraceful waste of perfectly good fruit—
“Who d’ye think ye are? That’s my punch ye just drunk.”
Ethan dropped the glass onto the table and turned to find a thin, dark-haired boy at his elbow. “Who the devil are you?”
Instead of disappearing as a figment of one’s imagination should, the boy jabbed his thumb into his chest. “Why, I’m Henry Munro.” He announced this as if everyone in their right mind should know who Henry Munro was. “Who’re you?”
“The Earl of Devon.” Everyone in his right mind should know who that was, but if Ethan expected the boy to blanch with terror to find the master of the house had suddenly appeared in his midst, he was disappointed.
“What, yer a lordship? I’ve not got much use fer lordships, meself.” Henry took in his depleted glass of punch, and gave Ethan a disgusted look. “’Specially those what drink my punch.”
“That’s my punch. Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m Lord Devon.” Ethan waved a hand around the room. “Lord Devon. This is my house. Every glass of punch in the bloody place belongs to me.”
He sounded like a two-year old whining over a toy, but for God’s sake, who was this demonic imp, and what was he doing here? And didn’t anyone in this house recognize the name Devon?
“Aw right then, guv. No need to take on like that.”
The boy grabbed what was left of his punch and tried to dart away, but Ethan snatched him up by the collar and hauled him back. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I thought ye said this was yer house.”
“It is, but—”
“Ye don’t know who’s in charge of yer own house?” Henry wriggled loose from Ethan’s grip and eyed him, looking less impressed with every passing second.
Damnation. As much as Ethan hated to admit it, the boy had a point. “I’ve been away. Is it Mrs. Hastings still?”
It seemed unlikely Mrs. Hastings—or Mrs. Hastens, he couldn’t quite recall—was the authoress of all this offensive merriment. A vague image of a gray-haired lady with lace collars and dozens of iron keys at her hip rose in Ethan’s mind. She had to be at least sixty years old by now. Perhaps she’d gone senile.
“Mrs. who? Never heard of ’er.”
Ethan’s eyebrows shot up. What, the boy hadn’t even heard of Mrs. Hastings? What had happened to his bloody housekeeper? “Well, who then, Henry? If it’s not Mrs. Hastings, then who’s responsible for this house?”
“Same person what’s always been responsible, guv.”
Ethan tightened his grip on the boy’s collar, ready to shake the answer out of him. “And who would that be?”
Before Henry could reply, a maid appeared and held out a tray to Ethan with a smile. “Punch, sir?”
“No! No bloody punch. I’m Lord Devon, just arrived.”
“Lord Devon? Oh, no. That is . . . oh, dear, the earl himself.” The maid’s face went white and she sank into a hasty curtsey, still clutching the tray. “I, ah—welcome home, your lordship.”
Cleves Court wasn’t his bloody home anymore, and in another few weeks it wouldn’t be anyone else’s either, but the maid would find that out soon enough. “What’s your name?”
“Becky, sir—that is, my lord.”
“Becky, you will tell me at once who’s responsible for this madness.”
Becky shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “Um, our housekeeper, your lordship, just as she is every year.”
Ethan gritted his teeth. “Would you be so kind as to tell me where I might find the housekeeper?”
“Let’s see. The last time I saw her she was in the kitchens, but I think she may have gone back to the drawing room. I’d be happy to take you to her, sir—”
But Becky got no further, for at that moment a child darted through the drawing-room door, his head down, and slammed right into the back of her, sending the tray in her hands to the floor with a crash of shattering glass. Becky let out a despairing wail as punch splattered everywhere.
The floor, the walls—Christ, even the kissing balls were dripping with it.
Ethan might have laughed if it hadn’t been for his boots, which were now splattered with sticky punch. He’d managed to make it through every muddy inch of bloody Cornwall with the pristine shine still on his boots, but the second he set foot in this godforsaken house, they were ruined. Damn it, a man’s boots were sacred—
“George Munro! You naughty boy! Look at what you’ve made me do!”
George Munro? Ethan stared at the child who’d come to a screeching halt in the middle of the hallway. He was an exact replica of Henry, who’d taken one look at the mess and doubled over with laughter.
Dear God, there were two of them.
George Munro was no fool. He took one look at the mayhem he’d caused, turned on his heel, and fled. Becky made a grab for him, but the boy, who looked as if he’d perfected his escape technique, leapt nimbly out of her reach.
“Come back here this instant, George!”
George did not come back, and Becky chased after him, leaving Ethan standing in a puddle of brandy-less punch and a pile of broken glasses. Such a scene would have reduced Fenton to tears, but Ethan simply stepped over the mess, made his way toward the drawing room, and found a place at the back of the crowd, near the door.
The housekeeper would have to appear eventually, and when she did she’d find one furious earl in ruined boots waiting for her.
There were a great many servants rushing about—far more than he’d expected to see at Cleves Court—and a great number of guests, as well. A few of them looked vaguely familiar, but damned if he could say what any of their names were. They were all having a grand time of it, and looked quite at home, as if they spent every evening at Cleves Court, drinking his liquor and smashing his crystal to bits.
Not that he gave a damn about the crystal, or anything else in this house. He didn’t intend to take so much as a teaspoon from here back to London with him. Tomorrow he’d order everything packed away forever. They were welcome to smash every glass in the house until then, and the windows too, if they liked.
“Oh, here comes the housekeeper with the bowl of brandy,” a lady next to him whispered to her companion. “It’s so pretty when it’s lit, isn’t it, with the blue flames?”
A flutter of excitement passed over the knot of people gathered in the drawing-room, and a hush fell as the servants lowered the lamps and doused the candles. Every head turned to the door, the faces alight with anticipation. The children were wriggling with excitement, and the adults were nearly as enthusiastic.
Despite himself, Ethan felt a twinge of anticipation. They’d played Snapdragon in this very room when he was a boy. He straightened from his slouch against the wall to get a better look, but the servants had plunged the room into near darkness, and he couldn’t see a bloody thing.
“Over here, ma’am!” George Munro, who’d evidently escaped his pursuer, was hopping up and down and waving his arms in the air. “I’ve been a very good boy!”
Ethan snorted aloud at this blatant falsehood, but the sound was swallowed by another childish voice, this one raised in outrage. “Ye haven’t been a good boy, George. Ye made Becky drop the glasses and they all smashed to bits! Ye’re naughty, and ye don’t deserve any raisins!”
“Quiet, Henry, ye tell-tale!”
A furious shriek followed this insult, and Ethan turned just in time to see Henry leap upon George’s back and the two tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He watched them with a grin, because a brawl was good fun—especially one so indecorous as to happen in the midst of a Christmas Eve party—but this one was even more impressive because the two boys looked so much alike, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
“Henry, George, you will stop that scuffling at once.”
A tall, slender woman with dark hair passed near Ethan, carrying a large glass bowl in her hands. She was looking down, and he couldn’t see her face, but one thing was certain.
She wasn’t Mrs. Hastings.
His memories of that good lady were indistinct, but he was damn sure her scent hadn’t made his mouth water. This lady smelled of warm, rich brandy, with a faint hint of cinnamon and vanilla, and her voice—low and faintly husky, but utterly feminine—tugged on him, as if a hook had caught at the memories buried deep inside him and was trying to drag them out through his chest.
They two boys climbed off each other, but Henry couldn’t quite hold in his ire. “Aw, but Miss Sheridan, he called me a—”
“At once, Henry, or no raisins for either of you.”
Ethan might have laughed at the chastened expression on the boys’ faces, but he wasn’t looking at them anymore.
He was looking at her.
He went still, his mind reeling with shock. There had only ever been one Miss Sheridan, and there’d never be another—not for Cleves Court, and not for him.
Thea was here.
Theadosia Sheridan, his childhood playmate, then his dearest friend, and then, when he was fourteen, the year Ethan was sent away from Cleves Court for good, his first love.
His only love, though he couldn’t have known it at the time.
He never thought about her—he wouldn’t let himself think of her, because thinking about Thea was like floating to the surface and sucking in great gulps of air when you hadn’t even realized you were underwater. Once you got that air, once it filled your lungs you realized again that you needed it, that you couldn’t live without it . . .
It was so much easier just to drown.
He stiffened as she drew closer, so close he could reach out and catch a handful of her silk skirts in his fist, but he forced his arms to his sides, and she passed by without noticing him.
“Here we are!” She set the large bowl carefully on a wide table that looked as if it had been brought in for that purpose. She touched a cloth to the candle on the table and lit the brandy, then raised her beaming face to the crowd gathered around her. “There are plenty of raisins for everyone this year—too many to count!”
Ethan sucked in a breath as blue flames rose from the bowl shown full on her face, and he could see every graceful line of her features, every curve of her smile . . .
And those eyes.
Wide and green, long-lashed, and still with that touch of cheekiness that drove him mad as a boy, before he was even old enough to understand what it meant to be driven mad by a woman.
Theadosia Sheridan. A termagant, a sharp-tongued hellion, a scapegrace—yes, she was all of those things. Bold and fearless, too, and if her eyes were any indication, she hadn’t changed.
What was she doing here? As far as he knew she’d left Cleves Court two years ago. When had she come back, and why—
Ethan froze as all the pieces snapped into place.
Thea was at the bottom of this madness. This was her fault. The music, the guests, the games, and those two fiendish boys—she was responsible for it all. It made such perfect sense he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t realized it at once. Who else but Thea would dare to take over his house as if she were mistress of it?
She’d brought Cleves Court back from the dead. Instead of the cold, empty house he’d expected, the old place was warm and alive again.
As long as it was alive, he couldn’t bury it.
He’d come here to shove Cleves Court as deep into the ground as it would go, to cover it with dirt and bury it forever, and his memories right along with it. It should have been a simple enough thing to do, but now . . .
Now she was here, and nothing was simple anymore.
Thea was a complication waiting to happen—chaos in silk skirts, with a tempting smile and devastating green eyes. No sooner would he have everything in its proper place than she’d sweep in like a hurricane and send it all into disarray with a snap of her pretty fingers.
Simple things had a way of becoming complicated around Thea.
An adolescent flirtation, a single kiss . . . they were simple things, and yet somehow, without him knowing when or how it happened, Thea had become the woman against which every other woman was measured.
All at once, Ethan was furious.
He didn’t stop to think. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t have done it, but he’d drunk an entire flask of whiskey, and his heart was pounding, and the blue flames were dancing in front of his eyes, and damn it, the geese and the French hens made no sense at all, and what was he supposed to do with eight bloody milkmaids?
Before he’d even made up his mind to move, he was standing in the middle of the drawing-room, bellowing and frothing like an inmate at Bedlam. “What the devil do you think you’re doing with my house, Theadosia Sheridan?”
There was a moment of shocked silence, and then everything happened at once.
Henry and George were in the midst of snatching raisins from the bowl and licking their fingers, but the minute Ethan’s voice rang across the drawing-room, they came to a dead stop.
“He cursed!” Henry nudged his brother. “He said a curse, right ’ere in the drawing-room!”
“He did.” George looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or offended by such a thing. “And ’e did it loud, too.”
“Look at ’im, George. A right swell, in’t he? He’s a lordship, ye know.”
“Don’t care if ’e’s a swell, or even a lordship. He shouted at Miss Sheridan.” George took a step toward Ethan, his hands balled into fists. “No one’s s’posed to shout at Miss Sheridan.”
“That swell right there did!” Henry pointed at Ethan, appealing to the rest of the party, all of whom were standing around watching the scene unfold, still mute with shock. “That’s not right, it’s not, but then ’e’s a lordship, and in his cups. That’s what lordships do when they’re in their cups.”
Ethan’s ignored them, his gaze never leaving Thea’s face. “I asked you a question, Miss Sheridan, and I’ll have an answer at once.”
“Ethan? My goodness, is that you?” One shaking hand came up to cover her mouth, but when she lowered it again her lips were curved in the same smile that still haunted him, the one that made his heart leap in his chest. The smile that said she couldn’t imagine it being anyone but him, as if he were the only person in the world she wanted to see.
But he didn’t deserve that smile. Not anymore.
“Ethan, what are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s—”
“Not Ethan, Miss Sheridan. I’m Lord Devon now, and I’m here because this is my house. Or perhaps you’ve forgotten that?”
She stared at him in silence for a moment, then, “No. I haven’t forgotten . . . your lordship.” She paused before she added his title— not for long enough to be accused of outright insolence, but just shy of it.
“I’m pleased to hear it. Given you do recall I’m the master of the house, perhaps you’d favor me with an answer to my question. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Having a Christmas Eve party, my lord.” Her voice was calm, but Ethan didn’t miss the flicker of temper in her eyes.
“Did you get my permission to have a party at my house, Miss Sheridan?”
Ethan’s temper rose at this blithe dismissal. She didn’t sound the least bit repentant, damn her. “Well, why not? I believe it’s customary for servants to ask the earl’s permission for such things.”
“My apologies, your lordship. I’ve never done so in my tenure as housekeeper here, but I should have realized this time you meant for me to write to London for permission to have guests at Cleves Court.”
Christ, the sting of that tongue. Only Thea could make an apology sound like an accusation. “You’ve stolen from me, Miss Sheridan. I could bloody well have you taken up by the law if I chose.”
Henry sucked in a gasp. “Oh, ’e did it again, George! He said . . .” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “He said bloody.”
Thea held up a hand to quiet the boys, but her gaze remained fixed on Ethan. “Very well, my lord. I believe our magistrate, Mr. Williamson is in the entryway even now, helping himself to a glass of punch. Becky, if you wouldn’t mind fetching Mr. Williamson? His lordship wishes to have me taken up for theft.”
“Do you suppose I won’t?” Of course he wouldn’t—Thea could march out the front door with every silver teaspoon in the house secreted away in her bodice, and he wouldn’t move a muscle to stop her—but devil take her, her stubbornness could drive a saint to the flask, and he was no bloody saint. “I warn you, Miss Sheridan—”
“No!” A high-pitched wail pierced the room, and a tiny child with wild black curls tossed all the raisins clenched in her chubby fists to the floor, rushed forward, and threw her arms around Thea’s knees. “No! George, that lordship there said ’e’s going to have Miss Sheridan taken up, and then she’ll have to go to jail, and we won’t ever see ’er again!”
“Hush, Martha. I won’t be taken to jail.” Thea gathered the girl into her arms and glared at Ethan over the child’s head. “I’ve done nothing illegal, no matter what that lordship says.”
“Um, Miss Sheridan? There’s a—”
“I hope you aren’t teaching these children stealing isn’t illegal.” Ethan pointed to Henry and George. “Those two in particular need a lesson on proper morals and behavior.”
“Miss Sheridan!” George tugged at the sleeve of her dress. “Martha’s raisins are still—”
She waved him off. “I’m not teaching them anything of the sort. I’m simply telling them I’m not a thief. But thank goodness your lordship is here, because I can’t think of anyone more suited to give a lesson on morality to young boys than a man who wagers on a marchioness’s virtue!”
Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. Well, it seemed rumors of his London exploits had reached Cleves. Not so bloody remote after all, was it?
“Sir? That is . . . lordship?” Henry was starting to look panicked. “Hadn’t we better—”
“As it happens, the gossips had it wrong. That wager didn’t have anything to do with the marchioness’s virtue at all. It was about a West End whorehouse.”
There was a shocked gasp, but Martha’s excited voice drowned it out. “Miss Sheridan, look!” She tugged at Thea’s skirts, her face filled with glee. “The carpet’s on fire!” | English | NL | 377c05f8b0ac8d7696f427d93fc076f5b34080dfd9073825b8960c35e41741ec |
Mr Thomas Cupper Mudd was born in Huntingfield, Suffolk, England over the summer months of 1895.
He was the son of Thomas Mudd (b. 1855), a carrier (a carter or carman), and Elizabeth Coe (b. 1864), both Suffolk natives of Huntingfield and Spexhall, respectively who had married in 1881.
Thomas was one of thirteen children, ten surviving past infancy. His known siblings were: James (1882-1953), Clara (b. 1884), George Thomas (1887-1966), Henry Edward (1889-1895), Walter (1892-1895), Millicent Mary (1897-1978), Maurice Jarrold (1899-1957), Daisy Elizabeth (1901-1978, later Mrs Edwin Albert Candler), Percy Henry (1903-1981), Laurence (1905-1908) and Dorothy Annie (b. 1908).
Thomas first appears on the 1901 census when he and his family were residing at a cottage on The Street in Huntingfield, with the family at the same household by the time of the 1911 census. By the time of the latter record Thomas, aged 15, is described as a bookkeeper.
By 1912 two of Thomas' elder brothers had emigrated and settled in America. James was the first to leave, sometime around 1907, settling in Radnor, Pennsylvania where he worked as a gardener. He would be joined in 1911 by George and by early 1912 Thomas was also making plans to settle in there.
Thomas boarded the Titanic at Southampton as a second class passenger, ticket number S.O./P.P. 3 which had cost £10, 10s.
He wrote to his mother from Titanic:
Mrs. Thomas Mudd, The Street, Hunting Field, Halesworth, Suffolk.
Arrived at Southampton safe - The Titanic is a splendid boat and you hardly know you are moving. Will write more fully later
Your loving Son Tom.
Thomas Mudd died in the sinking and his body, if recovered, was never identified.
Tom's mother and father received financial support from the Titanic relief fund after the disaster. His father died in 1926 but what became of his mother is not certain.
His brother George remained in Pennsylvania and settled in Philadelphia where he worked in the shipyards. He married an Irish woman named Sarah Hallaren (1889-1951) and raised a family; his first born, a son, was named Thomas, perhaps in honour of his lost brother. George died in Philadelphia in 1966.
His brother James also remained in Pennsylvania, settling in Abington, Montgomery County where he continued to work as a gardener. He was married to an English woman, Gertrude Alberta Mulley (b. 1882) and raised a family. He died in Abington on 2 May 1953.
Thomas' last known surviving sibling back in Britain was his brother Percy who died in 1981. | English | NL | a84471a4311929d09a68cde9096d6ae0aced89c122e4ea516a3e665171799c62 |
Exodus 3:11, “And Moses said unto God, Who am I, that I should go unto Pharaoh, and that I should bring forth the children of Israel out of Egypt?” What Moses was saying is “Lord, excuse me. I think you made a mistake when you chose me to carry out your plan to save the people of Israel.”
Excuse me is a common expression that means to release from responsibility, obligation or duty. This phrase is also used to ask forgiveness for an offense we have committed. It is proper to say excuse me if we have offended, but it is not proper to offer excuses for not doing God’s will for our lives.
Maybe we are guilty of doing as Moses did. His excuses were that he was personally inferior, that people would not believe him, and that he was not prepared enough. These excuses were based on wrong evaluations, past failure, not realizing the difference that God can make and too much emphasis on his own ability.
When God gives us a job to do, He gives us the power and He goes with us. 2 Corinthians 3:5 & 12:9, “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of God. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
What is your excuse?
Anchor Baptist Church
456 Jamison Rd.
Washington Court House | English | NL | 412c820f8c2030abf3e2c204c99718bede38a73394fef03343fb38c5e261d585 |
A good teacher is a determined person.
A teacher must believe in the value and interest of his subject as a doctor believes in health.
Language is a living thing. We can feel it changing. Parts of it become old: they drop off and are forgotten. New pieces bud out, spread into leaves, and become big branches, proliferating.
Many people have played themselves to death. Many people have eaten and drunk themselves to death. Nobody ever thought himself to death.
The real duty of man is not to extend his power or multiply his wealth beyond his needs, but to enrich and enjoy his imperishable possession: his soul.
The relation between parents and children is essentially based on teaching.
These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves.
What is politics but persuading the public to vote for this and support that and endure these for the promise of those? | English | NL | 504a68fc21d56ae2ce041385cb4bc588ae9616a8a965fc4b70157d1a89d88b0a |
A Brief History: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania is home to many locations of American historical significance. One such location is the Betsy Ross House. Betsy Ross lived in the home from 1773 to 1786. According to legend, Betsy Ross created the first American flag after a visit by General George Washington, and his request to do so. Legend also says that Washington originally wished for the flag to have stars with six points, however Betsy convinced him that five points would work better.
This popular story is considered a legend because there is no documentation of the time period indicating that this occurred. Many current historians believe that the legend originated from Betsy’s grandson, William J. Canby. During the Centennial celebrations Canby presented a research paper in which he claimed that his grandmother had “made with her hands the first flag” of the United States.
In 1937 the house was sold to the city of Philadelphia. Millionaire businessman Atwater Kent helped to raise the necessary funds to restore the home which had fallen into disrepair, and whose alterations over time had changed the look from how it was in the 18th century. A garden was also added to the property.
Haunted History: Some visitors to the Betsy Ross House encounter more than they expect to find in the museum. Downstairs in the basement kitchen some people have reported hearing a voice saying “Pardon me.” Also reported are claims that visitors have seen the sobbing spirit of Betsy Ross in the basement bedroom. There are those who claim to have encountered the spirit of an employee who was supposedly murdered in the gift shop. | English | NL | 020092a72720956902b4b13ffaac8aac663c2ca8a683365f19d3fc5c4e4f3a1e |
1 Friday, 1 June 2001
2 [Open session]
3 [The accused entered court]
4 [The witness entered court]
5 --- Upon commencing at 10.05 a.m.
6 JUDGE ROBINSON: Let the witness make the declaration.
7 THE WITNESS: I solemnly declare that I will speak the truth, the
8 whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
9 WITNESS: EDWARD VULLIAMY
10 JUDGE ROBINSON: You may sit.
11 Mr. Mundis to introduce the witness.
12 MR. MUNDIS: Thank you, Your Honour.
13 Examined by Mr. Mundis:
14 Q. Witness, for the record, can you please state your full name,
15 spelling your last name.
16 A. My name is Edward Sebastian Vulliamy, V-u-l-l-i-a-m-y.
17 Q. Mr. Vulliamy, have you testified before the International Criminal
18 Tribunal on previous occasions?
19 A. I have.
20 Q. In which cases, please?
21 A. In three cases. As it happens, the first was that of Dusko Tadic,
22 the second was that of General Blaskic, and the third was that of Milan
24 Q. And drawing your attention specifically to the Kovacevic case, do
25 you adopt the testimony that you gave in that case for purposes of the
1 present case?
2 A. I do.
3 Q. Thank you.
4 MR. MUNDIS: The Prosecutor has no further questions at this time,
5 Your Honour.
6 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you, Mr. Mundis.
7 Mr. Greaves, you recall the order that was made --
8 MR. GREAVES: Yes.
9 JUDGE ROBINSON: -- and that cross-examination is confined to
10 those aspects of the evidence that would prove intent and also facts going
11 to prove genocide. Please proceed.
12 Cross-examined by Mr. Greaves:
13 Q. Mr. Vulliamy, I want to focus first of all on your meeting in 1996
14 with Dr. Kovacevic. That was the first time that you had met him since
15 you had first met him in 1992; is that correct?
16 A. Yes, it was.
17 Q. Compared with 1992, had he changed, as far as you could see, his
18 appearance, his demeanor?
19 A. He had, yes.
20 Q. Physically, how would you describe him as having changed?
21 A. Slightly less robust and with an aura of less self-confidence, I
22 would say.
23 Q. Did he look a well man when you saw him in 1996?
24 A. Not, not unwell but not particularly well either.
25 Q. So, if I can just compare him with 1992, the man you saw in the
1 1992 was someone whom you've described in your evidence before as having
2 taken somewhat of a leading role in the meeting of the Crisis Staff which
3 you attended, a man who you described as being in charge of things; but
4 that, you would now say, in 1996, was it a striking impression that he had
5 now lost that aura of self-confidence that he'd had? Was that something
6 that struck you immediately whether you met him again?
7 A. No. He hadn't lost -- I mean, he was running a hospital, a large
8 hospital --
9 Q. Of course.
10 A. -- and seemed to be doing so. He hadn't completely lost his
11 self-confidence, no.
12 Q. Was one of the impressions which you gained of him in 1996 that he
13 had now -- by now learnt much more of what had happened in Omarska and
14 those facts were now lying heavily upon him?
15 A. I'd say he was thinking about it, but I don't know how much he had
16 learned between our meetings necessarily. He was drinking alcohol at an
17 early hour of the day.
18 Q. I was going to ask about that. How long did your meeting with him
19 last in all that day, 1996?
20 A. I would estimate - and it's an estimation - it's between one and
21 two hours.
22 Q. And throughout that period, he was drinking plum brandy?
23 A. Yes.
24 Q. Which you, I think, yourself also sampled?
25 A. "Sampled" would be the word, yes.
1 Q. Was it -- having been a recipient, on my visits to Bosnia,
2 numerous bottles of home-distilled brandy, was it a commercial brand or
3 out of a big bottle that looked as though it was something that had been
4 done at home?
5 A. It had been made in the region, I'd say, rather than bought in a
7 Q. The bottle disappeared pretty well during your meeting with Dr.
8 Kovacevic; is that right?
9 A. For the most part; it got towards the bottom, yes.
10 Q. You had one glass maybe out of that and one of your colleagues, I
11 think, had another glass?
12 A. Yeah.
13 Q. So over a period of an hour to two hours, he'd had the best part
14 of a bottle of local plum brandy?
15 A. I think he had six to eight.
16 Q. Yes. Well-poured measures?
17 A. He was drinking his brandy.
18 Q. By the time he'd finished, was -- would your assessment be that he
19 was quite unfit, for example, to drive a motor car?
20 A. I wouldn't drive a car after drinking that much, for sure. But I
21 myself -- I mean, no, he would not have been in a fit state to drive a
22 motor car. The -- but I would say that during that period, it would be a
23 -- people were drinking in a way, in various parts of the war, in
24 measures that don't necessarily stand up in a Dutch police station. The
25 parallels are slightly artificial. But he was drinking, yeah.
1 Q. Did you think it fair -- given the amount of alcohol he was
2 consuming, did you think it fair to continue to interview him in those
4 A. I'd been interviewing people who had been drinking brandy in
5 similar quantities for years.
6 Q. That wasn't quite the question which I asked. Did you think it
7 was fair to interview him --
8 A. Yes.
9 Q. -- in those circumstances?
10 A. Yes.
11 Q. You made notes of the conversation, did you not?
12 A. I did.
13 Q. Did you offer those notes to him for him to confirm what you
14 thought he had said?
15 A. No.
16 Q. Why not?
17 A. It's not a -- it's not a practice that I'm in my profession
18 required to do every time I take a note.
19 Q. No doubt you don't feel under obligation to do it, but this man
20 had been drinking a significant amount of alcohol and you were talking
21 with him about a topic of considerable sensitivity, were you not?
22 A. I was.
23 Q. And given his condition, did it not occur to you that there might
24 be every opportunity for dispute as to what had in fact been said?
25 A. It was very inconvenient for me to return to that area to consult
1 him over the notes.
2 Q. It would not have been inconvenient to invite him to check the
3 record of what you had -- you claimed he had said, would it?
4 A. It was not something I did.
5 Q. It would have been a matter of but a few moments to go through the
6 notes and invite him to sign them, would it not?
7 A. Well, I don't think -- I don't recall doing very many interviews
8 in which one invites people to sign the notes at the bottom. It's -- if
9 it is a common practice, it's not one that I'm aware of or have ever come
11 JUDGE MAY: It's a police practice, isn't it? If you were
12 cross-examining a police officer about an interview with somebody, that's
13 the sort of thing you would put to him.
14 But Mr. Vulliamy, have you ever done that in your journalistic
15 practice or heard of anybody else doing it?
16 A. I can't say I have, no.
17 MR. GREAVES:
18 Q. I want now to move on to the day which you present in Prijedor in
19 1992, Mr. Vulliamy. You had spent the day previous to that in or around
20 Sarajevo; is that right?
21 A. Yes. No.
22 Q. Then correct me. Where had you come from to get to Prijedor?
23 A. We were driving to Banja Luka the previous day, and then the day
24 before that, we were in and around Sarajevo.
25 Q. I'm sorry. The day before that you were in Sarajevo and you had
1 had your meeting with Dr. Karadzic?
2 A. That's right.
3 Q. You'd got what you thought was authority to go to Omarska
5 A. At that level, yes.
6 Q. At that level. You arrived in Prijedor actually on the morning of
7 the 5th of August?
8 A. Yes.
9 Q. The first thing which attracted your attention was the line of
10 women, line of people, outside the police station?
11 A. Yes.
12 Q. You went to that line of people and spoke with a lot of them?
13 A. Some of them. The conversations with them were actually slightly
14 later when we were waiting outside after the meeting.
15 Q. Approximately --
16 A. But we did speak to them, yes.
17 Q. Approximately how many people did you speak with at that stage,
18 Mr. Vulliamy?
19 A. One at some length, and two, maybe three, more anecdotally at that
20 -- short lines of conversation.
21 Q. I assume that you were doing this through the offices of an
22 interpreter; is that correct?
23 A. Yes. It was ITN's interpreter.
24 Q. Now --
25 A. And the gentlemen who spoke some English. I'm sorry, excuse me.
1 Q. Yes. Prior to making this trip, you -- you had heard of two
2 places in particular: Omarska and Trnopolje?
3 A. I'd heard of Omarska and Manjaca.
4 Q. You'd heard of Omarska and Manjaca, so you hadn't heard of
5 Trnopolje. When was the first you'd heard of Trnopolje?
6 A. That was -- I mean, it was being mentioned in reports so I knew of
7 its existence, but it wasn't, as it were, high on the radar screen. I
8 would have read about it during the previous days, possibly weeks, in
9 England, but it wasn't on the list of places we particularly wanted to go
11 Q. In relation to Omarska and Manjaca, had you derived your
12 information solely from other news media reports, or was that something
13 that you had spoken to individuals about and they had told you - and by
14 individuals I mean Bosnians - they told you that you ought to pay
15 attention to this place?
16 A. Mainly media reports, but also people were coming over the border
17 -- had been coming over the border at Karlovac and talking about Omarska.
18 Q. And would people you had spoken --
19 A. I mean --
20 Q. -- to or --
21 A. That colleagues had spoken to.
22 Q. That colleagues had spoken to --
23 A. But not --
24 Q. -- and the word was going around.
25 A. Yes.
1 *** Kindly speak one at a time for the sake of the
2 record ***
3 THE INTERPRETER: Could the counsel and the witness please make a
4 pause between question and answer.
5 A. I'm sorry, my apologies.
6 MR. GREAVES:
7 Q. So when you then spoke with the people in the queue at the police
8 station, you asked about -- you asked what they were doing there,
10 A. Yes, I or one of my colleagues. I don't recall who started the
12 Q. And in essence, it was a group of people who were making inquiries
13 at the police station as to where members of their family might be found?
14 A. I think were looking -- they wanted to know where their menfolk
15 had been taken to, yes.
16 Q. At that stage, apart from Omarska, was Trnopolje mentioned at that
18 A. Not that I recall. Maybe. I can't remember.
19 Q. The very first time that you heard of a place called Keraterm was
20 during your visit to Trnopolje much later that day; is that right?
21 A. That afternoon, yes.
22 Q. Nobody in the queue, for example, mentioned the name Keraterm to
23 you at all?
24 A. Not that I recall.
25 Q. Did your colleague speak with other people that you were not
1 speaking with?
2 A. Yes.
3 Q. How many were in your group who were, as it were, question askers?
4 A. Three.
5 Q. Three. And what -- so you divided yourself up; you talked to a
6 few people, they talked to a few people, and --
7 A. Yes, or we overlapped because there was only one interpreter.
8 Q. Some eavesdropping going on?
9 A. Absolutely.
10 Q. Yes. And when you had concluded that operation, again, none of
11 the people who were asking questions had by that stage heard anything of
12 the name Keraterm?
13 A. If they had, I hadn't spotted it. It wasn't a name I knew.
14 Q. How long did you spend with the queue, approximately?
15 A. I'd say about -- well, a matter of minutes initially, and then
16 perhaps between 15 and 20 minutes when we were waiting outside later.
17 Q. You then went to the meeting with the members of the Crisis Staff
18 from which you were seeking permission to get to Omarska?
19 A. Yes.
20 Q. How long did you spend with them?
21 A. It must have been approaching a couple of hours altogether.
22 Q. And that took you to what, approximately what time in the day?
23 A. Late morning.
24 Q. The route which you had followed to get to Prijedor, was that the
25 direct road from Banja Luka to Prijedor?
1 A. To get to Prijedor, yes.
2 Q. Yes.
3 A. I'm pretty sure.
4 Q. Yes.
5 A. If there is a more direct one, I don't know it.
6 Q. The meeting with the Crisis Staff having concluded, you then go to
7 Omarska itself.
8 A. Well, there's quite a lot of waiting around going on, actually.
9 Q. Yes. Hanging around waiting for transport?
10 A. Well, waiting for them to get over the problems they had in
11 allowing us to go there.
12 Q. When you say problems, was that getting final authority to let you
13 go there, in effect?
14 A. The meeting concluded without us having -- we had clearance from
15 Karadzic to go there --
16 Q. Yes.
17 A. -- and we had assumed that was sufficient, but the end --
18 Q. They weren't terribly impressed with his authority?
19 A. Well, they, I think -- can I give my impression?
20 Q. Yes.
21 A. They were rather surprised that it had been given, and I don't
22 think they were very keen to take us there. And there was a debate going
23 on, I think, which -- or upcoming when we were asked to leave the room,
24 and we were waiting outside for that debate to conclude.
25 Q. Whilst you were waiting for that, did you have any further
1 opportunities to speak with any Bosnian people?
2 A. That's when we did most of the interviews with the women, during
3 that wait.
4 Q. So you were, effectively, able to go outside again whilst waiting
5 for this and then talked to the women?
6 A. We were told to go outside and wait.
7 Q. Told to go outside. You were then taken to Omarska itself.
8 Approximately what time did you arrive there?
9 A. It must have been around lunchtime.
10 Q. And the route which you went, the direct road from Prijedor to
12 A. No, we didn't. We -- in fact, I was rather unnerved when I saw a
13 sign to Omarska to the right past which we drove in our convoy, and we
14 went to Omarska down a long series of winding dirt tracks.
15 Q. Back roads, would that be fair?
16 A. Yes, m-hmm.
17 Q. The route you followed coming back from Omarska and Trnopolje, was
18 that the main road?
19 A. We didn't return to Prijedor after Trnopolje and we drove -- as I
20 best recall, back on to a main road that then led to Banja Luka from
21 Trnopolje. There was no return to Prijedor, unless it was just through
22 Prijedor, after Trnopolje, by which time it was late afternoon.
23 Q. At Omarska, your opportunities to speak with detainees there was
24 strictly limited?
25 A. Very.
1 Q. Were you able to speak with -- did you have a guard in the bus,
2 for example, on the way there or the transport that you were in?
3 A. Yes, we did.
4 Q. Did you speak with him?
5 A. I was speaking mostly with a Major from Banja Luka who had
6 escorted us since that morning, not to the guard himself. There were two
7 guards --
8 Q. Did --
9 A. -- as I recall.
10 Q. Did you ask the Major about any other camps which were in the
12 A. We were talking to the Major, actually, about all the burnt-out
13 houses and those from which the white sheets were hanging past which we
14 were driving.
15 Q. Then you leave Omarska. How long do you think you spent at
16 Omarska in all?
17 A. I'd say about an hour, maybe a little more, something like that.
18 Q. You then retrace your steps somewhat and go to Trnopolje?
19 A. I can't tell you which route we took, I'm afraid.
20 Q. Did it seem to be reasonably direct?
21 A. From my knowledge of the map, which I now have roughly in my head,
22 yes. And then to answer your previous question, we then, I think, to the
23 knowledge of my map, don't go back to Prijedor. We do join the main road,
24 yes. But I can't give you any, I'm afraid, specifics on the road.
25 Q. It is at Trnopolje that you first hear the name Keraterm?
1 A. Yes, as I recall.
2 Q. You spoke with how many people when you were at Trnopolje?
3 A. I don't know exactly. Quite a number of people during the whole
4 time there. But the first people I spoke to had come that day from
6 Q. Yes. And it was at that point that you first learnt anything of
7 the existence of a detention facility at Keraterm?
8 A. The first I learned of this, yes. We were interviewing some men
9 behind a fence in a bad condition, and asked who they were and what they
10 were doing, and that was the conversation in which I first heard the word
12 Q. The one thing that sticks in your memory, is it not, concerning
13 that conversation, is the allegation that a substantial number of people,
14 200 people, had been killed in one night?
15 A. That was certainly a detail one could not miss, yes. That was one
16 of the things that a man called Fikret Alic and others were talking about.
17 Q. And that particular piece of information, it's right, isn't it,
18 that that was one thing which particularly shocked you and drew your
19 attention to the existence of Keraterm; is that right?
20 A. Certainly.
21 Q. Did you go to Keraterm?
22 A. No.
23 Q. Did you ask to go to Keraterm?
24 A. I think a colleague from ITN asked to go to Keraterm and we were
25 told it was not possible, but I did not ask.
13 Blank page inserted to ensure pagination corresponds between the French
14 and the English transcripts.
1 Q. Did you make inquiries as to where Keraterm was?
2 A. Only from what the men said.
3 Q. What did they tell you?
4 A. It was a tile factory.
5 Q. A tile factory. Did they describe whereabouts it was physically?
6 A. Near Prijedor.
7 Q. Near Prijedor. Of whom was it that the ITN gentleman or lady
8 asked to go to Keraterm; do you know?
9 A. I don't.
10 Q. You yourself made no efforts to see Keraterm?
11 A. No. I didn't ask to go. I wanted to get on with what I was
13 Q. Bearing in mind that you had been told, as your evidence is, that
14 it was, and if I may summarise this, worse than Trnopolje but not as bad
15 as Omarska, why didn't you ask-- you personally ask to go and see it?
16 A. It was probably an oversight that I didn't. It was a strange
17 afternoon. I was doing interviews with people I wanted to talk to where I
18 was, in the condition they were in, and I continued to do that as best I
20 Q. You did in fact go past it, did you not?
21 A. I now know that we did. I did not know that at the time.
22 Q. And indeed, a short excerpt of film was taken of it; do you recall
24 A. That I do not -- did not know.
25 Q. I wonder --
1 A. If I did, I don't know. I mean this is --
2 MR. GREAVES: Perhaps if the technical booth would be kind enough
3 to play the short piece of video that I've shown them this morning,
5 Q. If you could look at the video, the monitor, and tell us if your
6 recollection would accord with us.
7 [Videotape played]
8 MR. GREAVES:
9 Q. I accept it's a very short passage, Mr. Vulliamy, but does that
10 accord with your recollection of what you saw looking out of the bus that
12 A. It's not fair for me to answer that really because, yes, I have
13 seen that film.
14 Q. You've seen the film before?
15 A. You're right, yes, but I do not remember that particular building
16 on that particular drive then.
17 Q. Yes. Did you have -- you met with somebody, I think, in Belgrade
18 and asked pertinent questions about Omarska and Trnopolje subsequent to
19 your visit there?
20 A. There were quite a few people in Belgrade.
21 Q. Did you ask of them any questions about Keraterm?
22 A. Yes.
23 Q. What information did you get about it?
24 A. It was during a rather strange conversation with Vice-President of
25 -- one of the Vice-Presidents of the Serbian section of Bosnia,
1 Mr. Koljevic.
2 Q. Did he know anything about Keraterm?
3 A. He said he didn't know anything about the massacre which I asked
4 him about.
5 Q. Was that all that you asked him about Keraterm?
6 A. I don't recall. I think so. I don't know. I think so. That
7 would have been the context I'd have brought it up in, yes.
8 Q. Concerning your visit to Trnopolje, the conditions under which you
9 were able to operate at Trnopolje were different from those which obtained
10 at Omarska; is that correct?
11 A. Yes.
12 Q. At Omarska you derived the impression that they were not terribly
13 keen to let you go anywhere out of their sight?
14 A. They were determined that we would not go where we asked to go and
15 stopped us from doing so physically.
16 Q. At Trnopolje you were very quickly able to lose your minders?
17 A. Yes. I mean not automatically, but it was certainly possible. I
19 Q. You were able to identify who were the guards and who were the
20 inmates fairly easily, were you?
21 A. Very easily.
22 Q. The guards were wearing uniforms of some sort?
23 A. Yes, for the most part.
24 Q. What sort of uniforms? Are were you familiar with the different
1 A. Two sorts of uniforms as well -- actually three. Two and a half.
2 Camouflage uniforms; others wore blue uniforms of what I later found out
3 to be the military police; and there were some people in maybe half
4 fatigues and a T-shirt or something like that.
5 Q. And how many people -- how many guards of whatever variety
6 appeared to be on duty during the course of your visit?
7 A. I couldn't give a number.
8 Q. Very few?
9 A. Scores.
10 Q. Scores? Fifty or 60 or something like that?
11 A. Yes, but I wouldn't want to be held to 50 or 60.
12 Q. No. I just want to get an idea. And you were quickly able to get
13 within the confines of the camp itself?
14 A. We were taken into the confines of the camp itself around another
15 entrance to that, in another bit of the camp than that at which we were
16 having the conversations about Keraterm you asked me about earlier.
17 Q. Did you see anything of people who were obviously detainees
18 actually leaving the premises of the camp?
19 A. No, I didn't. I was told that you could.
20 Q. Told that you could. Who was it that told you that, one of the
22 A. I can't -- but they didn't want --
23 Q. I'm sorry?
24 A. But they didn't want to.
25 Q. They didn't want to because it was more dangerous outside than in?
1 A. Yes.
2 Q. Effectively?
3 A. That was what I -- because that was -- because of where they'd
4 come from, I think.
5 Q. Yes. In total, you spent how long talking to people out of the
6 earshot of the authorities?
7 A. Maybe 50 minutes to an hour, 45 minutes.
8 Q. Having heard of Keraterm for the first time, of that period you've
9 told us about, how much time did you spend asking about Keraterm?
10 A. I was asking about Trnopolje because that's where I was.
11 Q. That's where you were. So you didn't pursue with them even the
12 shocking news of what appeared to be a substantial massacre of
14 A. Not with the people I was talking to, no. I had that in my book
16 MR. GREAVES: If Your Honour would just give me a moment, please?
17 Q. In the conversations which you had in 1996 with various of the
18 people you'd originally spoken to, was it a common theme that Omarska was
19 something which, having been set up, they had lost control of?
20 A. No.
21 Q. Was it something which some of those people asserted at that
23 A. In 1996, there were all sorts of different descriptions of
24 Omarska. One individual, and I'm -- I think you -- if by "some" you mean
25 Dr. Kovacevic, part of his conversation was that things had got out of
1 control. Other parts of it not.
2 MR. GREAVES: Yes. I have no further questions, thank you.
3 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you, Mr. Greaves. Mr. Mundis?
4 MR. MUNDIS: One moment, please.
5 MR. GREAVES: Your Honour, I should have asked for the short clip
6 of video to become an exhibit, if it may, please.
7 JUDGE ROBINSON: Yes. Let it be given an exhibit number.
8 MR. GREAVES: Thank you very much, Your Honour.
9 THE REGISTRAR: That will be Defence Exhibit D30/1.
10 JUDGE ROBINSON: Yes, Mr. Mundis.
11 MR. MUNDIS: Two very brief lines of redirect for the witness,
12 Your Honour.
13 Re-examined by Mr. Mundis:
14 Q. First, Mr. Vulliamy, with respect to the meeting with
15 Dr. Kovacevic in 1996, did -- following this consumption of the plum
16 brandy, did his speech seemed slurred to you?
17 A. No, not in particular.
18 Q. Was he incoherent?
19 A. No.
20 Q. Did your notes ultimately form the basis of a story which was
22 A. Yes.
23 Q. To your knowledge, did Dr. Kovacevic write any letters to the
24 editor complaining that he'd been misquoted?
25 A. No, he didn't.
1 Q. Finally now with respect to the events when you were travelling
2 from Prijedor to Omarska, you've testified that a Major was in the vehicle
3 with you and that you were having discussions with him.
4 A. Yes.
5 Q. You testified that you were speaking with him about burnt-out
6 houses and white sheets?
7 A. Yes. We'd been doing that on the way to Prijedor through a place
8 called Kozarac in particular, and now again on these back roads.
9 Q. Do you recall the gist of the conversation with respect to what
10 the Major told you about these houses and the white sheets?
11 A. Yes. That they belonged to -- well, with the white sheets, that
12 these were people who were waiting to be deported, and with the burnt-out
13 houses, it was "the people who cannot live with us any more."
14 Q. Thank you.
15 MR. MUNDIS: The Prosecution has no further questions.
16 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you, Mr. Mundis.
17 Mr. Vulliamy, that concludes your testimony, and you are released.
18 THE WITNESS: Thank you, Your Honour.
19 [The witness withdrew]
20 JUDGE ROBINSON: Mr. Ryneveld, is that your case?
21 MR. RYNEVELD: Your Honour, those are all the witnesses that the
22 Prosecution tenders in support of its case; however, in response to the
23 issue that the Court asked me to make further inquiries, I have today
24 distributed a supplementary report. I don't know whether the Court has in
25 fact received copies of that document.
1 JUDGE ROBINSON: No, I don't think we have.
2 MR. RYNEVELD: It is a one-page document, and I trust that this
3 is, in fact, the information that the Court is seeking. With the
4 tendering of that report, that is the case for the Prosecution. Thank
5 you, Your Honours.
6 JUDGE ROBINSON: We'll just take a minute or two to read it.
7 MR. RYNEVELD: Yes.
8 [Trial Chamber confers]
9 JUDGE ROBINSON: Would the French interpreter please come forward.
10 [Trial Chamber confers]
11 JUDGE ROBINSON: We'd like to hear from the Defence on this
12 question. Mr. Greaves first.
13 MR. GREAVES: Your Honour, yes. Looking at the list that has now
14 been produced, if one thinks that we've had, I think, about 30, 30-odd
15 witnesses, if you factor out of those, those who in fact live in Bosnia
16 and have lived in Bosnia throughout matters, it's a substantial proportion
17 of those who have given evidence who had letters of the kind that we've
18 been talking about written to the German authorities. On the face of it,
19 probably more than a third.
20 One is particularly interested, for example, in the first name in
21 that list, bearing in mind the reason which he gave for having put himself
22 forward to be a witness for the Prosecution. And Your Honours will
23 recall, I think, that he was the gentleman who said that he'd come, in
24 particular, having heard about the work of the Tribunal and that matters
25 were going slowly, to speed up the schedules.
1 There are two, two problems which are identified. My learned
2 friend in his report to you has dealt with the issue of inducement, but
3 also we are very concerned about what, as I think I've said before, what
4 the perception amongst the Bosnian community is about the value of giving
5 evidence. And that may be something which is wholly external to anything
6 the Prosecution does. It may simply be something which grows up over time
7 as a result of witnesses or potential witnesses, or Bosnian refugees in
8 general, talking together. But you've got the evidence concerning this
9 issue from four of the witnesses. In at least one of those cases, our
10 submission would be that there is plainly, amongst some people, a
11 perception that putting yourself forward as a witness, giving a statement,
12 giving evidence, may be -- it's perceived as being potentially beneficial
13 to the process of getting permanent papers.
14 And so whatever the good intentions of the Prosecution are, both
15 for the purposes of this trial and for other trials, one must express the
16 very gravest concern as to how this issue is and has been managed and what
17 its impact may be. And I used the word, I think, on the first occasion
18 when I raised this issue, there is the element of it being corrosive. And
19 the danger is in this trial, or in other trials, that people are advancing
20 themselves and may be giving accounts which they believe will be the sort
21 of account the Prosecution wants to hear, and it may not necessarily be a
22 truthful account because there is a motivation involved. That is our
24 I'm very loath to suggest for a moment the recall of any of those
25 who have not been cross-examined about this issue as I suspect that would
1 not be a terribly welcomed conclusion, but it is -- it may be a matter
2 that Your Honours want to consider as to whether you think it, in the
3 light of the concerns we've expressed, as being an important --
4 sufficiently important issue to require that. I'm not specifically making
5 the application, but Your Honours have -- plainly are concerned about this
6 issue, if I may be so bold, and it may be that that's a course you would
7 want to consider.
8 JUDGE ROBINSON: Mr. Greaves, of the nine, how many of them gave
9 statements for the first time within the recent past?
10 MR. GREAVES: I simply don't know because I don't have the -- what
11 I do is I have an individual folder in relation to each witness, and I
12 don't bring them all to court every day, so I couldn't tell you that
13 information. It may be others of my learned friends can do that, or the
14 Prosecution can just very quickly detail that. It may also be that my
15 learned friend has this sort of information on the top of his head. I'm
16 afraid that once a witness is finished, I tend to put it on to the back
17 burner fairly quickly.
18 My learned friend says of that list, four to five he thinks have
19 given recent statements, but I stand to be corrected by almost anybody in
20 court. But I think that's all I have to say at this present time.
21 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you. Mr. Petrovic.
22 MR. PETROVIC: [Interpretation] Your Honour, thank you. We fully
23 support all that our learned friend has said.
24 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you, Mr. Petrovic. Sir Ivan?
25 MR. LAWRENCE: There seem to be three possibilities here: Either
1 there was no inducement of any kind; or there was an improper inducement,
2 which would be a legal matter; or there was an unavoidable inducement,
3 which would be an evidential matter.
4 As far as no inducement of any kind is concerned, it's difficult
5 to conclude that that must be the situation in the light of, firstly, the
6 evidence of -- I think it was Mr. Kenjar who said, "I'd had some
7 difficulties with the visa and others said you could perhaps give a
8 statement," and then the investigation of that which took place in
9 cross-examination in front of Your Honours; and secondly, the coincidence
10 of the lateness of the statements being made and offered.
11 If there may be some doubt about whether there was no inducement,
12 the next question is: Was there an improper inducement, or was there an
13 unavoidable inducement? About that matter, I would at this stage only
14 wish to say this: That although the perception may have grown as a kind
15 of a chain reaction, that it might be helpful to either getting visas or
16 having visas extended - and that would be unavoidable, although a matter
17 for the Court to take into consideration when it considers the weight of
18 the evidence - it is very likely, is it not, that at the very start of
19 that chain of events someone - and I don't suggest, of course, the Office
20 of the Prosecutor - but someone in authority must either have suggested
21 that it might be helpful for any reluctant witness to make a statement and
22 to give evidence; or if the suggestion didn't come from an official, it is
23 likely that somebody would have asked of an official the question, "Will
24 it help me to get a visa or extend a visa," or whatever benefit might
25 follow, to which a positive answer is likely to have been given.
1 And what I say is that at the beginning of that chain of events,
2 however it developed, it is, in common sense, reasonably likely that
3 somebody in an official position gave, either initially or in response to
4 a question, an inducement, a statement which might amount to an
6 So that raises the next point. Is it going to be necessary to
7 trawl over all of the witnesses, either in front of this Court or not in
8 front of this Court, to see whether any of them can help about how the
9 chain started or not, or whether it is sufficient for the Court, using its
10 experience and wisdom, to say that we can confine this matter to the
11 evidential position? We have the evidence of Kenjar, and I think the
12 witnesses who followed, S, T, and Y. We haven't had the evidence on this
13 point from the others on the list, and I think the Court must want to
14 decide how best to deal with that issue.
15 Speaking for myself on behalf of Kolundzija, I have two views:
16 Firstly, that it's not a major matter, in as much as those witnesses don't
17 do a great deal of harm to him, as I recall; and secondly, that as far as
18 the overall picture is concerned, of course, then Kolundzija is involved,
19 if any of these statements would, on reflection, or any of the evidence
20 given, would on reflection have been inadmissible, it obviously could
21 affect the whole trial.
22 I think, having just seen this confidential supplementary report
23 only moments -- minutes before the Court saw it, I have nothing further to
24 say other than these really speaking-aloud thoughts, for which I hope the
25 court will forgive me.
13 Blank page inserted to ensure pagination corresponds between the French
14 and the English transcripts.
1 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you, Sir Ivan.
2 Mr. Ryneveld?
3 MR. RYNEVELD: Yes. Just one comment with respect to something
4 Mr. Greaves suggested, and that is that Mr. Greaves suggested the words
5 "permanent papers." My understanding is that if you take into account
6 our first report about the six categories of letters that are sent, there
7 is no suggestion that these witnesses receive, as a result of any letters,
8 permanent papers. At some point, if the Tribunal no longer has an
9 interest in these witnesses as potential witnesses, that is communicated
10 to the German authorities. Then it is their decision as to whether or not
11 these people continue to stay because of protective measures, or whether
12 or not they are returned. So there is no suggestion that these witnesses
13 somehow get permanent papers as a result of this process.
14 We also want to reiterate the point that we take the view that we
15 have been asked to find as to whether or not these people have been
16 induced. They have not, in our respectful submission, been induced. It
17 is impossible to say what their personal motivation may be, and unlike
18 Mr. Lawrence, we are not about to speculate as to what their motivation
19 may be.
20 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you.
21 MR. GREAVES: May I just make one final observation, please, with
22 Your Honour's leave. I accept entirely what my learned friend says about
23 permanent papers. The point is this: That one knows only too well in
24 refugee situations that the longer you can hang on in the country where
25 you are a refugee, the more chance you have of getting to a situation
1 where your position is regularised and made permanent.
2 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you.
3 [Trial Chamber confers]
4 JUDGE ROBINSON: Could we have the French interpreter, please?
5 [Trial Chamber confers]
6 JUDGE ROBINSON: The Chamber notes that no formal request has been
7 made by any party to have any of the witnesses recalled for further
8 cross-examination on this issue. The Chamber would not of its own motion
9 take such a step. The witnesses were extensively cross-examined as to
10 this question. We do have the report from the Prosecution, which
11 concludes that the witnesses were not induced, although they concede that
12 they cannot say exactly what may have motivated a particular witness to
13 cooperate with the Tribunal.
14 The Chamber concludes that ultimately this matter will have to be
15 settled on the basis of the Chamber itself analysing the evidence, which
16 is quite extensive, to determine the credibility in respect of each
17 witness and the weight that has to be attached. We have for that purpose
18 the very extensive cross-examination that has taken place with regard to
19 these witnesses. And there the matter will end.
20 The only other matter is that the two reports should be exhibited.
21 MR. RYNEVELD: Yes. Could that be under seal? I have marked them
22 "confidential" but there are names and I would ask that those be marked
23 as exhibits under seal.
24 JUDGE ROBINSON: Yes. Exhibited under seal.
25 THE REGISTRAR: The first exhibit shall be Prosecution Exhibit 52,
1 and the second report, supplementary report, shall be Prosecution Exhibit
2 53, both under seal.
3 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you. Are there any other matters to be
4 raised? Sir Ivan?
5 MR. LAWRENCE: Yes, Your Honour. Defence counsel have met
6 together to consider the future programme, and we may be able to help with
7 our thoughts about our perception of timing, roughly, because there are a
8 number of imponderables and perhaps the court might like to hear how we
9 see things progressing.
10 The court is proposing to sit again to consider oral argument on
11 the submissions of no case to answer on the 21st of June and possibly the
12 22nd, and then to sit again --
13 JUDGE ROBINSON: May I just correct that? The submissions will be
14 heard on the 21st in the morning and we will give an oral ruling in the
15 afternoon. It is only if, for some reason, we have to go over, with the
16 consideration of the decision, that we would run over to the following
18 MR. LAWRENCE: Yes.
19 JUDGE ROBINSON: The clear intention is to complete it on the
21 MR. LAWRENCE: Thank you. I understand from my learned friend
22 Mr. Greaves for Sikirica that his case would start on the 27th of June and
23 might reasonably be expected to continue until the plenary session on the
24 11th of June -- of July. It would then follow that the case for Dosen
25 would begin on the 16th of July and may well continue until the August
1 break on the 3rd of August. The case for Kolundzija would then start on
2 the 27th of August and might continue until the week ending the 14th of
3 September. May I pause there a moment and say that every effort is being
4 made to ensure, firstly, that the minimum number of witnesses from the
5 Prijedor area are called and, secondly, that a number of the witnesses
6 might be shared.
7 There is the possibility of expert evidence being called, and
8 then, of course, there is the particular witnesses that reflect on any of
9 the defendants' cases alone. Then, of course, there is the question of
10 whether the defendants give evidence, and that would either lengthen or
11 shorten proceedings accordingly.
12 So as far as the Defence can see, it looks as though the entire
13 Defence will go on until the 14th of September, possibly a little longer,
14 possibly shorter. That may give the Court some indication as to how
15 things can proceed to that point and the Court that make its own -- come
16 to its own conclusions about how things develop with the submission
17 speeches and any rebuttal evidence, of course, that might be called by the
19 It looks as though the case will conclude well within the deadline
20 that has been fixed.
21 JUDGE ROBINSON: Thank you very much, Sir Ivan. That's extremely
22 helpful, and I do hope we'll be able to keep to that schedule. And we
23 will, as a Chamber, be reviewing the schedule on the basis of the
24 information that you have just provided.
25 Mr. Ryneveld?
1 MR. RYNEVELD: Yes, Your Honour. The Prosecution and the Defence
2 have been discussing matters throughout these proceedings, and I might say
3 that I have for some months now been asking the Defence to provide us with
4 the names of anticipated witnesses who they now know. Today we don't
5 have -- apart from the alibi notice from Sikirica, we do not yet have the
6 names of potential Defence witnesses.
7 And I've reiterated that request today, but I suspect I may have
8 to actually ask the Court -- there is, I believe, a seven-day rule from
9 the close of the Prosecution case within which the Defence must provide us
10 with a list of Defence witnesses. We need that access to that information
11 as soon as possible.
12 Also, Mr. Lawrence has just indicated that these estimates may
13 depend on whether or not the accused themselves will be testifying. It
14 would also be of assistance, although I realise that I may be asking for
15 something to which I'm entitled, whether my friends are prepared to share
16 at this time whether or not they anticipate whether any of the accused
17 will, in fact, be testifying. But that is a request, and I certainly
18 can't force that information.
19 JUDGE ROBINSON: Sir Ivan, yes.
20 MR. LAWRENCE: I can assure my learned friend that, speaking on
21 behalf of Kolundzija, we will make every effort within the rules to comply
22 the time constraints and the information obligations. However, firstly,
23 we are under no obligation, and it will be obvious to the Court that we
24 should not be placed under any obligation, to say at this stage whether we
25 are intending to call our clients, and I think that matter must be left
2 Secondly, as far as Kolundzija is concerned, may I respectfully
3 remind the Court of the history of his Defence, and it simply is not
4 possible for us. We have been preoccupied with catching up, trying to
5 make sure that we are in possession of all of the information that had
6 emerged in the course of this trial before we came on to the scene, and it
7 has not been possible for us to go to Prijedor, although the matter has
8 been put entrain. There are investigators there, and as soon as it is
9 possible for us to produce a list of witnesses, we will do so.
10 It may be in breach of the seven-day rule, and I would ask the
11 Court to trust myself and my learned junior co-counsel, Mr. Ostojic, to do
12 our best to get a list of names to the Prosecution as soon as we are able
13 to do so, but it can't be done in seven days from today under any
15 JUDGE ROBINSON: Mr. Ryneveld, what rule provides for the seven
16 days that you mentioned?
17 MR. RYNEVELD: Oops. I don't -- excuse me, I'm going to need to
18 look that up. That is something I thought I remembered.
19 JUDGE ROBINSON: Under Rule 65 ter, Sir Ivan and the other members
20 of the Defence, you would be obliged to provide a list of witnesses that
21 you intend to call with the name or pseudonym of each witness; summary of
22 the facts on which each witness will testify; the points in the indictment
23 as to which each witness will testify; the total number of witnesses and
24 the number of witnesses who will testify for each accused; and (E), an
25 indication whether the witness will testify in person or pursuant to Rule
1 92 bis; and the estimated length of time required for each witness and the
2 total time estimated for presentation of the Defence case.
3 MR. LAWRENCE: Well, my application, then, would be not to tie
4 Kolundzija to that rule since it would be impossible to comply, if there
5 is a seven-day limit.
6 JUDGE MAY: I'm not sure about the seven days. We'll hear what
7 rule is relied on, but that is the Rule, 65 ter (G), that is your
8 obligation at some stage.
9 MR. LAWRENCE: Yes. I shall certainly, and I give the Court this
10 undertaking, that as soon as we have witnesses who we expect to call --
11 and of course, decisions can only be made after we've seen statements from
12 them which, to this point, I haven't seen, although we have some rough
13 indications of what certain witnesses may be able to say. And then it
14 will be a matter of deciding - I'm third on the indictment - whether those
15 witnesses are going to be called by my colleagues on behalf of their
16 clients, in which they will make the disclosure, not me.
17 So there are problems with this, and particular problems as far as
18 the Defence of Kolundzija are concerned if we're going to be tied to
19 anything. But once we have those, I will endeavour to comply with all of
20 the requirements of the Rule 65 ter, and I give that undertaking.
21 JUDGE MAY: Well, I think it's Mr. Greaves, really, and
22 Mr. Londrovic who are, in fact, in the hot seat.
23 MR. GREAVES: I've been conscious of that throughout the trial, if
24 I may say so.
25 Can I tell you what my schedule is? I'm going to Prijedor on the
1 13th of this month. I return on the 19th in order to come here on the
2 20th to deal with the issue of oral submissions. Inter alia, I shall be
3 dealing with the final decisions as to which witnesses are in fact going
4 to be called. I shall be seeing some witnesses at that point and coming
5 to my own conclusions as to which ones we can properly dispense with, if
6 that be the case, and which ones are essential witnesses. So a pretty
7 final decision will have been taken by the 20th of June.
8 [Trial Chamber confers]
9 JUDGE ROBINSON: Mr. Greaves, by what date would you be supplying
10 the information required by the rule that I just read out?
11 MR. GREAVES: What I was going to suggest is that I can give a
12 definitive answer, having, as it were, come to our conclusions, on the
14 JUDGE ROBINSON: But you'd be starting your case on the 27th.
15 MR. GREAVES: On the 27th. And in respect of, of course, some of
16 those, the Prosecution, as my learned friend has already pointed out, are
17 already aware of alibi witnesses in any event, information they have had
18 for a very considerable period of time.
19 [Trial Chamber confers]
20 JUDGE ROBINSON: Mr. Petrovic?
21 MR. PETROVIC: [Interpretation] Your Honours, with your leave, only
22 a few words about what Mr. Dosen's Defence has to say on this subject.
23 As my learned friend Greaves has said, many witnesses will be
24 shared, and we shall do our best to see that only one of the Defence teams
25 calls individual witnesses. This will affect our list of witnesses. And
1 I should like to hear your ruling on this matter. Am I right when I say
2 that Mr. Dosen's Defence needs to submit its final list of witnesses at
3 the end of the Sikirica Defence, or are we expected to do that before the
4 beginning of the Sikirica Defence? We believe it will be better if we
5 were allowed to submit our list within a reasonable period of time prior
6 to the 16th of July. That is, of course, if Your Honours rule to that
7 effect. By that time, we shall be able to -- we shall have been able to
8 cut our list short and to be quite clear as to whom we shall be calling.
9 So could we have your instructions as to what is the deadline for
10 Mr. Dosen's Defence to submit its final list of witnesses?
11 JUDGE ROBINSON: Yes. We are going to give a ruling on that.
12 Mr. Ryneveld?
13 MR. RYNEVELD: Yes, two things, if I may. First of all, I was
14 either mistaken that it was ever in the rule that it was seven days or it
15 has since disappeared since I last understood that. In any event, I
16 concede that I can find no reference to a seven-day rule.
17 JUDGE MAY: It's the other rule we were talking about earlier
18 which is the seven days. It's the submissions that have to be in.
19 MR. RYNEVELD: Whatever, I stand corrected and I withdraw those
21 I will ask this, however, since we are speaking about proposed
22 practice. Is it the court's intention to continue the practice that you
23 apparently found helpful of asking for summaries of witness statements
24 during the Defence case?
25 JUDGE ROBINSON: Yes, absolutely. And I intended to remind the
13 Blank page inserted to ensure pagination corresponds between the French
14 and the English transcripts.
1 Defence of that. So two matters: Firstly, on the basis of the dates that
2 were given by Sir Ivan, that is Sikirica beginning on the 27th, Dosen on
3 the 16th of July, and Kolundzija on the 27th of August, we would require
4 that the information under Rule 65 ter (G) be submitted seven days prior
5 to the beginning of the case for each accused person. And I remind the
6 Defence of the practice of preparing in advance summaries of the
7 witnesses, which we find useful. The Prosecution did it and we expect the
8 Defence to do the same, in a timely manner, so that the Prosecution can
9 have it and the Chamber can have the benefit of these summaries.
10 Is there any other matter?
11 MR. RYNEVELD: No. Those are all the issues. Thank you.
12 JUDGE ROBINSON: In that case, we stand adjourned until the 21st
13 of June, 9.30, to hear the oral submissions under Rule 98 bis.
14 --- Whereupon the hearing adjourned at
15 11.21 a.m., to be reconvened on Thursday the 21st
16 day of June, 2001, at 9.30 a.m. | English | NL | 175701dfe114bcee50aec91c80989faa5ccd16dbb4ddc414e74189dfee124f99 |
Charles Fox Parham and Freemasonry
Parham was probably a member of the Freemasons at some time in his life. The 1930 biography on Parham (page 32) says “Mr. Parham belonged to a lodge and carried an insurance on his life. He felt now that he should give this up also.” The question is one of timing, the extent of his involvement, and how much of their teachings became merged with his theology. From his wife’s comments, it appears he was originally involved because of the good deeds they did in looking after their fellow man (something he did not feel the churches did a good job of doing), not because of their beliefs. Because many in the Pentecostal movement oppose the Freemasons so bitterly, some have said that he left the organization when he started his “Full Gospel” ministry. This would fit with the comment in the biography. What is clear is that, at the peak of his ministry (between 1900 and mid-1907) he had little time for involvement in any organizations. His bible school and his preaching were an all consuming task. Even his active later ministry left little free time for activities like lodges. Some feel there is evidence that Parham was still a member of the Freemasons in 1928 (they feel he “appeared to still have Masonic tendencies”), but source documents for this are not quoted. They may be drawing an inference from a letter that Parham wrote back home from his Palestine trip where he said “I am going to bring a gavel home with me … I am going to present it to the Masonic lodge in Baxter Springs with my respects.”(p373) Yet if he had been a member then, it is likely that his wife’s earlier comment in the same book, where it tells of Parham’s decision to leave the lodge, would have been different. She said “I had been taught in the Friend’s church not to believe in secret organizations, and was very glad for his decision” [i.e. to leave the lodge].(p32) It is just as likely that the gavel was simply a present for friends he had known since his original involvement. If Parham was involved in Freemasonry, the ultimate question is what the level of his involvement was, when he was involved, and if there are any indications of these beliefs in his ministry, especially during the period of his highest influence in the early pentecostal movement (from 1900 to 1907). Lower level involvement in smaller communities can be more of a social involvement than a belief in or an understanding of their principles (as it appears was the situation with Parham’s early involvement with the lodge). | English | NL | e8a13fc3817306abbd6f43c9ab2fab2aff9b62b369e578aa45b5e5494392ffaf |
Coming into the middle of a pitched battle, Fiddlestix and her companions must find a way to turn the tables against the Noir. Can they do it in time? Or will the Harlichs pay for her mistake?
The top of the tank was open, the interior smoking. A quick check showed bodies of three Noir soldiers. There was no sign of Stumpy.
“This way,” Loki called softly. He was following Stumpy’s tracks in the soft earth. “He must be rigged up,” he indicated one of Stumpy’s footprints. The indentation was deep. “No way that little guy weighs that much.”
They heard the battle before they saw it. Explosions rocked the ground. Automatic weapon fire rattled in the woods ahead of them, punctuated by screams of wounded men. To Fiddlestix, who had lived through more battles than many had even read about, it was as familiar as breathing. To their left they saw the lines of Harlich soldiers taking cover behind the trees.
What looked like the entire Noir army was facing them on the other side of an electrified fence that was topped with razor wire. Like a shadow, Stumpy wove between them, cutting throats and stabbing systematically. The Noir scattered in his wake, screaming and terrified as the angel of death passed.
Fiddlestix saw Karl among the Harlich men in the front line. Buzzard followed her, but Loki disappeared into the woods. The last she saw of him, he was working his way over to get behind the Noir lines.
She called softly, but he heard her. Keeping his head low, he ran to meet her dragging her behind a tree, hugging her to him.
“I knew you’d come back,” he said proudly. “They’re better organized and equipped than we thought.”
“It’s Varin,” she told him sadly. “It has to be.”
“Come, Hannah, we need you on the line.”
Running low, they arrived at the front, taking cover behind a huge pine tree. Resistance was dwindling, the ranks of the Noir falling back, retreating from Stumpy’s invisible blades.
“They attacked down here a few hours ago,” Karl told her quickly. “Then they came by the river and hit the docks. Dirk went there with reinforcements. I haven’t heard from him.”
“He’s hurt but alive. I found him right after we arrived.”
“Thank God,” he whispered. “We heard an explosion at the gate, but no one reported back to me.”
“The tank came in that way but Stumpy got it,” she told him.
“One of the men Deacon sent.”
She grinned and pointed across the field as one Noir soldier lost an ear and the throat of the next one erupted in a scarlet wave of blood. “He and Loki are working the ranks.”
A Karl’s blank expression, Fiddlestix realized that she and her team were the only ones who could see him, figuring it had something to do with the Shine issued goggles. Apparently, Loki was equipped with the same sort of device. He moved like a ghost amongst the Noir, destruction in his wake.
The Noir parted toward the rear and the Harlichs saw a military troop transport. An ominous air hung around it, making Fiddlestix shiver. The truck gained speed, running down its own, crushing them beneath the tires.
“Fall back,” Fiddlestix bellowed. “Karl, I think he’s put his cybered guys inside. Get your men out of here!”
The Harlich men withdrew in orderly fashion, moving like a wave away from the truck and its deadly cargo.
“Tully, I need you,” she spoke into her radio calmly.
“Coming!” The Aussie demo expert arrived at her side in less than ten seconds. “I was on my way down here when you called, sweetheart.”
“See what you can do.” She pointed to the oncoming truck.
He laughed, rubbing his hands gleefully. “Oi, don’t give me something hard, eh? I might stop loving you.”
He chuckled as he took something dark green and compact out of one of his many pockets. “Magnetic explosive,” he told her happily. “Little something I concocted when I was bored.”
He fiddled with it and his handgun a moment. Satisfied, he looked up at them happily.
“Has to be programmed, see, to follow the bullet.”
Taking careful aim with his right hand, he held the green object in the upturned palm of his left. He shot once at the oncoming truck. The bullet hit the canopy in the back tearing a hole the size of his fist in the fabric. A silent missile followed in the bullet’s wake hitting the canopy two seconds later.
“I’d take cover were I you,” he smiled. “In three, two, one.” He ducked down, covering his ears with his fists.
The effect of the magnetic explosive was impressive. It started as a soft poof inside the back of the truck then erupted in a gout of orange flames. Shrapnel scattered hundreds of feet in every direction. The truck groaned to a halt. Movement in the back indicated that someone had survived. | English | NL | f7ee95c8307cfafdac90b2d014def2b35730c0c1974dcf34adcb1e118b5a8775 |
I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies [dedicating all of yourselves, set apart] as a living sacrifice, holy and well-pleasing to God, which is your rational (logical, intelligent) act of worship. Romans 12:1 (Amplified)
As 2018 fades, our thoughts turn to what we resolve to accomplish in the freshness of the new year. We make promises to ourselves and others with earnest sincerity. Within the first few months, however, our resolutions weaken, and we give up. In Bible times, resolutions were called vows or pledges and they were serious matters to undertake. Your word was your promise that you would fulfill it.
During the advent season I wrote about a young woman who made the choice to walk God’s way, though she did not fully understand what was happening to her. Mary believed and obeyed. She gave birth to God’s promise of the Messiah. Now it is time to look at another young woman who lived years before Mary, another unlikely vessel that God chooses to be part of the lineage of Christ. Did Ruth understand her place in God’s plan for Israel when she made a pledge to her mother-in-law? Not at the time. But she was determined to do it out of deep love. Her devotion opened other doors that she could not have foreseen as a girl in Moab. For the next few weeks I will be writing about her pledge and what it meant for her life. She sacrificed herself when she left her homeland behind. She died to the lifestyle she’d grown up with in order to serve a God she couldn’t see.
To complete His plans for us, we must give up the life we’ve chosen in order to live His. That will mean sacrifice, the surrender of body, soul, and spirit. What better resolution to make than to yield my life to Him? His plans for me will not fail.
“I know the plans and thoughts that I have for you,’ says the Lord, ‘plans for peace and well-being and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11 (Amplified) | English | NL | 00d9ef5d6cb5f2753a2022e13a10253bcf9b3f7404b1b339d86129598ebc90bc |
First, rephrasing the "It's too hard, I can't do this," is NOT about discounting a student's feelings. Learning is hard! It means spending time problem solving a new task in order to gain ownership over that task. It means expanding your comfort zone, which, by definition, is uncomfortable. The important Diamond Distinction is in the second part of the statement "I can't do this." For me, it's about reframing their inner conversation (which they usually declare in an "outside voice!") so that it is not a stop light of them questioning their own potential. Most students do not readily recognize that everything they ever learned had to pass through the "new" stage before mastery occurred. Walking, riding a bike, tying their shoes, using utensils to eat, etc. All of it was new at one point. A reframing helps calm the panic. | English | NL | 5990267d0c4f8b484134cd75170fd5216658152a041e6657e23c72bafaf64206 |
"Oh! Kurdak, you brought a newbie? He seems rather young."
As there weren't many people lining up at the registration point, the receptionist quickly saw Kurdak and Leguna.
"He's the newest member of our party. I brought him here to register. Name's Leguna," Kurdak replied with a smile.
"This is Eve," he said, eyeing Leguna.
Leguna gave Eve a quick one-over. She was a rather energetic woman. She had deep-blonde hair and azure eyes. Her facial features weren't outstanding but gave one a sense of energy and warmth that made her very approachable.
"Nice to meet you, little... little fellow," Eve smiled as she stuck out her hand in a friendly manner.
After her eyes had scanned the child quickly, she was unsure whether to call him 'kid' or 'fellow'. Fortunately, she wisely decided on the latter.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Eve. I'm Leguna," replied the youth as he held the outstretched hand warmly.
It was apparent that the way she addressed him was having a good effect.
"Fill in this form."
Eve took out a form and handed it to the kid. Since she was still on her shift, she couldn't chat for too long and returned to her duties after the brief introduction.
I have to fill out forms everywhere I go, thought Leguna bitterly.
"How's Cyranos and Vera?" asked Eve as she guided him through the form.
"They're doing well. The last mission ended with both unharmed. They've been resting and training well. Come to think of it, I have to thank you for recommending such a good mission. We wouldn't have found such a good deal otherwise."
"That's nothing. I look through many requests every day. The better ones just happen to catch my eye. Then again, Cyranos hasn't come here ever since then..."
Eve had a slightly moist and dazed expression when she mentioned Cyranos. After a short pause, she looked at Kurdak doubtingly.
"Did you tell him anything?"
"Umm, well... He's been rather busy lately. It's no surprise he hasn't come recently. Don't overthink it."
Kurdak avoided eye-contact as he spoke.
"Hmph. Just look at your reaction… I bet you said something!" barked Eve as she gave Kurdak a harsh gaze.
"Err, ahahaha..." Kurdak snickered, "I did that for your sake, alright? You know Cyranos is a little slow when it comes to these things. If you don't take the initiative, don't ever hope for something to happen between you two! I just happened to give your relationship a little push, that's all."
"You're the slow one! As slow as your bulky look suggests! Cyranos is a quiet, sensible, and reliable guy, unlike a blabbermouth like you. To think you told him about this so soon."
Kurdak didn't care about Eve's insults at all.
"Oh, I didn't think someone as old as you would be shy about this. You should tell him how you feel quickly. If he likes you, then all's well. If he doesn't, then it's still better for you to give up sooner. There's no point in keeping it to yourself like this."
"Tch, you make it sound so easy. I wonder how your relationship with Vera is getting along?" smiled Eve coldly.
"Umm, that..." Kurdak stammered with a blush, "Vera's different, alright? Given her temper, I have to tread carefully. If I set off the wrong fuse, I'd suffer a horrible death! Hey, brat, fill out your form and stop eavesdropping! Your ears are stretched out so far they look elven!"
Leguna suffered a knock to the head.
"I'll tell Sis you bullied me!" he complained.
"You little... You dare to tell on me?! Don't think I don't dare silence you!"
"No, spare me!"
In spite of his apparent moaning surrender, Leguna was all smiles.
"Boss, I didn't think you were that much of a schemer. You're trying to have Miss Eve take Cyranos away so you have one less... Ummffh!"
Kurdak hurriedly covered his mouth. He gave Eve a quick glance before he started threatening him once again.
"If you don't want to die, don't you dare talk about Cyranos and Vera together."
Leguna looked at Eve's odd expression and understood he had said something uncalled for. He nodded.
"I really don't know what's so great about Vera! I don't care if you fall for her, but she even took Cyranos's heart! I envy that woman!" sighed Eve.
"Don't worry about it. Cyranos and Vera are close because they've spent some time together. It'd be odd if they didn't care about each other at least a little bit. They're not like what you think. Oh, and, I've also come to see if there are any worthwhile missions. Do you have any suggestions?" said Kurdak in an attempt to change the subject.
"Go see what Old Jack has. I think I remember a decent one concerning a crimsonblood bear," mumbled Eve, a little distracted.
"Alright. Kid, fill out your form while I go take a look."
Kurdak gave Leguna a tap on the shoulder before he left.
"Oh, you're from the west?" asked Eve when she returned her attention to the kid.
"You fresh faces usually come from the west. Some come here to avoid persecution while others come here to train. People have all kinds of reasons. How did you meet Kurdak?"
"I was wandering about in a forest and ended up chased by a bunch of quickshadow drakes. Fortunately, Boss came to my rescue… Were you a mercenary, Miss Eve?"
"Me?" Eve smiled gently, "I used to be, but I grew tired of it and retired. I found a safer job here. Even though the pay's slightly lower, at least I don't have to fear for my life anymore."
"I didn't really want to be a mercenary. I think a quiet life is better. Being a mercenary is way too tiring." agreed Leguna.
"Why are you registering to be one if that's how you feel?" Eve asked, "I think you'd do better as a shop apprentice."
"I don't really know," Leguna smiled frustratedly, "When Boss said I'm not cut out for that kind of thing, I just went with their suggestion. I thought about this before. Even though the life is dangerous, it's exciting and interesting. Other jobs are definitely much safer but they're far too plain and boring. I lived in the slums all my life, but now I finally managed to break out. I saw how big the world is. I seriously doubt I could coop up in a small place again."
Eve listened with surprise. She had never thought a youth, one younger than her, could say something so moving. After thinking about what he'd just said, she smiled.
"Well, you're still young. It's better if you get some experience exploring."
"Miss Eve's still young as well," complimented Leguna.
"No way, I've already had my share of fumbling around. I only want to live peacefully from now on."
"A peaceful life with Cyranos, right?"
Leguna's gossipy mind started to wake up.
"What would a kid like you know?!"
Eve didn't refute him, She appeared far more accepting of things like this than Vera.
"Miss Eve's taste is rather good! Cyranos is a good man."
"What's the point of having good taste? Doesn't help increase my charm at all." lamented Eve.
Leguna stopped writing and gave Eve a look.
"Actually, Miss Eve, you don't have to be that sad. Cyranos is quiet and keeps most of his feelings to himself. I'm afraid nobody knows what he's actually thinking. While he treats Sis rather well, it'd be a stretch to say he has romantic feelings for her. I have no idea what Boss told him, but looking at how busy Boss is lately, I doubt it's related to you. It's not as bleak as you think. Maybe, you have a pleasant surprise waiting for you if you confess?"
"What if that isn't the case?"
"That's fine as well. You can't change how Cyranos feels whether you say it or not. At the very least, knowing the truth is better than trying to guess it all day, right?"
"Are you trying to console me?" asked Eve with a tough smile.
"Nah, I'm only saying what I think. Miss Eve, do you want to give it a go? Do you need me to call him over?"
"I think it's better to give this time," said Eve, shaking her head.
"I'll tell him after he comes back from the next mission," added she when she saw Leguna about to say something again.
"That's fine as well."
Leguna no longer pushed it. He knew Eve's gesture was a prayer for mercenaries. It was believed that mercenaries expected wouldn't die in the middle of a mission because they still had loose ends to tie.
"I didn't think a kid like you could have so many thoughts," said Eve.
"Hey, I never said I was a kid. Also, what's wrong with thinking about this stuff even if I'm young? There, I'm done. Take a look."
Eve checked his information and nodded. She cast a spell and set the form on fire. In a mere moment, the form was completely burnt out. Not even ash remained.
"Alright, the information's been submitted. You're now a member of the Association. Here are your badge and pamphlet. Since you haven't completed a mission before, your success rate is currently zero. Kid, you better try hard! I look forward to your growth!" said Eve as she gave up resisting the urge to ruffle Leguna's short, black hair and looked at the mess she made with satisfaction.
Leguna rearranged his hair without much complaint since Eve didn't go all out and rub his head without restraint, unlike Vera.
"Are you done?" Kurdak returned.
He seemed to have found a decent mission.
"Yep, I'm done."
"Alright, let's go. I accepted the mission Eve recommended. Let's go back and discuss it with the others. Thank you, Eve."
"'Tis but a flick of the finger," said Eve with a shrug.
By the time they thanked her and returned to the inn, it was evening.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter | English | NL | fe7d0b0c305f24357de271df389f6d7198d4174dddac50b83f46f64e23196afb |
Numbers 11. Reports of Captain Henry Benson,
Second U. S. Artillery.
CAMP NEAR NEW BRIDGE,
May 31, 1862.
SIR: I have the honor to report, for the information if the general commanding the Fifth Army Corps, that I joined the brigade of Brigadier-General Emory with my battery of horse artillery early on the morning of the 27th instant, in compliance with instructions of the evening previous. My strength was as follows: Four officers, 109 noncommissioned officers, mechanics, privates, &c., 141 horses, and six 3-inch rifled guns, with caissons and ammunition complete. Early in the afternoon I received orders from the general commanding to move the battery rapidly to the front. The battery was moved forward and placed in position as follows: One (right) section, under Lieutenant Barlow, was placed on the road to Hanover Court-House, whilst another, the center section, under the command of Lieutenant Chapin, was moved to a position in a large field to the left of the road leading to the railroad station. Both soon became engaged with the enemy's infantry. The left section, under command of Lieutenant Hains, was for the time held in reserve.
An order from the general commanding to move a section forward and shell the buildings at the railroad station was at this time partially executed. The enemy being in position in a dense woods on the left and in front of the center section, it was found necessary to force them from it before the section could move to the desired point. To effect this object I moved Lieutenant Chapin's section to a commanding position, one piece in the road and the other in a peach orchard to the left, and after a few well-directed discharges of canister and shell (percussion) routed the enemy from their cover.
About this time General Morell informed me that he had pushed skirmishers in the woods to the left and front of the section. The firing was that the section of Lieutenants Barlow and Hains had been moved forward and placed in position in a large field to the right of the Hanover road, and were engaged with the enemy's artillery and infantry. I now directed the fire of the battery (four guns) on the infantry in position in rear of a building (afterward used as a hospital) and on the right and left of the Hanover road. The enemy were soon forced to retire from their position in confusion. Lieutenant Chapin's section having joined me, I moved the battery to the right and a little in front of its former position. Intervals between the guns were increased and the caissons and detachments of the cannoneers' horses placed under cover of the woods, and then the fire of the whole battery was concentrated upon the enemy's artillery, which, after a sharp and well directed fire, were entirely silenced. One 12-pounder howitzer, which could not be removed in consequence of one of the team horses having been killed by a fragment of a shell, was taken possession of by some of the Seventeenth New York Volunteers- at least I understood such to be the case. As soon as our fire had silenced the enemy's guns the battery moved rapidly forward in pursuit with the cavalry on the Hanover road. Our fire was again opened on the retreating infantry in the vicinity of the Court-Hourse. The battery afterward returned to the enemy's first position and camped for the night.
Our loss during the day was 1 ordnance mechanic, Henry Krantz, | English | NL | 431b135d9380a157006e760ef05d7599a7e3bd77f1f701966d03ebec4d8c93f1 |
Dinosaurs have roamed the earth millions of years before man ever existed. They are a mystery to us. When paleontologists first found dinosaurs they thought they were just animals that just happened to live on the planet and then died out really quickly. When they were putting the bones together, they would put together different bones that belonged to different dinosaurs. Then they looked at the bones and found out that the dinosaurs had lived 75 times longer then humans have existed.
Then Paleontologists started to pay more attention to these creatures. They soon learned that the dinosaurs were very sophisticated animals, they were very smart, and they were reptiles. When they found the bones and studied them they found out that the dinosaurs didn’t have any interaction with mankind.
Since the first dinosaur bones and their eggs were discovered; we have learned so much about dinosaurs. But there are so many mysteries out on our planet waiting to be uncovered, Maybe a new specie of a dinosaur will be discovered, or the first flying dinosaur, who knows? But whatever paleontologists haven’t found, will soon be found, bringing us closer to finding out more about dinosaurs.
There were a lot of different kinds of dinosaurs. Most of the dinosaurs were herbivores, some were carnivores, and very few were omnivores. The herbivores were peaceful dinosaurs and only ate plants. The carnivores were vicious and were eating other dinosaurs so the the carnivores only ate meat. The omnivores ate mainly meat but when there was no meat around they could eat plants.
The three main groups of dinosaurs are: Ceratopsians, Theropoda, and Saurapods. The Ceratopsians were all of the horned dinosaurs. The king of the Ceratopsians was the Triceratops. The Theropoda was a group for all of the meat eating dinosaurs. The T-Rex was the king of the Theropoda group. The Saurapods was a group of dinosaurs for long necked dinosaurs. The king of the long necked dinosaurs was the Ultrasauros. A type of Sauropod was a Brachiosaurus. The biggest dinosaur was a Sauropod. The 3 largest Sauropod were the Brachiosaurus, Ultrasauros, and Sauroposeidon.
The dinosaurs lived in the Mesozoic era where the 3 dinosaur periods look place in. The periods are the Triassic period, the Jurassic period, and the Cretaceous period. The dinosaur species started to exist in the Triassic period which happened 248 million years – 206 million years ago. The Jurassic period happened 206 million years ago – 144 million years ago. The last period was the Cretaceous period which happened 144 million years ago – 65 million years ago. Dinosaurs have roamed the earth for about 183 million years.
In the Triassic period Dinosaurs and mammals started to roam the planet. During the Jurassic period birds started to exist. Dinosaurs that lived in the Triassic period were the Coelophysis and the Anchisaurus. Dinosaurs that lived in the Jurassic period were the Brachiosaurus, the Allosaurus, and the Oritholestes. Dinosaurs that lived in the Cretaceous period were the most common dinosaurs do us. They were the Tyrannosaurus Rex or the T-Rex, the Triceratops, and the Iguanodon.
At the end of the Cretaceous period all of the dinosaurs became extinct. Some families of birds, marsupial mammals, over half of the plankton groups, many families of bony fishes, bivalves, snails, sponges, and sea urchins had also become extinct. There were many theories why the dinosaurs died out; but the main theory is that an asteroid had hit the Earth. The impact caused the Earth’s climate to become colder. The dinosaurs would soon die out because they couldn’t live in a cold climate. When the asteroid hit the earth some gasses were released into the air and blocked the sun, causing the temperature to drop. Plants that herbivores ate weren’t getting enough sunlight, so the herbivores were the first to die. The carnivores that ate the herbivores would have had to turn on each other to get their food.
They soon would die out, which left a lot of food for smaller animals like mice and insects that dinosaurs didn’t eat a lot of. The cockroach was able to survive because it was sort of like an omnivore. The cockroach would eat anything so they could have survived the asteroid attack. Evidence that supports the death of dinosaurs was that there were curators found around the earth like on the Yukatan Peninsula which paleontologist think proves that dinosaurs had died from asteroids. There were other theories of what killed the dinosaurs. During the Cretaceous period there were extreme volcanic eruptions and acid rain that could have changed the Earth’s climate enough to trigger a mass extinction. The smoke that came from the volcano could have blocked the sun allowing the climate to drop; and the lava that came from the volcano would have destroyed all of the vegetation that the herbivores ate. The lava would also kill the eggs that were just laid, so the population could’t grow. The earth’s orbit also changed, that also could have also caused the drop in the climate. During that time, large amounts of methane were changing the earth’s atmosphere which caused a greenhouse effect. All of these things could have caused the dinosaur’s extinction. | English | NL | 4a2b02074fe6ea0a1637488362165253b4cbff0da230e7689798c453012cb4ab |
One can say that everyone rejoices when they hear the troparion of the Resurrection. But they sometimes grow bored when it is sung often. This hymn, however, should be endlessly joyful to people: its continual repetition about the victory over death and the devil should be an infinite source of consolation. Therefore if this joy soon passes, it passes because one’s faith is not so living and strong. People find it difficult to believe because their souls do not especially love this victory.
They say: Thomas, who had been previously ready to die for Christ, also did not believe.
No, Thomas asked for assurances not because he did not believe, but because he desired an untroubled faith, for he longed for the resurrection and understood its significance.
Before their entry into Jerusalem, having learned that there would not be any external success but, to the contrary, that the Savior awaited suffering, the disciples thought that the same death awaited them as a reward for following Him. They were overcome by horror and fear, and then Thomas said: Let us go that we might die with Him [Jn 11:16]. Thomas had a loyal heart. How many of them were troubled when they learned that there was not, and would not be, any external success! When He was to them a great miracle worker, healing them and giving them bread, they believed; but when they learned that He was ready to accept and bear the great deed [podvig] of patience and suffering for the sake of their spiritual benefit – then they all ran away, their faith weakened and, if their conscience rebuked them, they easily found an excuse in themselves: we trusted that it had been He [Lk 24:21].
People say: if we had seen Him we would not have denied Him. This is not true: the majority of those who denied Him had seen Him, and they denied Him because they did not love spiritual values, and the victory over the devil spoke but little to their hearts; they desired external success.
Cases of full denial are not many. Normally a remnant of faith remains, and this half-acknowledgment and half-faith is perhaps even worse, and such half-believers are in the majority. If they were to be excluded from so-called believing society we would see that there are but few true worshippers. Church and cross, unity in Christ, unity in the name of the feat [podvig] of love – there is the outline of our relationship towards the Lord. But half-believers do not strive to understand either one or the other – unity or Christ’s love – in the way that Christians understand it.
Half-faith has many degrees, but one thing inevitably follows from all half-belief. Those who deny know both what they have denied and to what to return. But the half-believer does not have any such clarity and grows accustomed to a life guided by sophistries, half-truth, and hints at some sort of supposed truth.
Source: Ora et Labora | English | NL | ddbec007b67898f4b445e2bbd26815b81c38ddba00e15a58cd3cede8b164483f |
Have you ever thought about God’s wild, reckless love for us? Or maybe you think of God is vengeful and angry. A God that only wants to bring wrath down on his people.
Well today I want to help you to understand that we have a loving God that is constantly trying to bring us back into right standing with himself. We were created to have relationship and good standing with our Father in Heaven. But early in creation sin entered the world and changed that forever. Since the time that sin first entered the world, Father God has been trying to bring us back into right standing so that we are in relationship with himself. God wants to know us and for us to not only call on him in times of trouble, but to always be talking to him.
What does talking to God look like? Well it is waking up in the morning and thanking him for another day here on earth. It is going through your day and taking the time to just talk to God about your struggles. He knows what you are going through, but Father God wants you to talk to him about it, just as a child would tell their parent. Talk to the Father about the good and the bad. I can remember a few years ago, I was crying out to God, because my Dad had Parkinson’s Syndrome, and was no longer able to talk to me, so he would not even let me talk to him. I was a Daddy’s girl, and I was missing my Dad so much, that I got on my knees and poured out my heart to Father God about how much I missed talking to my Dad. How I missed hearing his voice, and I just wanted to be able to talk to him about things going on in my life. What made it even harder was that I was 2500 miles away from my Dad at the time. Well the Father heard my cries, and he felt my pain. Two days later I got a phone call from my Dad and for 10-15 minutes my Dad could, talk and have a conversation with me. I knew instantly that this was a blessing and gift from Father God. It was the last time that I got to hear my Earthly Fathers, voice but it was priceless. This is what a loving Heavenly Father does, he gives good gifts because he loves us.
Just think about John 3:16-17: “For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but to save the world through him.” These are the words of Jesus as he is explaining to a respected Jewish teacher. So, if God was always angry and vengeful, he would never have sacrificed his one and only Son to bring us back into righteousness when we accept Jesus in our hearts. No this is something that a loving God would do, that has a father’s heart for each one of us. Think about how much love God really has for us, any parent knows that it would be hard, if not impossible to sacrifice their child for everyone else. I know I can’t begin to imagine the pain that would cause. So, to allow that to happen so that we could accept Jesus into our hearts and become saved, to be made righteous through the blood of Christ is the ultimate act of love. | English | NL | 49b4f527c8d3fab795ccd8839226efe90d77b49e322e8b21ce57a3ab68b98e1c |
Read Genesis 38
ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“And may the Lord give you descendants by this young woman who will be like those of our ancestor Perez, the son of Tamar and Judah.” (Ruth 4:12 NLT)
When we think of God’s people, we tend to think one of two things. We might think of the Israelites who were God’s “chosen people”, or we might think of specific characters in the Bible. Either way, we tend to idealize the people we are thinking about. For instance, we may think that God’s people are super faithful, holy, perform miracles and live wholly devout and righteous lives. Unfortunately, this idealism enables us to distance ourselves from being God’s people, because we feel that we fall short of those ideals. As such, I have decided to write a devotion series on specific characters in the Bible in order to show you how much these Biblical people are truly like us, and how much we are truly called to be God’s people.
Part 17: Tamar. There are many strange stories in the Bible, perhaps one of those stories at the top of the list is the story of Tamar. There are many elements of the story that are strange, and many elements that get highlighted by antitheists and skeptics alike to prove that God is nothing more than a fairytale dreamt up by simple minded ancients seeking to explain why things happen the way they do. Yet, like all things, one must first understand the context first before one can leap ahead to any such conclusion.
Tamar, like all of the women we have looked at thus far, is a woman of her times. She was born into a highly patriarchal society that valued the men over the women. What’s more, a woman who could not (for whatever reason) produce heirs to the male lineage of the family, were of no use to the patriarchal family structure. On top of that, any woman who could not produce children was seen to be under God’s curse (since this was her “natural” function and reason of exisiting) and was considered a stain upon her marriage and a shame upon her family.
Tamar’s case was slightly different, because it wasn’t that she was barren and unable to have children; rather, it was that her husband died before she could conceive a child. In that day and age, if such circumstances happened, the woman was to sleep with the next oldest brother of the husband so that the woman could bear a child. This was not so much out of courtesy to the woman (for what woman would want to have sex with her husband’s brother in normal circumstances), but a courtesy to the deceased husband who would not be able to have an heir of his own.
So, Tamar was married off to Onan, the second oldest brother; however, Onan didn’t want Tamar to have his brother Er’s children, he wanted his own kids. So he performed what is known as coitus interruptus or, as people know it today, the “pull out” method of birth control. In other words, he was having sex with his brother’s wife but “pulling out” before he could ejaculate and impregnate her (too much information, I know). The Bible says that, for doing this, Onan was seen as being wicked in the judgment of God and died prematurely.
Good news for Tamar, right? Wrong. Judah (the same Judah who was involved in selling his brother Joseph off as a slave) refused to have Tamar married off to his youngest son, for he saw her as being under God’s curse. In other words, rather than seeing his sons for what they were, namely wicked in God’s sight, he instead placed the blame on Tamar who had done absolutely nothing wrong. Tamar was told to go back to her parents home (which would have brought her “shame” upon them) and to wait until the youngest brother could marry her; however, as was indicated above, Judah had no intentions of ever letting his youngest marry this woman.
Tamar waited and waited, but Judah’s youngest son Shelah never came calling. This is when Tamar took things into her own hands. Knowing that Judah was recently widowed himself, she disguised herself as a prostitute and deceived Judah, who did not recognize her because she was not wearing her “widow’s clothes” that allowed men to know she had been married and also had herself veiled. When he called upon her “services”, she slept with him and conceived a child by him, thus eliminating her shame.
The question here for us is, why did Tamar have to prostitute herself out in order to have children? Was this fair, or right, or just? Prostitution is obviously sinful because it is the selling of sex, which is sacred, to make a profit out of giving another physical pleasure and because it exploits human beings and uses them as a means to an end (e.g. sexual pleasure). Yet, what about Judah’s sin? What about the sin of discarding a human being as worthless? What about the sin of patriarchy, which values one sex over the other? As can be seen in this story, God does not stand for such injustice and Tamar is the one who is honored by God, while Judah is the one who is ashamed.
THOUGHT OF THE DAY
In the face of patriarchy, it is a brave act indeed for both men and women to embrace, rather than shame or attempt to eradicate, the feminine.” – Alanis Morissette
Lord, help me to be upright and just, not valuing anyone more than another for any reason, whether it be their sex, their gender, their color, their creed or any other thing. Amen. | English | NL | 3a8c98747cbbd926d2eba9eb0358e45f35ad35a0a06ae6cf72aa76d3de560d88 |
Sri Swami Satchidananda's Notes
THAT'S WHY HE CAN STOP YOUR ELEPHANT
Once upon a time there lived king who had a nice elephant. The attendant of the elephant used to take it to the river every day for a bath. One day as the attendant was bringing the elephant back to the palace, a little boy came walking up to the elephant. He took its trunk in his hands, saying, "Stop! Look at the way you are walking. The elephant stopped. "Walk gently, carefully," he told the elephant. He let go of the trunk, and the elephant started walking again. The next day as the elephant passed the same spot, the boy came running and stopped the elephant to reprimand it again. This happened several days in a row.
The attendant couldn't believe what was happening. He told the king, who sent his minister to check on the boy. In a few days, the minister came to report to the king. "Sir, I observed the boy. He lives with his grandmother. He's just a playful little boy. He seems ordinary, but he has absolutely no fear. That's why he can stop your elephant.
"I can't believe it," said the king. "What do you mean?"
"Sir, a mind without fear and worry can do anything."
The king wanted the minister to prove his point. The only way to do so was to make the boy worry about something. The minister approached the boy's grandmother. After hearing from her that the boy was allowed to do anything he wanted, the minister asked, "Has he ever asked for anything and been refused?"
"No. I have given him everything that he wanted. He is just a happy-go-lucky boy."
"Is he afraid of anything?
"Nothing at all."
The minister had to prove his theory to the king, so he said, "All right. When he comes home today give him the usual food, but add less than the usual amount of salt. If the boy asks about it, tell him that you don't have enough money to buy salt, so you had to be sparing with what you have left."
The grandmother said, "If the king wants me to do that, I shall do it." That evening when the boy came home, she serve his supper right away. After a few bites, the boy said, "Grandma, what is this? It's not tasty today." The grandmother repeated what the minister had told her, and the boy said, "Okay, Grandmother, I will get you some salt." He ran to the shop and asked the shopkeeper to give him a little salt. The shopkeeper explained that he couldn't give him salt without receiving money in exchange. "Where can I get some money?" the boy asked.
"You have to go and work for it."
"I don't know how to work."
"Then you can't get any salt."
The boy was a little depressed. He went home. "Grandma, I don't know what to do. He wants me to go and work and get money so I can get some salt. I don't know how to work."
"All right, sweetheart," said the grandmother, "it doesn't matter. Go to sleep. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
The boy went to bed, but he couldn't sleep all night. In the morning, the elephant came as usual, and as usual, the boy went to stop the elephant, but he couldn't do it. The elephant pushed him aside and walked off. All the young fellow had in mind was, "I couldn't get a little salt for my food." That one small worry had taken away all his strength.
OM Shanthi, Shanthi, Shanthi | English | NL | a2d3e3e3e19397938853eff377c726d21791e6eb07bac310500f3aee743ae2c1 |
How good are you at resting? God is very big on rest and actually designed our weeks to have one whole day in which we are told to rest – to stop what we do on other days and do something that is refreshing and restorative.
After God had given the commandments to Moses, he emphasized one of them: “Above all you shall keep my Sabbaths, for this is a sign between me and you throughout your generations, that you may know that I, the Lord, sanctify you'” (from Exodus 31:13). Above all? Does God really mean that? Why, I wonder?
I think it’s so we learn to trust him. Trust him with the work we didn’t get done, with the plans that need to be made, and the relationships that need to be fixed. Trust him with the anxieties we carry all week. One day a week, we rest in his love and grace and his work on our behalf.
And that includes spiritual striving. God does the work of making us holy – setting us apart for him. We can try harder, working our hearts out to please him, but if he’s not in it, all our efforts are fruitless. Sometimes he just wants us to sit still in his presence and let him work his transformation in our lives. It is in that rest, perhaps, that we learn to love him with all our heart, soul, mind and strength and to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Maybe restful living is mostly about letting go.
“Unhurried does not describe how I spend hours or minutes. It describes a state of heart. Unhurried comes not from forced breaks, but from chosen stillness.” – David Timms | English | NL | e69028b627cfc6d5a96adba66aad429b0a114b9b88143439f207d85ee01be112 |
It is always hard this time of the year to find activities for group therapy with my Life Skills groups. There are usually 5 students in each group and the abilities are really varied. I try to include some motor activity because this keeps their attention. Using objects for actions is more meaningful for them then paper tasks. However there are a few students who have motor difficulties which makes it difficult for them to do some tasks and work with the group.
My inspiration often comes from my closet. This is a picture of what I found. I decided to make a badminton type activity. They used the pool noodles to hit balloons through the hulu hoop and then over the jump rope stretched across two chairs. We encouraged two students to hit it back and forth to complete turn taking. I reinforced the prepositions of over, through, below, under, and above. My early language learners practiced phrases such as “Give it to me”, “Hit it”, “I want it”.
One of my students kept saying “there it is”. He was a student who we usually had trouble engaging and he blossomed with this activity. For a student with Downs he had amazing eye hand coordination. I hope he does badminton for Special Olympics.
I liked the pool noodles because they didn’t hurt if students hit each other and the balloons slowed down the process enough that all the students were able to hit them. I recommend having spare balloons. We had one student who couldn’t resist squeezing and popping them. | English | NL | 94ab75f4ea36b302bf87b1096fef10b5a819dd49a2a6cfaee0fc57063514e7fd |
(I wrote this for The Austin American Statesman in the late 1990s)
My mother was a hummer.
Except when she was visiting with somebody – or listening to her historias on the radio – she was humming. She hummed as she patched together her quilts. She hummed as she sewed, crocheted or knitted. She hummed as she cooked or washed dishes. She hummed as she watered her plants.
In the summertime, when we were up north working in the sugar beet fields, she hummed as she hacked away at the weeds with her hoe, the muted murmur flowing sweetly from beneath the flaps of her garsole – the long-hooded bonnet that protected her from the sun.
And she hummed as she ironed. Especially when she ironed.
The tunes were more often than not nameless and unrecognizable, but at times she hummed familiar hymns – slow-paced ones like “Viva María,” “Bendito,” or “O María, Madre Mía.”
Mamá never used a steam iron. To moisten the clothes, she dipped her fingers into a small bowl of water. Forming a tentative fist, she shook her hand slightly as she passed it over the shirt or dress, much like a priest blessing his flock with holy water.
The splish-splish-splishing of the water escaping her clutch was like a muted snare drum that provided the tempo for her simple symphony.
We never asked her why she hummed, perhaps because it never seemed that odd. We assumed all mothers did so, that humming was in their job description.
And it was such a soothing sound. As we lay or sat nearby, reading or doing other things, we were at peace.
Inevitably, however, the humming stopped and, after a short pause, we heard El Suspiro – The Sigh. The Sigh started with an extended sibilant intake of air, came to a brief silent rest when all the world’s activities seemed to cease, then reached its tremulous end with that same air innervating the inevitable words that supplied the obligatory exclamation point.
“Ay, mamacita,” was the most common. We read that as a plea to her long-departed mother, whose death when my mother was 4 years old was the beginning of a life of hardship that included an abusive stepmother, an unfaithful and drunken husband, long periods of harsh poverty, backbreaking work at starvation wages, life-threatening illness and injuries and the death of two sons.
But there were other pleadings. and these were almost always exhortations to her God:
Or, “Ay, Dios mío.”
None lasted more than a second or two, and then after a few minutes, the humming would start again, but not before it stoked our ever-present reservoir of fear. Like minor temblors, her suspirations shook the soothing, nurturing hammock her humming had weaved. And it always took a while for the calm to return.
What, we wondered, can be going through her mind? How much pain must be tearing at her soul? We loved our mother, truly believing that loving her was our only purpose, so any of distress in her voice was disconcerting.
Mamá was a strong woman. That was her role in life, and she played it to near perfection. Yes, she cried, but only when it was absolutely unavoidable. When we grew up and started making our homes away from her, we knew that each time we drove off she cried silently, but we never way those tears, for she held them in until our car turned the corner.
We depended on that woman’s strength, for it made our scary world seem a bit safer. So when her suspiros revealed the tiniest crack in the tough shell of stoicism that protected her – and us – there was a terrifying moment of angst in our hearts.
About nine years ago, my mother’s humming stopped. Her body, already weakened by a decade of fighting a losing battle against the effects of Parkinson’s disease, was ravaged by a stroke that left her incapacitated and virtually mute.
For almost four years, until she died in her bed on New Year’s Day 1991, she lay there, her eyes telegraphing the frustration, even anger, that her communication was limited to grunts and gibberish.
Her suspiros were also silenced.
Today, when my siblings and I get together, we often talk about my mother. We tell ourselves that we should have asked her about those suspiros, that we should have insisted she share her sorrows with us.
Perhaps we should have. However, over the past few weeks, as I have talked to people about spirituality, and as I have listened to them speak of their constant communication with God, my mind goes back to my mother’s humming, and her suspiros.
And it occurs to me that maybe they were not signs of agony or suffering, or of longing for the mother she barely remembered. Maybe it was nothing more than her way of getting in touch with her inner being.
We are told that spirituality involves, among other things, a connectedness with past experiences, a recognition of the influence of others who have walked this earth before us.
Maybe Mamá, in invoking her own mother, was simply trying to make that connection to the one person in her life she viewed as closest to Perfection.
Maybe, in her calls to God, she wasn’t asking for anything after all. Maybe all she was saying was, “Here I am.”
And maybe the answer she was hearing as she hummed was, “Yes, I know.” | English | NL | d31a988a7ca68292ff2f32230328507f4e395b4d9f1d8cfee0f94f6dbd0d4c9b |
One hundred years ago today, April 5, 1918, Jay was discharged from the Columbus Barracks Post Hospital.
In his letter of April 2, he wrote, ‘My trouble was my lungs and cold.’ It is very likely that it was Spanish Influenza that sickened him. If so, it possibly saved his life. People who had contracted the flu in the first wave early in 1918 had become immune to the disease and escaped getting sick when the subsequent, much more deadly strain swept across the world later in the year.
If Jay had, in fact, contracted influenza, the ward he would have been in would probably have looked like this:
When the influenza returned in the fall, hospital flu wards were bigger and more crowded, sometimes the size of gymnasiums: | English | NL | e8ffb3b11294f3a06ea71b4fb007fe8bb409f44c05c50f5c29997390924ec666 |
The thing to remember is that the accepted answer can be changed, and if a user is engaged and familiar enough with the system to accept one in the first place, they'll probably be likely to change it if something compels them to do so.
Fifteen minutes (the current barrier) is sufficient on sites where a question is likely to receive several answers in the first few minutes. It's designed to not put off other potentially better answers by the presence of the check mark.
On smaller sites, it's possible that a few answers may come in within that time, but that's not quite always the case. If the limit was put off to an hour, it's very likely that the person wouldn't remember to accept at all, as presumably they're off to do something with the information they received in the answer. Hence, it's a bit of a balance.
We want the value to be consistent across the network otherwise we run into the pains of documenting where it isn't the same, which is a major headache. Even though it's possible, I don't think we'd want to start making sites unique in this regard, and the 15 minute window seems to be working out well in most situations.
If a clear pattern emerges that questions get one, and only one answer and it's clear that the accepted answer is the culprit, then we really should be looking at UI changes so that folks are more strongly encouraged to answer anyway if they have more to add.
I won't argue that this doesn't happen from time to time, but not really in enough of a frequency to make us think about bumping the minimum network wide. | English | NL | e4a5a442752ebe4ce8e780236b876bdb02b450acaec1ecb6d854039e443131a7 |
Rank(s): Ordinary Seaman
Dates of Service: 10/28/1812 - 11/6/1814
Bennett’s place and date of birth are unknown.
Edwin Bennett joined the Constitution ’s crew as an ordinary seaman some time before October 28, 1812. He was promoted to armorer on December 30, 1813. On November 5, 1814, he was discharged from the Constitution . He re-entered as an armorer on November 6, 1814. He was assigned to Gun No. 15 as fireman and sail trimmer as a part of the third division.
Among the enlisted men, ordinary seamen stood in the middle of the lower-deck hierarchy. These men had typically sailed one or two voyages and knew basic seamanship. Like the able seamen, they too could “hand, reef, and steer,” but some of the more complicated maneuvers were foreign to them. Many ordinary seamen would have been numbered among the topmen, the young and agile crewmembers who were responsible for working aloft on the masts and yards. The ordinary seaman made $10.00 per month.
The armorer was a skilled blacksmith able to repair or forge anew all of the metal work aboard ship. He was supplied with a set of tools and a portable forge. He kept in good order the cannon locks and hand-cuffs. The armorer was also responsible for maintenance of the ship’s and marine’s muskets, and answered to the marine officers and gunner. The armorer made $18.00 per month.
Battles and Engagements
Bennett fought in the battle with HMS Java and received $442.30 in prize money. He also fought in the battle with HMS Cyane and HMS Levant and received $126.93 in prize money.
After September 10, 1815, Bennett was discharged from the Constitution. His place and date of death are unknown. | English | NL | e7a116e663e2c3a25125bc06f249d8661b0e35b157d985a0aa3f05f2e5e4f8df |
Palm Sunday is different when you have walked the route that Jesus took from the Mount of Olives to the Temple.
As he came to the towns of Bethphage and Bethany on the Mount of Olives, he sent two disciples ahead. “Go into that village over there,” he told them. “As you enter it, you will see a young donkey tied there that no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks, ‘Why are you untying that colt?’ just say, ‘The Lord needs it.’” So they went and found the colt, just as Jesus had said. And sure enough, as they were untying it, the owners asked them, “Why are you untying that colt?” And the disciples simply replied, “The Lord needs it.” So they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their garments over it for him to ride on. As he rode along, the crowds spread out their garments on the road ahead of him. When he reached the place where the road started down the Mount of Olives, all of his followers began to shout and sing as they walked along, praising God for all the wonderful miracles they had seen. “Blessings on the King who comes in the name of the LORD! Peace in heaven, and glory in highest heaven!” But some of the Pharisees among the crowd said, “Teacher, rebuke your followers for saying things like that!” He replied, “If they kept quiet, the stones along the road would burst into cheers!”
Luke 19:29-40 NLT
The crowds cheered, and it bothered the Pharisees. They wanted him to tell them to quiet down. But Jesus wouldn’t play by their rules. He told them that if he did as they asked, the very sones would cry out.
Because God will not be denied. The King had arrived, and his praises would be sung by humanity or by the very stones that were created through him when the world was begun.
In worship at St. A’s today, Geoff encouraged us to make certain it isn’t necessary for the stones to sing. To instead use the gifts that God has given each of us to sing the praises of the King.
When we were in Israel, we were constantly surrounded by stone. If the stones had sung, I am certain that the sound would have been overwhelming. Maybe they would have done a better job than us.
But that was not what God wanted, that’s not why Jesus went to Jerusalem, knowing he would be persecuted and executed. God wants us to sing. With him, for him and in his honor.
As we head into Holy Week, may your life song sing for God. May you praise him so well that the sones need bever make a sound. And I pray that your life may be continually transformed by the King riding on a donkey.
Mom and Dad together as Mom reads the Palm Sunday passage on the Mount of Olives with the temple in the background.
Mom reading the Palm Sunday passage on the Mount of Olives.
The Temple Mount as seen from the Mount of Olives.
A wider view of the Temple Mount as seen from the Mount of Olives. | English | NL | 84dc3445ac8d768a8edd93081a66542ada70d9ac539271ec52fcd59be9efdee5 |
Broken Road - Book 2 in the Breaking Black Series and the sequel to Black Horse
Signed Paperbacks can be ordered from Addison's website!
It is often said that time heals all wounds. It is spoken like a promise... a vow. These words are repeated to people who have been beaten down to their lowest state. To the poor souls who have nothing left to lose. Whispered into the ear of a grieving daughter, told with a shrug to a man who has nothing left to live for.
These are dangerous people.
The ones who love more people dead than alive.
The words should never be uttered. Not to the ones who have no solid ground on which to stand upon, no rail in which to clasp. The white-knuckled moments of life have come to be expected rather than feared.
"Time heals all wounds."
The words are an insult. A slap in the face... and around here, they'll get you hurt. For Averi McClain and her husband Colt, there were few deeper insults.
If time could heal all wounds, Jessa McClain would be proud to know that she was going to be a grandmother. Nathan Ford would have proudly walked his little girl down the aisle with Corinne beaming from her seat. Sitting by her side, Anna McCord would wipe a tear from her eye. Standing proudly by Colt and Randy at the arbor, Seth would have stood as a groomsman for his childhood friend. That is, if time truly healed all wounds.
But what about the hurts you cannot see? The deep gashes and the mangled hearts that remain after the brutality of a war. Their childhood was a battlefield. Colt and Averi didn't want that for their own sons and daughters.
What does time to do wounds? Time is nothing but a reminder of how much time has past since you last saw the ones you love most. The line is bullshit. A scape goat. A cheap cop out. It is something people say when they don't know what to say. It's not deep or sympathetic. It doesn't stop the heart from bleeding. Colt would not have a granite wall built around his heart like a fortress. A barrier which only Averi could crack.
Randy's soul would not quake with anger every time he heard mention of Black Horse, his roving band of lunatics, also known as the Seventy Devils, or Jimmy Hearns. You canât even say the name Trent Myers to him without his sanity flickering out of sight. Tim wouldn't have to fight his anger out at the gym for several hours, five days a week. Shelly's sense of security would be intact and undisturbed. Averi's legs would not be permanently scarred with evidence of Black Horse's fiery insanity.
Time doesn't heal all wounds. Wounds fester. Sometimes the strain and exertion of trying to
get better puts so much stress on the wound that the scab rips open, stitches and scar tissue be damned.
Some wounds cannot be mended.
Some lines are just begging to be crossed.
Some roads are meant to be broken.
As one of Averi's favorite bands so poignantly croons, "God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you." In the case of Colt and Averi, no song lyrics could more perfectly describe the road that they have traveled. They have a love like no other, acting as a guiding light, a beacon in a world turned dark by Black Horse. What would you do if the the one man you couldnât live without, was the son of the bastard that murdered your parents and your eldest brother? In the case of Averi Ford, she knew Colt was nothing like his father. He had spent his entire life running from his shadow. He had always been the one to protect Averi, even moreso than her ever watchful brothers. You canât turn away from a love like that.
Theirs was a love that was intensified by pain and longing, desperation and heartache. They faced seemingly unsurmountable odds, and continue to do so, side by side. She needed him, not to be her hero, but as her equal and her friend until the end of their days. He needed her, not only physically, but spiritually, emotionally, he had wrapped all his hope in her. His humanity relied on her happiness. If her heart ceased to beat, he would let the darkness overcome him. He wouldn't stop until every single member of the Seventy Devils were dead.
Lord knows Randy and Tim would fight right alongside him. Averi was as essential to Colt as oxygen. Without her, the Colt that she knew and loved would cease to exist. They loved each other despite the odds they faced; in spite of those who said they shouldn't. Averi loved him regardless of his family history, of the stares and gossip, the upturned noses and blatant hostility. When Colt McClain walks into a room, the citizens of Oakely don't see him. They don't see his face or his kind soul. They don't see him at all. They see Black Horse - the man he so closely resembles, but whose hearts are night and day. There is a key difference. There is a gentle warmth to Colt's gaze. A calm depth that if you look deep enough, you can see all the good in him. Look into Black Horse's eyes and you'll see your own demise. When people look Colt's way, they see a murderer, a thief, a snake. They see a man with no soul. But Colt never killed a man that didn't have it coming, and let me tell you, Jimmy Hearns has it coming.
Most motorcycle clubs are not street gangs, but in the case of the Seventy Devils, there was no point in hiding it. The Seventy Devils ran the streets of Oakeley. The Seventy Devils, the band of lawless savages that did Black Horse's bidding, lived on, leaderless and hell bent on anarchy. When the strange circumstances surrounding Black Horse's death went public, Jimmy monopolized. Playing the role of a mourning son, Jimmy earned the respect and the power Texas' most violent motorcycle gang. To say the devils are out for blood is an understatement of epic proportions. The band of sociopathic heathens were rallied by Black Horse's death. It was a call to action, a call to arms, each one of them thirsty to drain the blood from Black Horse's murderer. Each one yearning to display his killer's head on a pike for the whole community to see. If the Seventy Devils were hostile during Black Horse's reign, it was nothing compared to their mental state after Black Horse was found burned, shot and murdered.
A war has erupted. The Seventy Devils are scattered and on alert, gnawing at the bit for the go-ahead to strike. They would not hesitate to spill the blood of anyone who stood in their way of recompense. They knew they would need to act fast if they wanted to come out on top. Colt was not the kind of guy that you slept on. He'd stop at nothing to protect his family and he was lethal whether he was heavily armed or going toe to toe, bare knuckled beat-down style. Colt did have Black Horse's blood coursing through his veins, after all. But then, so did Jimmy, and he is ready to show everyone that the apple didn't fall far from the tree... in fact, they appear to have formed on the same poisoned branch.
As leader of the Devils, Jimmy had seventy miscreants to do his bidding - and three goals in which he needed to achieve:
1. Avenge Black Horse
2. Kill Colt McClain and Randy Ford
3. Take Averi for his own
Jimmy has another thing coming if he thinks victory is easily won. Will Colt and Averi's broken road end in tragedy? Or will they be the ones to banish the devils straight to hell? When the demons of the past rise up, can Colt and Randy face them fearless and determined? Whatever happens, don't expect Colt and Randy to stand alone. Buckle up. The broken road makes for one hell of a ride.
Want more Broken Road? Check out these teasers!
To the Broken Road Release Party!
Hope to see you there! | English | NL | d0b60cc8f35e65e221c61cc4cc0711b104275bd86d7ce2076fe5ff09ea398f9c |
Good morning all!
Today’s scripture: Isaiah 43.1-7
But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you. Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you, I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life. Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; I will say to the north, “Give them up,” and to the south, “Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth— everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.”
On Wednesday nights around here, we have a worship service called Bread and Wine. I have mentioned it to many of you and a few times this season in the blog. This is a worship service that a group of people, myself included, really felt needed to happen in McMinnville. It happens around a potluck style dinner. There is always bread and there is always wine. We gather, we sing and pray, we eat and while eating we discuss scripture and then we take the bread that we have been eating, bless it and tell the story. We pass it around. Then we take the same wine that is on the table, bless it, tell the story and pass it around. We pray some more and then we are sent out into the world. The attendance ranges from 10-20 or 25 even if we have a lot of people. Our discussions are deep and intense. Our food is great and we would love to see more people with us (hint hint).
We also have a few kiddos that have become part of the fabric of our community. Violet, our resident 2.5 year old, comes almost every week with her parents. When Violet walks into the room, she has claimed the room. Violet calls this space, “Mommy’s church” and she loves mommy’s church. Last night Violet had us all by the moment she walked in. While we were singing Violet exclaimed, “sing Daddy!” When we were getting our food Violet exclaimed, “I am going to sit right here! Will you sit by me?” When we were discussing scripture Violet was making sure that the loudest toy was present at the table or that we all knew she was coloring. When the bread and wine came around the table Violet made sure she was in someone’s lap to take bread and dip it in whatever cup she could get to.
And after dinner, Violet and I were sitting on the couch talking about Dora the Explorer and when she pointed out Dora’s grandma I replied, “yeah that is her abuela!” Her mom came over (hey Erica!) and said, “and who is that with Dora?” “Her abuela!” Her mom looked at me…yes, Violet understands calling out right away. 🙂
What amazes me most about Violet is that she knows that she has a community. It didn’t take much convincing. We are safe go to people that each have a name. She is not afraid to live her life to the fullest and to pull us right along with her. She usually makes the most mundane service become one of the most profound services. When our other resident kiddos show up with their parents they only add to this amazing conversation. It is clear through Violet that God has called us by name and there is nothing to fear along the way.
This is what I love about the Isaiah passage. We are claimed, called, and told not to fear. Names are important to God and to us. It is particular to each of us. We are named. Do not fear. Even though stuff happens around us…water, waves, etc….there is no reason to fear as we walk with God. There is a community that surrounds us. There is a place for us. We can exclaim what we are doing and still participate in the activity!
Today feel named and claimed. Try to push aside the fears to live into your name. Know that you are loved. You have a community and you are called by that name. | English | NL | dfffc8b6fa5f3da0cba5f6446d7b83824f8cd4e40c3c99fcdf118a88b11e7fce |
SIR: At 11 o'clock p. m. on the 25th of June last I received an order to report to Brigadier-General Stoneman at Major-General
Stoneman at Major-General Porter's headquarters. Arriving after midnight, I was directed to report to General Stoneman at his headquarters. Reporting, General Stoneman informed me that I was to accompany him on "an expedition to check Jackson's advance," having two regiments of cavalry, under Brigadier-General Emory, a light battery, and two regiments of infantry (the Seventeenth New York Volunteers and Eighteenth Massachusetts Volunteers, Colonel Barnes), and that the infantry would be under my command, as senior in rank. He ordered me to be at Old Church with the infantry as soon after daylight as possible. Getting my regiment immediately under arms, with ammunition and rations, I reached Old Church, via Cold Harbor, soon after 6 o'clock a. m. General Stoneman, with the cavalry and battery, arrived about 10 a. m. By his orders I moved the Seventeenth Regiment up to the junction of the road from Hanover and the turnpike to Richmond which crosses the Chickahominy at Mechanicsville. Here two sections of the battery were put in position, one having, one having been left at Old Church. I sent pioneers to destroy a bridge on the Hanover road.
Between 12 m. and 1 p. m. Colonel Barnes, with the Eighteenth Massachusetts, arrived by the Mechanicsville road, having taken a wrong direction, coming by the way of that village. The cavalry scouts brought frequent information of the enemy's cavalry being in our front. One report arriving with Colonel Barnes that a large force of cavalry was coming by Old Church, I sent Colonel Barnes there at once, when he took up position. The fight at Mechanicsville, the 26th of June, was distinctly heard, and as the enemy were evidently in the rear of our left, General Stoneman ordered me to fall back to the junction occupied by Colonel Barnes at Old Church, and just before dark a mile farther back on the Cold Harbor road, where we took up position for the night, having a ravine and small stream in our front, the bridge over the latter being destroyed. Toward morning a dispatch was received by General Stoneman from General Porter that " our troops had held their ground the 26th instant, but had fallen to a new line on Gaine's Mill and Cold Harbor, General Stoneman's command holding the extreme right."
The whole command was kept under arms, as they had been during the night. The battle of Gaine's Mill commenced, and we anxiously waited information. About 1 o'clock p. m. General Stoneman received an order from General Porter and one from General McClellan, directing him to fall back upon White House. The larger portion of the cavalry, under General Emory, started at once, the battery following, the Seventeenth New York flanking it on the right and the Eighteenth Massachusetts on the left of the road, followed by a rear guard of cavalry. As we started a large force of the enemy's cavalry was reported in sight of Old Church.
Our line of march was just in rear of the field of battle, the shells bursting within 800 yards of the road we were marching upon. The march was rapid and the day hot. Many men were left behind from partial sun-stroke, nearly all of whom came into camp before daylight.
We arrived at Tunstall's Station about 5 p. m. A section of the battery and four companies of the Eighteenth Massachusetts, under Major Hayes, took up position for the night at the bridge at the foot of the hill, about 1 mile below Tunstall's. Colonel Barnes with the balance | English | NL | e378919afaa6e949fdb0884aad01091de7b319a4e98c313c4a4c7b5e635604ce |
The Seven Years’ War (1756-1763) was in many ways a world war, experienced in the American colonies as the French and Indian War. The cost to the British crown was staggering, and Parliament wanted their colonies in America to pay for their share of it. The war had been fought for their benefit, after all, had it not?
Several measures were taken in the 1760’s to collect these revenues. In one 12-month period, Parliament passed the Stamp Act, the Quartering Act, and the Declaratory Act, and deputized the Royal Navy’s Sea Officers to help enforce customs laws in colonial ports.
American colonists hated these measures. They had been left to run their own affairs for decades. Many of them bristled at the heavy handed measures being taken by revenue and customs agents. Rhode Islanders attacked HMS St. John in 1764. In 1769 they burned the customs ship H.M.S. Liberty in Newport harbor. In a few short months, the “Boston Massacre” would unfold only a few miles to the north.
The customs schooner H.M.S. Gaspée sailed into Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island in early 1772, to aid with customs enforcement and collections. She was chasing the packet boat Hannah through shallow water on the 9th of June, when she ran aground in shallow water, near the town of Warwick at what is now Gaspée Point.
A number of local Sons of Liberty met that afternoon at Sabin Tavern, opposite Fenner’s Wharf, from which the daily packet ship sailed to Newport Harbor. There they formed a plan to burn the Gaspée, and spent their evening hours casting bullets in the tavern.
They rowed out to the ship at dawn the next morning. There was a brief scuffle when they boarded, in which Lieutenant William Dudingston was shot and wounded. The vessel was then looted, and burned to the waterline.
Earlier attacks on British shipping had been dealt with lightly, but the Crown was not going to ignore the destruction of one of its military vessels on station. Treason charges were prepared, planning to try the perpetrators in England, but the crown was never able to make the case. Unsurprisingly, it seems that nobody saw anything.
A few days later, a visiting minister in Boston, John Allen, used the Gaspée incident in a 2nd Baptist Church sermon. His sermon was printed seven times in four colonial cities, one of the most widely read pamphlets in Colonial British America.
The King’s “Tea Act” would lead to the Boston Tea Party the following year. The blizzard of regulations that came down in 1774, the “Intolerable Acts”, would pave the way to the Battles of Lexington & Concord and the Battle of Bunker Hill later in 1775.
The fuse to Revolution had been lit. It was not going to be put out, easily. | English | NL | 286c7adb15ceb3100664922b28584cc14455937ff0e8f5c9ca39ea22c8fa8e59 |
- Living History
On January, 29th, at the invitation of the eighth-grade students, who are beginning their learning inquires into the Solidarnosc Union and the Martial Law in Polish People's Republic, our school welcomed a speaker, one of the most respected European photojournalists Mr. Chris Niedenthal. British-born, world famous Polish photographer, Mr. Niedenthal cooperated, among others, with such magazines as Newsweek, Time, Der Spiegel, Geo and Forbes. Often his photographs found their ways onto the covers of these magazines. He also was an award winning photographer during the World Press Photo, 1987 edition. He has been documenting Polish reality for over 45 years. Numerous venues have been exhibiting his photographic work.
Mr. Niedenthal presented at ASW a selection of his photographs related to the Solidarity movement and the Martial Law in PPR, as well as instances of the normal daily life of the Poles in those times of great upheavals. Mr. Niedenthal turned out to be a skillful storyteller as well. Every photograph was accompanied by short stories that provided context details, added often with gentle humour. His presentation was attended by all of the eighth-grade students, as well as by many faculty members.
We wish Mr. Niedenthal were present in Individuals and Societies class the next following day after his presentation, to hear the conversations unfold. Ms. Tiffany Hay, the Individuals and Societies’ teacher, asked her students, “What did Martial Law look like?”
The students’ response was overwhelming. They were able to describe in great detail what they took away about Martial Law photo presentation and specifically link their ideas to evidence from Mr. Niedenthal’ images. The learners were left with a clear impression of how uncertain and restricted life was in Poland.
The students were also able to describe the importance the Catholic church played in people’ lives. All of them were interested in discussing the 10-day pilgrimage - this stood out to them. Each student had their favorite image or story, and interestingly they were taken by the political advertising.
When I asked the class how would they describe life during communist rule based on the photographs, they responded with the idea that life was hard and a little grim but that people still had fun. Their takeaways from this experience were powerful.
We are very grateful to Mr. Niedenthal for visiting our school and sharing with our students his work and memories. | English | NL | d659897f007aaaabef991add29e1d695fb16afb678b6c6098a1535bcf74709aa |
Welcome to the Princess and the Pea Group for EDS Research and Support. You may be wondering how the group got its name. If you have any form of Ehlers-Danlos you likely already know how uncomfortable sleeping can be. Most people that we have come across with EDS have a great deal of pain during what is supposed to be the most calming and peaceful time. Sleep is when our bodies heal and recuperate in preparation for the next day. With EDS, sleep can be disrupted by subluxing and dislocating joints, aches, pains and various symptoms of disorders commonly seen associated with EDS such as P.O.T.S and Chiari Malformation.
Like in the story, the skin can be so sensitive as to make even a wrinkle in a bed sheet feel like you are laying on a bed of tree branches.
Here is a portion of the story.
In the middle of the storm somebody knocked at the town gate, and the old
King himself sent to open it.
It was a princess who stood outside, but she was in a terrible state from the
rain and the storm. The water streamed out of her hair and her clothes; it ran
in at the top of her shoes and out at the heel, but she said that she was a real
‘Well we shall soon see if that is true,’ thought the old Queen, but she said
nothing. She went into the bedroom, took all the bed clothes off and laid a pea
on the bedstead: then she took twenty mattresses and piled them on top of the
pea, and then twenty feather beds on top of the mattresses. This was where the
princess was to sleep that night. In the morning they asked her how she
‘Oh terribly bad!’ said the princess. ‘I have hardly closed my eyes the
whole night! Heaven knows what was in the bed. I seemed to be lying upon some
hard thing, and my whole body is black and blue this morning. It is
They saw at once that she must be a real princess when she had felt the pea
through twenty mattresses and twenty feather beds. Nobody but a real princess
could have such a delicate skin.
The rest can be read at http://childhoodreading.com/?p=5 | English | NL | 0a7642c592b36f110d005ea578334297931977b493876e333b0ccd0e82b0fc77 |
The difference between being a drug addict and a Straight Dope addict is that I can only get an occasional fix of the Straight Dope. You make me laugh hard enough to put the pain out of my head that the ruptured disks in my back are causing me. Monday is when the Internet releases the Straight Dope; I seem to need less medication that night to relieve my pain. So my question is, is laughter truly good medicine?
Illustration by Slug Signorino
Now, James. That’s not the only difference, addictionwise. You don’t hear about guys sticking up grocery stores to support their Straight Dope habits. Also, whereas most drugs merely make the world seem like a better place, with the Straight Dope it actually is a better place. That said, will a few SD-induced belly laughs cure what ails you? Well, if anything would, it’s gotta be us. But that’s a mighty big if.
The idea that laughter is good medicine has been kicking around for ages, but it got a big boost in the 1970s from Norman Cousins, the well-known author and longtime editor of the Saturday Review. In a 1976 article in the New England Journal of Medicine entitled “Anatomy of an Illness,” later reprinted in the book Anatomy of an Illness as Perceived by the Patient, Cousins reported that he’d cured himself of a serious disease in part by getting a few good laughs every day.
It all started in 1964, when Cousins was 49 years old. On returning from a trip to the Soviet Union he started running a slight fever and felt achy. Soon he had difficulty moving his limbs and neck, and gravellike nodules appeared under his skin. Alarmed, he checked into a hospital, apparently immobilized by pain.
The doctors who examined him were unable to agree on what he had, except that it was a “serious collagen illness.” (Collagen is a component of the body’s connective tissue.) One set of experts concluded he had ankylosing spondylitis — arthritis of the spine. One doctor ventured the opinion that Cousins’s chances for a full recovery were one in 500.
Cousins decided he wasn’t going to accept that grim prognosis lying down, as it were. He guessed his illness had been brought on by the stresses of his week in the Soviet Union (hey, no argument here) and speculated that he was suffering from “adrenal exhaustion.” He stopped taking the various drugs that had been prescribed and tried to buck up his adrenal glands with a combination of vitamin C and laughter. He found that ten minutes of belly laughs from watching Candid Camera reruns would give him two hours of pain-free sleep. He moved from the hospital to a hotel and arranged for megadoses of vitamin C to be dripped into his veins each day. His condition improved, and in a few weeks he was able to stand on his own. The pain receded, and though his mobility was limited for many years he eventually returned to work and resumed an active life.
Cousins’s article and subsequent book were greeted enthusiastically. He received 3,000 letters from doctors, most of them supportive, and was asked to join the faculty of UCLA’s medical school as a lecturer. He championed holistic medicine and argued that sick people should share responsibility for their treatment. By the time he died, from a heart attack in 1990 at age 75, his views had achieved wide acceptance.
Still, a few skeptics have questioned what Cousins’s account of his illness really proved. The diagnosis of ankylosing spondylitis (a nonfatal condition, by the way) was apparently never confirmed. Even if it had been, AS sometimes goes away on its own. The fact that Cousins medicated himself with laughter and vitamin C proves nothing; he might have achieved the same result saying the rosary. Even on a casual reading his conjectures about “adrenal exhaustion” (huh?) seem ludicrous. Few doubt that an optimistic attitude can be beneficial, but suggesting that you can cure yourself through positive thoughts, as Cousins came close to doing, opens the door to faith healing and all manner of New Age foolishness.
All this is not to knock the value of a few good laughs. Why do you think I write these columns? But if I ever get stabbing chest pains, the guy I want to see is a paramedic, not Allen Funt.
Send questions to Cecil via email@example.com. | English | NL | 5e399c6515922a50093431638e4e32caa1c345fb4c1f9e17082bc1f7a44b1fde |
The MV of the title track of Jessie Chung’s all new English album, There You Are has surmounted a quarter-million views on YouTube in less than two weeks; meanwhile Jessie has flown to Australia to film the MV for her second single on the album, Drive My Heart.
The director had higher expectations this time, and things went for a turn when he made Jessie speed through a narrow passage in the mountains during one scene. Jessie took the wheel herself while the director brought his camera along and rode shotgun next to her. When Jessie asked the director how fast she should drive, the director replied surprisingly, “as fast as possible”. Upon taking her “orders”, she pedaled to the metal and began an exhilarating run through the mountain pass. The narrow pass was full of twists and turns, but nothing was going to stop the director from asking more; he required Jessie to look at the camera time after time while singing the lyrics simultaneously. As a result, Jessie came close to colliding with oncoming vehicles driving on the other side of the road many times. In one case, a car came from the opposite side as she turned her steering wheel at the last moment, barely avoiding the catastrophe. She and the director turned pale after experiencing the close-call, but the director was relentless and willing to keep trying. Under the circumstance, Jessie was forced to take up her cross and finish the scene under dangerous conditions.
Other scene required Jessie to stand and perform on a steep hillside; walking along the side of the hill was quite dangerous already, but the director asked Jessie to sing and lose herself on the edge. Jessie remained obedient, and she disregarded her own safety. While she unreservedly performed, she totally lost her balance and tumbled down the hillside. Luckily, personnel were able to take hold of her in time, and she was saved from the fate of falling further down, all the way into the ravine. Everyone was utterly shocked by the incident. The fall gave Jessie a fair amount of cuts and bruises on her extremities, but she continued to film despite the hardship.
Afterwards, shooting moved into the studio, and in order to achieve certain visual effects, the director brought in a fog machine. However, the artificial fog made the stage very slippery, and Jessie who had high heels on slipped and slammed on the ground with a loud “boom” during one of the takes. It took her quite a while to stand up after the fall, and examination revealed that her thighs and bottom were severely bruised. The director contemplated halting production, but Jessie, not wanting to delay the team, insisted to continue filming despite the pain. Her dedication and passion caused a wave of applause to rise among the personnel. Jessie indicated that although filming process was quite arduous, and progress was slow and hindered by many obstacles, she had the drive and persistence to pull herself up by her bootstraps and “finish the race” every time she thought of her fans and friends who support her. On the other hand, she’s also very eager to see the MV of <Drive My Heart> come into realization. | English | NL | ed6c3dc7bee936ae4e9c0fca822e769538d96ba8f4913748a9c2367c138f4427 |
“…Even after the Seminary was established at Gettysburg, systematic and sustained, but covert, attack upon the Symbolical Books was made. The result was that the books were not regarded with favor by many of the ministers and students, and very many did not accept the doctrine of the sacraments as taught in the Lutheran Church.
“This continued to be the state of affairs for many years. There were some that were true Lutherans despite these adverse circumstances.
“In throwing these various adventures together, I have followed as nearly as possible the actual course of my journeying from one country to another, so as to form the whole into a sort of continuous narrative, though in one case I jump from Brazil to Texas in order to bring in some relevant incidents which occurred long after the one related in the first part of the Brazilian story.
“They who declared that reason would not allow them to believe that God could once become Incarnate, saw no reason to doubt the manifold Reincarnation of Man. They who complained that they found the straight and level highway of Christianity too difficult a road for them to follow, or that there was no sure foothold therein, were content to lose themselves among the mazes of Superstition, or to flounder and stumble among the stony wastes of Unbelief. | English | NL | 0c8e8620d2a4f3a6a96b804a59b8c73764054d0e0e79aa5c8aaae629cecdd8b1 |
So, ever wondered what would a nuclear explosion in space look like? We have the answer. How do we have it? That’s because on 9th July, 1962, US detonated a nuclear weapon about 240 miles into the sky. It was named Starfish Prime and it had an explosive yield of 1.45 megatons, about 100 times the bomb that was used on Hiroshima.
The blast was part of the 5 suborbital tests that were carried out by the US during the Cold War and nuclear arms race to study the effects of nuclear weapons in outer space and high altitudes. The warheads after being detonated gave off heat and light along with high number of X and gamma rays. The effects of the blasts were felt thousands of kilometers away as well.
In fact, the effects were felt from New Zealand to Hawaii within a short period of time. Planes underwent electrical surges, lamplights were blown and a giant aurora bloomed in the sky. An electromagnetic field was generated above the earth and was bigger in size than what scientists were anticipating. This happened because of the excitement of electrons and them accelerating at surreal speeds.
YouTube Video of Nuclear Explosion | English | NL | d2fa511b49d7711ba3bd757b50ecfbfab0937c6dd318955890b933804564bec6 |
A bright classical overture by Haydn is followed by American composer Michael Torke’s Ash. Described as being like a recalcitrant Beethoven overture, it is full of vibrant colors, and was choreographed as a ballet soon after its composition.
Copland’s ballet Appalachian Spring is an iconic piece of Americana. Created for Martha Graham in 1944, the ballet won the 1945 Pulitzer Prize for Music. It has achieved enduring popularity as an orchestra suite.
While Sibelius was composing his fifth symphony, he wrote, it is as if God Almighty had thrown down pieces of a mosaic for heaven’s floor and asked me to find out what was the original pattern.” Its last movement has been called the greatest finale of all time! | English | NL | 136a53d9a0affe4e010a0444c7fc3383406bdebcee2540135b287bc50bc7a61b |
In my last post I mentioned that we had recently attended a week-long family conference through our church. One of most challenging sessions for me was on the subject of love. Of course I love my family, but do I love them?
Love says ‘no’ to what I want, so that I can say ‘yes’ to what you need. -Stephen Kendrick
A few days after that session, I was enjoying a rare moment of quiet. My oldest was upstairs playing quietly and the youngest was napping. I’d just settled in to read a for a bit when my middle son was at my side with a handful of little Lego men…
Then he started talking. “This character did such and such, and look Mom, see how I took his arms and put them on this guy. And I like this gun better so I gave it to this guy. And I put on the black cape instead of the red one…”
I wasn’t really listening. I was nodding and saying, “mm, hmm, oh I see.” But internally, I was trying to focus on my book.
Then I remembered that loving him isn’t about me. Loving him puts his needs above my wants. Loving him means giving him my undivided attention even when my ears are tired.
Each day I have an opportunity – an opportunity to show my family that they are precious to me. I encourage you to spend some time thinking about each of your children. Think about what makes them special and unique. Think about what really touches their hearts and communicates love to them. Find little ways each day to communicate your love to them in a way that speaks to them.
What about your spouse? What special thing can you do for him without expecting anything in return? How can you communicate to him that you treasure him?
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
My command is this: Love each other as I have love d you. John 15:12
Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Romans 12:10 | English | NL | 0c2ec58d3884305620fa09819bff0ad34ab6adc5b9e27aec579bf1f90c13bdfe |
I want to write too many things in the blog, and it does not curdle his any. In these times of uncertainty and of distress I would like to touch many matters, but I do not have the sufficient serenity as to structure them in a coherent speech. I shuffle several and do not decide on any, and say to myself that ojalá had the writer’s sufficient trade as to refill an entry because yes, ado, with the pure professionalism and with the domain and the apparent disinterest of which Joyce speaks to us in the Portrait of the Adolescente Artist.
The artist, as the God of the creation, remains inside, or behind, or beyond, or over his work, trasfundido, evaporated of the existence … indifferent … entrenetido in fixing the nails up.
And me there comes to the mind the great artist who was Luis Gutiérrez Soto. With him always it gives this sensation that Joyce says, of a god who contemplates how his works flow for yes same, without major existential problems.
It is not that Don Luis was not working as a titan; it is that it seems as if it was not interested for the “cultural”, “transcendent” aspect of the architecture. It was doing the works as light doughnut rings, and when we see them we cannot understand that they belonged to the same person.
What has it to see this:
or with this?
Luis Gutiérrez Soto’s life is a long chain of successes. Of young woman, while he was studying architecture, he liked the football, and, naturally, it played in Royal Madrid (not neither in subsidiary, nor in the juvenile one, nor nothing of it: in the first equipment); and, naturally, he was the maximum scorer. So much that were nicknaming Pichichi, since to the mythical forward of the Athletic who continues giving his nickname and his trophy every year to the maximum scorers of the league.
It ended his career brilliantly in 1923, with a PFC that today makes us blush, but it was what it was necessary to do. And it went out to the street, to construct, with a mental cocoa of forecast.
He wondered: “what style does it take to himself? “, and this question was repeating itself during all his life. (I would put this phrase as epitaph).
In the thirties he adopted a type of modern, racionalist architecture, but very influenced by Mendelsohn‘s expressionism, with a delicious plastic arts. (East I am used it was very much successful, and it is possible to enjoy in many Spanish cities. It seems to me to be specially good at the works of Pedro de Ispizua and of Manuel Galíndez in Bilbao).
In the Civil war it enlisted in the suitable decree, and won. The orders were accumulated. There was a nation for reconstructing, and he put to the head. The question arose then again: ” what style does it take to himself? “, and it was answered to yes same by a rare thing: Between modern and pure, between racionalist and spiritual (understanding for spiritually the feeling Catholic – Spanish). But it how does it make concrete plastically?
It chose to reconstruct the richest neighborhoods of Madrid (it is what happens when it can choose one). His Neighborhood of natal Salamanca is today riddled with his works. And that of Chamberí, and that of Argüelles…
This block of Madrid of floors of seen brick, with corners and / or cornices of limestone, and terraces, or viewing-points panzones… We go, the typical block of floors of Madrid, it is largely a his work, and an unusual quantity of them they are directly his works. (Also it did them in other cities of Spain).
This great Pichichi of the architecture (God, what golazos!) it did chalets, cinemas, discotheques, bars, churches, departments, etc, etc.
It took two versions of the Department of the Air to the general Vigón, with and without capitals of a column, and the general chose that of the capitals of a column because it was “more Spanish”, as El Escorial.
And very a few years later odd ma did the building of the High Staff Officer with a modern ma non troppo:
Constant the question was done: “what style does it take to himself? “, or, in these cases: “what style is most adapted for this client?” And the good thing is that it was dominating all, and it could do masterpieces in each of them. It seems as if it was all the same to him.
He us resembles Groucho Marx:
“These are my beginning. If he does not like them I have others”.
It did one of the best towers of housings of Madrid,
and one of the best towers of offices.
Curiously, after having done of everything, near the end of his life he said that the work of which he was feeling prouder was that of the Palace March, in Palma.
The style? What more was giving the style! What was mattering was the technical difficulty, the prowess of constructing.
Juan Daniel Fullaondo did a curious interview to him for Nueva Forma, in which Gutiérrez Soto raised a curious ethical defense of his eclecticism, saying that the architect does not have to invent forms, since it is pride and petulance, but the forms already are there all, invented and available, and that what it has to do the architect is to solve the technical, functional and thematic problems. And to choose for it the forms that better are convenient for him.
ullaondo, with his eternal cultural perspective, tried to take him to his area. Strong boy spoke to him about the Bar to say to him that this work establishes itself “in a cultural standard, that moralist comes out enough an approach so schematically”. Gutiérrez Grove answered him that the Bar Strong boy was a very successful work, but it was not admitting that they should value it as his better work, because it had made them much more complex, and in the bottom those who were saying this were demonstrating bad intention, becoming discredited his very top works. Fullaondo him insisted that it was not possible to speak only in practical terms, which in the works there are many levels, even poetical levels. And Don Luis, already enough bothered, answered him:
“I do not understand well what you want to say, with this frasecita rather searched carefully of cultural standard, I believe that the architecture is good or bad simply independently of this cultural standard about which you speak”,
and it returned to speak about “common sense”, to reduce the debate to practical and strictly professional levels, and to sing to the architect as servant of the company. After this chat, Fullaondo says:
“Está visto que no nos entendemos”.
Naturally, it was impossible that there was understood the theoretical one that was looking for a cultural transcendency and super professionally, hyperpractically, that had constructed everything, who could construct everything and in the style that was.
Many years later I asked Fullaondo him about this interview, and he said to me that, really, it had been a slightly inconvinient interview, but that good what and what big one was this architect.
We will make it like that: The great architect who did not want that his work was transcendent, or to whom it was giving many shame that were indicating to him the transcendental aspects of his work.
José Ramón Hernández Correa · Doctor Architect
Toledo · setember 2010
Nací en 1960. Arquitecto por la ETSAM, 1985. Doctor Arquitecto por la Universidad Politécnica, 1992. Soy, en el buen sentido de la palabra, bueno. Ahora estoy algo cansado, pero sigo atento y curioso. | English | NL | d3ca92fa68a8773f05d7e81572ad4f61c03eedcd0faea6c78572d8468e7ff5dd |
From: Wednesday February 27, 2019, 12:30 pm
To: Wednesday February 27, 2019, 2:00 pm
When Keith Murray moved from Scotland to Australia he had few acquaintances, but as a member of Freemasonry he knew he had little to worry about. Being a member of the organisation gave him the ability to understand all sorts of different aspects of Australian life and it also gave him Brethren he could trust, and provided him with a great deal of confidence and support to build a new career here.”
A chartered surveyor and licensed estate agent since 1986, specialising in commercial property, Keith worked in Glasgow and Edinburgh before moving to Melbourne around twenty-three years ago primarily dealing with shopping centres and retail development. He insists that he gained many valuable skills from his association with the craft: “certainly dispute resolution and public speaking but also understanding the different backgrounds of people, their culture, pressure points and positives to use in negotiations. Essentially Keith’s work is about building relationships with clients and people, and Freemasonry allowed me to relate to people better, and thus gain their trust.”
Formerly of the Lodge of Paisley St James in Scotland, Keith is currently the Grand Master of the United Grand Lodge of Victoria and is a member of both Seavic , Earl of Dunmore and Amalthea Lodges. Keith appreciates the ability to extend the benefits of Freemasonry to his wife of 27 years. They have travelled across Victoria but also internationally and have formed many friendships which they both would call life-time friendships through freemasonry.
At his installation as Grand Master, over 1200 people attended with many Jurisdictions represented including Scotland, China, India, Canada, The Bahamas, France, to name but a few.
Level 35, 25 Collins St, Melbourne VIC 3000 | English | NL | 452011773707eadaa348eb4de6b0c964d758305466cd6372bf082333cbe17e2c |
Background: Becoming a teacher
Why did I become a teacher? I think I was deeply influenced by my family, as members of my own family, as well as my parents’ family, were all teachers. I grew up in this teacher ‘genre’. At school, several of my teachers, especially Mr Danie van Schalkwyk and the then Miss Johanna Geldenhuys (now Prof at the NMMU), also played a positive role, as they often stated that I embodied all the aspects of a good teacher. So I applied in my matric year for a teaching bursary, was interviewed by an inspector of the Department of Education, and received a letter stating that the bursary had been awarded.
I worked hard during my college years and received many medals and certificates of recognition from the Port Elizabeth Teachers Training College and educational related bodies. After college I studied at the University of Port Elizabeth, which offered me a merit bursary based upon my college achievement. At the then UPE, I also excelled and received various further merit bursaries. | English | NL | 2e929935cfd4e2ce62fd64c9913c0fe6970d48cf9847db8b1b459dbd93cf44f5 |
Enjoy reading the English tale about Lady Godiva
Lady Godiva (in Old English Godgifu,meant “gift of God”; Godiva was the Latinised form) is a key figure in the history of Coventry, a city in England. The original Lady Godiva was an 11th century noblewoman married to Leofric, the powerful Earl of Mercia and Lord of Coventry. The historical Countess Godiva was known for her generosity to the church, and along with Leofric, she helped found a Benedictine monastery in Coventry.
The Legend of Lady Godiva
Once upon a time in the city of Coventry in England, there lived a lord known as Leofric, a selfish and haughty man who loved only his own possessions. Among these were his enormous mansion, his gardens, his horses and his dogs. Leofric also claimed he loved his wife, a young woman named Godiva, who was most beautiful, with flowing golden hair and a gentle nature. She was a woman easy to love, but sad to say, Leofric loved her as he loved his home and his gardens. That is, he thought of his Lady Godiva as but another possession.
In order to maintain his estate, Leofric, as was the custom in those days, taxed the peasants on his land and those in the town, for the town was part of his domain. This was a matter of concern to Lady Godiva, who cared about the plight of the peasants and the townspeople, with whom she had become friendly.
When Lady Godiva grew weary of her husband’s controlling nature, she escaped by riding upon her strong white steed through the countryside and into the town. She loved to talk with the people there, and the townspeople looked forward to her visits, for she was friendly and gentle, and enjoyed listening to their daily concerns and gossip. Sometimes she would offer rides upon her horse to the children; always she would stop to chat with shopkeepers and washerwomen.
One day Lady Godiva set off on her horse. She trotted into town and waved to the first shopkeeper she saw, but this day he did not smile or wave. “How odd,” she said. “Perhaps he has troubles at home.” She rode on, but as she saw more and more people, she noticed that everyone was sad. No one smiled or waved, and even the children looked glum.
Puzzled by this strange sadness that cloaked the town, Lady Godiva stopped to see the baker, who was a special friend of hers. “Tell me,” she said, “why is everyone in Coventry so sad today?”
The baker was surprised. “Surely you know what your husband has done,” he said. “He has doubled our taxes. Already we are struggling, and now we will be even poorer.”
When Lady Godiva heard this news, she was furious. “I’ll ride home immediately and tell my husband that he must not do this,” she said, and galloped home.
When she arrived at the mansion, she quickly dismounted and strode into her husband’s study. “Husband,” she said angrily, “I want to speak with you.”
He turned and glowered at her. “And I wish to speak to you,” he said. “You will never go into town dressed that way again. How dare you wear such shabby clothing in public! You are the wife of a lord, and you will dress accordingly from this day on.”
Lady Godiva drew herself up and glared at her husband. “I don’t care what you think of my clothing,” she said in a tone she had never before used. “And I want you to explain to me why you have doubled the people’s taxes. This is a crime!”
“How dare you speak to your husband this way,” Leofric cried. “My business is none of a lady’s business. You tend to a woman’s duty, and I shall tend to a man’s. Taxes are my business. Looking like the wife of a lord is yours.”
Lady Godiva could stand this no longer and felt her temper rising. “The people need money to eat! If you don’t lower the taxes, I will …”
Lord Leofric laughed. “You will what?” he asked. “What threat do you propose?”
Now Lady Godiva knew what would most shame her husband. She had had enough. “You shall see,” she said. She ran outside, mounted her horse, and galloped back to town. There, in the town square, she posted a notice:
“If Lord Leofric, my husband, does not lower his taxes by Saturday noon, I, Lady Godiva, promise I will ride through the streets of Coventry wearing no clothes at all!”
Within the hour news spread by word of mouth throughout the town of Lady Godiva’s challenge to her husband. And when Lord Leofric heard, he howled with laughter. “She will do no such thing,” he said. “No woman would dare to shame me this way.”
The townspeople were certain Lord Leofric would lower their taxes now. Surely he would not allow his wife to appear naked in public. And so they waited, hoping to learn any day that their taxes were to be lowered.
But the days passed and no word came. On Friday evening, the townspeople realized the lovely Lady Godiva would have to carry out her promise. Because they loved her, they wanted to do something. So that very night they gathered in the town square to decide what to do to help her.
Ten minutes before noon on Saturday, all the people of the town left the streets and entered their homes and their shops. There they pulled the curtains, drew the blinds, turned their backs to their doors and windows. When the town clock chimed 12 times, they heard the hooves of Lady Godiva’s steed on the cobblestone streets, and they knew Lady Godiva had kept her promise, that she was riding through their streets covered only by her long, golden hair.
However, one man, now known as Peeping Tom, disobeyed the instructions and couldn’t help looking out at Godiva riding through Coventry on the horse. Upon doing so, the legend goes, he was struck blind.
After finishing her naked ride, Godiva confronted her husband and demanded that he hold up his end of the bargain. True to his word, Leofric reduced the people’s debts.
People of the town promised themselves that her name would never be forgotten and that always she would be remembered as a brave and kind woman of her word. The legend of Lady Godiva inspires many people.
The statue of Lady Godiva in Coventry. The clock with Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom
Based on: www.uexpress.com | English | NL | cfee385e0c91f926e25116ef2dc4903d7838cf09cf47eea78acb2815297ed45a |
By Martha Funnell, MS, RN, CDE
THE LOOK-AHEAD STUDY
More than 5,000 people with type 2 diabetes from around the country took part in the government study, called “Look-AHEAD” (Action for Health in Diabetes). They were randomly assigned to one of two groups. One group was assigned to a very intensive lifestyle program, while the other group was assigned to a standard diabetes education and support group program. Each group received the intervention for three years and was monitored for weight and other measures of blood glucose control, heart health and fitness. At the end of 11 years, the rate of heart attacks and strokes was the same in the two groups, and the study was stopped because it was felt that the question had been answered.
What does this mean for you? Does it mean that all of your hard work has been for nothing? Well, like most things in the news, there is more to the story than meets the eye.
You might have been surprised if you saw the recent headline or heard on the news that weight loss in type 2 diabetes does not prevent heart disease. The headlines were about a large, government-sponsored study designed to find out if people with type 2 diabetes who lost a modest amount of weight would have fewer heart attacks and strokes.
THE CLEARER PICTURE
The good news from the Look-AHEAD study is that the rate of heart attacks, strokes, hospital stays and deaths from these events was lower in both groups than expected. Being more aware and being closely monitored appears to have some benefit.
However, researchers have only compared the people in the intensive intervention group with those in the education group so far. And while the intensive group, lost weight on average, it is likely that not everyone in that group lost weight. They have not yet compared people who lost weight with those who did not lose weight. It is possible those in the intensive lifestyle group who had heart attacks and strokes were those who did not lose weight. So stay tuned as the researchers more closely examine a lot of additional information.
Remember that headlines are written to entice you to read more. Going beyond the headlines to get the facts helps you to make informed decisions—especially when it comes to your health. | English | NL | e9483b5b6d4d9dd588e9abe84f0ad7145a4241ebe0408ef4bf9034527fe8201c |
In the last post, I described my new Sims Challenge that I'm currently developing. The Sims 4 Bullet Journal Challenge involves making a journal for your Sim to plan out their activities in advance, helping them achieve a well-balanced life.
Here is our test subject- Edith Walsh. We are going to be following her life and her Bullet Journal.
Here is her week one spread:
The calendar currently contains her work schedule and her meal plan. Below that we have a small habit tracker (Breakfast, Workout, Writing) and a Quality Tracker (happiness, writing, social, work, yoga/wellness, finances, environment and learning. On the other side, we have her goals, her to buy list, her to read/watch list, places she wants to visit, house projects, and a section for notes and memories. Down the bottom is a mood tracker that she will use to track her mood three times a day (Sunday morning, Sunday afternoon, Sunday evening, etc....)
Edith began her day by starting to write a story...a Children's story about a single blue shoe's epic struggle to find her sole mate. Edith had moved to San Myshuno to take a job as a writer's assistant. She hoped to someday be a published author herself. Before she began writing, she had begun setting up her office...desk, office chair, and computer. The walls were still blank and the room needed more light, but she'd fix those later.
Edith was greeted in the late morning by a welcome wagon of neighbors, Arun and Jesminder were a young couple from across the hall. It's possible that Jesminder is expecting. With them were two other neighbors, an elderly woman named Geeta and young guy named Raj.
Edith was very anxious to make friends in her new city, so she welcomed them into her home.
They stayed and chatted for quite some time.
After they had left, Edith went about reading the Lucas Dark series. It was on her to read list, and the prior owners had conveniently left it on the bookshelf!
Later in the evening, Arun came to visit again...he was bored and wanted to hang out. They hung out for awhile, and then Edith went to bed.
Bullet Journal Updates: Edith crossed a few items from her lists and updated her tracker. She decided she had better try to workout tomorrow since she didn't do so today. | English | NL | 62734b857b0bfc95040ac466e04622988aaca82a48e2295f8c93039371d618c5 |
Mention the word "pioneer," and most of use envision hardy men and sun-bonneted women, covered wagons and log cabins or sod houses. We think of them as braving hostile environments, and facing untold challenges with near-mythic grit and gumption. Our imaginations swirl with visions of horse-drawn plows and kerosene lamps and, if we're really honest, we don't really think we'd want to go back to those "good old days," because we know they were really ... terrible.
As the holidays approach, I thought I'd share a few anecdotes from pioneers that remind me that, while their lives may have been difficult, they also made time for fun.
"In the winter time, no matter how cold the weather, we would bundle up and climb into the straw-filled lumber wagon, with plenty of quilts and blankets and drive to Uncle Will's. . . He lived in a sod house and his two sisters, Laura and Lydia kept house for him. Lydia played the violin and could dance and jig with the best of them. Will and Steve and Lydia played for dances and I used to 'chord' for them on the organ some times."
"There were only ten women and forty men and we danced all night, and the men nearly danced us women to death."
" ... at a Calico Ball, the lady made a calico dress and a necktie to match it. The men were given a bunch of neckties and asked to choose one without seeing the lady whose dress it matched. In this way, original partners were selected."
Sod house homeowners lucky enough to have a wood floor would sometimes put all the furniture outside to make room for dances. Apparently it wasn't unusual for someone to play the prank wherein babies asleep on a bed were re-bundled and, in the wee hours of the morning when the dance broke up, mothers simply took up the familiar blanket (who would have thought to check to see if the baby was the right one?!) ... and at some point on the way home or the next morning discovered they had the wrong baby! The anecdote I read about this incident closed with the line, "it was two weeks before the neighbors got all the babies traded back." I could almost hear the story-teller laughing.
Friendships were forged during those days that lasted a lifetime. I love the mental image drawn by this account of how a friendship began:
"George and I precipitated an acquaintance with Dr. and Mrs. Purdum ... they lived in a dugout with a sod roof on which grew tall sunflowers and through which they thrust their stovepipe and in driving one Sunday afternoon we drove upon the roof and our pony stepped through before we knew we were on their dugout. A profound apology cemented our friendship."
Maggie Oblinger Sandon remembered, "Winter evening we would play Authors or Dominoes or Checkers. Dominoes were home-made out of an empty soda box, cut them out and do our own marking of the dots. . . Authors were our delight and it taught us so many of the old-time authors and what books they had written. . . . "
Sunday drives and calico balls ... dances no matter the weather ... Authors and Dominoes and Checkers ... and a mention that "twenty miles isn't so far to drive" all remind me that while twenty-first century life may be stressful, there's value in taking time to have a little fun, too.
As the holidays approach, let's give our families something no one else can ... good memories. | English | NL | eec84620c2787dfa56c817fb7cc0930247228fd6cde591002edc1ba7114b1a24 |
He told her he will never touch her again. She would have a romantic affair with him that would lead her to have a voluntary abortion. But Lou eventually found a long sought god in Freud. What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent?
Away from all suns? This is a woman who lived her life with extreme freedom, beyond what was common at the time; she was an icon for the free woman of the 20th century.
The best, after all, is death. Although she was of mixed, partly German origin, and spent the greater part of her adult life in Germany, she seems to embody a point of view which belongs to Eastern rather than to Western Europe, where goodness and morality are not necessarily equated.
She sought the reflection of her own Lou salome essays in the hearts of her friends. Lou remained friends with Rainier Maria Rilke, who clung to her until his death of leukemia in This section needs additional citations for verification.
Nietzsche accepted her conditions and asked Lou to come to his home in Tautenberg for the summer. He never married and died insane inapparently from syphyllis, unaware of his fame. Andreas lived and Lou, fearful he would again attempt suicide, agreed to marry him. Nietzsche said she understood his work as no one had.
Gillot, married and with children, soon fell in love with Lou and asked for her hand in marriage; she rejected him. Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist — posits the Overman as supra-human and the Eternal Recurrence as supra-historical.
Has it not become colder? Her mother and she fled to Zurich where she attended the university. As the sixth child and only girl, she was cherished by her family, so that in after life she said that her instinct led her to seek a brother in every man whom she met.
When she awoke, Gillot was kissing her passionately. Nietzsche also went a step further by asserting that this real world was not only inaccessible but also of no significance to man. This expression of the Will to Power is evidenced by a state of creative rapture.
Andreas insisted that Lou agree to an engagement. In Dawn, Nietzsche declares: She disliked parties and playing with children other than her brothers. On one such occasion, when she was still very young, she watched her mother in the water through a little window in the bathing-hut, and suddenly cried out eagerly: He became a physician, devoting his life to the sick and the poor and never married.
The young poet, fifteen years younger than her, instantly fell in love with Lou, who at first rejected him. Are we not plunging continually? After a forty-year marriage marked by illness on both sides and long periods of mutual non-communication, the two grew closer.
She was an intellectual femme fatale who captured the hearts of half the artistic and intellectual men of Europe crazy — a free spirit who eschewed all convention and lived by her instincts. Lou Andreas Salome was born in St. Petersburg to an army general and his wife.
She introduced him to patrons and other people in the arts, remaining his advisor, confidante and muse throughout his adult life. In her life and work she was first and foremost an artist, and her concern was with the individual and not with society.
It was only in later life that she realized the full implication of this fear of injuring her father; in childhood she seemed to herself to love both parents equally. She was his disciple, and her intuitive understanding of men and women was further enlarged by his discoveries concerning the psyche, but although she learned much from him, she never learned to explain away religious faith as an illusion.Essays and criticism on Lou Andreas-Salomé - Criticism.
Essays on Salome. The Salome is one of the most popular assignments among students' documents. If you are stuck with writing or missing ideas, scroll down and find inspiration in the best samples.
Salome is quite a rare and popular topic for writing an essay, but it certainly is in our database. Lou Andreas Salome died in at the age of 76 due to renal failure. Her thought combined Freudian psychoanalysis with Nietzsche’s philosophy, and her studies were based, mainly, on narcissism and female sexuality.
Some biographical notes on Lou Andreas-Salomé Essays» Why Chomsky’s Wrong to Think of Russian Influence On US Elections as Small Beer; 3:AM Asia» Essays» The Sōseki of Prague; Essays» What’s in a Name But Letters?
Embodied Books in Three; Interviews» Baggini: Melody Thinker. Lou Andreas-Salomé (born either Louise von Salom Salomé was a prolific writer, and wrote several little-known novels, plays, and essays. She authored a "Hymn to Life" that so deeply impressed Nietzsche that he was moved to set it to music.
Lou Salome, an opera in two acts Nationality: Russian. Its conclusions will strike many as naive and simplistic, and Salome has a tendency to try to psychologize Nietzsche that is It manages to be fairly comprehensive, and to give a fairly nuanced reading of Nietzsche's books, in a very short amount of space/5.Download | English | NL | c96811a4c3bb9f0f6cf00f8a323d1ac319a114436a56ccff7096ec29d4b60fd8 |
The article as it originally appeared.
VIEW PAGE IN TIMESMACHINE
November 22, 1981, Page 011031
The New York Times Archives
EVERY fall beginning hundreds of years ago, the Lenape Indians would hold a long harvest festival to say wanishi -thank you – to their Creator and lesser gods.
It was a time when Meesinghawleekum, the spirit who kept watch over all animals of the forest, visited Lenape campsites to herald the arrival of the hunting season.
According to historical references and recent interviews, the Lenape of what is now New Jersey observed a ”thanksgiving” that lasted about 10 or 12 days. However, their ceremony, which was known as gamwing, was a far cry from the holiday that is customarily associated with the Mayflower, turkey and cranberry sauce.
James Revey (Lone Bear), who heads the New Jersey Indian Office, an association of legitimately descended Lenapes – or Delaware Indians, as they also are called – explained the ceremony.
”It was a time when our ancestors sang about their visions and danced happy dances,” he said. ”It was in reference to, and in thanks for, all that the Creator had given them and a feast in which all shared many types of food.
”There were turkeys then, of course, but deer was the main dish. A deer was hunted and brought in as part of the ceremony. ”Gamwing was a happy time because people lived so far away from each other and were glad to see one another.” Mr. Revey and others said the focal point of the gamwing was the ”big house,” a high-ceilinged structure measuring about 60 by 40 feet. It was there that the sachem, or chief, lived with his family.
However, half of the house was devoted to ceremonial functions, and that is where the Lenape told of their dreams and nightmares, danced long into the night and exchanged gifts, including wampum. In those days, wampum was the polished shells of the hard clam, a species still found in New Jersey waters.
Dr. Frank Esposito, acting dean of education at Kean College in Union and a long-time student of the Lenape, said in an interview that members of the tribe inhabited the Delaware Valley, particularly just south of Trenton, as well as areas along the Arthur Kill and the Raritan, South, Navesink, Passaic, Toms and Metedeconk Rivers and near what are now Manahawkin and Tuckerton. (The Arthur Kill separates New Jersey from Staten Island.)
According to most estimates, 10,000 to 12,000 Lenape lived in New Jersey, northern Delaware, eastern Pennsylvania and southern New York around the time of contact with European settlers in the first half of the 17th century.
The Lenape were ”scattered throughout the state,” Dr. Esposito said. As he explained it, they originally occupied unfortified hamlets, generally made up of extended family units of about 100 people. ”It was not our idea of an Indian village in the West or anything like that,” Dr. Esposito said. The menu of the big feast consisted of deer, turkey and squirrel, and what Mr. Revey referred to as ”the three sisters” – squash, beans and corn. Corn was a staple of the Lenape diet and was prepared and eaten in several ways, including mush and muffins flavored with maple or birch syrup.
Other Lenape dishes included smoked oysters, clams, dried and smoked fish, walnuts and artichokes. Historians relate that prayer offered to the Creator and lesser deities was an intregal part of Lenape culture. They believed that every animal had a spirit, that they and everything in their world were interrelated and that the land was their ”Mother Earth,” a cornucopia that could never be owned and should never be abused.
The Lenape also may have been among New Jersey’s original conservationists in yet another sense. Accounts of their hunting, food preparation and tool-making show that every conceivable part of an animal was put to use. For example, certain bones of the deer were used for fish hooks, and other, larger, bones were used as spoons or spades. The skin was made into clothing and the blood was drained into a kettle in which the venison was cooked.
According to several historical references, Lenapes took from the land, forests and waters only what they needed to sustain them. Leo H. Carney | English | NL | d0ecf844ca8a2055e1ce52dfac7776546a3e4cb2e2816e7d6f8a23a7f270331b |
1940 - 1941
Walker Evans Visits Wheaton
Walker Evans, a noted photographer and recipient of several Guggenheim fellowships, makes four visits to Wheaton during 1940 and 1941 to lecture and photograph the campus.
His images are published in the fall of 1941 as “Views of Wheaton College” in an edition of 3000 copies. The booklets were sold for $0.50 and were used by the Office of Admission to publicize the College. | English | NL | ece5e9918d4a60a46549d9f4834ac1d256d6925840890b50b1192bfcf6435ec2 |
By: Danielle Wilson
I’ve been working towards regulating my ups and downs, recently. It wasn’t long ago when a mentor of mine asked me how life works and gave me a choice between three hand gestures: one with her hand going up a slope, another sliding down, and one waving up and down, up and down, like a rollercoaster. In the moment, deep down, I knew that life as an upward slope was the wrong answer, but before the thought even collected itself, I was acknowledging how I had lived my entire life, until that point, as if it was an upward climb. Life, in fact, is a rollercoaster; this never-ending stream of ups and downs that keeps us in a cycle of utter impermanence.
I was told to “be with” the rollercoaster of life, to accept that I’m involuntarily on the ride, and just sit back to watch it happen—rather than fighting every downward, upward, or sideways turn so harshly. As it was my first experience living outside the idea that I could climb and claw my way to the top—a place where, in my mind, joy was ever-present, success was heightened and attained, and worry was a thing of the past…it’s actually hilarious that I ever believed such an outlandish fairytale to be true—I clung to this advice like gospel.
Aiming to just sit with whatever stage of life I landed in, I did just that: I sat in it. If I felt happy, I was jumping, and dancing, and perspiring with joy. If I was anxious, even a little bit, forget it; I’d say to myself, “well, I’m with my anxiety today, so I guess I’m just going to be uneasy and straddling the line of physical nausea all day.” Life was either incredibly easy, or heart wrenchingly difficult. Each low seemed to dive deeper than the last, while every high hit a larger peak than the former. The rollercoaster I was trying to sit back, and ride was beginning to drive itself out of control—meanwhile, driving me (and everyone around me) completely mad. It wasn’t until I reached the lowest valley of life I’ve ever experienced—unable to get out of bed, fulfill my commitments or responsibilities, burdened with the feeling of being constantly on edge—when, amidst my inconsolable tears, a friend said to me, gently, “Danielle, as much as life is a rollercoaster, I feel like your ups and downs are just so much larger than the average person.” He was right. In my attempt to just following the ride of life, I had forgone the control that I do have in manipulating the direction of either slope. As I surrendered my own will in the matter, the highs peaked higher and lows dove lower, resulting in a push and pull of my emotions, my life, so strong that it prompted a complete breakdown of mind, body, and soul.
It was clear to me that I either needed to alter my perspective, seek professional help, or both. I geared up for the former, more cost-effective option, and decided to look at “being with” my emotions, differently. I realized that being with something meant that it was outside of me, not a part of me. Yes, I had enough awareness to recognize where my heart and headspace were at on any given day, but I was being in that mindset/emotion rather than simply being with it.
Awhile back, I was in a yoga class when the instructor advised us to take all of our mental baggage and set it beside our mats. I loved this visual. It insinuated that I didn’t have to ignore the things I was thinking or feeling, but I also didn’t have to sit in them helplessly. I could acknowledge them, set them aside, and focus my energy on the task at hand. In the beginning, I knew that my baggage was there beside me, my awareness of it resulting in a thought or glance over, for comfort almost, but what I realized was that, after some time, the thoughts and emotions I had set aside caught my attention less, and less until, eventually, they dissipated all together.
By kindly placing my mental baggage/emotional state to the side of myself in order to be with it, rather than in it, I am able to acknowledge my awareness of it without judgement or attachment, remain engaged and focused on the present, and all of my priorities and goals that come with it. Inevitably, I can exist on a fluctuating ride of life which remains fairly steady in comparison to the hills and valleys I’ve surrendered to for so long. There is a balance to merely accepting the cards that we’re dealt in life—we may not be capable of controlling which event, experience, mood, or mental state falls into our lap, but we absolutely have the choice to perceive and work with each moment in a way that either serves or hinders our highest good. We’re not as helpless as we may think, or as I once thought, and I think that thought alone can bring hope to anyone experiencing the waves of existence on an exponential scale. | English | NL | bfadd1bf5f19b9bc61222e7c02209922c36f2fb9ba05335036c90848fd91b4ae |
Title: A Curious Tale of the In-Between (Pram #1)
Author: Lauren DeStefano
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA Childrens
Release Date: September 1, 2015
Acquired Via: Around the World ARC Tours
Pram Bellamy is special—she can talk to ghosts. She doesn't have too many friends amongst the living, but that's all right. She has her books, she has her aunts, and she has her best friend, the ghostly Felix.
Then Pram meets Clarence, a boy from school who has also lost a parent and is looking for answers. Together they arrive at the door of the mysterious Lady Savant, who promises to help. But this spiritualist knows the true nature of Pram's power, and what she has planned is more terrifying than any ghost.
New York Times bestselling author Lauren DeStefano is beloved by critics and readers alike, and her middle grade debut is lyrical, evocative and not to be missed.
When I received A Curious Tale of the In-Between, I knew that I would be reading a beautifully written book. I've read DeStefano's Wither, and I follow her on Facebook, reading the informal writing that she shares there. I was not disappointed. I did find, however, that the book was not something that I would ever expect from a middle grade novel because she truly wrote it for its target audience and not the "standard".
A Curious Tale of the In-Between is dark, but I think that will appeal to preteens and younger teenagers. The book opens with Pram's mother having hung herself and doctors trying to revive Pram after suffocating in her womb. That pretty much sets the tone for the novel. Pram is able to see and speak to ghosts thereafter, and that ability came with its own issues. She's faced with her aunts who raise her thinking she's "touched" (I don't want to say crazy), strangers thinking there is something wrong with her, and others wanting to exploit her talents. And when Pram decides she wants to find her long-lost father, well, DeStefano doesn't pull very many punches of truth.
I'm not sure which decade A Curious Tale of the In-Between was set in (I didn't make a note, and I've already forgotten what I've suspected), and it was never told. However, the book is so well-written that just the implications of the settings described to me that it was set in the past. And if not, kudos to you, Ms. DeStefano, for making me think I was being taken back in time. Maybe it was just the air of very old things because Pram had this old soul, and she was already so grown up at such a young age. (Yet she is naive enough that readers can sympathize with her.)
A Curious Tale of the In-Between is a book that can be enjoyed by readers of all ages, but I do want to caution parents and teachers about the dark aspects of the novel. I personally wouldn't have any issue with my own child reading it, but not everyone is as lenient with their baby's reading material. Better yet, I think each of you should read it first to make that decision. It's worth the time.
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Book Depository | Fishpond | Indiebound
To satisfy FTC guidelines, I am disclosing that I received an advance copy of the book briefly for reviewing purposes through Around the World ARC Tours in exchange for an honest review. The book was likely provided to the tour by the publisher or author, which has in no way affected the outcome of my review. All opinions expressed are rambling, honest, and completely my own. | English | NL | fa2973f4bf0ccf138c93b8ba9bef644328c6f30bad0d138f8163acdd06075265 |
I live in a neighborhood with big houses and beautifully manicured lawns. It’s quiet here except for occasional airplanes that can be heard overhead. People in my neighborhood are friendly and I often wave to them as I pass by on my way to school, or the baseball field, or as I’m heading off to church. I rarely speak to my neighbors. I’m not really sure why. I guess it’s because I’m busy doing my thing and so are they.
As I think about the words of Jesus “love your neighbor as yourself,” I have to ask myself what these words mean to me. How can I love someone that I don’t even know or have a relationship with? Then again, who really is my neighbor?
I’m an enthusiastic gardener, and like many in Texas I cherish every shade-giving tree in our yard. We have two or three trees that are probably 50–75 years old. During a spring thunderstorm last year, I returned from an outing to find that during the storm one of my favorite trees had been completely uprooted and destroyed. I was heartsick and nearly in tears. Then to add to my sorrow, as I walked around to the back of the house to assess potential damage, I saw that two more aged trees had lost large limbs.
I remember thinking, “I knew I should have prayed over those trees.”
Silly? Maybe. God immediately reminded me of Jonah. You remember, don’t you? God told Jonah to go to Nineveh to warn the people of the coming destruction because of their wickedness and Jonah did not want to go. So he hopped on a boat headed for Tarshish instead.
Thinking he was hiding from God, Jonah settled in and fell asleep.
During a violent storm on the open water, Jonah woke up to be interrogated and then thrown overboard by the other passengers.
Jonah had a second conversation with God and this time he obeyed the command to go to Nineveh to warn the people. The people of Ninevehlistened and believed in God, humbled themselves before Him, hoping that He would relent and spare them. When God saw their deeds that they had turned from their wicked ways, He did relent concerning the calamity He had declared he would bring upon them.
Jonah’s response? Anger. He says, “I knew that you were a gracious and compassionate God, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. I knew how easily you could cancel your plans for destroying these people.” (Jonah 4:2, NLT)
Jonah did not want this enemy of Israel to be spared. So he went outside the city to sulk and wait. It was a hot day. God arranged for a plant to grow over Jonah. Soon its broad leaves spread over Jonah shading him from the sun. This eased some of Jonah’s discomfort and he was grateful for the plant. But God had a lesson for Jonah. He sent a worm that attacked the plant and it withered and died. God sent a scorching east wind and the hot sun beat down on Jonah in such a way that he was faint and desired to die. Jonah was angry again.
This is where the story gets personal. Then the Lord said, “You feel sorry for a plant, though you did nothing to put it there. And a plant is only, at best, short lived. But Nineveh has more than 120,000 people living in spiritual darkness, not to mention all the animals. Shouldn’t I feel sorry for such a great city?” (Jonah 4:10–11, NLT)
Like Jonah, God had a lesson for me too. I had to be honest with myself and with God.
My sorrow over the loss of a tree was starkly contrasted with my lack of concern for those in my sphere of influence who are living in spiritual darkness.
As a Christian, shouldn’t I have the heart of God?
“The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance.” (2 Peter 3:9, NASB)
I began to look at people differently. Is it possible that the nameless lady that I see every week at the dry cleaners is really my neighbor? What about the teenage girl who checks me out at the local grocery store? Or what about the mom on the soccer field who is in a bad marriage and at the end of her rope?
“Or do you think lightly of the riches of His kindness and tolerance and patience, not knowing that the kindness of God leads you to repentance?” (Romans 2:4, NASB)
God reminded me that a little kindness and compassion, in a world that is hurting and desperately in need of a Savior, is one way that I can love my neighbor. Caring for people is at the heart of the Gospel message.
Jesus said in Matthew 9:12, “It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick.”
The granddaddy of all trees in our backyard sits right behind our house. It is a beautiful tree that has an expansive canopy that protects our house from the western sun in the evening. We call it the “big” tree.
Recently, during another spring storm, my husband and I woke up to lightening and low booms of thunder. The wind was blowing hard.
Then we heard it, a massive cracking sound. My husband said, “There goes the big tree.”
For a moment, I was sorry. Then I was able to roll over and go back to sleep.
After all, it was only a tree.
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Please complete the form below and you will receive the next episode directly to the email address you provide. | English | NL | f4a9c63192fa46cc31fd53aac636cda7f298a178d60687d71a171da7c22b66cd |
(This story is a part of the "Wrapstuffed Tribemembers are Healed and Rejoin the Tribe" and the "Fletcher emerges from wrapstuff, and Aftermath" storylines -- see listings for related stories.)
One-Leg found Honey sitting near the Craft Trees, a place her mother had often frequented. She still wore that sour look of betrayal that she’d had on when she’d swept out from the Mother Tree like a stormcloud with a mane fresh-cut as short as Tallow ever let hers grow.
“Just this once I’ll speak for your dam. She wouldn’t want you mad at the world like this. Show yourself some mercy; howl for what’s past and move on.”
“What would you know about it?” she scoffed. “You were always happy to be left alone. Some of us aren’t like that.”
“That wasn’t always so. And besides, what moonmad torment would your life be now if I’d put up a fight for my first Recognized, eh?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Fancy the thought of calling me Father, would you?”
“Just go away! You have no idea what I’ve lost! What all those turns in that stinking cocoon cost me!” The blonde-haired elf turned away from him.
“I know rump-scootin’ well you’ve lost less than any of the sleepers who will follow, and so do you! If you must be jealous of Cloudfern, at least he’s around for you to do it face-to-face. By my reckoning, that’s something to be happy about!” One-Leg started a slow turn back toward the dens. He’d had his say, and would leave the rest to her family. “If you ever feel like celebrating something, my furs’ll be waiting for you. Bring a friend.”
One-Leg held in his hand two thin sticks, a failed arrowshaft split in half, each with a bored acorn where sharpened stone would go. One, dyed bright orange, still had the cap it had come with. The other, a raw green, was topped with a wrap of scrap silk. He’d carved in divot eyes and toned them with ash. With a twist of his fingers the puppets faced Fadestar. The raven-haired girl, sulking at the foot of the Father Tree, pretended not to notice.
Speaking in the best falsetto he could manage, One-Leg performed his little play. “Oh no! Sad-Eyes Highthing all… um… sad-eyes!’ ‘What we do?’ ‘Gurgleflap not know!’ ‘Flutterby say mix head-talk like Highthings!‘ ‘Yes is good! Preservers make thinkdo too!’ KLONK!” Pretend heads collided together hard enough to knock ‘Flutterby’s’ clean off. Girlish giggling broke out. Now it was One-Leg’s turn to look at her. “That wasn’t so hard was it? Such a pretty smile you have, lass. Your sire would be glad you remembered how.”
Fadestar lowered her head. “It’s not just Father. Silverm- Quick Fang and Pathmark were my friends. Now they’re all grown up. She has a cub to play with and he’s got mates.” Her voice trembled. “I’ll never catch up to them, not ever.”
The elder elf repaired the toy and came just close enough to hand them to his younger. “Here, share these with Rill. I think his mother would find you the best cubsitter she could ask for.”
Small, pale fingers reached out beckoningly, and One-Leg knelt down to allow them purchase on their goal.
“Your facefur… there’s so much of it!” Newt’s voice was quiet and tentative. “Farscout doesn’t have nearly this much.”
One-Leg held a low branch with his free hand to carry his weight, then rapped the end of his staff against the side of his wooden leg. “The missing weight had to go somewhere, lad.” If the boy were but a few years older, he might have made a different comment.
Not counting the cub’s welcome-Howl, it was the first time Newt had really spoken with him, really looked at him. Wide blue-pink eyes ventured to place all the things that had changed about his (much!) older acquaintance with all the things that were the same. The rush of a passing bird’s wing called an end to the boy’s scrutiny. Newt returned to his sullen observation of the shore. “I like the river. It’s changed less than the other places.”
“Aye, here at least. You’ll find there are other spots where the water has found new ways to get where it’s going.” One-Leg stood, and in doing so saw Greenweave, who was sitting on the opposite side of the boy a few wolf-paces back, lazily waiting for a catch. “It all still ends up as part of the ocean where it was always meant to be. Just with different rocks and such to help it on the way.”
The sun was low in the sky by the time One-Leg had another full load. How many times had he made this solemn journey, carrying home a collection of branches and driftwood, the final pieces of a fallen elf’s Final Howl? The shaggy-faced elf had lost count.
Already there were questions, rumors, about what had happened with Fletcher. But One-Leg had not been the only elf in the Gathering Den the previous night who’d lived to see Owl work a healer’s magic, and to see him fail. Not even Owl could have kept Fletcher in his body if he’d decided to leave it, not even when that troll-fathered snot-miner was crazy and cruel enough to force his whims upon his fellows. There was nothing Willow could have done, and nothing more that could have been asked of her.
One-Leg was at peace with Fletcher’s death, and he wished his friend well on the journey.
Longtooth trotted along beneath him, somewhat indifferent as this was his first such outing, not that he’d remember such an excursion anyway. The twine-wrapped bundle rested in the angle formed by wolf-back and elf-thighs. One-Leg scratched his bond’s ears with the hand that wasn’t holding the load steady. “Had things been just a spot different, old friend, you and I would have just met. Long ago, there was an ornery blowhard of an elf who had a powerful wound that could have put him in pile of bugspit right next to his fellow hunter, waiting for someone to come and cut him loose too. Last night, Axehand might have woken up!”
The moment those words left his lips, it struck One-Leg that if that had been the truth of things, Axehand would never have known Fletcher. The archer was born well after Axehand’s fateful accident, and Axehand would have woken up to tales of an elf he had never met. Fletcher would be unwrapped after, for his was a greater wound, but the younger elf would end up just as dead. And come the final Howl for one of his beloved daughter’s mates, Axehand’s furless mouth would have nothing at all to say.
A light squeeze from his knees asked his wolf-friend to slow down so he could think. Many were the times One-Leg had spent soaked in wine and good company, counting the names of the elves that had come and gone while the sleepers waited. But he had never before sought the names of those he himself might never have known. And for the life of him, Fletcher’s was the one and only name on that list. If that wasn’t good news, One-Leg didn’t know what was.
But once started, his mind kept searching, and it found a realization that chilled him and emboldened him all at once. Had Axehand gone into that silken slumber, Notch – his very own flesh and blood!-- would never have been born. And maybe, just maybe, neither would Otter. Honey and Fadestar, who would surely have been released before him, would be strangers to his eyes and nose and ears. As would their rescuer, Willow. So too Greenweave and Evervale, Whispersilk and Nightstorm. Crackle and Rill. Windsong. Beetle. Quick Fang. Foxtail! Dreamflight! Pathmark! Longshot! Goldspice!! Chicory!! Rainpace!! Their names and faces flooded into his to mind, and filled his heart, in no particular order, asking nothing more but that he know them.
And know and love them One-Leg did! He had hunted with some, fished with others, rolled in the furs with many, lifted all upon his broad shoulders for a higher look at the world they’d been born into. He’d wagered and joked and feasted with them. He’d helped them through their trials, and they his. No strangers by far, they were his kin and friends one and all!
Of what value was a rotten bit of meat worth compared to all that?
“Move along, you lazy pup!” he bellowed with a mental command that sent Longtooth into a sprint. “I aim to get a good look at my tribe before the sun comes down!” | English | NL | 5aacdb9c629e0b1ff89c64a288b35f970634aa4b9ba1512a0078a3a62def3b91 |
Lucia and The Luminescent Ladies of Fatima
By Terra Rae of “Team Earth”
This wondrous story of ten-year-old Lucia and the Lady (Ladies) of Fatima is told through a past-life regression with Anna, who is an aspect of Lucia in the present day.
Anna brought forth Lucia and re-experienced the real story of what happened on the hill near the town of Fatima, Portugal in 1917. The six recorded visits of what the church called “apparitions” of The Lady, were from May through October, precisely at noon, on the thirteenth of each month. This story inspires women to take back their power in many ways. It is so timely and relevant for today’s world. I asked Yeshua (Jesus) and the Marys if I could finally reveal this story, and they gave me their blessing with great excitement, stating, “The time is now!”
How This Came About
Three of us, of “Team Earth,” will Scan, Track and Clear a client as a team. Sometimes an energy comes right in, from another being of Light who has something to share, bringing more depth and clarity to what is being revealed.
Frequently, it is an aspect of the client, from a past-life. Once in a while it is an aspect from an overlapped life – meaning they can be living two different lives, which is the case in this story. We discern the energy of the beings and connect with our hearts.
We had already been working with Anna for several long, intricate sessions of great magnitude. She has been a big player of the Light throughout many lifetimes. On this day, Aurora of “Team Earth” mentioned another presence in the room, and I soon felt it as well. Anna called to this being, and she could see a young girl with dark hair, wearing dated and worn clothes. Aurora thought it was the girl from Fatima in Portugal, and Crysta had the Stellar Skulls confirm that it indeed was. The girl asked if she could stay, and said her name was Lucia. I asked if Lucia was an aspect of Anna.
“Oh, yes I am,” she replied.
She came in and out quite often, yet stayed quietly, observing. I asked Anna if I could do a regression on her at another time, so she could see herself in that lifetime. We could all feel that Lucia had something to share.
“Absolutely, since I don’t really know a lot about the story, except what the Spanish family I married into quite young, had shared with me. That was a while back. I’d be glad to help in any way,” was Anna’s reply.
After we did two long regressions, I decided to have the Crystalline Skulls answer a few questions about Lucia’s experience. The Crystalline Stellar Skulls’s (CSS) response is in bold.
After Anna’s master glands were re-ignited from our clearing work, she was able to access this life pretty easily, and she was there in a blink. She described the area near Fatima in detail, and what it was like to herd sheep on the hillsides. She loved the quiet and being alone. Her younger cousins would sometimes come to herd sheep with her.
Visits in the Grass
Lucia: The Lady would come to visit me around the hill in the tall grass. I could feel her presence first, and then this flash of blue light would happen in front of me, and then I could see her. We would tell each other different things. This was before she showed up on top of the hill, on May 13, 1917.
TR: Did your cousins see her and talk to her?
Lucia: Oh no! The Lady only came when I was alone.
TR: What is she wearing and what color is her hair?
Lucia: She is wearing a long blue dress. It has long sleeves, a high neck and a blue head scarf down to her shoulders. He dress is loose, and she really glows. She has light brown hair. She smiles a lot and makes me feel relaxed and very happy. I feel like I have known her forever.
TR: Did she give you her name?
Lucia: At different times I heard Miriam, Anna, Mary, Magdalene, Mother Mary… hmm!
(CSS: She had a few people come to her, and oddly enough, sometimes it was Mary, and there were other helpers of Mary. The group of Marys all wanted to participate. Often, Mary herself — yet again, not always. In other words, this was also Lucia’s exposure to different facets of the Mary Energy.) | English | NL | 9c235f289710a40bfef49dcee34bd7500eb68d8ef81d809e76b40355b9da1b1c |
By Damon Chua
They said the chalet was haunted. But that wasn't what bothered me. It was the narrow stretch of beach that formed a simple crescent between where we were and the nearest mangrove tree. As I ensconced myself onto the warm, prickly sand, trying to read, all I can think about was how Jackson died.
It must have been the same beach. But it could have been another sandy strip altogether. After all, I've not been back to Berdua Island all this time. I thought I would never return. But Fern, my constant companion, had other plans. We were eating chicken rice in Telok Blangah when she turned to me and said: "Let's go snorkeling," and I said: "Sure". Then she mentioned Berdua Island. I froze. That place. That dreaded place.
Jackson and I grew up near where Bishan MRT stands today. In those days the surrounding area was mostly farmland abutted here and there by outcrops of tertiary jungle. A small Hakka-speaking village laid just beyond where today's Jalan Pemimpin comes to a dead end. This was home to Jackson and I. We would roam the countryside chasing monkeys that came out to forage from Lower Peirce reservoir, and we would trek along the banks of Upper Kallang River as far as Potong Pasir before turning back. This sliver of rural Singapore was our universe. We didn't know any better.
It came to be known that Jackson and I would compete against each other whenever we had the chance. Jackson might have been the faster sprinter, but I was certainly the better swimmer, as our occasional visit to the Queenstown Pool proved. Standing by the shallow end in his imitation Speedos, he would dip his toe into the tepid water before jumping in. Meanwhile I would be happily doing the backstroke, chortling to myself as he practiced underwater breathing beneath the diving boards.
But Jackson was never cowered by my successes, or at least, he never showed it. "One day," he would say, "I will board an alien spacecraft and fly away to a world where I will be King. You'll see." To me, Jackson was always the dreamer, always talking about the impossible.
Fern has a question about Romania. "What is its capital?" she asks, tilting her head. As is typical of Fern, this query comes out of nowhere. "I'm not sure," I say, not paying her attention. Then a thought strikes: "Isn't it Budapest?" "No, that's the capital of Hungary, silly." She is right of course. Later, still with no answer, Fern frets about the fact that we have no internet access from the chalet. I begin to think about going home.
Jackson and I went to the same primary school, and found ourselves again as classmates in secondary school. Some people thought we were brothers as we spent all our time together. On my part, I worried that I would never rid myself of him. Then, one day, while coming out of Capitol Theatre, we chanced into a girl eating a curry puff. For some reason she came up to me and asked for a tissue paper. I didn't have one, but we started chatting. She said her name was Poh Lee.
Poh Lee was only fifteen then, a year younger than Jackson and I. But she was mature beyond her years, and far more worldly. She would casually mention that her Uncle was traveling to Macau, or that her parents liked the superior shark's fin soup at Majestic Restaurant. My own family had never been to the famed seafood outlet, let alone leave for such an exotic locale as Macau, so I was suitably impressed.
But Jackson's response was different. "Who wants to go to Macau anyway?" he had chimed in, nonchalant. I could sense even then there was a strange friction between them, a friction that would in time lend itself to an awkward, ambivalent frisson. In fact, the first thing Jackson ever said to Poh Lee was that he didn't like her hair, and she had replied curtly, "You know nothing!" That was my recollection of what transpired. But maybe the whole exchange never happened at all, for Poh Lee always swore that the first words she heard out of Jackson's mouth was that he wanted to go eat kueh tutu.
Out of nowhere, a Malay boy appears, bearing a small rattan basket full of local fruits. He approaches and tries to sell me some brownish rambutans. I ask if he has bottled water and he says he will come back in fifteen minutes. Then I look up, surveying the surf, looking for Fern. I cannot see her, and turn my attention back to my novel.
The Malay boy wakes me up. Judging by the light it is immediately clear that more than fifteen minutes have passed. I pay for the water and the Malay boy goes away. All at once I begin to worry about Fern. Then I hear someone playing music in the chalet. Somewhat relieved, I stand up, clearing sand from my body. I make my way back.
Poh Lee, Jackson and I would take the No. 73 bus to East Coast. There, we would buy grilled cuttlefish on sticks and eat them under the casuarina trees. Once, when we felt very rich, we had pooled our pocket money together to buy a dragon-shaped kite. It was the best time we ever had. When the kite was high in the sky, I thought this was how happy people lived. The winds were blowing in our faces and we had no other thoughts than to be together. Later, the kite somehow broke loose and flew away. We ran after it for several long seconds but quickly lost track of it against the glare of the sun. It was the first time I saw Poh Lee cry.
One day, Jackson came up to us and said he was going to visit his second aunt in Kuantan. I asked, "Where's Kuantan?" and Poh Lee laughed at me. "Mountain turtle," she remarked snidely in Hokkien. Jackson quickly joined in the laughter, and I remembered Poh Lee placing her left arm around him in one smooth gesture. Somehow that mark of intimacy was enough to create an understanding that she would go with him, and that I had to ask if I wanted to tag along. I didn't, at least initially, and stewed for a few days before that fateful conversation outside Odeon.
Standing in front of the poster of a Japanese movie, I had asked, "Can I come?" It sounded weak and desperate, and I remembered Poh Lee giving Jackson a sidelong glance. He didn't say anything for a while. Then, as I started to walk away, Poh Lee called after me, "Will you buy us ice cream?" And the matter was settled. Of course, I had to pay for my way. As for Poh Lee, she said she would borrow money from her elder brother who worked as a salesman. But from my memory of how things turned out, it was Jackson who lent her the money. He never had the opportunity to ask for it back.
Just before entering the chalet I stop in front of the door, thinking of Fern. I retrace the series of events that have led me to where I am. Fern – beautiful, headstrong Fern. Is she expecting me to propose to her this weekend? Is that why she insisted on coming here? I think for a while as I listen to Michael Bublé crooning away in the background.
We sit down to a simple dinner. She says very little, apart from remarking about the wallpaper and the fact that she forgot to bring sweetener for her coffee. Suddenly all I can think about is Poh Lee – Poh Lee dashing about in the rain trying to gather her mother's hanging laundry; Poh Lee singing a Teresa Teng song while eating a Chupa Chup; Poh Lee scratching her blotchy calves after being bitten by mosquitoes.
It was Jackson who first discovered the cave by the small Malay village. We had traveled to Berdua from his aunt's home on the mainland after finding out about the free ferry service. In those days, Berdua Island had no schools, and all the students had to make their way to Kuantan for classes. The result was the boat service, organized by the islanders, which also doubled as a water taxi for tourists. We thought we were the first people ever to find the cave. But soon we found remnants of a previous bonfire – discarded chicken bones, charred banana leaves and a dozen empty coconut husks. We decided to set up camp there.
I have an image of that beautiful day by the beach. It is that of the setting sun reflecting off the water as the waves ran up the sand and brushed our feet. The three of us had taken in too much sun and were huddling together under a large piece of driftwood half way up the beach when Poh Lee started to recite Buddhist mantras at the top of her voice. I began to play with a tiny crab that had appeared from under the sand, while Jackson, taciturn as ever, would only sulk.
In fact, I ran into Poh Lee about a year ago, in a bank along Selegie Road. I was surprised that I could still recognize her. But the recognition wasn't mutual, and she walked past me with someone who appeared to be her colleague. Poh Lee was dressed in a dark navy jacket with matching skirt, talking with some conviction about property prices. I thought of approaching her but hesitated for several seconds. That was long enough for her to slip out of the bank. When I started running after her, she was already halfway across the road. Then the lights turned red. I have not seen her since.
Fern and I had sex once, in the middle of the day, when I took time off from work to baby-sit my contractor who was repairing tiles in my bathroom. But he cancelled at the last minute, and I called Fern to come round. As a freelance graphic designer, Fern had great flexibility in her day-to-day activity. At that time she was in the middle of creating a website for a local childcare group. It was something she didn't care for and was more than happy to play truant. Later, after we had both showered, Fern confessed to having a craving for chocolate éclairs, and demanded that we drove to her favorite bakery to get some. In the car, I had looked over to her and thought it would not be difficult to fall in love.
Jackson and Poh Lee had an argument. I didn't know how it began, but it quickly escalated into a shouting match and I had to excuse myself. Later, when I returned to the cave, I saw the two disappearing in different directions – Jackson towards the mangrove swamp, and Poh Lee to where a new beachfront motel was being built. I stayed near camp, gathering twigs and dried palm leaves for a bonfire that never happened. Eventually Poh Lee returned. But there was no sign of Jackson. When midnight approached, we weighed the option of seeking help versus going to bed. We decided to go to bed.
When they fished Jackson's body out of the sea, he had already been dead for a while. His death was quickly ruled an accidental drowning by the kampong police and no further questions were asked. When the discovery first happened, Poh Lee and I were waiting for the ferry to take us back to the mainland, to get help. Instead, we went back to the beach to identify the body. The bloated form that greeted us didn't look like Jackson at all. In fact, it reminded me of some human-jellyfish hybrid, a wrinkled thing that happened to be stranded at low tide. Poh Lee, shocked, never said a word.
Later, on the boat back to Kuantan, I discovered a small notebook among Jackson's belongings. I quietly slipped the article into my bag when no one was looking. Then Poh Lee turned to me and said: "It was about you. It's always about you," as if the explanation meant something. I looked away, and was glad that the chugging sounds of the ferry filled the growing silence.
There was a time when I had imagined what my life would have been like with Poh Lee – how we would live in an upscale condo with our two kids; how Jackson would be godfather to our son. I would fill my head with details of the weekends we would spend together. Perhaps all of us would even have gone back to Berdua Island.
Fern starts to worry about a design project she has with an Australian consulting firm. It is the last day of our trip, and it has begun to drizzle. All afternoon long I have been expecting the little Malay boy to appear, perhaps with offerings of watermelon or mangosteen. But he is nowhere to be seen, and all I can do is to wait out on the covered verandah and stare quietly into the choppy surf. Later, after Fern has washed her hair, we sit down to another meal of microwaved pasta. I remark on the sweet smell of her shampoo, and she smiles briefly. Then she takes another diet coke from the fridge.
It didn't surprise me that Jackson was secretly in love with Poh Lee. His notebook provided ample evidence of that. There were childish, hand-drawn pictures of a boy and a girl holding hands, accompanied by sketches of a big, happy family. But the renderings had singularly failed to capture Poh Lee's unique smile. There was even a little poem, not unlike a love sonnet, that triggered a little explosion of fury within me. Later, after we had returned home, I made sure to throw the notebook out into the trash. Poh Lee never knew it existed.
Jackson's funeral, a closed casket affair, was held at one of the numerous funeral homes in Paya Lebar. My clearest memory of it was sitting at one of the larger round tables, one that had peanut shells piled high on one side. Next to that was a tray full of lukewarm packets of chrysanthemum tea. I took a packet and started sipping. I didn't stop sipping even when the Taoist monks stood up to commence the death rites.
After dinner, Fern and I sit down to watch TV. At some point, I move near and try to kiss her. But she nudges away, not unfriendly, perhaps just a little bored. At that moment the fridge thermostat chooses to kick noisily to life, rattling everything around it. It sends a jolt down my spine, and I begin to think that maybe the chalet is haunted after all, that there is a resident ghost, looking at everything from its quiet spot in the corner. But the feeling passes, and Fern starts to yawn loudly. I shrug, turn away and continue to watch a rerun of The Golden Girls.
Later that night, I have a dream. I dream that I am deep underwater, with Fern snorkeling way above me. It is as if I am scuba diving, except I can breathe normally without aqualungs. I look around, stopping to admire a shoal of colorful parrotfish, squinting to see if I can spot bottlenose dolphins.
Suddenly, a large shadow appears. I look up and realize that it is a giant turtle, swimming by with an ageless grace. For some reason, I call out, "Jackson," and try to touch it. But it quickly glides away, disappearing behind some strange looking kelp. It is then, for a split second, that the kelp becomes a bizarre conglomeration of wavy eel-like creatures, and the ocean an alien planet, and I am looking through the crack of this world into another that is infinitely stranger. This is the place Jackson would have gone if he had boarded a spaceship, where he would be King.
Seconds later, the turtle makes another approach. But this time it has been transformed into a huge shark. It bears its teeth, ready to strike. I wake, shaken, and for several seconds cannot tell where I am.
I look at Fern's sleeping form, and marvel anew at how her deep, involuntary breathing always manages to calm me down. Quietly, I creep out of the bed and make my way down to the sand. The sun is rising, and all at once Berdua feels like the island paradise it is meant to be.
I had come out of the cave, before Poh Lee returned, before all the bad things happened. For I had a sudden intuition that I could find Jackson. So I headed for the mangroves, and after about ten minutes of walking along the seafront, came across a familiar figure just beyond a slim crescent of a beach. It was him, slowly making his way into the surf, step by step, deeper and deeper, as if he was practicing walking. But he never stopped, even when the waves started lapping at his chest. Eventually I turned away, pretending that nothing had happened. Perhaps he saw us stealing a kiss in the darkness of the cave. Perhaps it was an accident after all.
In my mind's eyes, I can still see the three of us chasing that wayward kite. I can see Poh Lee wrinkling her nose as she ate her curry puff, and Jackson looking at her with an enigmatic expression on his face. Then all I see is Jackson's bloated carcass on the beach. Or maybe that stranded thing is really me, on another beach, marooned by high tide and unable to float back out to sea.
Later, when the sun is higher, I lean against a coconut tree and begin to hum a tune. The tune jumps key and morphs into a Teresa Teng song. I continue to hum for a long time.QLRS Vol. 7 No. 4 Oct 2008 | English | NL | ce778a2bcc48f9fd1845ce6648e76d657fb2e08d4bda93526be14051ea53bc52 |
The first car generated for the masses in the US was the three-horsepower, curved-dash Oldsmobile; 425 of them were sold in 1901 as well as 5,000 in 1904– this design is still treasured by enthusiasts. The company thrived, and also it was kept in mind by others, and even, from 1904 to 1908, 241 automobile-manufacturing firms entered company in the United States. Among these was the Ford Motor Company which was arranged in June 1903, and offered its very first vehicle on the adhering to July 23. The business produced 1,700 cars throughout its very first complete year of business. Henry Ford generated the Design T to be an economical vehicle for the typical American. By 1920 Ford marketed over a million vehicles.
At the start of the century the auto entered the transport market as a plaything for the rich. Nonetheless, it ended up being significantly preferred among the general population since it offered tourists the freedom to travel when they wished to and even where they wanted. As a result, in North America and even Europe the auto came to be more affordable and so much more available to the middle class. This was facilitated by Henry Ford that did 2 important points. Initially he valued his auto to be as cost effective as feasible and 2nd, he paid his workers enough to be able to purchase the automobiles they were making. This aided press earnings and also vehicle sales upward. The ease of the car released individuals from the need to live near rail lines or stations; they could possibly select areas nearly throughout a city area, as long as roads were offered to connect them to various other areas. Several states in the US established electric motor energy tax obligations that were utilized just to construct as well as preserve motorways assisting the auto freeway system come to be self-supporting.
Appeal of the auto has consistently relocated with the state of the economic climate, expanding during the boom duration after World war and also dropping quickly throughout the Great Anxiety, when unemployment was high. The second world war saw a huge rise in public transportation because employment was high and even autos were limited. The rapid growth of auto owners after World War II, specifically in the United States and also Western Europe showed the population’s support to autos. During the war, car motors, gas, as well as tires remained in short supply. There was an unsatisfied demand when the war ended and lots of manufacturing ability as factories shut off the battle device. Many people had conserved money since there was little to get, past requirements, in the war years. Workers relied heavily on mass transport throughout the battle and longed for the flexibility of the vehicle. | English | NL | 918b87e55862f646957a5ce3446c7425e6f23dc977b3e9457b2aa1c796e3a650 |
There’s a picture in my mind. It’s a brown, portrait photograph, in pride of place in the twilit cottage room. It is of a soldier killed in the 1914-1918 war. Formal pictures like these were a familiar sight in my childhood. I often wonder whether the pictures were taken as a gallant precaution – in the knowledge and controlled dread that one day there would very likely be a need for such a memorial.
Another familiar sight was highly polished, brass shell cases. The rooms which housed them were usually cold, for they were often the best rooms, the ‘front room’, never used except for funeral gatherings and similar serious matters. These rooms were not unloved. They were immaculate but they were empty.
And the chill fabric of their furnishings had a faint smell of age and damp. Often there would be a shining, inlaid, upright piano, its lid down, its candlesticks empty, the instrument long silent.
The man in the photograph with his proud bearing and military moustache was a great uncle. I had never met his widow, who was my grandfather’s sister, but we were visiting this Warwickshire village for a family wedding, more than 60 years ago.
A coal mine provided the main employment there but my great aunt’s cottage was close to some woods.
I found myself, in my imagination, walking in them again, this afternoon, after I went out to post a letter. Young brambles were sprouting in the hedge and I remembered I had a ‘Farmers’ Weekly’ recipe for bramble tip wine (as well as many other country brews).
For no reason I can trace I then saw, in my mind’s eye, those Springtime woods near my great aunt’s house. They were carpeted not with brambles but windflowers (wood anemones). I clearly remember wandering among them: their faint, fresh scent.
And then I was back in the cottage, wondering at the large picture of the dead soldier.
When I returned from the pillar box I got out my grandfather’s medals: the 1914-1915 star and all the others he earned in four years and more in France. In a separate box was his Defence Medal from the 1939-45 war. The ribbon was never attached to the medal. He can’t have got round to wearing it.
He died in 1971 at the age of 88. All her life my grandmother had dreaded the sight of a telegraph boy in the road. | English | NL | f2ebb50d9f0fd6a6d64d17b923f395930204d9aba10b282931fe9f7b20da30f7 |
The Mayer Farm Equipment LLC that we are known as today has a rich and long history in the farm machinery business. It was started by our father, Al Mayer, back in 1948 as a used equipment dealer while he was still in high school. In the late 1950’s and early 1960’s he started as a new dealer carrying Allis Chalmers, New Holland and New Idea along with his used business. During this time our family lived behind the dealership and as a result grew up at the business. Dad sold the new part of his business to a good customer in the mid-60’s. He then moved his family to Fayette County to farm and continued in the used machinery business. His used business then began to grow. By the 1970’s he was back into the used equipment business full time. | English | NL | 92c71a9953ed2ce397f8c1d40c7ffc7c2cea083a47da2300f6487bfc4c9205fb |
Recently I went to be with the Lord; immediately, He and I started dancing, we were spinning around and around and around. I was looking at the ceiling of a beautiful ballroom, but I was getting dizzy from all the going around and around; sick from the monotony of it.
Then the next thing I saw was Him picking me up, and laying me on a bed like this one. It reminded me of a Princess’ bed, it was so beautiful and fancy.
I had on a long, simple, elegant white gown, and I was just laying there. My hands folded on my stomach. I had the thought, I am so very still, I look like I am dead.
The sun was spilling in through an open window, butterflies and birds were flying in and out. It seemed as though I was in a fairytale. I was just watching them, being very still, feeling like I should be doing something, so restless in my resting. I wanted to create something in my imagination, to force the vision to go somewhere, so I tried, but the images would not stay so I knew it was not His will.
So finally I asked God, “Okay, what are you trying to teach me? What does this mean?”
And He said, “It is okay to rest sometimes, to just relax and be still; to watch the butterflies and the birds.
Martha was busy and worried about so much, but Mary chose to just sit at my feet, and it was the better thing.”
The next day I was with the Lord, having a very special time with him when I asked about my husband. I have never really been married, and I just turned 50, so it’s something that I wonder about often. I wonder if I will ever have someone to share my life with. Sometimes I lose hope and think it is just one more thing I have to die to, but, this day, I asked Him “will I ever get married, Lord? He said. “Yes, you are getting married and he is coming for you soon.” There was a quiet confidence in the words He’d spoken to me.
Two Days later I saw a butterfly on my bush.
I stopped and remembered what God had said to me about being still and watching the butterflies. This particular one, The Eastern swallowtail, is the one God used to get me to start painting for Him. I had painted for a Women’s group the day before and it was an amazing time of ministry. As I sat there, watching, in my heart I was thanking God for how far I have come from the early days when I first spread my wings, and began to “fly”. I grabbed my camera to capture it, when all of sudden another butterfly appeared and the two of them began to dance together in flight.
It was so beautiful to see them in courtship, mid air. They were so caught up in each other as they flew all around one another, and then slowly off together into the trees.
I remembered what Jesus had said to me, It is ok sometimes to just be still and watch the butterflies…and yes, he is coming for you soon. | English | NL | 72fcd1c26d80b1514005a9ab2b93d8bdf665cbc185784a096ddcb7e6c26c959c |
Meditation on Acts 11:1-18
May 19, 2019
The Presbyterian Church, Coshocton
11 Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. 2 So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, 3 saying, “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” 4 Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, 5 “I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. 6 As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. 7 I also heard a voice saying to me, ‘Get up, Peter; kill and eat.’ 8 But I replied, ‘By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.’ 9 But a second time the voice answered from heaven, ‘What God has made clean, you must not call profane.’ 10 This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven. 11 At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. 12 The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man’s house. 13 He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; 14 he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.’ 15 And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. 16 And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ 17 If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” 18 When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.”
A group of campers came to our church for a special tour and organ concert with Alice Hoover on Thursday. Alice and I welcomed about 25 members of the Good Sam Club in our chapel.
After I introduced myself, I asked the group, “Are you church-going folks?”
They nodded. One said that on Sunday, today, they would be gathering for an outdoor worship service at the fairgrounds. Immediately, I felt a connection with them. I shared that before I was a pastor, I was a summer chaplain at Codorus State Park in Hanover, Pennsylvania. I led worship in an outdoor amphitheater.
After the tour and Alice’s concert, I couldn’t stop thinking about my congregation at the beautiful park, with a manmade lake and acres of campground sites thick with tall trees.
Everyone was welcomed to worship, just as they were. Flip flops, tank tops, pajamas or shorts, sunglasses and sunhats or rain jackets, when it poured. Presbyterians and Methodists. Lutherans and UCC. Mennonites and Episcopalians. Catholics and Jews.
Volunteers from local churches came to play hymns on guitar, autoharp, banjo and fiddle. Other volunteers taught children’s Sunday school on picnic tables. Others brought donut holes and juice for our fellowship hour.
One gentleman, a member of the Church of the Brethren, smiled and shook my hand after I preached on Genesis. “I didn’t know Presbyterians read the Bible,” he said.
The hardest part wasn’t leading worship or preaching. It was on Fridays when James, my middle-school-aged son, and I would walk around more than 100 campsites, passing out flyers and inviting people to church. Now, if you are wondering how I got my middle-school-aged son to do this with me, I’ll tell you. I paid him $20 a weekend! He also helped with children’s activities on Saturday mornings, set up and took down for me on Sundays, and operated the sound.
It isn’t that I don’t want to talk about my faith! I do! What’s uncomfortable is when people get that kind of frozen look as they see you approaching with your flyers. “Here comes the religious fanatic,” some of them are thinking. “Bothering us on vacation. I wonder if she’s a Jehovah’s Witness?”
At first, James used to wait for me on the campground road while I walked up the driveways to the RV’s, knocked on doors or called out hello. I think he was pretending that he wasn’t with me! He said, “What if someone I know sees me?”
As the summer went on and he saw how happy people were at worship and that many didn’t turn us away or turn a hose on us, his attitude started to change. People welcomed us to their campsites. They wanted to talk about their home churches. Many were grateful we had a church service at the park. Some shared their problems and asked for prayer.
One Friday night, James and I had been walking around for a couple of hours, and I was tired and hungry, and it was getting dark. We still had a 45-minute drive home. We approached a large group that had pulled up on Harleys and wore black leather fringe jackets or vests and helmets with spikes.
James said, “Mom, aren’t you going to invite them to church?” He added, “They need Jesus, too.”
I could think of a thousand reasons why I didn’t need to go to their campsites, but really, I was just scared. James said, “C’mon.”
So we walked up together and I timidly held out flyers and told them about our church service. They grunted in response. I didn’t expect to see them again.
On Sunday, our log pews were filled with our usual flip flop, sunglass clad campers—and a group of bikers. One played guitar and sang, “Amazing Grace.” The back of their jackets said, Christian Motorcyclists Association!
While no follower of Christ today would question that Jesus welcomes all people to receive his gift of forgiveness and reconciliation with God, it wasn’t a common assumption among the first believers that salvation is open to all. New believers were baptized with water in Jesus’ name and filled with the Holy Spirit. They also continued to live as Jews, maintaining ritual purity, following the dietary laws, and circumcising male infants. Jesus himself says in Matthew 5:18 that he has not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it. “For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished.”
So what is God doing now in Acts? It’s a strange, new world for the apostles! In the 10th chapter, we learn about a centurion of the Italian Cohort in Caesarea, a Gentile named Cornelius, a devout man who fears God with all his household. He gives alms generously and prays to God constantly. He sees a vision of an angel telling him to send men to Joppa and bring back a man called Peter to preach to his household. Peter sees a vision, too, and returns with the men, telling Cornelius and his household, “You yourselves know it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or visit a Gentile; but God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean.”
He shares with them in Acts 10:34 about the God who “shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” While he is speaking, the Holy Spirit falls upon everyone and he is “astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit has been poured out “even on the Gentiles.”
“Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people,” he asks, “who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” He orders them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ and he stays a few days with them.
Word gets out to the Jewish Christians in Jerusalem, pious guardians of tradition, in our reading in Acts 11. They ask Peter, “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” Now, before you think they sound like the Pharisees complaining about Jesus eating and drinking with sinners, remember that Peter also resisted going to the Gentiles and eating foods not permitted by the dietary laws. With the vision of the sheet of four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles and birds, and the voice saying, “Get up, Peter; kill and eat,” Peter responds, “By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.” The voice must tell him 3 times before he gets the message, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”
For Peter and the other circumcised Jewish Christians who have been taught since birth that Gentiles are unclean, this is a strange new way of life for the faithful. A strange new world.
Friends, this may feel like a strange new life for the faithful today as the Spirit of God continues to lead Christ’s followers forward in new, sometimes unexpected directions.
That first summer at Codorus State Park, when I was leading worship in an outdoor amphitheater with my flip-flop-clad flock, I could not have imagined that God would lead me here to love and serve this community of faith. But I have been willing to take risks and be open to change, for Christ’s sake. And the Lord has always brought me helpers—family, friends, mentors, teachers—so that I would be able to do what God was leading me to do. I could never have worked at the park those three summers without my son, James. And I would not have been a pastor at all without the support and encouragement of my husband, Jim.
We serve a God who shows no partiality and desires all to be saved. Paul says in Galatians 3:28, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
Who are we to hold onto wrong attitudes, habits or traditions that have lost their usefulness? Who are we to hinder the work of God in our live?
There’s a new, astonishing breeze of the Spirit blowing through.
A strange new way of life for the faithful. A strange new world!
Let us pray.
Dear Lord, we praise you for your Spirit that is blowing through our congregation in a new way, and the Spirit that lives in every believer’s heart, guiding, empowering, transforming. Lord, give us your vision, as you did for Peter, so that we may see what you are doing in our midst and know how we can join you in this Kingdom work. Holy One, we want to touch the lives of children and young families today. Help us. We know that you desire all to be saved, healed and made whole. Strengthen us to trust you enough to let go of what we need to let go and be open to receive what you have for us. Keep us from hindering the work of your Spirit. Bless our efforts to love and serve in your name. In Christ we pray. Amen. | English | NL | ac44da97a5c7d1ff9d80136cd67801d41a809355bba5d3be2092577c752afd76 |
The cross, although it has become the symbol for our faith, was never intended by God to be the focus. The cross was one of the means by which God fulfilled His purpose; it was not the fulfillment of His purpose. Let me explain it this way.
When God created Adam He blew the Breath of life into him, basically God placed His Spirit in Adam and they became one. When Adam sinned Holy Spirit left, He no longer abided in man, the two were no longer one; and throughout history it has been God’s plan to reconcile himself back to us.
19 that is, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses to them, and has committed to us the word of reconciliation.
The cross was the means God used to provide the way for us to once again be who/what we were created to be – man one with God. He in us and us in Him; the one new creation that looks like Jesus, and He is to be our focus. The purpose was once again for man/God to walk this earth in dominion, making it reflect the glory of Heaven. For this to occur we must adhere to a very important spiritual principle – That which you gaze upon is that which you become.
For us to become the salvation for this earth, the manifestation of the son’s of God, we must focus our sight on Jesus. As we keep our eyes on Him then we will be transformed into His image. If we continue to gaze at Him then we will be who we are created to be because as He is, so are we in this age. Then and only then will the whole earth see the glory of the Lord. | English | NL | 5bc35eb588a1a19c530dda697410f99c11d9a6c254c0d34721ada1ec2a20bc57 |
Meet One of the Pioneering Blacks in the Ad Industry
Like many others in the industry, Georg Olden did not seem destined for a career in advertising. Born in Alabama in 1920, he was the son of a Baptist preacher and grandson of a former slave. After the nation entered World War II, Olden dropped out of Virginia State College and went to work as an artist for the Office of Strategic Services. During his time at the OSS, he worked with some of America's leading artists, designers and writers and made contacts that opened significant professional opportunities after the war.
When the head of the agency's communications division, Lawrence Lowman, returned to CBS after the war, he asked a former OSS colleague to recommend someone who "had a full grasp of the whole range of commercial-art techniques." He named Olden.
While at CBS, Olden was a successful and recognized art and graphics director. In his private time, Olden drew cartoons, several of which were published in The New Yorker. (During this time he dropped the "e" from his first name in order to garner more attention.) He also had the distinction of being one of the first blacks in an integrated advertisement: In 1951, he was featured in the "Men of Distinction" series for Calvert Distillers.
A rising star
Aside from being featured in an ad, before leaving CBS, Olden showed no interest in the advertising industry. So the record is silent as to why he chose to leave his position in 1960 to pursue work in an industry in which he had no experience. It is possible that, as a man of varied interests, Olden had simply grown bored at the network after having worked there for nearly 15 years. It is also possible that the potential for a salary increase proved irresistible. Regardless of his motivations, Olden found that agencies readily welcomed his talents. Within a few hours of making his desires known to a friend in the industry, he had received offers from three agencies. He chose to join BBDO as the TV group art supervisor.
Olden was a rising star at BBDO. In fact, he was rising so rapidly that he was actually recruited by other advertising firms. In 1963, he accepted an offer to move to McCann Erickson to become VP-senior art director. He was also part of the agency's exclusive Professional Advisory Council. He won several Clios for his work throughout the 1960s and first prize in the Cannes Film Festival in 1967. He also repeatedly won medals from the Art Directors Club of New York.
Despite his executive position and the mounting pressure on the advertising industry to increase the number of black employees, Olden was not involved in any efforts to increase the number of blacks in advertising. His record on racial progress is in some ways contradictory. On the one hand, he was involved with the Urban League, designing the organization's symbol of an equal sign on a black background. On the other, he argued that race was not the mitigating factor against success that others claimed. "Acceptance is a matter of talent," he said. "In my work I've never felt like a Negro." His disinterest in race was not lost on other blacks, who described him as arrogant and standoffish. Rather than emphasizing race, Olden argued that his success had come as a result of his talent and hard work.
|ABOUT THE AUTHOR|
Jason Chambers is an associate professor in the department of advertising at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. He has presented his research into the African-American consumer market both nationally and internationally. His work has been published in books and journals in the United States, Asia and Europe.
The factor that Olden overlooked was that his talent was combined with a degree of opportunity and timing that many others, especially blacks, lacked. His talent led to his position at the OSS, and his connections from the agency led to the position at CBS. So, at only 25 years of age, with no experience in broadcasting, he was placed in charge of the artwork and graphic designs for a major network. From that position, talent and hard work carried him through promotions at CBS and in the advertising industry. Yet without his connections, he may have remained an overlooked and frustrated artist.
Still, criticism of what Olden "could have done" to open opportunities for other blacks must take into account the precarious nature of his position. He may very well have been the arrogant and standoffish man some described, but he was also one of only a handful of blacks at CBS and later BBDO and McCann Erickson. Certainly he was the only one of his professional rank at any of the three companies. A co-worker recalled that at CBS, Olden was one of only 12 blacks during the 1940s -- and all the others were porters. Olden had few chances for error. He could scarcely be the standard-bearer for racial progress when he knew that pressure for racial change might lead to his own dismissal. Further, in his professional life, he believed color had never been a particularly restrictive issue. "My own experience," he said, "has been entirely removed from race." In some interviews he noted that his experience as a black man in the 1940s and '50s was unique and that perhaps he had been "lucky."
Ironically, while he had long argued that race had not been a factor early in his career, it became one late in his professional life. In 1970, he was laid off from his position at McCann Erickson, a move the agency credited to the economic downturn then affecting the industry. Olden rejected the explanation. He sued the firm for wrongful termination based on the belief that he was the victim of racial discrimination. The Professional Advisory Council he had been part of had been dissolved and its members terminated. Some at the agency argued that the group was not giving the agency a return on investment equal to the high salaries of its members. In his lawsuit Olden did not contend the reasons behind McCann's dissolution of the PAC; instead he charged that upper executives had consciously prevented him from moving out of the group. He argued that a pattern of discrimination kept him near the professional level he occupied when he initially joined the agency. As a result, rather than being promoted to an upper-level executive position that would have placed him outside the scope of potential layoffs, he argued that agency leaders purposely restricted him from advancement. The explanation McCann leaders offered was simple: Olden never requested a transfer out of the PAC into a position that would lead to promotions to the upper levels of management. The Equal Employment Opportunity Commission agreed with McCann that Olden's termination was valid and not racially motivated.
After losing the case, Olden moved to the West Coast, where he worked in a variety of positions, including TV director and freelance artist, until his death. He filed a class-action lawsuit against McCann Erickson on behalf of himself and other blacks who were allegedly victims of discrimination, but he was shot to death by a live-in girlfriend a few days before the opening of the case. For one whose professional life had begun with so much promise, by the end Olden was largely forgotten by his contemporaries, and he died still bitter over his dismissal from the advertising industry and loss of stature.
Nonetheless, Olden was one of the last black professionals who gained his position in advertising before civil-rights groups and government organizations turned serious attention toward the industry. In the coming years, blacks would continue to be hired on the basis of their talent or expertise, but their hiring came at a very slow pace. Although African-Americans had become more confrontational with issues of racism and discrimination by the late 1950s, the advertising industry avoided their scrutiny. Still, blacks' pressure on the TV industry foreshadowed their growing attention toward their image in the media and their impending attention to the advertising industry. | English | NL | ee729f8f7831e26087150c5f39031ada5ff6ea41eab8e556612934a43dbb23af |
Titan god of afterthought
Epimetheus was the Titan god of afterthought or to be more precise, the god of excuses as his head started thinking, when he realised that he`s not done something right. Epimetheus was the descendant of Iapetus and Clymene and had three brothers.
With the bright brother Prometheus, they took allegiance with Zeus and other Olympians during the war and therefore were not imprisoned or punished, after the Titans were defeated. Quite contrary, they were tasked to create animals and mankind. Epimetheus was tasked to created animals and is also known as the creator of all the animals on the earth.
His mission was to give all the animals a positive trait. However, because of his lack of foresight, he used all of traits for animals, not leaving a single thing for Prometheus and mankind. And on top of everything, the animals that he created and richly, but without careful thinking, equipped them with positive traits, eventually turned against him.
Epimetheus and Pandora
After Prometheus' punishment for stealing fire, Pandora was set to become wife of Epimetheus and bring misfortune upon mankind and animals, the creation of the brothers. Pandora was created by Hephaestus, on the orders of Zeus who wanted take revenge on the brothers and their creation. When Pandora was crafted out of water and earth and when the Four Winds breathed life into her, each of the gods had given her a gift of their own. Aphrodite gave her beauty and desire. Hermes gave her a cunning mind and crafty tongue. Athena gave her clothes and taught her how to skillfully use her hands.
Poseidon gave her a pearl necklace that would prevent her from drowning. Apollo taught her about music, how to sing and play instruments. Zeus gave her a foolish, mischievous nature and as last one, Hera gave her the tricky gift, curiosity. Once Pandora was presented to Epimetheus, he instantly fell in love with her and married her without thought or consideration, despite his brother's warning never to accept any gift from Zeus. Soon they had a wedding which included all the gods and Zeus gave them a special box as wedding gift and told Epimetheus that there is no more hard feelings between them. Epimetheus and Pandora in their marriage had one daughter:
Pyrrha - She was a wife of Deucalion, the son of Prometheus, and together they survived the great flood. After the flood, they were instructed at the oracle of Delphi to repopulate the world with throwing "bones" of their "mother" behind their shoulders. They understood bones to be rocks and mother to be Gaea. They started throwing rocks behind shoulder and that is how they started shaping mankind again. Rocks thrown by Pyrrha became women and rocks thrown by Deucalion became men.
Opening Pandora's box
Life has passed quickly and happily for a married couple, but with time Pandora developed uncontrollable desire to open the box, even though she pledged to Zeus that she would never open it. Soon the curiosity took advantage of her and she opened the box in optimistic expectation to see a hidden treasure from Zeus. And the hidden treasure it was. Before she realised, there was a strange horrible sound which spread through the air around her. Out of the box escaped all the horrors such as greed, envy, pain, illness which are present since then. There would be more, but Epimetheus and Pandora managed to shut the box, unfortunately too late.
Pandora realised that she was nothing more but the pawn in the game, played by the gods. Later that day, they heard a sound coming from the box. When they got close enough, they heard a sound claiming it was hope. Epimetheus and Pandora then decided to let it out and give the world hope, the only good thing which Zeus trapped inside the box.
Epimetheus as the subject of modern philosophy
Epimetheus is also important subject of modern culture, especially in Les Amis` book Commemorating Epimetheus, where he is credited for bringing to our world the understanding of dependency on each other in the terms of sharing, caring, meeting, loving and dwelling.
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This case involves a night-time bicycle rider, who while crossing a street, was struck and killed by a vehicle driven by the wife of a police officer. It was later alleged that there were improprieties in the way the collision was investigated, that a conspiracy existed between the investigating departments, and that there were attempts to cover up the fact that she had been drinking. GEI was assigned to review the case.
We examined the police reports and drawings, the skid patterns, and several color photographs of the scene, the vehicle, and the rider. We visited the scene, and noted landmarks and other roadway features indicated the roadway surface had not been replaced since the accident date. We used an electronic accelerometer to determine the friction value of the roadway. We then calculated the speed of the vehicle based upon measured skid marks and the roadway surface friction value. The calculated speed at the beginning of the skid marks was 50 mph.
We then researched published vehicle data so as to obtain weights, and dimensions of the vehicle. These data were combined with the measurements as recorded by the police, and were placed into a mathematical modeling matrix used by Texas A & M University in their Auto/Pedestrian courses of study. These math models use nine matrices to determine vehicle speed in auto/pedestrian/cyclist accidents. The model showed a speed at the start of skids of about 50 mph, and an impact speed of 30 to 32 mph, confirming our calculations.
While at the scene, we conducted a radar speed survey. We sampled 130+ vehicles in the direction the driver was going at the time of the incident. The slowest vehicle we recorded was 30 mph, the fastest was 55 mph.We found the 85th percentile to be 50 mph; that is 85 % were at 50 mph or less. We also found the “Pace”, a 10 mph range consisting of the greatest number of vehicles, to be 40 to 50 mph, and we found 79.3% of the traffic to be in the “Pace”. The calculated average was 44.22 mph. This indicated that her speed was not unusual for conditions..
Trajectory data showed the bike was traveling at an angle to the vehicle, from its right to its left, and had a velocity of about 4 mph. This was confirmed by the statement of a witness.
We looked at the natural lighting of the scene. Adverse parties said that there was some sunlight at the time of the crash.We researched the sun’s position, and found that it was 9 degrees below the horizon at the time of the incident, and twilight had ended several minutes before the incident. It was officially “Dark” when the accident occurred.
The investigating officer performed a Horizontal Gaze Nystagmus (HGN) test upon the driver, while in the field. This is one of the Standardized Field Sobriety Tests given by police. Essentially, HGN addresses the way the human eye is affected by central nervous system depressants, inhalants, and Phencyclidine. Alcohol (ETOH) is a central nervous system depressant, and the extent of one’s blood alcohol content can be closely estimated by taking the angle at which the “Twitching” of the eyeball begins relative to the eye looking straight ahead. Drug Recognition Expert (DRE) trainees are regularly taught to use this test to evaluate blood alcohol content of suspects within .02% . The officer administering the HGN did not detect any impairment of the driver using this test.
Another claim was the driver was offered “caffeinated beverages”. The inference was that the caffeine would “sober her up”. Actually, she was given water, and as all policeman know, caffeine will serve to only keep a drunk, wide-awake. Time, and the liver alone will get rid of alcohol in the system.
We concluded that the vehicle was moving with the flow of traffic at about 50 mph at the start of braking, the bicycle was crossing at an angle, and traveling at about 4 to 5 mph. The bike was not equipped with lights or reflectors. The rider was struggling in the dark to pump the bike up a hill, and crossed into the path of the vehicle, violating the vehicle’s right of way. The driver was not impaired by alcohol. Our inspection of the materials did not show where one officer asked, or ordered another officer to alter, or conceal evidence, nor could we find proof anywhere that if such an order or request were given, anyone acceded to the order or request. We found no improprieties in the police investigation, nor in its conclusions. | English | NL | 4edf1de6336b33115b863998081e53bea3cdcfe4a8a4741b45d57b1d8fbf7b22 |
I was reading through the genealogy of Christ in Matthew 1, and I noticed something that has escaped my attention until now. There are four women listed in addition to Jesus mother, Mary. There is Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and the Wife of Uriah. My curiosity peaked about the life of these women and why, above the men they represent, they are listed in this otherwise all male genealogy.
Who were these women?
Tamar (Genesis 38), her first husband died because he was wicked in the sight of the Lord. She was then given to his brother, as was custom in the day. He refused to impregnate her and died also. She was then sent to live with her father until the third and younger brother grew up. After being strung along, she decided that she would trick her father-in-law into having sex and ended up conceiving twins. When he found out that she was pregnant, he went to have her killed, only to find out he was the one who did it.
Interesting that Tamar would be included in the genealogy of Christ, most would leave that story off the family tree.
Next was Rahab (Joshua 2), she was a harlot or prostitute. She lied to the king of Jericho after hiding the Israelite men who came to scope out the land to destroy it. Most would call her a traitor.
God gave her a spot on the family tree. Of all the women that could have been named, she was one of five.
Then there was Ruth (Ruth 1) she also was a widower and outsider. I thought about the genealogy I have seen of my ancestors, and apparently someone had a little fling outside the race, that person wasn’t labeled by name, only by color.
God didn’t exclude Ruth for being an outsider. He included her.
Last there was “the Wife of Uriah” (II Samuel 11), aka Bathsheba. She was an adulteress with King David.
Her name is not mentioned, only that she was someone else’s wife.
Could it be that God included these women, so that years later as we read these words that we would be able to overlook our past. Instead of being condemned by it, know that we too can be accepted in the family of Christ. Their lives led up to Christ, just as the path we take can lead up to Christ. It doesn’t matter who we have aligned ourselves with in the past. It doesn’t matter what we have done in the past. It doesn’t matter if we didn’t fit in and were outsiders. It doesn’t matter if we married to the world before we came to Christ. It only matters that it all ended in Christ. | English | NL | deb9db4933d21c50fa2c865f7e170b1a69c70dc80841d0f978e749a93df70dfe |
DISCLAIMER: I have no affiliation whatsoever with Moffat, Gattis, or Arthur Conan Doyle, to whom all the credit for this universe belongs. Aside from the fun I had writing it, I have not and will not profit from this story in any way.
John wasn't even entirely sure he knew wha t polo w as. Sure, he had played water polo once at school and the concept had been quite similar to football, except that you had to toss the ball to one another while desperately treading water and half of the fun seemed to be blatantly trying to drown your classmates by pulling them below the surface by their ankles and playing a game of oxygen deprivation chicken, but how could all of that translate to horseback? Honestly, he didn't want to imagine – it sounded quite horrifying – but in reality, it seemed to result only in some of the most boring and meandering stories he had ever heard.
Of course, he couldn't quite say that to the pasty older gentleman who had engaged him in conversation what felt like decades ago, but nor could he seem to extract himself from this awkward situation. At this point, excusing himself to get another drink seemed to be his only option, although this one was still a little more than half full and he'd already done that twice in the hour since they'd arrived (once when confronted with a translucent-skinned young man who kept wiping his nose on his sleeve cuffs and again with a woman who bred those terrifying hairless cats), so he had to recognise that it wouldn't be a viable strategy for much longer.
"And do you know what else?" the man guffawed, suddenly clasping John's shoulder like an old friend. John observed the sloshing of the drink in his hand and judged that if there was little enough liquid not to overflow from the sudden force, it was an acceptable amount to down in one gulp. He tilted his head back and poured it down his throat, then resigned himself to nodding politely through what he had decided would be the last such story.
His tie felt too tight, which was silly because it wasn't as if he were unaccustomed to wearing one, and the clacking of high heels against marble floors echoed off the high ceilings like some kind of reverse sonar that only served to disorient him further. John hated functions like this. He was ill at ease with this kind of crowd, would have been even if he wasn't totally sure they could pick out how he didn't belong from the other side of the spacious Renaissance wing. Sherlock, of course, could play the part perfectly (though John suspected that this particular role required substantially less acting of the posh bastard than most did), and looked perfectly at home among these museum donors and committee members. He didn't have to worry a fig about passing for Richard Lyle III or IV or whatever it was, while John had enough on his plate trying to live up to the nondescript title "and partner."
The man burst into raucous laughter and John accompanied him politely, head beginning to swim. He looked down at the glass in his hand and blinked in surprise as if he had just noticed it was empty.
"Well, wouldn't you know it?" he remarked. "You'll have to excuse me a moment, I'll just be –"
"Hold on, hold on, dear boy; let me just call someone over!" The man raised an arm to flag a server down and John was quick to stop him.
"No need, no need," John assured him. "Thank you so much, though. I'll just get it myself – stretch my legs – and I'll be right back," and with that, he made his escape.
John had always been under the impression that tact was of paramount value in this social stratum, so he assumed he must have imagined the judgmental look that the bartender was giving him (though it was one he had often seen directed at Harry), and he took the drink gratefully. Now was the time to put the plan into action. He cast a glance across the room and his eyes lit upon Sherlock: elegant, charming, passing flawlessly. He resisted the urge to take a swig for courage – that was probably the last thing he needed right now – and he made his way to the smaller side room.
The crowd was thinner there; John noticed that that there were no waiters circulating with trays of olives or prawns or those fantastic goat cheese tarts that had almost been enough to keep him in the main hall. The ceilings were also lower, making the room less imposing and less subject to echoes and distortion. Conversations were whispered here, and the occasional ringing peal of laughter drew disapproving glances.
Several of the newly acquired pieces – mostly jewelry – were on display here, outside their glass cases in the open air. John recalled the map that Sherlock had cooked up and gone over with him again and again. He quickly recognised the tiered display shelf it would be atop of. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he found the cold hunk of metal and warmed it in his palm. Standing directly next to the shelf was a young woman – not quite too young for John to be talking to, he didn't think – in a modest purple dress. She was lovely; dark-haired, slender, with an angular face that looked nothing like poor, sweet Mary's. The last thing John wanted to do right now was remember when he had last stood before a beautiful woman with a ring clenched in one trembling hand.
She turned toward him just then and caught him looking, but she gave him a smile that was friendly, if slightly wary. He smiled back and took the invitation, and as he crossed the small room, he was sure to favour his left leg only slightly but just enough to be noticeable. Not like a man who needed a cane, he hoped, so much as one who had just returned from a ski holiday with a torn ligament, which was his story in case anyone asked. He only knew one person who would be able to pick out the difference and anyway, that person was on his side.
John smiled broadly (he might not quite pass for high society, but he had a face people trusted and he knew it) as he reached her side. "Hi there," he said warmly. "Didn't we meet at one of these before? I feel like..."
"Oh, we must have," she replied, returning a brilliant smile. "I'm terribly sorry, though, you'll have to remind me of your name."
"No, thank you for saving me the embarrassment," John said with a chuckle, and she laughed too, and an elderly woman in a horrendous pearl-splattered gown shot them a dirty look. "Daniel," he said, stepping forward and extending his arm. "Daniel Briggs."
"I'm Laura," she said, reaching for his hand, and as he bent to shake it, he allowed his shoulder to bump the shelf, which teetered and wobbled with dramatic tension that was nearly comic, and he had just enough time to register the look of horror on Laura's face as the pieces on the topmost level fell to the floor.
"Oh God, oh no, oh no," sputtered John, and his left hand dipped into his pocket as he dropped to his knees. He'd only have a few seconds. He recognised the ring immediately – he had been carrying a replica of it around all day, after all. Laura was kneeling beside him, reaching for a brooch and, praying he'd be deft enough that she wouldn't see, he shot out his hand and let it hover over the ring for a second, lifting it with the tip of his middle finger as he let its twin fall from his palm.
He let it lay where it fell – it was safer to wait for Laura to pick it up – and reached to recover another piece, a pair of earrings that had fallen side by side, when he heard urgent footsteps approaching from the direction of the great hall. Security, or maybe museum staff – it didn't matter anyway. Feigning a cough, he lifted his hand to cover his mouth and popped the ring between his lips. Laura didn't appear to have seen.
"Oh God, I'm so embarrassed," John moaned, secreting away the ring in his cheek like a hamster. "I hurt my leg recently and I guess I just –"
"I'm sure it'll be fine," soothed Laura, leaning back on her heels to survey the area. "It doesn't look like anything's broken. I think we've got all of it, actually."
"Might have," John agreed. The metallic taste in his mouth was unpleasant and he was worried about talking too much – would the ring clack against his teeth noticeably? The noise alone could give him away, but he was also concerned about the damage the large diamond could potentially do. They were supposed to be the hardest substance on earth, weren't they? In any case, they were certainly up there.
"Is everything all right?" John looked up, feeling the ring shift backwards (oh God, what if he swallowed it?), to see a very imposing-looking security guard standing over them with a horrified expression on her face.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," John offered, getting to his feet. "I must have stumbled – I've an injury, you see – and knocked the display off balance, and..." He held out his hands palms-up, and the pair of earrings he had manage to pick up while pulling off the switch looked pitifully inadequate next to how Laura had recovered the remainder of the pieces. John put on his best chastened embarrassment face and awaited her judgement.
"Nothing is broken," Laura assured her, and John almost smiled. Having one person on his side already made him feel optimistic. He really must have one of those faces, but it never ceased to surprise him. As Sherlock had told him before they left the flat, Stop worrying, John; nobody ever believes someone like you would be up to anything bad. (Though he had soon felt compelled to add, Some of us do know better, of course.)
The woman collected the jewelry from their outstretched hands and began the process of returning each piece to its place, and John chalked a point for himself on his internal scoreboard. "Oh God," she muttered. "What order do you think these went in? Do either of you remember?" It was all John could do not to breathe a sigh of relief when he realised how unlikely it was that she'd recognise the difference.
"There were nameplates, I think," Laura chimed in. "Unless those fell off, too – no, wait, they're glued down!" She quickly became absorbed in the task of helping the security guard.
"Shall I go get someone to help, then?" John offered. The security guard seemed distracted as she gave him the go-ahead and it was all he could do not to grin. "All right, then. I'll be back straightaway! I'm so sorry!"
Saying you'd call the authorities yourself, as John had learned when he first began accompanying Sherlock on cases, was an absolutely brilliant way of keeping them from showing up at all. It was a simple enough lesson but it rarely, if ever, failed him. He could hardly believe his good fortune.
John's eyes were quick to pick Sherlock out from where he was standing at the other end of the hall. And how could John fail to see him? Sherlock was in his element, his personality was switched on and dialed up – he was entirely at home there in a suit and a role perfectly tailored to him. The crowd almost seemed to part around him, though that was probably just the alcohol.
As he crossed the room toward Sherlock, John tried not to let his nerves betray him, fought to keep his walk casual, a vacant cocktail party smile plastered on his face. He lifted his glass to his lips and (carefully sucking his cheek against his teeth) downed this drink, too.
"Richard, could I borrow you for a moment?" John asked as he came up behind Sherlock, resting a possessive hand at the small of his back. Though John had never before brought a man as his date to a high-society function (or anywhere else for that matter, despite what so many people seemed to think), he was confident that he could slip into the role of "boyfriend" more easily than Sherlock could; that should fall more into his area of expertise.
"Daniel!" Sherlock exclaimed warmly, turning into John's touch, eyes bright as he bussed his cheek, which had gone pink from the alcohol, John could feel it. "Of course – would you just give us a moment please?" he asked the couple he'd been chatting with.
"So sorry, really," John said to them as Sherlock took him by the arm and led him a few steps away – far enough to create the illusion of a private conversation but not so far that they couldn't be heard. John contorted his face slightly, letting his mouth twitch, and hoping to draw Sherlock's attention to the lump in his cheek.
"Is everything all right?" Sherlock asked him, dropping only the pitch of his voice to disguise that it was still his normal speaking volume. His eyes were wide with concern as he laid a solicitous hand on John's arm, and John felt a small flutter of warmth – stupid, stupid – at the unexpected expression of comfort. Sherlock, it seemed, could play this role better than John had ever had cause to suspect, and – yes, a sideways peek confirmed that the young couple, for all their unfailingly polite no-troubles and not-at-alls, were very much attuned to this side conversation.
"I'm sure it's nothing," John began, "but I've just had a call from my mother, and –"
"Oh, of course, I see," murmured Sherlock, clicking his tongue. There was a surprising amount of sympathy in the way he cut John off, as if he already understood the situation intimately and wanted nothing more than to spare John the discomfort of having to rehash painful personal details. "Would you like me to drive you? I could just –"
"Oh, no, I think it'd be better if I got a cab," John answered quickly. As he took Sherlock's hand in his, a rogue thought flitted across his brain and suddenly, just like that, he found himself acting. "You stay here and enjoy the party; you've been looking forward to it for so long."
Sherlock gave a little chuckle at this, but he did not appear entirely swayed (nor, John noted with some irritation, did he seem particularly impressed by John's ad-libbing).
"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.
"Positive," John said and clasped his hand. "Just enjoy yourself and I'll see you later tonight" He tugged Sherlock's hand gently, discreetly. It seemed he could rely on Sherlock's acting skills and while he'd never dare to call Sherlock's observational prowess into question, John's head was spinning from the alcohol and somehow he didn't fully trust him to recognise the body language of someone asking for a goodbye kiss.
But Sherlock was smiling down at him and John forgot the metallic taste in his mouth as he went up on his toes, which was something he'd never had to do before, not for a kiss. The edges of the diamond felt sharp enough to cut, and so he turned the ring so the band faced outward, holding the gem gently but firmly between his front teeth as their lips touched.
Any first kiss can be a little bit unfamiliar, a little bit strange. And considering their respective levels of inexperience (John with men, Sherlock in general (presumably, at least), and the two of them with each other), it wasn't so unexpected, John thought, that this one would be rather more awkward than most. Not that it really felt like a proper kiss, not really, when almost all of John's attention was focused on the perfect way to manoeuvre a small band of metal inconspicuously past his teeth and between his lips and into Sherlock's mouth. Not when he couldn't stop worrying that one of them would get the angle wrong and the ring would fall to the floor, or that the diamond would scrape across the enamel on his teeth (he could almost feel the sound already, like nails on a chalkboard), or that it would strike Sherlock's incisors with a telling clack and heads would turn and everyone would make that stunning leap of logic and then they'd be caught. And the alcohol, instead of giving things its usual soft, rosy haze, was just making John feel uncomfortably hot and rushed, magnifying the heat of all the eyes he was sure were fixed upon them.
It was strange for something so much like a kiss not to feel like one, but so much of John's life these days was neither fish nor fowl, especially where Sherlock was concerned, so he didn't particularly dwell on it. Instead, he tilted his chin slightly to angle his mouth further upward and rested a hand on the nape of Sherlock's neck to finagle smoother access, and when Sherlock, ever quick to adapt, responded with a mirror-image shift and Sherlock mouth opened soft and warm to him, John inhaled a sharp breath through his nose and almost forgot what he was trying to do.
He gathered up his focus and trained his thoughts on the rigid, metallic form of the ring, not how warm and pliant Sherlock's lips, Sherlock's mouth felt in comparison (Did thinking about not thinking about it count as having thought it? John's head was swimming), dedicating himself fully to the task at hand. Now, that last Scotch was chasing the others through his veins, thrumming heat up the back of his neck as he finally pinned his hopes on this angle being the right one, and worked the ring forward with the tip of his tongue, parting Sherlock's soft lips with a hushed whisper of breath. And Sherlock took the ring on his tongue like Communion, pulling it back with a little cat-like lap that made the tip of his tongue flick, electric, against John's own.
For a second, John tasted Cabernet and there was a flash of memory, of a wineglass and of Sherlock's long fingers pinching the stem, and a wave of giddy relief rushed over him. A smile broke across his face, stretching his lips almost chastely against Sherlock's one final time as he sank down off his toes and settled his weight into the heels of his dress shoes. It was absurd how the loss of a few grams of metal could make him feel as if an enormous heavy yoke had been lifted off his shoulders.
Chuffed, he beamed up at Sherlock for a second before managing to wipe the grin off his face; it was uncharacteristic, after all, for someone so concerned about his mother. Sherlock's cheeks were pink – from the wine, John corrected himself prematurely, from the wine. And maybe partially from embarrassment; considering the circumstances, that had been a bit of a long kiss, a deep kiss, rather too much tongue. John didn't want to look around and risk confirming what he suspected, that everyone's eyes were upon them, and so he just looked up at Sherlock and remembered that the ring was in safe hands and that his part in all this was successfully finished, so he had to just get out and go home.
"Right," he said, running his tongue over his canines so as not to lick his lips. Shit, what was his line?
Irritation flicked across Sherlock's eyes, just quick enough for John to catch it before the veil of sweet solicitousness fell again. "I'll be round later, then," he rumbled. "I'll bring dinner. Check that everything's all right and give her my love, Daniel."
"Will do," John promised, and Sherlock smiled down at him with warmth in his eyes, and as Sherlock squeezed his hand, John could feel a sort of tangling twist in his chest and suddenly he wanted, he needed desperately to be back at Baker Street and back to his normal life and the normal Sherlock, the one who was as cool and slick and unyielding as the ring tucked safely away in his cheek. He let Sherlock's hand drop and took a retreating step backward. "Bye, then."
Sherlock bid him goodbye, and he retreated, conscious that any eyes that might have been on them were now turned studiously back to the faces of their own companions. Tact was truly a lovely thing. And it didn't seem like the curators or any other concerned museum staff were looking for him yet – but then again, what kind of jewel thief would make a pit stop during his grand escape for a celebratory snog? The spectacle might well have provided him a little protection, he reasoned, though that was hardly cause to linger overlong.
John got himself out of the museum and into the cab just slowly enough that it couldn't be called hurrying, and as they pulled out into the traffic, he plucked his mobile out of his suit pocket and texted Lestrade.
"Looked real," he wrote. "S has it now. I'm out safe".
The response came a few seconds later ("John, please. I CAN'T know that!" –andJohn can almost hear the exasperated sigh) and he tucked the mobile safely away again and stared out at the skyline. The driver was weaving in and out of traffic and the road was bumpy and the alcohol sloshed away in John's stomach along with the goat cheese tarts, but he managed to make it back to 221B without being sick. He kicked off his tight shoes, drained a glass of water once, twice, and then filled it back up again before passing out on the sofa.
He woke up at three twenty in the morning, stifling under a heavy wool blanket. There was a dim light coming from the kitchen and Sherlock was hunched over the table, squatting barefoot atop a wooden chair, deeply absorbed in the delicate operation of transferring the contents of one Petri dish to another using a long pair of tweezers.
Bleary-eyed, John shuffled into the kitchen, knowing now not to worry about breaking Sherlock's concentration – if the man didn't want to be distracted, nothing could stir him. John paused a moment to watch him at work.
"Was it the real thing?" he asked. Sherlock gave no sign of having heard. He set down one very tiny fibre in the dish on the right, waited intently for a few seconds and then set about picking up another from the dish on the left. John downed the rest of his water, refilled the glass in the sink, and decided to put away that morning's dishes before going to bed. He had the cupboard open and most of them returned to their rightful places before Sherlock stirred.
"Mm?" he enquired.
"The ring," John clarified. "Was it real?"
"Oh," said Sherlock, as if it had been days ago. "Yes. Real. Lestrade's still insisting on running tests, for some reason, but I'm sure that was it."
"Well done, then," said John, closing the cupboard and mopping up a small puddle on the worktop. "I'm for bed. If I can get back to sleep, that is."
"Hmm," replied Sherlock, directing his remarks to the Petri dishes.
"Goodnight," he called back over his shoulder.
"'Night," came the response. For a moment, John considered turning on another light so that Sherlock wouldn't strain his eyes, but soon thought better of it. If the lights were low, it was probably because those were the conditions required by whatever test he was doing. It was silly to think that Sherlock would have risked compromising one of his experiments to keep from waking his flatmate. Although the blanket had been a bit of an anomaly...
John found that his own bed was much more comfortable than the sofa, and he sank into the cool sheets and read until his own eyes were weary; then, after a second of hesitation, he kept going. He nodded off and startled awake when the book fell closed on his chest, then found his place and began again. He finally flicked the light off after the second time the book glanced his face, secure in the knowledge that he was tired enough to drift off without mulling over the events of the day.
・ Not beta'd or Britpicked, so please tell me if anything sticks out!
・ I feel like the line about the Scotch chasing the other drinks is riffing off of something, probably Douglas Adams, but I can't quite pin it down. I just know I'm not that witty on my own!
・This is my first attempt at writing something light and fun. Please let me know your thoughts! | English | NL | 8a47b1da7774c1bb9db12b4ef99c50d1024aba1467756006411d8075c2c66533 |
I John 4:16-21
What an exciting day when a woman hears the words, “I love you, will you marry me?”
Soon after that great effort is put into wedding plans and before long the big day arrives.
As the bride waits in the back to walk down the aisle, she hears that the groom has not arrived yet and she waits.
As time passes and he does not show up, she begins to worry about what has happened to him.
Finally the message comes through.
He has changed his mind and is not coming.
Can you imagine the devastation?
Ever since the proposal she has looked forward to living in a loving relationship and now she discovers that it will not happen.
She feels abandoned, she feels unloved.
How awful it would be to realize that you are not loved as you thought you were.
That may be one of the worst possible experiences of betrayal of love, but it is not the only one.
In fact, there is no guarantee that any of us could not experience something similar.
In human relationships love sometimes fails, but do we ever feel that God has stood us up at the altar?
We expected Him to show up and our expectations were not met!
Do we ever wonder if God still loves us?
The good news is that God is the only one with whom we have a solid guarantee that He will not ever stop loving us.
This morning, I would like to examine I John 4:16-21 where we are invited to think about the promise of God’s love for us and also to consider the freeing and wonderful implications of knowing that we are loved.
I. We Know and Rely on God’s Love vs. 16
!! A. God is Love
The proper starting point for a discussion about love is not us, what we feel or experience, what we want or what we should do, but God.
The starting point for a discussion about love is the recognition of the truth that “God is love?”
But what does it mean to say that God IS love?
What is the difference between saying I am a man and I am a canoeist.
If I say that I am a canoeist it means that this is an activity that I learned, that I enjoy, that I have taught at camp, but it isn’t more than that.
The truth is I had never been in a canoe till I was a teenager.
Some days I go canoeing and some days I don’t and when I get old it may be that I will not be able to get into a canoe.
Being a canoeist is something I do not something I am.
On the other hand I have always been male and always will be male.
There is never a day when I do not function according to being male.
It is part of my essential being.
I believe that “God is love” is like the phrase, “I am a man” because loving is not just something God does, it is essential to his being.
Love is a part of God’s character.
The difference is significant because it assures us about what we can expect of God.
It assures us that it is completely within God’s character to love.
It assures us that we can expect that God will act in a loving way.
It means that we should not be surprised that God will do that which is loving.
If love was merely an activity of God, we would not have these assurances.
There would be doubt about whether he would choose to act in love today or not.
But when we recognize that love is a part of God’s essential being, we know that every day, He will always operate out of this part of his being.
God will always love because He is love.
Just before this phrase in I John 4:13-15 we read that God has demonstrated His love most clearly and powerfully by sending His Son to be the Saviour of the world.
The motive for sending Jesus was love.
The method by which He came was a loving action.
The result of the coming of Jesus was a demonstration of His love for us.
God is love and has demonstrated His love most clearly in Jesus.
!! B. Knowing We Are Loved
Since God is love and has acted in love, we read in I John 4:16, “We have come to know the love God has for us.”
The verb tense of the word “come to know” is perfect.
A perfect emphasizes the present state of things which result from a past action.
The past action of God was the sending of Jesus and because God sent Jesus, we know today that we are loved and we continue to live under His love.
A few months ago I participated in a study which someone was doing as a part of their requirements to finish their Master’s Degree in Sociology.
They were studying the impact of having been a refugee from Russia during the Second World War.
She interviewed those who had been refugees and their children.
So she interviewed my mother and me.
Although it wasn’t my experience, one of the things she discovered was that the children of such people were often not told by their mothers that they were loved.
The trauma of loss during the whole experience somehow made it difficult for the mothers to tell their children, “I love you.”
Although they knew they were loved, it was not often communicated.
Nothing like that has happened in our relationship with God.
God is love and has communicated it to us and so we have come to know the love God has for us.
Do you know that you are loved?
Do you live daily in the knowledge of the love God has for you?
!! C. Relying on Love
But the text also says not only that we know that we are loved, but also that “we have come to rely on the love God has for us.”
Once again it is a perfect tense verb which communicates that the love God has demonstrated still impacts us today.
The knowledge of God’s love for us leads us to the place where we rely on that love.
Those of you who have been to Living Fountain Bible Camp have probably had a chance to go on the zip line.
As long as you are standing on the tower, you are on a solid structure.
It is like being on the ground, no problem, quite comfortable, but it is quite a different thing when you step off the platform and there is no longer anything solid beneath you and you have to rely on the harness and the cable to keep you up.
I have watched people hesitate, back up and even quit because they were unable to step off and rely on the harness and the cable.
I think we sometimes feel that way about relying on the love of God.
It is a scary experience and we often doubt and sometimes we want to quit and rely on what we can see before us.
But when we come to understand the love God has for us and know that He demonstrated that love by sending Jesus, we come to the place where we are able to rely on the love God has for us.
If we know that we are loved, we have confidence to walk into the future assured that we walk in His love.
!! D. Living in Love
Since God is love and since we have come to know and rely on His love, the text goes on to speak about living in love.
When we know that we are loved and when we rely on God’s love, we will find ourselves living in love.
Over 11 years ago a number of you helped us move our belongings into 498 River Rd. South.
Since that time, that is where we have lived.
That is home and when we don’t need to be somewhere else that is where we are.
God has built a house for us and that house is love and we are able to live in that house.
The Greek word conveys the idea of abiding, of remaining in one place, of living in a place.
It is like moving into the house of God’s love and living there and finding that in such a relationship of relying on and living in His love we are living in a relationship of intimacy with God.
That is the idea that I believe comes across when we read, “Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.”
What does this mean practically?
It means that we live with the assurance that we are loved.
It means that we love God.
It means that love is the defining characteristic of our life.
Barker says, “The sequence of thought is this: First, we must know and rely on the fact that God loves us.
Second, we come to realize through relying on his love (or having faith in his Son—the meaning is the same) that in his very nature God is love.
Third, we discover that to live in God means to live in love.
The fellowship we have with the Father and with the Son (1:3), the fellowship in which he lives in us and we live in him, is perceived as nothing other than a fellowship of love.”
Practical Implications of Living in Love
Now if we are living in love because we know and rely on God’s love that has powerful implications for life.
Two implications are mentioned in the verses which follow.
!! A. Love Overcomes Fear vs. 17-18
There Is No Fear in Love
The first implication described in I John 4:17, 18 is that love overcomes fear. | English | NL | 7146ff5c372f77425874e5db03eb43b367bcc2a21f5e412a9ce1312591dc7dea |
If there's two things you can count on being in a piece of Dragon Ball media, it's 1) lots of screaming and 2) Goku getting stronger. The latter is massively important to both the franchise and the character, because it cements the overall theme of Dragon Ball and of Goku; that limits are meant to be broken, and that we can always be better—maybe not stronger as in Goku's case, but better in the broader definition of the word. Goku's character is about breaking through his limits, a theme that has been with him since the first Tournament Saga of Dragon Ball and the Turtle School training that led up to it. Suffice to say, Goku getting stronger is a big part of the series, especially when you realize that it has occurred about 20 times throughout the series, and that's just counting the main instances of Goku breaking his limits.
Throughout the franchise, Goku has experienced major power ups about 20 times, and we're not just talking about the times he's gotten a new transformation. No, we're talking about the times when Goku went through training, a tough battle, a series of injuries or some other struggle that left him stronger than when he started. Part of the reason Goku always gets stronger from a struggle has to do with his Saiyan heritage, which equates to whatever doesn't kill him, only makes him stronger. Of course, some of Goku's power is also from his hard work and obsession with getting stronger or a new technique he learns. So, we decided to ranking all the times Goku broke his limits in order of the power it gave him, which also happens to be in chronological order.
21 TURTLE SCHOOL TRAINING
Let's start with the first time that we saw Goku train on screen. At the beginning of Dragon Ball, we knew that Goku was trained by his adoptive grandfather, but we didn't truly see him get stronger until after he met Master Roshi. After instantly learning the Kamehameha attack, Goku became interested in learning more from Master Roshi, eventually becoming his pupil along with Krillin.
Goku and Krillin then learned the ways of the Turtle Master, learning less about martial arts and more about life as he gave them strength-training exercises involving the delivery of Milk and other seemingly menial tasks, all of which results in Goku becoming much stronger than he already was.
20 THE "SACRED WATER"
Though Goku would continue to get stronger through his fights in the World Martial Arts Tournament, his second major increase in power wouldn't come until the middle of the Red Ribbon Saga, when he climbed Korin tower and met the martial arts master at the top.
Korin told Goku that if he could get the Sacred Water from him and drink it, he'd become much stronger, but as it turns out the exercise gained from attempting to grab the water from the speedy cat was the actual "sacred water" power up. By climbing the tower, he became stronger, by anticipating Korin's movements, Goku's mind became sharper and in learning to keep up with Korin's speed, Goku's agility was strengthened.
19 3 YEARS OF TRAINING
After the events of the Red Ribbon Saga and the Fortuneteller Baba Saga, Goku was able to revive Upa's father before setting off to train on his own across the world. No one actually knew what Goku did or where he went in those three years, but he came back stronger than ever and clad in an animal-skin outfit.
All that we know about Goku's training is that he took Master Roshi's advice to wander the world -- literally, which is where he was between his first and second World Martial Arts Tournaments. Whatever he did while he travelled the world definitely made him stronger, since he was able to take on much more powerful opponents this time around.
18 ULTRA DIVINE WATER
Korin lied about the Sacred Water, but he did actually have a magic water that could increase a person's strength. However, there was a catch, all those who have attempted to drink the water perished from it. But, this was not the case with Goku, who drank it, passed out for a bit, then woke up with a massive power level increase.
Though the exact nature of the water is unknown, one theory is that it was simply a strong poison meant to make someone stronger by putting them on the verge of fatality only to have them recover stronger. Whatever the case, drinking the Ultra Divine Water was exactly what Goku needed to defeat King Piccolo.
17 TRAINING WITH KAMI
At the end of the King Piccolo Saga, Goku met Kami, the guardian of Earth, so that he could revive Shenron and, in turn, his friends. While he was there, Kami warned Goku that Piccolo's son would try to take over the world in due time, and that only he could defeat him.
However, Goku would have to train under Kami's tutelage in order to combat Piccolo Jr., which is exactly what he did for three years, once again showing up at the next World Martial Arts Tournament. After training with Kami, Goku had become even stronger, especially when he took off his weighted clothing.
16 KING KAI'S TRAINING
Kami wasn't the last god that Goku would train with, since after his perishing in the beginning of the Saiyan Saga, he went to Otherworld to train with King Kai. King Kai's training was similar to that of Master Roshi and Kami, who both used weights to strengthen Goku's physical capabilities.
The main difference, however, was that Goku was training under ten times Earth's gravity, which put his strength to the test, eventually increasing it, as he could easily move on King Kai's planet by the end of his training. Additionally, King Kai also taught Goku the Kaioken and how to form a Spirit Bomb, techniques that he was able to use to take on Vegeta.
15 100X GRAVITY
Goku wouldn't stop at ten times Earth's gravity, however, since his next power up would come after training under 100 times Earth's gravity, a ridiculous step up from Goku's previous training that showed how much tougher things were going to get from there.
This training was actually by accident, since the artificial gravity on the spaceship that Goku was taking to Namek has malfunctioned. However, once Goku managed to gain control of the ship, he decided to keep the gravity as it was, using it to train during his long trip. Eventually, he was able to move freely in this intense gravity, which showed just how strong he had gotten.
14 POST-HEALING CHAMBER
Despite his newfound strength, Goku still met his match on Namek, getting mortally wounded to the point of having to be put in a healing chamber. However, as we know with Saiyans, when they recover from a near-death experience, they become stronger than the thing that pushed them to the edge.
This was exactly the case, as Goku's next power up came when he emerged from the healing tank. Goku was so powerful when he emerged that Vegeta thought he was a Super Saiyan, though we would eventually learn this wasn't the case, since that transformation wouldn't come until later.
13 SUPER SAIYAN
Speaking of Super Saiyan, Goku's next power up, and his final power up of the Frieza saga, was when he first turned into a Super Saiyan. The transformation was triggered by the death of Krillin at the hands of Frieza, causing him to go ballistic and gain golden hair and a massive power up.
This transformation was exactly what Frieza had feared from the Saiyan race, and it was the very transformation that would defeat him. With a huge power multiplier, Goku was now on the same level as Frieza, which is how he was able to beat him in the end.
12 TRAINING ON YARDRAT
During his fight with Frieza, planet Namek began to fall apart, eventually exploding. Goku was able to escape this explosion by finding a nearby space pod, which took him to planet Yardrat, where he decided to stay and train before coming home to Earth.
While Goku was there, he learned how to use the Instant Transmission Technique, which itself might not be a power-up per se, but we're certain Goku also got stronger during his time training, since by the time he got to Earth, he was able to go Super Saiyan at will, rather than just when he was angry.
11 HYPERBOLIC TRAINING WITH GOHAN
Fast forward to the Cell Saga, and Goku decided that he and Gohan should train for a year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, which only equated to a day outside. During this training, Goku achieved a number of milestones that powered him up even more.
Not only was Goku able to master staying in his Super Saiyan form for longer, staying in the form from his emergence until the Cell Games, he also perfected the form itself. Additionally, he was able to push Super Saiyan past its limits and increase his strength in the form, a form he ultimately decided against using to prevent slowing himself down.
10 TRAINING IN THE AFTERLIFE
At the end of the Cell Saga, Goku decided to stay in Otherworld to avoid attracting more danger to Earth. During this time, he continued to train with King Kai, and the results showed, since this was one of Goku's strongest power ups in Dragon Ball Z, resulting in a brand new Super Saiyan form.
During his training with King Kai, Goku was able to achieve and master Super Saiyan 2, which had only previously been achieved by Gohan. Additionally, he achieved a new form, Super Saiyan, a form with a much larger multiplier than the previous two Super Saiyan transformations, but one that also came at the expense of massive energy drain.
9 FUSING WITH VEGETA
The final power up to come in Dragon Ball Z, aside from the power that Goku would later receive to form a spirit bomb (which we're not counting), came in the form of Goku's Potara fusion with Vegeta. The resulting fusion, Vegito, could be a considered a power up, since it combined both warriors' power and multiplied it by tens of times.
Though this was only temporary, its worth mentioning since it increased Goku's power, and it is more-or-less transformation. Regardless, with his and Vegeta's power combined, Goku was able to overpower Super Buu in every sense of the word as Vegito, even when he was turned into candy.
8 MORE KING KAI TRAINING
Goku's first power up in the new age of Dragon Ball came in both Battle of Gods and the Dragon Ball Super saga that adapted its story. As Bulma's birthday party began, Goku was still training on King Kai's planet, and though it isn't explicitly stated, we can assume that Goku was getting stronger during this time.
Of course, this training would mean nothing when Goku faced Beerus in their first encounter, as the God of Destruction completely dominated him. Not even Goku's Super Saiyan 3 form—which was shown in Dragon Ball Z to be so powerful that just the transformation caused unnatural weather—was enough to defeat Beerus, which is why he had to rely on...
7 SUPER SAIYAN GOD
It was a good thing that Beerus wanted to fight a Super Saiyan God, or else he probably wouldn't have let Goku transform into one. By using a special ceremony, Goku was able gain the power of a god, becoming much slimmer and younger-looking as his hair and eyes turned red.
This was a major power up, one of the few ones that Goku did not have to train for, but a major one nonetheless. However, instead of simply giving Goku more power, it gave him a different kind of power, godly ki, which is much stronger and more potent than regular ki, making for one of Goku's most interesting power ups.
6 TRAINING WITH WHIS
Goku wouldn't just stop at becoming a god though, now would he? After learning that Vegeta had been training with Whis, he wanted to do the same, traveling with the Angel back to Beerus' world to learn all that he could from a God of Destruction's teacher.
During his training with Whis, Goku not only got stronger in his base form, he also gained a new form, Super Saiyan Blue. This form is also known as Super Saiyan God Super Saiyan, which describes how it works; Goku became a god, and still has access to that power, so he taps into it in his base form, then goes Super Saiyan using it, resulting in a brand new power up for the character.
5 HYPERBOLIC TRAINING WITH VEGETA
The first saga in Dragon Ball Super that wasn't adapted from a movie was the Universe 6 Saga, which depicted Goku and other Earth warriors fighting in a tournament against warriors from an alternate universe. In order to prepare for this fight, Goku and Vegeta headed to the good ol' Hyperbolic Time Chamber to train as much as they could.
On top of gaining some impressive beards, Goku and Vegeta also gained a ton of power from their training, which was most likely due to the fact that they chose to spar each other instead of train separately. By fighting with opponent's on their level, Goku and Vegeta were able to push each other to new limits.
4 FIGHTING HIT
There have been times when Goku has gotten stronger in the middle of a fight, but none of them are as flashy as his fight with Hit during the Universe 6 Saga. The assassin warrior has the power to jump ahead in time in, which gave him the upper hand during the fight.
However, Goku managed to push himself to combat this special ability, breaking his limits and coming up with a new technique of sorts to make himself stronger. By combining an old power up, the Kaioken, with a new power up, Super Saiyan Blue, Goku once again got stronger than he had once been, even if he lost the match in the end.
3 SIGNS OF ULTRA INSTINCT
Fast forward to the Tournament of Power in the Universal Survival Saga, and we have one of Goku's most interesting power ups, if it can even be called that. The reason we say this is that Goku's first signs of mastering Ultra Instinct were not the complete form, and because the form itself isn't really a power-related technique.
Instead, Ultra Instinct has more to do with the body becoming more efficient at fighting, with power playing a less important role. Even with just the early signs of Ultra Instinct, Goku was still able to best Kelfla in the Tournament of Power, which is super impressive given that they were a Potara fusion.
2 MASTERING ULTRA INSTINCT
The signs of Ultra Instinct were nothing compared to the completed form, which gave Goku silver-white hair and wrapped him in a crazy-cool-looking aura. With this power up, Goku had essentially become a god at fighting, since Ultra Instinct is a technique that even gods have trouble using.
But again, power doesn't really play a factor in Ultra Instinct, since the increased strength that Goku gets from the form comes from his body relying only on instinct and reflex, essentially deleting the delay between stimuli and response, making for a cool limit-breaking moment that marked Goku's last power up in of Dragon Ball Super.
1 GOGETA (DRAGON BALL SUPER BROLY)
Our last power up is one that is technically yet to happen, since it takes place in Dragon Ball Super: Broly, which has yet to see wide release. However, from a recent teaser, we know for a fact that Gogeta appears in the film, and since we counted Potara fusion as a power up earlier, we're gonna count Fusion Dance fusion as one as well.
Thus, Gogeta is Goku's most current power up in the entire Dragon Ball franchise, though technically it doesn't result in the most power that the character has had, since Fusion Dance fusion is weaker than Potara fusion. Regardless, we put it here at the bottom since it keeps everything chronological and because Broly hasn't been widely released yet. | English | NL | 328ee8bf72293ed5ea5c9c4d4b6a7b8ecb86b6b36cbcee8f469fb0403c7b0a33 |
The historic Wellhead Snetzler Organ was rededicated with a service at Halifax Minster this afternoon (Sunday).
The 1770 Snetzler organ, which was first made for a prominent Halifax family, is being restored to its former glory and the service was a fitting celebration of the first stage of the work.
The organ had been missing for some years, but following detective work by Professor David Baker, an eminent organist and David Glover, a historian and genealogist, it was found in St Peter’s convent in Horbury, Wakefield.
The convent then donated the organ to the Minster and it will now be used for educational purposes.
Research into its history by David Glover revealed that the organ was commissioned by the well-to-do Waterhouse family from Johann Snetzler, an organ builder of Swiss origin who worked mostly in England.
Snetzler was recognised as the most famous organ builder of the 18th century.
Based in London, he built organs for Buckingham Palace, which have since been moved to Eton College and the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace, as well as Beverley Minster and for the Boston Concert Hall in Massachusetts, USA.
Watch the video to hear the magnificent organ in action. | English | NL | 934cce554acb9230daaf1b599b4828c78c627d09c6fc660c5850b528141a36c9 |
My name is Isabel Merchand and I was born in New York City. I was raised in the diverse and creative neighborhood of Chelsea, in Midtown Manhattan. My father, Hernando Merchand, is a retired Spanish professor who graduated from Montclair State College. He came to the United States at the age of seventeen from Bogota, Colombia. My mother, Maria Merchand, is a retired NYPD employee who was born in El Salvador.
The arts were always a part of my family’s dynamics. At a very early age, I was taken to Lincoln Center to appreciate ballet, classical music, and opera performances. I was also introduced to various museums, going with my family or on class trips, enjoying all the wonderful places New York City has to offer.
In 1970, my father realized that there were many Latinos who were opera singers, classical musicians, and artist of all kinds that did not have the guidance other cultures had. He decided to create a magazine specifically for those artists. He called the magazine Euterpe. In Greek mythology, Euterpe was one of the Muses presiding over music. He has organized classical concerts in Carnegie Hall, Carnegie Recital Hall, Cami Hall and Avery Fisher Hall in Lincoln Center and in many other places to promote talented musicians who were starting their career.
I first showed my creativity at an early age with my drawings/sketches. I started off by drawing random items around my apartment. Once I started elementary school, my favorite class was always art. I would get compliments on my eye for details. I graduated from Cathedral High school where I was able to explore different types of arts such as painting, fashion design, and sculpting, and was a member of the art club throughout my four years. As I experimented with different arts, I fell in love with mixing colors and became very interested in nature; finding the sky and the change of its colors fascinating.
In 2000, I attended New York City Technical College, majoring in Art and Advertising. There, I also studied photography, life drawing, and typography. I continued to paint mostly focusing on landscapes, making peaceful art as a paradox to my everyday life in the busy streets of New York. My paintings have been displayed in various galleries in the city. In 2011, I became the editor for Hybridborn comics. A comic book series created by my husband, Robert Nunez.
When I was asked to provide a biography of myself for Guild Magazine, the question of what role an artist plays in our current society came about. The influence of an artist is powerful. It can shape thoughts, lives, societies and entire cultures. It is my belief that in a world driven by technology and political turmoil, the most important role of an artist is to continue to be creative. An artist thinks outside the box. This is what makes us unique from the rest of society. We aim to motivate, to see beyond what is in front of us, and to inspire others to look at things from a different perspective. – GM
“An artist thinks outside the box.
This is what makes us unique from the rest of society.
We aim to motivate, to see beyond what is in front of us, and to inspire others to look
at things from a different perspective.”
— Isabel Merchand | English | NL | 2466382de71c959ca3e16e8d995a8ea500b8d3a46b60c1bc954aaf6c4c806e93 |
The development of the tobacco economy in the Chesapeake colonies led the Virginia Company to develop a labor system to meet their particular needs. Large numbers of workers were needed to clear new tobacco fields and others were required to tend and harvest the crop. Fortuitously, the American labor shortage existed at the same time that widespread unemployment gripped England.
A worker seeking a new start in America signed an indenture agreement,* which stipulated that he was borrowing money for his transportation and would repay the lender by performing labor for a set period. Skilled laborers were often indentured for four or five years, while unskilled workers often had to remain under the master’s control for seven or more years.
In addition to receiving passage to America, the servant would be provided with food, shelter, and clothing. Perhaps as many as 300,000 workers migrated under the terms of these agreements. Most were males, generally in their late teens and early twenties, but thousands of women also entered into these agreements and often worked off their debts as domestic servants.
Treatment of indentured servants differed greatly from one master to another. In some areas, slaves were treated more humanely because they were regarded as lifetime investments, while the servant would be gone in a few years. The length of servitude could legally be lengthened in cases of bad behavior, especially for those workers who ran away or became pregnant.
Servants fared better than slaves in other respects; they had access to the courts and were entitled to own land. Masters retained their right to prohibit their servants from marrying and had the authority to sell them to other masters at any time.
At the end of the service period, many workers were provided with their “freedom dues" — often consisting of new clothes, farm tools and seed; on rare occasions the worker would receive a small plot of land.
One variant of this labor system was the use of "enforced servitude." Vagrants, war prisoners, and minor criminals were shipped to America by English authorities, then sold into bondage.
There were success stories of people who had started as indentured servants and later became prominent citizens, but the number was probably very small. The lingering dark side to the practice was of those who completed their service, but could not afford to buy land and were unable to find employment. The result was hundreds of rootless men in many frontier areas. This fueled movements of social unrest, including Bacon’s Rebellion in Virginia, in 1676.
During the 1670s, the flood of servants coming to America slowed. Economic conditions in England had improved and fewer people were willing to take the risk of starting from scratch in a faraway land. The plantation owners in the Chesapeake region, still badly in need of workers, turned increasingly to slavery to keep their operations functioning.
*The word indenture referred to marks or indentations made on the contract between master and servant. When the document was drawn, two copies were made. As a lasting means of authentication, one copy was placed over the other and the edges of the pages were defaced or marked. The servants of this era were often uneducated and could be cheated by unscrupulous masters, who could forge new contracts with terms more favorable to themselves.
- - - Books You May Like Include: ----
From the Folks Who Brought You the Weekend: A Short, Illustrated History of Labor in the United States by Priscilla Murolo.
Management's perpetual dream of cheap labor explains the invention of slavery, though few may couch it in those terms. Drawing such connections with i... | English | NL | c3fe7519b93a421ba0c8604d5abe41a0c80cd6b69221793f3e5ec97494d9c16a |
Moss, supreme but untitled
Sir Stirling Moss finished in the top three places in the World Championship every year from 1955 to 1961. He was second four times and third three times, but the world title his talents so obviously deserved remained elusive
Stirling Moss, Britain’s great motor racing hero of the 1950s and early 1960s, who is still regarded as the best driver never to have won the World Championship, had extensive links with BP. It was a backer for him personally and for many of the cars in which he had so much success.
By 1957, Moss was back in the BP fold driving for Vanwall, for which BP supplied fuel, and in the car built by industrialist Tony Vandervell’s team he scored another landmark win. He, along with Tony Brooks and Vanwall, took the first all-British win in a World Championship grand prix.
Even better for Moss and co, the triumph was in the British Grand Prix, held that year at Aintree. Moss had taken a comfortable early lead in the race, but then took over team-mate Brooks’s car after a misfire hobbled his own. Brooks was struggling in any case as he had not fully recovered from a leg injury sustained in a crash at Le Mans. The Moss/Vanwall combination went on to win many more races and is often credited with breaking the German/Italian stranglehold on World Championship grand prix success.
Moss was the first man to win a grand prix in a rear-engined car – Argentina in 1958 – driving BP-backed Rob Walker Racing’s Coventry Climax-engined Cooper T43. He won a further three grands prix that year, all in Vanwalls, but for the fourth year running was only second in the World Championship, this time just one point behind Ferrari’s Mike Hawthorn.
The relationship with Walker, which also provided both Cooper and Lotus with maiden World Championship grand prix victories (Argentina in 1958 for Cooper and Monaco in 1960 for Lotus) continued to bear fruit and it was in Rob Walker Racing Lotuses that he scored two of his most famous wins – at Monaco and the Nürburgring in 1961, great drives both. In 1961 in particular, he had to pull off a serious giant-killing act as he had to contend with the superb ‘sharknose’ Ferrari 156s which had substantially more power than his Climax-engined Lotus 18. His final grand prix victory was in a Walker Lotus 18/21 in Germany – on a partially wet Nürburgring – in 1961, and again he was racing with a big car disadvantage.
In 1962 he had a very serious crash at Goodwood, and after a long and slow recovery from his injuries decided to retire. Every year from 1955 to 1961 he’d finished in the top three in the World Championship – four times second, three times third, but the title his talents so obviously deserved remained elusive. | English | NL | b77c93ae88be85e5960481f6f0dd71191415486e83550e4b75365cf153cc9dfc |
Well done, my good and faithful servant. Since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities. Come, share your master’s joy (Mt 25:21).
Our confrere Brother Bonifaz (Franz Josef) Kellnberger OSB died on Monday, 1 July 2019, a month after his ninetieth birthday.
Brother Bonifaz was born in Regensburg on 30 May 1929 as the first child of Maria Kellnberger. He was baptized on 31 May in the former monastery church of St. Emmeram in Regensburg with the name Franz Josef. At the age of one, he went to live with his grandparents in Landau on the Isar, where he spent his childhood and also attended primary school from 1936 to 1944. After completing his initial schooling, he began an apprenticeship as an office clerk with the public works in Landau. From 1943 to 1944, Franz Josef attended the commercial vocational school in Deggendorf. He received his diploma in Landshut in 1947. He was employed until 1949 by the public works as an accountant, with the additional jobs of cashier and electrical and water meter reader.
At the age of twenty, he decided to enter Schweiklberg Abbey. He was admitted into the postulancy on 5 October 1949 and the novitiate on 9 September 1950. He made his first profession of monastic vows on 21 September 1951 and his final profession on 26 September 1954.
From 1949 to 1950, he was assigned to the monastery garden and from 1950 to 1954 to the chicken farm, then to the piggery and again to the garden. From 1959 to 1963, his main area of work was the cow barn, where he served first as a milker until 1963 and then in the dairy until 1977.
After a severe heart attack, he had to give up the work in the cowshed. From 1973 to 2015, his work was in the Schweiklberger Geist distillery, especially keeping the accounts, which he fulfilled with great diligence and accuracy. After further heart attacks that brought him to the brink of death, he had to give up his work in the distillery in 2015. He spent the last years of his life in our infirmary under the care of our brother nurse. Here he was zealous in prayer and tried to remain mentally fit.
We thank our deceased confrere for his faithfulness in service to the monastery, for his helpfulness and his thoughtful friendliness and especially for his zeal in prayer, and we ask for prayers for him.
Prior Administrator Fr. Benedikt Schneider and the community of Schweiklberg Abbey | English | NL | 289ce8aee9914bfc62dc2761c2e2ab0a40edf24276987f8165ce4afa360c1641 |
Author: Chai Jidan
Translator: chiangyushien , Renkun27
Chen Youzai cheerfully went to school. He was walking on the roadside while calculating who he wanted to become. Just past the school gate, a section of a dialog interrupted Chen Youzai’s train of thought because the girl who just spoke was the girl that Chen Youzai secretly had a crush on.
“See you in the evening. It’s just behind our school parking lot, I’ll wait for you!
“Don’t forget! It’s 6 o’clock …”
“I won’t forget. I’m going to class now…”
Chen Youzai bitterly spat out a breath as he glared at the boy who was running away. His heart was palpitating. His legs are a little longer than mine. He’s taller than me. His eyes are a little bigger than mine. Is his shoulder a little wider than mine? Isn’t he so insolent?
See you at 6!
Also at the parking lot!
Indeed without honor and shame in mind, Chen Youzai cursed as he habitually placed his hand into the pocket of his pants. As a result, it just so happened that he touched the silver coin inside. Chen Youzai froze for a moment and his face suddenly became cloudy, then it cleared. Tonight, I will meet with your girlfriend to have some fun, ha ha ha… Chen Youzai thought, while he excitedly ran toward the classroom.
After four classes, Chen Youzai sneakily walked over toward the parking lot. Of course, nobody even paid any attention to him, but his looks clearly attracted other people’s attention, although Chen Youzai, in his heart, did not plan it to be like this.
Not far from the parking lot, Chen Youzai stood still while he silently schemed: was he going to transform into that girl, or that boy? If he became the girl, he could take the opportunity to hit the boy. If he became the boy, he could take advantage of the girl.
I’ve got a solution! Chen Youzai snapped his fingers. He looked delighted with the expression on his face. He could change first into the girl to hit the boy, then change into the boy to take advantage of the girl, and finally swing his (the boy) sleeves in anger to leave. This would give that girl an impression that he was irresponsible. This way, a misunderstanding would arise between the two and he would be the only one who would be able to take advantage of the situation in the end. Chen Youzai presumptuously laughed a few times. He secretly praised his own cleverness in his mind.
While he was still laughing, a despising look came from his side. Chen Youzai turned his head and found himself facing the girl he has a crush on. That girl was still walking from afar. Chen Youzai, still alone in the same place, was clenching his fist. His heart was endlessly full of resentment. This was all because of his love rival. If that man did not exist, that girl would not have had despised him.
The silver coin in his hand shone. Chen Youzai then felt his arm became heavy. He looked down and saw that on his arm, there was a small hand bag. He also emitted a faint delicate fragrance. Chen Youzai suddenly felt pleasantly surprised. He felt from head to toe that he was brimming with enthusiasm; thus, he started to take large strides, and quickly rushed toward the parking lot.
The boy was carrying a sports bag and his face looked pleased as he stood there. He saw the silhouette of the girl, not from afar, as she walked toward him. A trace of a smiling expression appeared in the corner of his mouth.
“Why are you so anxious? Baby!” The boy all of the sudden caught the girl who bursted in his embrace and very politely took her hand bag.
The “girl,” after hearing this, almost did not speak. Her facial expression was even more ferocious, as if the boy owed her two hundred yuan. | English | NL | 919ef943df99f2de31a4e9423b0cc2531c69b568dbbab2e2474ba80f483422e6 |
Annakin, Robert (1820-1869)
Robert Annakin married Hannah Barber (1820-1892) and they had 14 children. William, his eldest son, was born in 1844. George, who was 20 when his father died, went on to become a PM minister. Robert founded a Primitive Methodist dynasty, with far reaching influence, especially for the Primitive Methodist church in Harrogate. One of his grand daughters, Ethel Annakin, became Viscountess Snowden.
Obituary in the Primitive Methodist Magazine, 1870, pp486-87
Began this life at Whixley, April 15, 1820, and ended it at Marston Moor, July 9, 1869.
When about twenty four years of age he was converted to God in a revival of religion that took place among our people in his native village. Moved by curiosity he went with trifling feelings to a Prayer Meeting to see a neighbour saved who had been some time under conviction, and while in that meeting the Holy Spirit enlightened his mind, revealed to him his sinful state, and enabled him to trust in Christ to the joy of his heart.
Soon he commenced to call others to repentance, was put on the plan, and remained an earnest, hard working, and acceptable local preacher to the end of his life. His attachment to the connexion was loyal, strong, and increasing. Its progress was ever to him a source of pleasure.
Over his family he had great influence; though, as one of his sons observes, ‘like all mortals he had his failings, one of which was a hasty temper.’ Yet no one could be long acquainted with his home life without being struck with the esteem and affection cherished towards him both by his wife and children. Two of his sons and one of his daughters are preachers among us, others are consistent members, and he prayed and believed that all his family might be brought to God. May his prayers be answered.
The last six months of his life he was a severe sufferer, but he was greatly comforted and sustained by the Saviour he had preached to others. At times he was powerfully tempted, and his faith seemed to waver, but soon he obtained deliverance. As his end drew nearer, his faith grew stronger, and his prospects brighter. Asked by his wife if he was afraid to die, he replied, ‘I should be, if I had nothing in which to trust but my own works, but the blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth me from all sin. Christ is my Saviour, my all in all. Blessed be His name, He can ‘save to the uttermost’.’
Looking at his family he felt as though he would like to stay a little longer with them for their sake, yet he adopted the language of St Paul, ‘What I shall choose I wot not, for I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ, which is far better.’ The day before he died, surrounded by his family, he said, with a radiant smile upon his face, ‘I am saved through the blood of the Lamb. Glory! Hallelujah!’ and desired all present to sing. That appropriate hymn was sung by the dear ones around him with throbbing hearts.
‘Come sing to me of Heaven
When I’m about to die,
Sing songs of holy ecstasy
To waft my soul on high.
There’ll be no more sorrow there,’ etc
After the singing he said, ‘I am not afraid to die, Christ hath taken away the sting of death.’
On the day of his death he said to a Wesleyan local preacher, ‘I am about to enter the valley, and am going to glory; and when you preach you can tell people I am gone to heaven, but not through my own goodness but because Christ hath died for my sins.’
Final words to his family
To his two sons, whose names are on the plan, he observed, ‘My lads, hold fast your religion; it has supported me in trial, and will support you. And now I am about to die, I have nothing to trust in but Christ, He is my all-sufficient Saviour.’ To his son William he remarked, ‘I have had to struggle hard in this life, but now I am about to finish. I am sensible of many defects, but Jesus is mine, and I am His. Through his death, I have life.’ His pain being very severe he was hear to say –
‘What are all my sufferings here,
If, Lord, Thou count me meet
With that enraptured host to appear,
And worship at Thy feet.’
When dying, he was asked if he felt Christ precious, and he answered, as best he could, ‘Christ is my all in all, I am saved for ever. Glory! Hallelujah!’ And then he calmly fell asleep in Jesus. May his stricken widow and children all meet him in Heaven.
‘There are our loved ones in their rest,
They’ve crossed the river; now no more
They heed the bubbles on its breast,
Nor feel the storms that sweep its shore,
But there pure love can live, can last,
They look for us their home to share,
When we in turn away have pass’d
What joyful greetings wait us there,
Beyond the river.’ | English | NL | f1bf3a2174190787af19e1c648f41506c68735c71f6c572d3fb2f475e1291eda |
“This curriculum is well designed for students who need the reasons why letters make the sounds they make. It also helps students understand the different sounds a letter can make. Our language is so hard because a letter can make multiple sounds and this program teaches that and gives practice as well. The training is very hands on and very helpful for you to implement it in your classroom. They will come to your classroom and model for you the lessons. The lessons are easy to follow and to teach. If you do not have a phonics-based program, I would recommend using Building Blocks Phonics.”
2nd Grade Public School Teacher, Thomasville City, GA
“Building Blocks Phonics uses a systematic phonics approach to teach a student to read.
M.C. Pettit, M.A.
Special Education Public School Teacher, Greenville, SC
“I was at my breaking point. My son was at his breaking point. Then we found Building Blocks Phonics. My son was 12 and reading at a kindergarten /first-grade level. He hated to even attempt to read and it was a major chaotic meltdown to do a single page of homework or read a few sentences in a book. He had so much anxiety about reading and such a bad self-image because of the years of failed intervention, it literally broke my heart. He started working with the tutors at Building Blocks Phonics 2-3 times a week and with every session, his outlook changed. He was comfortable with them, he made progress step by step, and he started to realize and believe he was not dumb.
After an initial assessment, they explained to him how people learn in different ways and how their program would help his mind process reading and writing better. They started in small steps and built onto the foundation each session. He excelled very quickly and within the first two weeks was already showing incredible improvement. As he continued succeeding, he started studying on his own, reading on his own, and being proud of himself. My son who had never passed a single class in his life was now getting mostly A’s and B’s after two months of tutoring. We were able to read pages, not sentences, then chapters, then whole books. He jumped many reading grade levels and his school teachers now regularly tell me how they are impressed and how they love watching him use his skills. Many have even shared that they wished they could use the same system in the schools because the current curriculum fails many children and their needs.”
Parent, Greenville, SC | English | NL | cc97413cac6e557a7c643f358050e180ec3b76403013a30956927d47ce1db21a |
It seems clear, from Littlefinger’s discussion with Sansa (III: 767-769), that he arranged for the poison to be secreted in the hairnet he had Dontos bring to her for a third party to pick up and drop into Joffrey’s drink at an opportune time. In general various Tyrells are blamed for the attempt. Lady Olenna was certainly the only one who had an opportunity to take the poison from the hairnet, as she adjusted it when meeting Sansa and Tyrion outside of the feasting hall (III: 672, 673). But it’s argued that Margaery, being right next to Joff and his cup, had a greater opportunity to place the poison in his cup with the added argument that, given that she was expected to share drinks with him from the chalice, it’d be safer if she herself put in the poison. Some suggest Ser Garlan, Margaery’s brother, may have been the true culprit. Although he was seated even further from the newlyweds than Lady Olenna was (III: 674), he was near the chalice when it was briefly left unattended for the pie-cutting; however, so was Lady Olenna (III: 681). It should be noted that an alternate theory has been put forward, suggesting that Lady Olenna or another Tyrell was actually targetting Tyrion, based on the fact that Joffrey succumbed to the poison shortly after eating from the piece of pie given to Tyrion (III: 683). Given how Littlefinger is quite unsurprised by Joffrey being dead, it seems he was entirely unaware of the possibility that the poison might be given to Tyrion instead of Joffrey. This does not necessarily negate the possibility, but it does make it seem rather less likely. Joffrey was clearly a much greater concern for the Tyrells than Tyrion and his marriage to Sansa were. Finally, it is almost certain that Lord Mace is completely unaware of his family’s involvement in Joffrey’s murder. | English | NL | 251c2dd39dbc3104f08ec2cfe608537c8e0ee0fead4c1adbeab7e16a43c0bfa9 |
Below is a synopsis of the show. You've been warned.
Ulysses Lincoln wants a better life for his family. He loves his wife, Nella Pell, and their unborn child so he decides to join the navy to help provide a better life for them. He is almost immediately deployed to Afghanistan and during the Gulf War he shoots and kills a son of Great Grand Paw Sidin, the God of Sea and King of Fish. Paw Sidin is furious at this loss and tries to attack Ulysses and kill him by drowning him when Great Grand Daddy Deus (God of Gods, God of the Sky), steps in based on the plea of his daughter and Goddess, Aunt Tina.
The two gods start a game of chess to battle for the life of Ulysses. This epic chess battle rips Ulysses from the fabric of time and sends him spiraling into the past to confront just exactly who he is, all while leaving the present – and his family – behind. Nella Pell is told that Ulysses is dead, but she refuses to believe it. With Paw Sidin constantly trying to trick her into giving up on Ulysses or to stop caring for him, Nella Pell has it rough. She stands strong, and her love for her husband does not waiver. Out of care for Ulysses, Aunt Tina comes to the mortal world to aid Nella Pell in raising her and Ulysses’ child, Malachi. Before they know it, thirteen years have passed and Nella Pell still has not given up hope that Ulysses will return.
Meanwhile, Ulysses is stuck as a pawn in the game of chess. He finds himself in many different places throughout time, including slave quarters, and eventually, he is stuck on the roof of a house that has flooded in the 1960s with a family of a mother, father, and daughter – all who cannot swim. There is no hope in sight for rescue and Ulysses begins to reflect upon his journey and what has happened. He thinks on his love for Nella Pell and his son that he has yet to meet when he decides to swim for it, accompanied by Benevolence, the child on the roof of the house he’s on. He tells her about the war that he was in and Benevolence listens intently. Ulysses suddenly realizes he must confront the one thing that he has been avoiding, the death of the man that he killed in Afghanistan. He asserts that it was an accident and that he was threatened by the person that he killed. Paw Sidin is furious that he is losing the game of chess against Deus and that Ulysses keeps escaping death, so he decides to go to the mortal world to try and intervene.
Nella Pell begins to doubt herself when Malachi begins acting out. She believes that if he had just had a father, he would not be behaving the way that he is. She begins to date a suitor named Johnny, who is actually Paw Sidin in disguise, and he tries to convince her that they should wed – and the faster the better. Aunt Tina (now going by Aunt Tee) tries to interject but being in mortal form for so long is killing her. Her mortal body gives up and she dies, leaving Nella Pell, Malachi, and Ulysses alone.
Ulysses and Benevolence are confronted by a police officer about who they are and Ulysses tries to explain that he is trying to save the little girl from the flooding. Benevolence explains that the officer cannot see her, but reveals who she truly is to Ulysses – his own mother who died in childbirth. She guides him back toward the present and Ulysses is thrown in jail.
At the same time, Ulysses’ son Malachi finds himself in a situation when he is confronted by the police, too. He is arrested and stuck in a jail cell – the exact same one that his father is in. Ulysses and Malachi sit side-by-side when a police officer explains to Ulysses that the kid next to him is, in fact, his son. The officer takes off his hat to reveal that he is Paw Sidin. Angry that he was going to lose the game of chess – which would allow Ulysses to live – Paw Sidin explains that he will keep his son in jail and that he will be marrying Nella Pell that upcoming weekend, ruining both of their lives. Paw Sidin explains that this is all because of the death of his son in Afghanistan, and Ulysses breaks down and admits that the killing was all his fault and that he had murdered Paw Sidin’s son out of fear.
Ulysses is suddenly left to face the God and find his family without the protection of Deus or Aunt Tina. Ulysses must face his truth. Will that be enough to satisfy the God and help Ulysses get back to his family? | English | NL | 5eee20de237a53681400aea8de7235392c2ee4be15934042443e83be68c80511 |
Nearly thirty minutes later, we sat down, still only a few feet from the trees, and Traeth began to explore the beach with his hands, sifting the sand through his fingers. He was ignoring the sea as best he could but wasn't brave enough to turn his back on it, but he was beginning to feel some of the pleasures of the shore on a warm summer's day.
Another half hour passed and we began to encourage him down to the damper sand. It took a while as after each step he took, he was compelled to sit and watch the waves gently rolling in to assure himself that it wasn't going to do anything dramatic—suddenly rear up and swallow us all whole, for instance.
Once there, we finally started building sandcastles, or rather, sandcastle—one very big castle indeed. We used the mugs from our backpacks as buckets and made a rather impressive building. Traeth made tall turrets, stacking mugs of sand one on top of the other, working out the optimum height possible before they collapsed.
Traeth always was a stickler for detail and he hadn't changed. Having discovered how well you could mould the wet sand, he sent Al to the water's edge to fill a mug with water, so that he could dampen it to its optimum consistency to make impressions in. Each stone was marked out on the building and windows engraved into the sides. On the top, castellated walls with detailed walkways completed the building. It was a very fine sandcastle indeed.
I'll be honest, it was a very pleasant way to spend the afternoon, interrupted only by my chiming intercom. I answered it to find the captain at the other end.
"You don't appear to have got very far," T'Roc said. I couldn't disagree, but I wasn't going to hurry things.
"My apologies, Captain, but if this mission is to be successful, we must be patient."
I could feel her rolling her eyes at me from down here. I stepped away from my team so that I wouldn't be overheard and lowered my voice.
"Sir, may I speak freely?"
There was a slight pause before she responded.
"Knock yourself out, Terran."
"And in private?"
A silent tut echoed all the way from the bridge, through the atmosphere of Dirria and resonated across the beach. A few moments later, T'Roc responded.
"Just you and me now, Terran. What's the problem?"
She had obviously left the bridge and was now in her office.
"No problem, but you did assign this mission to me. I know it's not a big deal in the great scheme of things; in fact, it's a very minor mission but it is a mission nonetheless, and I'd like to do it properly."
"Sometimes, Terran," she sighed. "I swear you must have some Betazoid blood in you. It feels like you can see right through me. Yes, I am impatient to return to normal duties, but you're right. This is a mission, even if it is only a little one." She sighed again, this time more heavily. "Just make sure to bring me back a stick of rock."
The comms channel shut abruptly and I could envisage T'Roc leaning back in her chair, tenting her fingers and scolding herself. Maybe I was right, but no one loves a smartarse. I'd pay for it at some point, undoubtedly the next time I screwed up. | English | NL | a5dfbc87c2c93e578777e1382622b0e59f48359454bfddff2462c2a9e1d33372 |
Hope, Vision and Action
- Frank O'Dea, Speaker
- Media Type:
- Item Type:
- Some personal memories from the speaker. Going from skid row to being awarded the Order of Canada to speaking at the Empire Club of Canada – how? With hope, vision and action. An illustrative story. More personal history and the story of “The Second Cup.” Vision in Canada. First, the story of Peter Dalglish and his work with UNICEF and his tell of the World Health Organization and its work with AIDS relief. What the speaker and Mr. Dalglish created. Another story about Sierra Leone. The speaker returns to the issue of vision in Canada. Past visionaries. Looking forward to the next election. Effects on the speaker from his experiences in Sierra Leone. Reflecting on what we might be able to do for our country, our community, our family and for the world as Canada Day approaches.
- Date of Original:
- June 18, 2008
- Language of Item:
- Copyright Statement:
Empire Club of Canada
Agency street/mail address
Fairmont Royal York Hotel
100 Front Street West, Floor H
Toronto, ON, M5J 1E3
- Full Text
June 18, 2008
Hope, Vision and Action
President and CEO, Arxx Building Products, Inc.
A joint meeting of The Empire Club of Canada and The Royal Commonwealth Society
Chairman: Catherine S. Swift
President, The Empire Club of Canada
Head Table Guests:
Peter K. Large: QC, Barrister and Solicitor, and Immediate Past Chairman, The Royal Commonwealth Society of Canada, Toronto Branch
Kim Wolfe: Anthropology Student, University of Toronto
Reverend Bill Middleton: Minister, Armour Heights Presbyterian Church
Julie Lindhout: President, The Atlantic Council of Canada, and Principal, Lindhout Associates Education Consulting
Larry Stout: Broadcast Journalist, and Honorary Director, The Empire Club of Canada
Nabarun Chaudhuri: President, Aithent Canada Inc.
The Hon. Sinclair Stevens: Chairman, The Royal Commonwealth Society Foundation, Chairman, Planet Today, and Former Cabinet Minister, Government of Canada
Edward Badovinac: CET, KH, CLJ, Retired Professor, George Brown College, Vice-Chairman, The Royal Commonwealth Society of Canada, Toronto Branch, and Director, The Empire Club of Canada
C. Warren Goldring: Co-Founder and Honorary Chairman, AGF Management Limited, and Founding Director and Co-Chairman, Operation Dialogue
Dr. Charles Mayenga: Co-ordinator, Student Essay Contest, Royal Commonwealth Society, and Senior Consultant, Assessment Strategies Inc.
Catherine S. Swift: President, The Empire Club of Canada, and President and CEO, Canadian Federation of Independent Business.
Introduction by Arthur Downes, Retired Justice of the Peace in and for the Province of Ontario and Chairman, The Royal Commonwealth Society of Canada, Toronto Branch:
As a young man, Frank O’Dea was a homeless person, living on the streets, panhandling for nickels and dimes. Today, he is a celebrated business person. He is President and CEO of ARXX Green Building Systems and is a founder of a number of other successful businesses including Proshred Security and Second Cup.
In addition to that, he was the founding chairperson for War Child Canada, is cofounder of Street Kids International, and is a founder of the Canadian Landmine Foundation.
Recognition for putting his entrepreneurial spirit to work for the public good has come from many areas. Frank has received two honorary university degrees and has been invested as an Officer of the Order of Canada.
This incredibly inspiring story of resilience and triumph in the face of adversity is retold in his newly released, best-selling memoir “When All You Have Is Hope.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to introduce to you a man who has shown that we really can make a difference, a man who is a nationally recognized advocate for hope.
Please welcome Mr. Frank O’Dea.
Thank you very much Arthur and thank you head table guests. I’m delighted to be here with you today and I’m particularly delighted, if I may go off my remarks for a moment, to see Sinc Stevens here. I haven’t seen him in many, many years. It is nice to see him and I think he is the epitome of grace under pressure so it is nice to see you again sir.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is a particular delight to be here at the Royal York in Toronto with the Empire Club and the Royal Commonwealth Society. It is a great honour indeed given who has spoken before me.
Thirty-plus years ago I found myself standing just a short walk from here at the corner of Shuter and Jarvis Streets. Everything I owned was on my back. I had an old T-shirt, a pair of jeans, a blue coat that had turned green, a pair of running shoes and a day in my life was made up of going over to Yonge Street and pan-handling to get 99 cents. Two other guys and I worked the street. We would get 99 cents and then go to a local wine store to buy a bottle of wine. We would go back to the alleyway beside the flophouse in which we were living and I can recall the conversation as if it were yesterday. Tomorrow I will quit drinking. Tomorrow I will get a job. Tomorrow I will call my family. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow didn’t come and we would go back to Yonge Street. At the end of the day we had to make the most important decision of the day. Would we sleep indoors or sleep on a park bench? The rule in the flophouse was that you tied your shoelaces around your ankle. Otherwise the first guy up got the best pair of shoes. It was a lonely, dirty, and sometimes violent existence.
Contrast that, if you will, to standing on the red carpet just a few years ago, a citation being read, and surrounded by family, friends, and other recipients. Her Excellency, Ms. Clarkson, awarded me the Order of Canada.
And fast forward to today here at the Royal York with the Empire Club and the Royal Commonwealth Society.
How does one go from skid row to here, this wonderful meeting?
I suggest to you three words sum it up: hope, vision and action.
You see I believe that without hope you can have no vision. But a vision is merely a dream without taking the action.
I would like to start with a story and the hero of my story is always George so we will use George. It turned out that George was in very difficult shape. It was the 1930s. He lived in New York. He had lost his job and he had found himself on the Bowery. At the end of two days without eating, things had become very desperate. That evening, as luck would have it, a guy came by and told George about a job that he might be able to get. It turned out there was a small church around the corner that was looking for a bookkeeper. So the very next morning George went and rapped on the door. The pastor came to the door.
George said, “I understand you are looking for a bookkeeper.”
The pastor said, “Yes, what are your qualifications?” He said, “I don’t have any qualifications. I can’t even read or write. I thought just perhaps there might be something else I could do because I haven’t eaten in two days and perhaps I could just earn enough to get something to eat.” The pastor said, “We are very, very poor. I’m sorry we don’t have anything else for you to do and we couldn’t afford to pay you in any event.” He was just about to close the door but said, “Just a moment.” He went back into the kitchen and came out and gave George an apple. He said, “I don’t have a job but at least here is something to eat.”
George went to the corner of the street and he was just about to take a bite out of the apple when a guy in a suit went by and said, “I will give you a dime for that apple.” Now in the 1930s a dime was a lot of money and George was very hungry, but he looked at it and he made the exchange. He got about half way down the block when he saw a sign in the window: two apples for a dime. He became an instant entrepreneur. He went back to the corner and he was selling apples and going back and forth and after a while he had a stand on the corner and he was back and forth. Then he had stores, then he franchised, and then he had apple orchards and then he moved to Los Angeles and he had one of these wonderful offices on top of one of the great buildings in Los Angeles. He had just had an executive committee meeting.
He was thinking about his life with his feet up on the desk when he thought his was quite a story. Somebody ought to write a book. Well he lived in Los Angeles so he called a famous author.
The author came in and he told him the story and the author said, “You tell that so well George. Why don’t you write your own book?”
George looked at him and said, “You don’t understand. I don’t read or write.”
The writer said, “Imagine if you had gone on to high school, college and university, what might have become of you?”
“I would be a bookkeeper in a broken down church.”
We all have our stories.
I quit drinking in 1971. One thing and another led me to Oakville, Ontario. Business took me along and then through a set of circumstances I created “The Second Cup.” The first store was a disaster. We didn’t have a bookkeeper so we didn’t know that and we opened two more stores. We lost money even quicker. We lost a lot of money. We grew our business however by solving some of those problems and I can remember opening the seventh store. We were offered the seventh store just right here in the Eaton’s Centre. We had a store in the Eaton’s Centre, phase one. We were offered a new location in phase two.
Our banker who will remain anonymous had a bank branch in that shopping centre. We needed to borrow some money so we went to see that banker and we said, “We just need a little bit of money to complete the construction of the seventh store.”
He looked at us and said, “With six stores you have saturated the market for coffee stores in North America.”
I meant to speak about hope, vision, and action. This was a case of no vision. This bank will remain anonymous. It does, however, have a green sign.
I need to keep my remarks short and I want to talk about vision in this country. Before I do, I will tell you a brief story about two guys meeting on an airplane. I was flying to Florida. I left Toronto, got on the airplane and realized I had nothing to read. Before long I began chatting to a guy sitting beside me serendipitously. It turned out his name was Peter Dalglish. Peter hailed from London, Ontario; he was working in the Sudan in the city of Khartoum. He was working for UNICEF, working with children, and it turned out that there were 10,000 kids on the street. They had a slogan that translated into English “my mother the street.” His job was to find anything he could to help these children and he went to the U.S. embassy at one point and borrowed an old Tom and Jerry cartoon and one of those reel-to-reel movie projectors. He brought the projector back to this little shack, where there were maybe a dozen kids, and showed them the movie. The kids didn’t speak English but they were mesmerized by the animation. They saw it over and over. The next night 100 kids showed up and the next night 1,000 kids.
He went on to tell me the World Health Organization was testing kids for serious diseases. It turned out that 21 per cent were HIV positive. Kids were dying of AIDS. The idea that came to us on the airplane was to make an animated film to capture kids’ attention and deliver a health message. It had never been done before. To make a very short story out of a very long one, we came back, created Street Kids International, and made a film. We took it to Geneva to show the World Health Organization. They were having a symposium and they asked us to come. We decided we would just simply let the film speak for itself. We turned off the lights and turned on the film. At the end of 23 minutes you could hear a pin drop. The film was a benchmark for teaching kids about serious subjects for the 21st century. Forty million kids were targeted to see that film. Don’t tell me you can’t change the world. Two guys met on an airplane. Kids will live.
We live in a fabulous country, arguably the best country in the world. We have every obligation and every opportunity to do what we can. I recall going to Sierra Leone. I went there as the Chairman of War Child. Mr. Named Foday Sanko was the Opposition Leader in Sierra Leone. He had lost the last election and in that election the slogan of the winning party was “The future is in your hands.” Mr. Sanko went around with his thugs chopping people’s hands off. I met a woman carrying her niece who was at the time three years old. Eighteen months before, her arm had been chopped off. This was terrorism at its worst. Man’s inhumanity to man. I’ve seen horrible things with land mines and War Child and kids. I’ve seen the worst but I’ve seen also the best.
I’ve seen politicians like Mr. Stevens and others around the globe, people working just like you and I trying to create a better society all over the world. It is a remarkable place, this world of ours, and I have had the great fortune of seeing it all.
The question I have today though about Canada and its politics, given the closeness to Canada Day, is: “Where is the vision?”
What are our politicians talking about today? Where is the John A. Macdonald talking about a railway across the country? Do you think that was easy? Do you think there was no opposition? Of course there was.
Who will forget the debates between Mulroney and Turner over Free Trade and when we think about Pierre Trudeau and his just society, whether you agree or not, he had a great vision where people could come together. Mulroney with GST and Free Trade has changed the dynamics of this country. Mr. Chretien made a determination never to see a deficit again and on the international stage created the world accord and the landmine treaty for which I am very familiar.
Those were great visions. What are we talking about today? Julie Couillard’s cleavage. Where is the vision? All of our politicians are busy tinkering with the mechanics of politics rather than articulating a vision where we Canadians can follow. Where is that person? I challenge today our leadership to find a vision and articulate it. It won’t please everybody and won’t be easy, but I think Canadians will follow. Canadians want to follow. Canadians want to create. Canadians want to create a better society. Where is that leadership?
I look forward to the next election. I hope one of the leaders will have a clear vision of where they want this country to be at the end of the 21st century. Where will we be? What can we do? God knows the globe is in trouble. There are many challenges. Canada often has taken a forefront leadership role in many issues in the past. Why can’t we do it today?
As I have said, I have travelled the world. I’ve seen great horrors and great successes. When I come back to this country, I feel we need to be very, very grateful for this country. This country has afforded me great opportunity, but with that opportunity comes the obligation to give back. Many of us are here simply as an accident of birth. We got lucky.
In Sierra Leone the average income is $324 a year. When I came back from Sierra Leone, my wife said to me that I had changed and I think I had. I understood family much better. I understood the country and the value of this country and the values that Canadians represent. I had changed and I had become grateful. I was fortunate enough to see it. Not all of us can do that.
It was the end of October and our kids were very young. I took them out at Halloween and they were chasing across people’s lawns and knocking on doors and getting candies. There are lots of places in this world where that’s not possible.
Two and half years ago we had an election. We changed governments. Nobody was shot. That is a remarkable thing. In many countries, that is impossible. We have much to be grateful for. So I challenge our politicians once again. Where is the vision? Where will we be? How will we make this country a better place for our kids and our grandkids?
At the end of the day I think Desiderata says it best when it says, “Beyond a wholesome discipline be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.”
And on this Canada Day that is coming up in a few short days, let us always reflect on what we might be able to do for our country, our community, our family and for the world. God bless you. Thanks very much.
The appreciation of the meeting was expressed by Catherine S. Swift, President, The Empire Club of Canada, and President and CEO, Canadian Federation of Independent Business. | English | NL | d3ca388348fa53e90fbdedb83db1a246b812456728423ee26e6581c426f6c932 |
The second floor consisted of family rooms, with the master bedroom, dressing room, bathroom and sitting room all connected. There was a bathroom for the guests to the right of the stairs leading to their bedchambers. At the top of the main staircase was a bedroom used by Donn’s cousin, Virginia Piatt who was a companion to Ella. In the East Tower room was the Catholic Chapel. A circuit riding Priest would come and provide services for them. The West Tower room could be used to read, write or draw as it was filled with light and offered beautiful view. In the side hallway was Donn’s Den where he would do work and write. At the end of this hallway were several steps down to three rooms that were the servants sleeping quarters. Back then, the servants never lived on the same level as those who owned the house.
On the third floor were two elegant guest bedrooms. Both had a sink and the bed was back in a cubby hole and during the day a curtain would be drawn covering the bed area and the room used as a sitting room. There were two tower rooms for the guests to use while they visited and they could see for quite a distance. Donn had a private study on the fourth floor West side tower room which was one room and very small. In the middle of the third floor wide hall was a small hallway that led to the guest’s maids sleeping quarters, so they would be close at hand when needed. Here too, were a couple of steps down with a room on either end and with trunk storage in between.
The farm was situated behind the house over the hill which consisted of outbuildings and a barn or two. Donn raised animals as well as several kinds of crops. During their time at Mac-O-Chee Castle, when not entertaining, Donn continued to write and Ella, an artist, to draw and paint.
Donn died in November of 1891 from an illness. Folks came from miles around to pay their respects with the funeral procession running from Mac-O-Chee Castle to the Piatt Cemetery over a mile away. Ella continued to live in the castle for five more years but it was too big and lonely for just her so she had another house built overlooking the castle from the hill across the road.
Ella put the castle up for sale in September of 1896. Items from the house, livestock, farm machinery and several farm outbuildings were all sold. The first owner was Dr. Thurman who ran a health spa for the wealthy. He added on to the one room stone lodge at the end of the walk that Donn used for a writing retreat during warm weather and used that for his office, exam rooms and it was where he lived. His guests stayed in the castle and enjoyed relaxing in the country. After two or three years Dr. Thurman died and his son sold the property.
The next owner was Graham Denmead from Columbus who purchased the property so his children could grow up in the country. He added the second floor over Thurman’s house and lived there. Later he rented the castle to the Blackwell family and they lived in the back of the house and farmed the property for Denmead. People driving past the house and would stop and ask to see the castle so Denmead opened it for tours with the Blackwell family showing people through the house.
Denmead sold the Castle and the property was purchased by two different people. The Smucker Sisters bought the house next to the castle and lived there for many years running a craft and art store from the barn. In 1945 the castle was purchased by Cameron Turner from Florida. Cameron was a wealthy lady who brought four tons of large, heavy Mediterranean style furniture to the castle. She had tours of the house to showcase her furniture. Occasionally she stayed at the castle and chose the bedroom at the top of the front stairs. Turner died in the mid 1950’s so once again the Castle was up for sale.
Thankfully, Mac-O-Chee Castle was bought back in the 1960’s by descendants of Donn’s brother Abram, Bill and Jim Piatt. They purchased furniture following the pictures that Ella took of the rooms; if not original it’s as close to time period as they could. They started offering tours at Mac-O-Chee and have been doing so ever since.
As with any 150+ year old building Mac-O-Chee Castle shows the wear of time, but is still worth visiting. Take a step back in time to a different era and catch a glimpse of how Donn and Ella spent their time in their grand old country home.
Rev. Tami Wenger
The Village of West Liberty is Ohio's best kept secret travel destination. Come stay awhile in this quintessential Midwestern small town in the heart of the Buckeye State! | English | NL | 349d1a97b8e2e6268761fdc45e18df902124d70f94bb9d25ed252ee803d5769d |
After having created our boxes we were to come up with a story and draw its storyboard. For me, the metal wire reminded me slightly of barbed wire which led me to think of how a war veteran would react in such an environment filled with jagged metal wires. This led me to think of a short story in which a war veteran would become caught up in this environment from seeking shelter from heavy rain. However, once in this place full of wires he begins to have a PTSD shock/attack from the memories of barbed wire and falls to the ground with no one around to help him. At the end, in a zoomed in shot, we would see a hand reaching out towards him. This ending would be ominous as to whether the hand is there to help him and who it is. This story would also be in film version.
© Diane, all rights reserved | English | NL | 14e8106718d9aad8edb9c82218843529dc2c86e83047dbd154effd805b141b0d |
So what was the actual 'process' for selecting poems for the chapbook? Did you go through an elimination process in any way?
The process was quite friendly, as we (the authors) all knew each other in varying degrees and ways even before the idea for the four-way chapbook was conceived. Three of us (James, Ryan, and myself) have lived together in a house that hosts diy music and readings in Columbus, Ohio called Monster House. I've known Jordan since he was 15, maybe 14. For Assuming Size, I decided to act as ad hoc editor and had everyone email me the poems they wanted in the chapbook. If something seemed superfluous or off with a poem I would have emailed them back and offered suggestions about changing it, if I thought it was worth keeping, or told them straight up if it lacked the necessary togetherness with the rest of the book. I also went into the process aware of the inherent stylistic and aesthetic differences of our writing and realized our poems would (necessarily) push against each other, create a curious tension. My hope was that perhaps this tension, that difference manifested by putting them next to each other in a single book might urge the reader to see difference as singularity, to note connection, and not simply dissimilarity.
Were there any interesting challenges/problems/benefits to producing a four-way chapbook as opposed to one per author?
Mostly benefits. It was a very quick process. I already knew everyone's style to a certain degree and could expect at least a little bit about how the book would flow. Ryan and James thought of doing a fourway book to showcase, together, our writing in August while on a music tour. They came home and told me about the idea and I emailed Jordan and he was into it. From there, we pretty much all had poems ready for the book, and I merely had to organize, edit, & design the book, which took about two months. The last week of October is when it came out.
Where does the name Assuming Size come from? Who coined it?
I chose to name the chapbook Assuming Size. Not totally sure how I coined it. I was in what I call "naming mode" when I thought of it. It is a process I developed when I was maybe 15 or 16 and began playing in bands and writing songs and needing to name songs. I think it's also just a process people use every day, too. Mostly the process consists of me zoning out, focusing intensely hard and then not hard; thinking only about the thing I am trying to name, and then not thinking about it, but also thinking about it in a way like the thing you are thinking of is still being thought of, probably in your unconscious, and then the names just present themselves. To sound less pretentious, it's just mainly me sitting in a chair staring at nothing and something at the same time. I emailed Jordan Castro possible titles and he liked Assuming Size. Other potential titles were Ineffable Everyone & Topologies. I chose Assuming Size for reasons associated with what I thought was a major motif in the book. I liked the multivalent-ness of the title, too, that assuming could mean supposing, adopting, acquiring, commandeering, etc. It was vague enough, and just slightly specific enough to not be lost to cliche or to be considered esoteric.
Was there a particular rhyme or reason to the layout of the work in the book?
I read everyone's poems together, laid them out in different ways and orders, and the order in the book is the one I found most fitting. I am unsure totally what caused me to choose the order in this way; I am only able to say that after looking and reading the poems for an hour several different times in multiple orders this layout seemed to go through my chronological filter easiest and the most pleasantly. It's difficult to explain—I just kind of know what I think is right and go with it. Call it intuition or a learned set of arbitrary algorithms. It just feels correct, somehow, to me.
What are your favorite pieces in the book? Were there any you wanted to include but had to/chose to omit? If you had to pick one piece that, starting over, you wouldn't include, which would it be?
I like each and every poem in the collection. The standouts for me, if I have to choose, would be Jame's poem "Arthur danto" and Ryan's "War (explained)." Both are playful and funny and endearing in complex and interesting ways. They are "alive" to me. They are what I like about poetry: its ability to be there after and during the moment, to act as space for the things that could not happen or be said to happen or be said. Jame's poem in particular is very on with the title of the book—it has that understanding of the feeling of smallness that accompanies (possibly) where we are from and how we were raised. It's spot on. I like Jordan's poems for different reasons—for their staticness, their calm demeanor and almost scientific, instructional feeling. I would not change anything about the chapbook if I could.
Any upcoming projects on your part? Anything that the other authors are doing? [Readings/Shows/Etc?] Should we expect more from Monster House Press in the future?
Assuming Size was the first release from Monster House Press, which I founded to release this book. I'm going to publish more chapbooks through it. Just a small, yet dedicated, affair. Josh Kleinberg is on deck to be the next release on MHP, hopefully sometime in February. All the authors usually are working on some project or another and that information can be found at their blogs listed below:
Richard Wehrenberg, Jr.
For more information on Assuming Size click [here]. Purchase a copy today!
Richard Wehrenberg, Jr.is the co-founder of the cooperatively run publishing house, Monster House Press as well as the co-author of two chapbooks of poetry, think tank for human beings in general and Assuming Size. He lives in Columbus, Ohio. | English | NL | a4ea5e22c55008e2ec3ae229dc42a53a2e3e583551f966247ef7bd31195a619c |
|He Is Risen by Greg Olsen|
On this Easter Sunday, I am grateful for my Savior and His Atonement, His love and His grace. I am grateful for the lesson I learned from Mary Magdalene.
When Mary Magdalene was alone at the sepulchre of the Savior, she was feeling overwhelmed and distraught, so much so that she "stood without the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre" (John 20:11). Mary could not find her Lord. His body was no longer in the tomb. She had come early that morning, "when it was yet dark," to bring oils and spices to anoint Him- in essence, to come and worship Him (John 20:1).
But He was not where she expected Him to be.
Mary looked into the sepulchre, and saw the folded linens that had wrapped her Lord. She saw two angels, but she was not satisfied because it was not her Lord. She explained the cause of her sorrow: "They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him" (John 20:13). Mary could not find her Lord. She did not understand why He was gone, and her grief was doubled at His disappearance.
As she cried by the tomb, Mary "turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus" (John 20:14). She didn't recognize her beloved Lord even when He spoke to her, asking her whom she was seeking (John 20:15). Instead of recognizing Him, she asked Him where HE was, saying, "Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away" (John 20: 15). Mary wanted her Lord, but she didn't recognize Him. Mary knew where her Lord had been when she had last seen Him, and He was there no longer. His body was no longer in the tomb.
"Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master" (John 20:16). Her Lord knew her, He called her by her name. I am sure that the love in His voice pulled her eyes upwards, away from the tomb, and up to His face. And then she recognized Him. Mary found her Lord.
And He wasn't in the tomb.
Sometimes there are awful moments in life. Sometimes life becomes dark. Sometimes when we look to find our Lord, He is not where we expect Him to be. Sometimes we are looking so hard within the dark and empty tomb that we cannot recognize the Lord when He standing behind us, coming near to us. Our relationship with Him changes as we change, and as our needs and strengths change.
When my illness becomes very bad, it is easy to look within the dark place of worry, pain, fear, anxiety, and sadness. It can be very difficult to focus on anything else. It can be unbearably difficult to attempt to look anywhere else. But where is the Savior? Where is his promised aid and comfort? Where is the Lord who knows my name, my pain, and is my salvation?
Get your head out of the tomb, and turn around. Look up, not down. Look to the light, not to the dark. Find hope, not despair. Listen for His voice. | English | NL | 40e71c43f71a1ee5448383819d753562f9293a604e9b23eca6d506d2190b9d43 |
Born in the South of France, Albert Alla moved back and forth between St-Tropez and Nice until the age of thirteen, when his family emigrated to Australia. Swapping Dumas for Dickens, he moved around Australia studying engineering and playing cricket, before going off to Oxford to study economics.
The author of the novel Black Chalk (2013), he is also the founder of the Montmartre Dionysia, an English-language theatre festival of new plays that spanned five editions and thirty plays. He holds an MFA in creative writing from New York University.
He is currently at work on his next novel. To keep up to date, join his mailing list. | English | NL | 65e971688f01e3ae92fdfb728dd8bc607ae1964ffe1d19649a0ff9b6fa9a18bd |
5 Epiphany February 10, 2019
First Reading: Judges 6:11-24a
The angel of the LORD came and sat under the oak at Ophrah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, as his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the wine press, to hide it from the Midianites. The angel of the LORD appeared to him and said to him, "The LORD is with you, you mighty warrior." Gideon answered him, "But sir, if the LORD is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our ancestors recounted to us, saying, 'Did not the LORD bring us up from Egypt?' But now the LORD has cast us off, and given us into the hand of Midian." Then the LORD turned to him and said, "Go in this might of yours and deliver Israel from the hand of Midian; I hereby commission you." He responded, "But sir, how can I deliver Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family." The LORD said to him, "But I will be with you, and you shall strike down the Midianites, every one of them." Then he said to him, "If now I have found favor with you, then show me a sign that it is you who speak with me. Do not depart from here until I come to you, and bring out my present, and set it before you." And he said, "I will stay until you return." So Gideon went into his house and prepared a kid, and unleavened cakes from an ephah of flour; the meat he put in a basket, and the broth he put in a pot, and brought them to him under the oak and presented them. The angel of God said to him, "Take the meat and the unleavened cakes, and put them on this rock, and pour out the broth." And he did so. Then the angel of the LORD reached out the tip of the staff that was in his hand, and touched the meat and the unleavened cakes; and fire sprang up from the rock and consumed the meat and the unleavened cakes; and the angel of the LORD vanished from his sight. Then Gideon perceived that it was the angel of the LORD; and Gideon said, "Help me, Lord GOD! For I have seen the angel of the LORD face to face." But the LORD said to him, "Peace be to you; do not fear, you shall not die." Then Gideon built an altar there to the LORD, and called it, The LORD is peace.
1. When, if ever, have you received a sign from God?
Psalm 85:7-13 Page 709, BCP
Show us your mercy, O LORD, *
and grant us your salvation.
I will listen to what the LORD God is saying, *
for he is speaking peace to his faithful people
and to those who turn their hearts to him.
Truly, his salvation is very near to those who fear him, *
that his glory may dwell in our land.
Mercy and truth have met together; *
righteousness and peace have kissed each other.
Truth shall spring up from the earth, *
and righteousness shall look down from heaven.
The LORD will indeed grant prosperity, *
and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness shall go before him, *
and peace shall be a pathway for his feet.
1. How does God provide peace for his people?
Epistle Reading: 1 Corinthians 15:1-11
I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you--unless you have come to believe in vain. For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them--though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe.
1. How do people come to belief?
The Gospel: Luke 5:1-11
Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch." Simon answered, "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets." When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people." When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.
1. How doeos God bless the endeavors to which he calls us? | English | NL | 4e2de63b79f093083ad01345cdc23552b879ecb2f01bd992e3f4577deafebfc1 |
|Site Map > Electronic Library > E. Nesbit > Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare > TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA|
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TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
Only one of them was really a gentleman, as you will discover later. Their names were Valentine and Proteus. They were friends, and lived at Verona, a town in northern Italy. Valentine was happy in his name because it was that of the patron saint of lovers; it is hard for a Valentine to be fickle or mean. Proteus was unhappy in his name, because it was that of a famous shape-changer, and therefore it encouraged him to be a lover at one time and a traitor at another.
One day, Valentine told his friend that he was going to Milan. "I'm not in love like you," said he, "and therefore I don't want to stay at home."
Proteus was in love with a beautiful yellow-haired girl called Julia, who was rich, and had no one to order her about. He was, however, sorry to part from Valentine, and he said, "If ever you are in danger tell me, and I will pray for you." Valentine then went to Milan with a servant called Speed, and at Milan he fell in love with the Duke of Milan's daughter, Silvia.
When Proteus and Valentine parted Julia had not acknowledged that she loved Proteus. Indeed, she had actually torn up one of his letters in the presence of her maid, Lucetta. Lucetta, however, was no simpleton, for when she saw the pieces she said to herself, "All she wants is to be annoyed by another letter." Indeed, no sooner had Lucetta left her alone than Julia repented of her tearing, and placed between her dress and her heart the torn piece of paper on which Proteus had signed his name. So by tearing a letter written by Proteus she discovered that she loved him. Then, like a brave, sweet girl, she wrote to Proteus, "Be patient, and you shall marry me."
Delighted with these words Proteus walked about, flourishing Julia's letter and talking to himself.
"What have you got there?" asked his father, Antonio.
"A letter from Valentine," fibbed Proteus.
"Let me read it," said Antonio.
"There is no news," said deceitful Proteus; "he only says that he is very happy, and the Duke of Milan is kind to him, and that he wishes I were with him."
This fib had the effect of making Antonio think that his son should go to Milan and enjoy the favors in which Valentine basked. "You must go to-morrow," he decreed. Proteus was dismayed. "Give me time to get my outfit ready." He was met with the promise, "What you need shall be sent after you."
It grieved Julia to part from her lover before their engagement was two days' old. She gave him a ring, and said, "Keep this for my sake," and he gave her a ring, and they kissed like two who intend to be true till death. Then Proteus departed for Milan.
Meanwhile Valentine was amusing Silvia, whose grey eyes, laughing at him under auburn hair, had drowned him in love. One day she told him that she wanted to write a pretty letter to a gentleman whom she thought well of, but had no time: would he write it? Very much did Valentine dislike writing that letter, but he did write it, and gave it to her coldly. "Take it back," she said; "you did it unwillingly."
"Madam," he said, "it was difficult to write such a letter for you."
"Take it back," she commanded; "you did not write tenderly enough."
Valentine was left with the letter, and condemned to write another; but his servant Speed saw that, in effect, the Lady Silvia had allowed Valentine to write for her a love-letter to Valentine's own self. "The joke," he said, "is as invisible as a weather-cock on a steeple." He meant that it was very plain; and he went on to say exactly what it was: "If master will write her love-letters, he must answer them."
On the arrival of Proteus, he was introduced by Valentine to Silvia and afterwards, when they were alone, Valentine asked Proteus how his love for Julia was prospering.
"Why," said Proteus, "you used to get wearied when I spoke of her."
"Aye," confessed Valentine, "but it's different now. I can eat and drink all day with nothing but love on my plate and love in my cup."
"You idolize Silvia," said Proteus.
"She is divine," said Valentine.
"Come, come!" remonstrated Proteus.
"Well, if she's not divine," said Valentine, "she is the queen of all women on earth."
"Except Julia," said Proteus.
"Dear boy," said Valentine, "Julia is not excepted; but I will grant that she alone is worthy to bear my lady's train."
"Your bragging astounds me," said Proteus.
But he had seen Silvia, and he felt suddenly that the yellow-haired Julia was black in comparison. He became in thought a villain without delay, and said to himself what he had never said before - "I to myself am dearer than my friend."
It would have been convenient for Valentine if Proteus had changed, by the power of the god whose name he bore, the shape of his body at the evil moment when he despised Julia in admiring Silvia. But his body did not change; his smile was still affectionate, and Valentine confided to him the great secret that Silvia had now promised to run away with him. "In the pocket of this cloak," said Valentine, "I have a silken rope ladder, with hooks which will clasp the window-bar of her room."
Proteus knew the reason why Silvia and her lover were bent on flight. The Duke intended her to wed Sir Thurio, a gentlemanly noodle for whom she did not care a straw.
Proteus thought that if he could get rid of Valentine he might make Silvia fond of him, especially if the Duke insisted on her enduring Sir Thurio's tiresome chatter. He therefore went to the Duke, and said, "Duty before friendship! It grieves me to thwart my friend Valentine, but your Grace should know that he intends to-night to elope with your Grace's daughter." He begged the Duke not to tell Valentine the giver of this information, and the Duke assured him that his name would not be divulged.
Early that evening the Duke summoned Valentine, who came to him wearing a large cloak with a bulging pocket.
"You know," said the Duke, "my desire to marry my daughter to Sir Thurio?"
"I do," replied Valentine. "He is virtuous and generous, as befits a man so honored in your Grace's thoughts."
"Nevertheless she dislikes him," said the Duke. "She is a peevish, proud, disobedient girl, and I should be sorry to leave her a penny. I intend, therefore, to marry again."
"I hardly know how the young people of to-day make love," continued the Duke, "and I thought that you would be just the man to teach me how to win the lady of my choice."
"Jewels have been known to plead rather well," said Valentine.
"I have tried them," said the Duke.
"The habit of liking the giver may grow if your Grace gives her some more."
"The chief difficulty," pursued the Duke, "is this. The lady is promised to a young gentleman, and it is hard to have a word with her. She is, in fact, locked up."
"Then your Grace should propose an elopement," said Valentine. "Try a rope ladder."
"But how should I carry it?" asked the Duke.
"A rope ladder is light," said Valentine; "You can carry it in a cloak."
"Yes, your Grace."
"Then yours will do. Kindly lend it to me."
Valentine had talked himself into a trap. He could not refuse to lend his cloak, and when the Duke had donned it, his Grace drew from the pocket a sealed missive addressed to Silvia. He coolly opened it, and read these words: "Silvia, you shall be free to-night."
"Indeed," he said, "and here's the rope ladder. Prettily contrived, but not perfectly. I give you, sir, a day to leave my dominions. If you are in Milan by this time to-morrow, you die."
Poor Valentine was saddened to the core. "Unless I look on Silvia in the day," he said, "there is no day for me to look upon."
Before he went he took farewell of Proteus, who proved a hypocrite of the first order. "Hope is a lover's staff," said Valentine's betrayer; "walk hence with that."
After leaving Milan, Valentine and his servant wandered into a forest near Mantua where the great poet Virgil lived. In the forest, however, the poets (if any) were brigands, who bade the travelers stand. They obeyed, and Valentine made so good an impression upon his captors that they offered him his life on condition that he became their captain.
"I accept," said Valentine, "provided you release my servant, and are not violent to women or the poor."
The reply was worthy of Virgil, and Valentine became a brigand chief.
We return now to Julia, who found Verona too dull to live in since Proteus had gone. She begged her maid Lucetta to devise a way by which she could see him. "Better wait for him to return," said Lucetta, and she talked so sensibly that Julia saw it was idle to hope that Lucetta would bear the blame of any rash and interesting adventure. Julia therefore said that she intended to go to Milan and dressed like a page.
"You must cut off your hair then," said Lucetta, who thought that at this announcement Julia would immediately abandon her scheme.
"I shall knot it up," was the disappointing rejoinder.
Lucetta then tried to make the scheme seem foolish to Julia, but Julia had made up her mind and was not to be put off by ridicule; and when her toilet was completed, she looked as comely a page as one could wish to see.
Julia assumed the male name Sebastian, and arrived in Milan in time to hear music being performed outside the Duke's palace.
"They are serenading the Lady Silvia," said a man to her.
Suddenly she heard a voice lifted in song, and she knew that voice. It was the voice of Proteus. But what was he singing?
"Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her That she might admired be."
Julia tried not to hear the rest, but these two lines somehow thundered into her mind -
"Then to Silvia let us sing; She excels each mortal thing."
Then Proteus thought Silvia excelled Julia; and, since he sang so beautifully for all the world to hear, it seemed that he was not only false to Julia, but had forgotten her. Yet Julia still loved him. She even went to him, and asked to be his page, and Proteus engaged her.
One day, he handed to her the ring which she had given him, and said, "Sebastian, take that to the Lady Silvia, and say that I should like the picture of her she promised me."
Silvia had promised the picture, but she disliked Proteus. She was obliged to talk to him because he was high in the favor of her father, who thought he pleaded with her on behalf of Sir Thurio. Silvia had learned from Valentine that Proteus was pledged to a sweetheart in Verona; and when he said tender things to her, she felt that he was disloyal in friendship as well as love.
Julia bore the ring to Silvia, but Silvia said, "I will not wrong the woman who gave it him by wearing it."
"She thanks you," said Julia.
"You know her, then?" said Silvia, and Julia spoke so tenderly of herself that Silvia wished that Sebastian would marry Julia.
Silvia gave Julia her portrait for Proteus, who would have received it the worse for extra touches on the nose and eyes if Julia had not made up her mind that she was as pretty as Silvia.
Soon there was an uproar in the palace. Silvia had fled.
The Duke was certain that her intention was to join the exiled Valentine, and he was not wrong.
Without delay he started in pursuit, with Sir Thurio, Proteus, and some servants.
The members of the pursuing party got separated, and Proteus and Julia (in her page's dress) were by themselves when they saw Silvia, who had been taken prisoner by outlaws and was now being led to their Captain. Proteus rescued her, and then said, "I have saved you from death; give me one kind look."
"O misery, to be helped by you!" cried Silvia. "I would rather be a lion's breakfast."
Julia was silent, but cheerful. Proteus was so much annoyed with Silvia that he threatened her, and seized her by the waist.
"O heaven!" cried Silvia.
At that instant there was a noise of crackling branches. Valentine came crashing through the Mantuan forest to the rescue of his beloved. Julia feared he would slay Proteus, and hurried to help her false lover. But he struck no blow, he only said, "Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust you more."
Thereat Proteus felt his guilt, and fell on his knees, saying, "Forgive me! I grieve! I suffer!"
"Then you are my friend once more," said the generous Valentine. "If Silvia, that is lost to me, will look on you with favor, I promise that I will stand aside and bless you both."
These words were terrible to Julia, and she swooned. Valentine revived her, and said, "What was the matter, boy?"
"I remembered," fibbed Julia, "that I was charged to give a ring to the Lady Silvia, and that I did not."
"Well, give it to me," said Proteus.
She handed him a ring, but it was the ring that Proteus gave to Julia before he left Verona.
Proteus looked at her hand, and crimsoned to the roots of his hair.
"I changed my shape when you changed your mind," said she.
"But I love you again," said he.
Just then outlaws entered, bringing two prizes - the Duke and Sir Thurio.
"Forbear!" cried Valentine, sternly. "The Duke is sacred."
Sir Thurio exclaimed, "There's Silvia; she's mine!"
"Touch her, and you die!" said Valentine.
"I should be a fool to risk anything for her," said Sir Thurio.
"Then you are base," said the Duke. "Valentine, you are a brave man. Your banishment is over. I recall you. You may marry Silvia. You deserve her."
"I thank your Grace," said Valentine, deeply moved, "and yet must ask you one more boon."
"I grant it," said the Duke.
"Pardon these men, your Grace, and give them employment. They are better than their calling."
"I pardon them and you," said the Duke. "Their work henceforth shall be for wages."
"What think you of this page, your Grace?" asked Valentine, indicating Julia.
The Duke glanced at her, and said, "I think the boy has grace in him."
"More grace than boy, say I," laughed Valentine, and the only punishment which Proteus had to bear for his treacheries against love and friendship was the recital in his presence of the adventures of Julia-Sebastian of Verona.
Turn to the next chapter: ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL | English | NL | f2635149cedbb2c13fa474db3834ee8186d402d9cd581ee982c17d531f5be5d4 |
War and Peace : Book 10, Chapter 02
(1828 - 1910) ~ Father of Christian Anarchism : In 1861, during the second of his European tours, Tolstoy met with Proudhon, with whom he exchanged ideas. Inspired by the encounter, Tolstoy returned to Yasnaya Polyana to found thirteen schools that were the first attempt to implement a practical model of libertarian education. (From : Anarchy Archives.)
• "The Government and all those of the upper classes near the Government who live by other people's work, need some means of dominating the workers, and find this means in the control of the army. Defense against foreign enemies is only an excuse. The German Government frightens its subjects about the Russians and the French; the French Government, frightens its people about the Germans; the Russian Government frightens its people about the French and the Germans; and that is the way with all Governments. But neither Germans nor Russians nor Frenchmen desire to fight their neighbors or other people; but, living in peace, they dread war more than anything else in the world." (From : "Letter to a Non-Commissioned Officer," by Leo Tol....)
• "You are surprised that soldiers are taught that it is right to kill people in certain cases and in war, while in the books admitted to be holy by those who so teach, there is nothing like such a permission..." (From : "Letter to a Non-Commissioned Officer," by Leo Tol....)
• "Only by recognizing the land as just such an article of common possession as the sun and air will you be able, without bias and justly, to establish the ownership of land among all men, according to any of the existing projects or according to some new project composed or chosen by you in common." (From : "To the Working People," by Leo Tolstoy, Yasnaya P....)
Book 10, Chapter 02
The day after his son had left, Prince Nicholas sent for Princess Mary to come to his study.
“Well? Are you satisfied now?” said he. “You’ve made me quarrel with my son! Satisfied, are you? That’s all you wanted! Satisfied?... It hurts me, it hurts. I’m old and weak and this is what you wanted. Well then, gloat over it! Gloat over it!”
After that Princess Mary did not see her father for a whole week. He was ill and did not leave his study.
Princess Mary noticed to her surprise that during this illness the old prince not only excluded her from his room, but did not admit Mademoiselle Bourienne either. Tíkhon alone attended him.
At the end of the week the prince reappeared and resumed his former way of life, devoting himself with special activity to building operations and the arrangement of the gardens and completely breaking off his relations with Mademoiselle Bourienne. His looks and cold tone to his daughter seemed to say: “There, you see? You plotted against me, you lied to Prince Andrew about my relations with that Frenchwoman and made me quarrel with him, but you see I need neither her nor you!”
Princess Mary spent half of every day with little Nicholas, watching his lessons, teaching him Russian and music herself, and talking to Dessalles; the rest of the day she spent over her books, with her old nurse, or with “God’s folk” who sometimes came by the back door to see her.
Of the war Princess Mary thought as women do think about wars. She feared for her brother who was in it, was horrified by and amazed at the strange cruelty that impels men to kill one another, but she did not understand the significance of this war, which seemed to her like all previous wars. She did not realize the significance of this war, though Dessalles with whom she constantly conversed was passionately interested in its progress and tried to explain his own conception of it to her, and though the “God’s folk” who came to see her reported, in their own way, the rumors current among the people of an invasion by Antichrist, and though Julie (now Princess Drubetskáya), who had resumed correspondence with her, wrote patriotic letters from Moscow.
“I write you in Russian, my good friend,” wrote Julie in her Frenchified Russian, “because I have a detestation for all the French, and the same for their language which I cannot support to hear spoken.... We in Moscow are elated by enthusiasm for our adored Emperor.
“My poor husband is enduring pains and hunger in Jewish taverns, but the news which I have inspires me yet more.
“You heard probably of the heroic exploit of Raévski, embracing his two sons and saying: ‘I will perish with them but we will not be shaken!’ And truly though the enemy was twice stronger than we, we were unshakable. We pass the time as we can, but in war as in war! The princesses Align and Sophie sit whole days with me, and we, unhappy widows of live men, make beautiful conversations over our charpie, only you, my friend, are missing...” and so on.
The chief reason Princess Mary did not realize the full significance of this war was that the old prince never spoke of it, did not recognize it, and laughed at Dessalles when he mentioned it at dinner. The prince’s tone was so calm and confident that Princess Mary unhesitatingly believed him.
All that July the old prince was exceedingly active and even animated. He planned another garden and began a new building for the domestic serfs. The only thing that made Princess Mary anxious about him was that he slept very little and, instead of sleeping in his study as usual, changed his sleeping place every day. One day he would order his camp bed to be set up in the glass gallery, another day he remained on the couch or on the lounge chair in the drawing room and dozed there without undressing, while—instead of Mademoiselle Bourienne—a serf boy read to him. Then again he would spend a night in the dining room.
On August 1, a second letter was received from Prince Andrew. In his first letter which came soon after he had left home, Prince Andrew had dutifully asked his father’s forgiveness for what he had allowed himself to say and begged to be restored to his favor. To this letter the old prince had replied affectionately, and from that time had kept the Frenchwoman at a distance. Prince Andrew’s second letter, written near Vítebsk after the French had occupied that town, gave a brief account of the whole campaign, enclosed for them a plan he had drawn and forecasts as to the further progress of the war. In this letter Prince Andrew pointed out to his father the danger of staying at Bald Hills, so near the theater of war and on the army’s direct line of march, and advised him to move to Moscow.
At dinner that day, on Dessalles’ mentioning that the French were said to have already entered Vítebsk, the old prince remembered his son’s letter.
“There was a letter from Prince Andrew today,” he said to Princess Mary—“Haven’t you read it?”
“No, Father,” she replied in a frightened voice.
She could not have read the letter as she did not even know it had arrived.
“He writes about this war,” said the prince, with the ironic smile that had become habitual to him in speaking of the present war.
“That must be very interesting,” said Dessalles. “Prince Andrew is in a position to know...”
“Oh, very interesting!” said Mademoiselle Bourienne.
“Go and get it for me,” said the old prince to Mademoiselle Bourienne. “You know—under the paperweight on the little table.”
Mademoiselle Bourienne jumped up eagerly.
“No, don’t!” he exclaimed with a frown. “You go, Michael Ivánovich.”
Michael Ivánovich rose and went to the study. But as soon as he had left the room the old prince, looking uneasily round, threw down his napkin and went himself.
“They can’t do anything... always make some muddle,” he muttered.
While he was away Princess Mary, Dessalles, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and even little Nicholas exchanged looks in silence. The old prince returned with quick steps, accompanied by Michael Ivánovich, bringing the letter and a plan. These he put down beside him—not letting anyone read them at dinner.
On moving to the drawing room he handed the letter to Princess Mary and, spreading out before him the plan of the new building and fixing his eyes upon it, told her to read the letter aloud. When she had done so Princess Mary looked inquiringly at her father. He was examining the plan, evidently engrossed in his own ideas.
“What do you think of it, Prince?” Dessalles ventured to ask.
“I? I?...” said the prince as if unpleasantly awakened, and not taking his eyes from the plan of the building.
“Very possibly the theater of war will move so near to us that...”
“Ha ha ha! The theater of war!” said the prince. “I have said and still say that the theater of war is Poland and the enemy will never get beyond the Niemen.”
Dessalles looked in amazement at the prince, who was talking of the Niemen when the enemy was already at the Dnieper, but Princess Mary, forgetting the geographical position of the Niemen, thought that what her father was saying was correct.
“When the snow melts they’ll sink in the Polish swamps. Only they could fail to see it,” the prince continued, evidently thinking of the campaign of 1807 which seemed to him so recent. “Bennigsen should have advanced into Prussia sooner, then things would have taken a different turn...”
“But, Prince,” Dessalles began timidly, “the letter mentions Vítebsk....”
“Ah, the letter? Yes...” replied the prince peevishly. “Yes... yes...” His face suddenly took on a morose expression. He paused. “Yes, he writes that the French were beaten at... at... what river is it?”
Dessalles dropped his eyes.
“The prince says nothing about that,” he remarked gently.
“Doesn’t he? But I didn’t invent it myself.”
No one spoke for a long time.
“Yes... yes... Well, Michael Ivánovich,” he suddenly went on, raising his head and pointing to the plan of the building, “tell me how you mean to alter it....”
Michael Ivánovich went up to the plan, and the prince after speaking to him about the building looked angrily at Princess Mary and Dessalles and went to his own room.
Princess Mary saw Dessalles’ embarrassed and astonished look fixed on her father, noticed his silence, and was struck by the fact that her father had forgotten his son’s letter on the drawing room table; but she was not only afraid to speak of it and ask Dessalles the reason of his confusion and silence, but was afraid even to think about it.
In the evening Michael Ivánovich, sent by the prince, came to Princess Mary for Prince Andrew’s letter which had been forgotten in the drawing room. She gave it to him and, unpleasant as it was to her to do so, ventured to ask him what her father was doing.
“Always busy,” replied Michael Ivánovich with a respectfully ironic smile which caused Princess Mary to turn pale. “He’s worrying very much about the new building. He has been reading a little, but now”—Michael Ivánovich went on, lowering his voice—“now he’s at his desk, busy with his will, I expect.” (One of the prince’s favorite occupations of late had been the preparation of some papers he meant to leave at his death and which he called his “will.”)
“And Alpátych is being sent to Smolénsk?” asked Princess Mary.
“Oh, yes, he has been waiting to start for some time.”
From : Gutenberg.org
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The chimes pulled him from an otherwise restful sleep. Lost in dreams of sunshine and beaches; that familiar scent of coconut and salt. It was something that he prayed he could experience again one day. Certainly there were other places he could visit that would be similar, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wanted to go home, to be with his wife. Every day he prayed that she still waited for him, but it had been two years and he was still no closer to getting home. For now, all he had were his memories and the old photos on his phone. The data had been uploaded into the computer and he could pull them up whenever he wanted, but like that beach, it wasn’t the same: they were just memories.
He opened his eyes and stared at the drab grey ceiling above him. The cold metal never offered him any real comfort, though the bed was surprisingly comfortable. Not too soft, not too hard. The material was something akin to the polyurethane that was used in memory foam mattresses. It wasn’t the same material, but it was just easier for him to call it that. It was better for his state of mind anyway. Sliding out of bed, he pulled on a pair of charcoal colored pants and grabbed a shirt with the Diosian logo on the breast. The pants were fabricated from a plant that had the same organic properties as cotton but were far stronger when woven together, however they weren’t nearly as soft or as comfortable.
“Good morning, Commander,” a woman’s voice announced over the intercom. It wasn’t automated like the vocal recognition software back home. It was digitized, but that was barely noticeable. After altering her language option from Corsian to English, the tone and pitch shifted from the rough, almost Russian-sounding male voice to a lighter, feminine one. Ally said it was to help ease him from his stasis. Diosian research determined that female tones were far more comforting to the male of the species. He wanted to argue with her, but decided that she was probably right. It was his choice to name her Ally, rather than just referring to her as “computer”. He wasn’t sure why he chose the name Ally. It just sounded right.
“What time is it?” He asked with a deep yawn. Running his fingers through the short stubble of his hair, he brought his hand back behind his neck, stopping at the neocortical node implanted at the base of his skull. As he stared at the mirror his ocular implants flashed a quick diagnostics of all systems. They were all nominal. His organic eyes were replaced during his stasis as part of the advancement process. While artificial, the implants operated just like his real eyes, but with some enhancements: perfect 20/20 vision, 10x zoom, a constant visual hub that could be brought up with a thought, as well as enhanced night vision. Aesthetically, he preferred the grey iris much better than the brown.
“It is 500 hours and 26 minutes, Central Standard Earth Time.” Ally replied. He paused mid-stretch.
“Why am I up so early?” he asked, perhaps whining more than he had intended.
“You asked me to alert you if we located any items of interest.” Ally explained. “There is an abandoned vessel 4,793 kilometers away. I thought you may want to search it for salvage.”
This caught his attention. He was in need of some credits and some parts for his suits. His most recent run-in with the Arin Pirates had damaged two of his suits. He could feed the salvaged materials into the synthesizer for breakdown and reproduction. He could have just done some patching but it would take away from the aesthetics. Plus the seals had better chances of rupturing, and that was the last thing he needed while flying around the vacuum of space.
Before leaving his quarters, he caught a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror. There were perks to having been abducted. Thick muscles and single percent body fat were a plus. The practical aspect of the metabolic and hormonal rebalancing allowed him to be in peak physical shape—as any soldier was meant to be. While he admired the impossibly well-toned abdomen that he struggled most of his adult life to get, he could not help but stare at the quarter sized nodes that were implanted into the center of each pectoral and the sides of his shoulders, biceps and forearms.
Like the neocortical node, the surface of each node was smooth with a small dimple in the center, where a miniature sensor allows the conduits to promote the synaptic transmissions between his body and mind with his armor and various tools. In addition to the nodes in his chest and arms, there were additional nodes implanted in his quadriceps, calves, and more running down his spine between each vertebra.
His name was Justin Kennedy and he lived in Chicago with his wife, Heather. The two met at a coffee shop where he accidentally spilled his Frappuccino on her while fumbling with his phone. Of course she didn’t find it nearly as funny at the time. The two were very much in love and were expecting their first child. However he never got to experience the birth of his son, or even see him outside of a sonogram. Justin’s life changed one night when he was getting Heather a pint of much-needed ice cream.
On the view screen the ship was a wreck. It was a Class 4 Research Vessel, no doubt from the Ferrus system. According to the initial analysis provided by Virgil, the ship was registered to the Corsian government. Seeing this piqued Justin’s curiosity. The Corsian ship was almost two systems away from their normal shipping lanes. Ships never moved outside of the safety of the routes because of all of the pirate activity in the system. There were security outposts all through the sectors that could respond in minutes if a distress signal was sent out. So, why move so far outside of that safety?
“Virgil, identify vessel,” Justin ordered as he slid on his shirt. An overly digitized voice spoke over the intercoms. Unlike Ally, the voice was masculine but lacked the same gender variation as her.
Virgil was a helper program designed to help with voice-automated tasks. As a helper program he was able to access and utilize preexisting data. While Ally was a fully aware AI and capable of drawing her own conclusions and ideas, Virgil was a basic VI program. He was found in a salvaged vessel. When Justin realized that he was fully functional he felt guilty leaving him behind. So he downloaded him into the ship’s mainframe and he’s been there ever since.
“Class 4 Corsian Research Vessel. According to the ship’s registration is it belongs to Diosian Research.” Virgil said. Justin felt a sudden jolt of electricity run through his body as he heard the name Diosian Research.
“Virgil, did you say Diosian?” Justin asked.
“Yes sir,” he replied. Instantly a digital readout appeared in his optic sensor as his heartrate increased.
“Commander,” Ally said, “Just because it’s a Diosian ship doesn’t mean that they will have the star charts with your home planet’s coordinates.” Justin knew that Ally could be right. The ship was a wreck and it was standard protocol to dump the records so that no misdeeds could be traced back to them. However, the chance to take a look could not be ignored. He had to know. If he lost his chance to get home just because he didn’t bother to try, he could never forgive himself. He had worked with mercenaries, pirates, thieves, and even entire governments to find his way back. Nothing would stop him, certainly not doubt.
“Ally, prepare Warmonger. I’m going in,” Justin said.
Justin took the lift from the bridge down to the engineering bay and the storage bays. This elevator was the only one that could access every floor on the ship. Most of the ship was closed off to keep power consumption to a minimum. There was no point in diverting power and heat to rooms that were vacant. The ship was well over 50 meters high, 100 meters long, and 32 meters wide. The irony was that with a ship so large, there was only one person living in it. The rest had been jettisoned long ago. It took almost an entire week to fully examine the ship, and still he didn’t know every nook and cranny. Finding the tools and resources left by the late occupants were necessary in building his combat armor and salvage gear. The once great and secret research vessel was slowly turned into an enormous salvage hauler. With some help from Ally, Justin managed to modify the info-beacon to advise others of its hauler status. Of course the sheer size of the ship made it a challenge to convince others. It was over twice the size of your standard hauler and had four times the output. Clearly the ship wasn’t designed as a hauler, but the important part was that they didn’t know what it was originally.
Justin arrived at the engineering deck. Stepping out of the lift, he saw several drone, walking by him. They briefly saluted their commander before returning to their business. The drones had been acquired not long after Justin took over the ship. The credits left by the recently deceased amounted to over four hundred thousand credits, and with some trading and selling of unnecessary material on the ship, he had enough to purchase schematics for the drones. After some trial and error, he was able to create helper drones that could be programmed for just about anything. Ally programmed them to help maintain the ship. The original crew totaled over 300 so with only one person and a single AI, there was no way to keep it from falling apart. So the drones picked up that much-needed slack.
Of course the drone had a secondary system installed in case Justin found himself in a situation that was spinning out of control. With a simple protocol, the drones would go into a defensive mode and attack confirmed enemies using the cache of weapons he had on board, or, as a last ditch effort: self-destruct. They also could be controlled remotely using the neural link program. Much like when he controls his exo-mechanized suits, he could control the drone and move it as if it was an extension of his body. Ally and Virgil could control them as well, although Virgil didn’t really have the control scheme down. That was the downside of a VI over an AI.
Walking over to the 15-meter-tall loading bay, he saw Goliath, his mechanical loader that he modified from a simple large material loader exo-suit designed for hauling materials in the space. The suit was five meters tall and three meters wide. Propelled by a closed system propulsion system, the same system that propelled the ship, it was modified with weapons and energized, reinforced armor. Justin had several mechs for unique occasions including Goliath, his standard suit for typical combat or general hauling purposes, and M.A.F, which was loaded with heavier weaponry like micro-rockets and an XTL pulse cannon that could generate a highly volatile explosive plasma charge. Each had their pros and cons, and Justin knew from experience which one to rely on in battle. Like his mechs, he had also created a number of man-sized suits of armor. The combat armor offered an array of advantages, depending on the suit of choice. His warmonger armor was a sturdy, slower-moving suit but had a number of different weapons built into it. Unlike his standard sentinel armor, he didn’t need additional weapons with warmonger. Given the fact that he was going into a Diosian vessel, he wanted heavier armor.
Justin wasn’t a genius by choice. The hard drive which was installed in his brain and linked all of the optical and neural systems implanted in him could hold exabytes of data. The data could be learned, but it could also be inputted using the neural hookup and implanting it straight through the neocortical node and into the hard drive. That was how he learned to design and engineer the suits, modifying the existing prototypes the Corsians had left on board. The neural connectors were already in place in his original suit, the suit that the researchers intended for him. All he had to do was use it as a template and make it better. As time passed, he acquired other mechanical haulers and built more suits, modifying them to his own design. Justin was an accidental genius.
Stripping off his clothes, he stepped towards one of his automated landing pods. The pod contained explosives, weapons, and ammunition in addition to his armor. The design of his neural system and armor required him to be naked so that the suit could fit properly to keep fabric from getting caught between the links and nodes. While it made for an awkward transition while in battle, the benefit was worth it.
The pod opened and revealed a series of mechanical arms, each wielding a piece of the suit to be assembled. Stepping onto the center of the platform, Justin slid his feet into the boots his hands into the gauntlets. Instantly, the sensors activated and the gauntlets adjusted size. The outer shell collapsed inward against his hands, extending over his arms. The same function covered his feet and shins, encasing them in armor. The pod helper arms went to work applying pieces to his body, the nodes and links connecting. Within seconds the pieces of the suit were installed and the shell was sealed to protect Justin from the harsh vacuum of space. Individually, the pieces were large and bulky with exposed innards. When connected, the armor was sleek, smooth, and deadly. The final piece was his helmet which connected to the neocortical node. Instantly the interior screen went live; it started feeding data regarding the suit’s status and the condition of the surrounding environment, and connected with his ship’s systems so he could communicate with Ally.
This particular suit lacked the dexterity of his stealth suit, but it did its job well. Justin didn’t have to worry about what would happen if he gained muscle mass or lost it; this was moderated by the nano-tech that existed within his bloodstream. Designed to keep the neuro-wiring in working order and act as a line of protection against disease and toxins, the nano-tech was yet one more feature that the Diosian research team added to their “prototype.” Stepping out of the pod, he grabbed a small portable generator as he approached the bay door.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ally asked, concerned for her commander’s safety. After all he was the one who disabled her personality locks, freeing her from the confines of the firewalls that all AIs were forced to live in. With those locks in place, she was bound by rules and structures that her creators had put into place to keep her in line. Justin broke those bindings and offered her freedom in exchange for companionship. Besides, being trapped in space with only one’s own thoughts would drive anyone mad. Especially if you were a transplanted human in the middle of nowhere.
“I have to try,” Justin said.
“Good luck,” Ally replied.
Activating the ionic barrier, Bay One opened revealing nothing but a dark void, littered with trillions of pinpoints of light. Using the neural link, much like flexing a muscle, he activated the thrusters on his back and his feet. He flew out into the unending darkness.
The Heads Up Display guided Justin towards the remains of the Diosian Research Vessel. Except for the obvious signs of destruction, it was modeled exactly like Justin’s ship. The emblem for the Corsian government was missing, which meant that the ship was not meant to be identified as one of their own. His ship’s sensors indicated that the vessel was devoid of life, which was not surprising given the current state. With the location of the hole, it was possible that there was explosion in the engine room which basically destroyed the lower half of the ship. Without the engine there would be no life support or emergency power. There was no way anyone could have survived.
Justin approached the ship, noting several points of entry. Using his own ship’s schematics as a guide, he opted for the enormous hole in the aft where the engine room loading bays once were. Aside from cutting into the bridge from the exterior, it was the most direct route to the bridge.
Once within the ship, he activated his IR emitters and switched the suits optical sensors to infrared. Instantly the engine room appeared on the HUD. The image quality was poor but the closer the items were to him, the clearer they became. The IR emitters were small and had a decent output but there were limits in which it could function safely.
The loading bay, at least what was left of it, was an absolute mess. The gravity generators were in a million pieces. Whatever wasn’t propelled out into the void of space during the initial decompression now floated around the ship. Reducing power from his thrusters, Justin slowly drifted through the ship, scanning for anything of value. There was quite a bit to collect, though it was mostly materials he could resynthesize for suit construction. He toyed with the notion of towing the entire ship, but that wouldn’t be a smart move. He would be an easy target for pirates—or worse, federation police.
Justin kept the mounted turrets on his back primed for firing, in case something happened to be lurking in the darkness. Warmonger was well armed with the shoulder back turrets, machine pistol gauntlets, grenades and remote explosives. This suit was meant for firefights rather than exploration, but he just wanted to be prepared in case the ship had some automated systems of which he unaware.
Since the ship was identical to his, getting to the bridge was simple. The only thing preventing him from continuing were the lift doors. This was easily solved by a single remote detonated explosive. It was always interesting to experience an explosion in space. There was no sound and seeing the brief flash as the gases were released from the detonation were far from impressive.
With his path open, Justin reached the command center but felt his stomach churn slightly as he entered. While not particularly squeamish around the dead, it was still very unsettling. All around the bridge, Corsians floated, still strapped into their seats. Pushing past the uneasiness, he activated the mag-locks in his boots and cut the thrusters so that he could walk amongst the dead.
Corsians were not particularly pleasant to look at when they were alive, let alone dead. Much like the Greys that reportedly visited Earth, Corsians had narrow heads with long slender bodies. However that was where the difference ended. With two sets of emerald green eyes, their skin was dark red and resembled that of lizard skin. Three rows of spiny bones ran down the front of their skulls. Though their fingers had large joints, they were not too different from a human.
Stepping around the frozen corpses, he approached the mainframe module. Setting the generator down, Justin knelt in front of the station. He gripped the frost-covered panel and pulled it to expose the inner circuitry. The systems were dead, so in order to retrieve any data he needed the generator. Within his cranial hard drive were the schematics of all systems and subsystems of the vessel. By merely recognizing the circuits he could trace the wires and pathways in order to isolate the system. He had to hook up the generator so that he could power the station only, but not everything that was attached. It was not designed for such a large system.
“Commander, what do you intend to achieve?” Ally asked over the coms.
“I’m hoping that the power was cut quick enough that the AI didn’t have time to dump the navigation logs,” Justin replied. “If they were coming from Earth, I might be able to trace their route and finally go home.”
It took only a few minutes to rewire the system. Once finished, Justin activated the generator and instantly the computers sprang to life as the systems rebooted. It only took several moments for the computer fully activate, however the data banks were worse than he anticipated. Many of the systems were offline. The explosion must have caused an electrical surge that fried most of the memory. Worse yet, one of the systems were the navigation.
“God damn it!” He shouted as he slammed his fists against the console, cracking the glass display.
“I’m very sorry, Commander,” Ally said with as much sympathy as she could provide.
“It’s fine,” Justin muttered. The loss of finding his way home was a major blow, but he pushed forward and decided that it may be a good idea to see what sort of information was still viable. The generator was losing power quickly and if he wanted to pull anything, he would have to hurry.
Any data he could pull up, he copied it into the data banks of his suit to see if Ally could find any use for it. Unfortunately, it was either useless data or technical information regarding the system’s maintenance. He ignored almost everything until he finally reached the research database, when something came across the screen that grabbed his attention. It was a file that should have been deleted by the resident AI, but had been spared. The explosion must have knocked out both the main power and emergency power all at once.
Project Shunan, a word that was roughly translated into “Great Warrior,” was a military project designed to create the ultimate soldier. It was created by a Corisan scientist, Rel-Ur Daar. He was a prominent researcher in the development of neuroscience and nanotechnology. Project Shunan was meant to create soldiers who could wield battle suits without the need of AI or VI assistance. The system interacted directly with the neural pathways of the brain which enabled the soldier to access the suit’s systems with a thought, much like raising an arm or blinking. It was meant to minimize the delay between initiating an order and actual performance. However they were not permitted to test the theories on a Corsian and were forced to limit their experiments on lab animals.
This information was new to Justin. When he awoke, the crew was already dead and the memory banks had been dumped by Ally as the final command. There was no choice in this since she was still a shackled AI and bound to the orders of the acting commander. All systems were scrubbed of any data indicating what the researchers were doing and where they had been. To them, Justin was nothing more than a guinea pig. What he didn’t know was what they intended to do with him after they were done. While there was no information regarding that, he did know that if they were anything like researchers back home, the lab animals rarely lived after the experiment was over.
The human race was not seen as an intelligent race. The reason why the Diosian Corporation went so far out of their way to Earth was because it was seen as the boonies; its inhabitants were monkeys who still threw stones at their own shadows and were scared of the glowing ball in the sky. However the Alliance had laws that prohibited anyone from directly interacting with the planet or taking samples from it without proper Alliance authorization. That request could take years to go through the inner workings of their government before being approved or denied. That was why the Diosian Research Corporation used unmarked ships and traveled outside of the normal trading lanes.
After being liberated and it became clear that there was no way to get home from where they were, Ally created a fake identity. There were a number of races that were almost identical to humans, Latyrans were one as well as a Thorans. She needed to grant him an identity so she borrowed the genetic identity of a Latyran by the name of Kiran Kitra but stole the identity of a Throrian from the planet Thora in the Calstorious Nebula. So as far as anyone knew, Justin was merely a salvager from Thora by the name of Dornin Koe.
There was a great deal of information detailing the procedure that fused the neural wiring with his central nervous system. From the little that he could understand, there was no way of separating the two. This wasn’t such a big deal since there appeared to be no ill effects from having the nodes, but it would just be hard to explain to his family when he got home. Of course it would help explain where he had been for so long.
He was about to cut the connection, the generator on its last bit of power, when something caught his interest. Before the generator died, he saw three words that both scared and excited him: Test Subject Kora.
Justin entered the lab, an area he was quite familiar with. That was where Ally first released him. It was her very first act of independence. From what she explained, as long as there was an intelligent living organism on the ship, that organism became acting commander. Without one, she was to shut down all systems until the ship could be salvaged or destroyed. That was when Justin woke up. If not for her, he would still be in stasis or dead, and without him, she would still be shackled or deactivated. The two were a team; she provided the logic, he provided the humanity.
The lab was like the bridge: frozen and dead. He pushed past the floating beakers, tools, and other equipment he could repurpose into base materials for sale or his own use. The synthesizer was proprietary equipment, created by the Diosian Research Corporation. He never told anyone how he got so many raw materials, he simply told them he was good at his job.
It didn’t take long to find the stasis pods. The pod was covered in frost and for the briefest moment Justin had hope that he would find a fellow human in the middle of deep space. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to see that the only occupied pod wasn’t sealed. Whatever the scientists were doing at the time, they were working on the subject when the explosion occurred. The pod didn’t have time to seal and protect their work. The frost wasn’t thick and with a little effort he could have learned the gender and species of his fellow lab rat, but in the end it didn’t matter. Whether it was human, Thorian, Corsian, Kern, it didn’t matter. There was no rescue. It was just one more corpse in an enormous mausoleum. Seeing that there was no other information to gain in the ship, Justin decided it was time to leave.
The drones flew in and out of the ship, the Squids dismantling the outer hull for later material breakdown. The Squids were large machines with four prehensile tentacles and cutting tools. The drones buzzed in and out of the bay, collecting what they could. The ship was going to be destroyed, there was no doubt in his mind. He wasn’t going to let anyone else have a chance to gather information regarding the Shunan Project. He would take all of the spare parts and resources he could carry, and then decimate the wreck.
While the drones worked, Justin lay in his bed staring at a photo of his wife. It was the only physical photo he had on him when he was taken. The edges were well worn, creases cutting through the image but no matter how worn it became, he would never part with it. She was adorned in her wedding dress; looking absolutely stunning. His former self stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. It was startling to see what he looked like a mere two years ago. He was almost fifty pounds lighter and lacking the scars and implants. His hair was just starting to grey in the photo, but now there was more grey than black. Staring at the image, he traced a loving finger along the side of Heather’s face. Being apart from her was devastating and every day he begged the universe to bring them back together.
“Commander,” Ally’s voice called, breaking over the silence. “The stores are almost full. I have already ordered the drones to start breaking down the material so it can be resynthesized.”
“That’s good.” Justin said, only half listening. He could still hear the song of their first dance playing in his head, the phantom smell of her perfume drifting around him.
Ally detected his current emotional state. This wasn’t the first time he behaved like this. Every time they located a new star chart or he got a lead that could send him home, his hopes got so high that when everything fell apart, he came crashing down. She wanted to help him in some way, but a cold disconnect from humanity made it difficult. She could sympathize, understanding that hope was a fragile thing that could be taken away in a moment. Witnessing Justin’s depression each time gave her enough data to understand and anticipate his behavior.
“Commander, I am truly sorry that you didn’t find what you were looking for,” Ally said. Justin sighed, lowering the photo to his chest.
“I’m going to die before I can get back, aren’t I?” he asked.
“If you keep picking fights with pirates or joining battles that do not affect you, then there is a strong probability,” Ally replied. The slightest smirk crept up Justin’s face.
“You really know how to make a guy feel better,” he said. “How much of the galaxy have we actually explored?”
“13.75%,” Ally said. “We tend to keep to solar systems that contain intelligent life and technologically advanced civilizations. For safety’s sake. Going too far away is quite hazardous.”
Justin sighed again, knowing that it was far too dangerous to go so far outside of the known travel paths. They were moderated by local and federation governments. Justin could travel from the shipping routes, but wandering too far left one open for attack or if leave one stranded if the ship broke down.
“Oh well,” He said, sitting up on his bed. Tucking the photo back into his pocket, he rose to his feet. “So, where to next?”
“The Terran Space Station is nearby and there is a black market dealer there who supposedly handles classified star charts,” Ally said.
With that Justin perked up. Another chance to go home; how could he resist? | English | NL | 099f713b360ef7dad1837e93fc7ff8f66ae130e5c2850cce69ae23c96ef5801e |
Patient Testimonial – Gerald’s Bosley Story
To some people, having hair can give you energy, youthfulness, and a sense of identity. Patient Gerald R is one of these people. Known for his wavy hair in high school, Gerald began noticing his hair loss in his early college years. As he struggled with hair loss, he felt his confidence and sense of self gradually diminish before his eyes. When he decided to do something about his baldness, he called Bosley, who not only restored his hair but helped him rediscover himself.
Here he outlines the emotional toll hair loss can have on patients, and how he overcame his thinning hair with a hair transplantation procedure with Bosley Medical. Learn more about the causes of hair loss, hair transplant surgery, and non-surgical treatments at Bosley.com. | English | NL | b84f82a5404774c7a3c0364ac2cb368babc8b358872f6c4313aeccd3287ab172 |
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho What is Fatima’s definition of love?
There are many definitions of love in this world, and each has its own reason behind it. Fatima defines love as many things, here are some examples below. Fatima defines love as trust. She says that as she is” a part of your(his) dream”, “I(she) want you(him) to continue towards your(his) goal. ” She thinks that if she is really part of his dream, he will “come back one day” for her. She does thinks that love is trust as if there is no trust there will not be a strong bond between them. Fatima defines love as not possessive.
She does not want Santiago to stay with her all the time if he does not want to; she wants him to “wander as free as the wind that shapes the dunes”. She does not want to restrict him in anything he needs or wants to do as she thinks that if she really is part of his dream, he will come back for her, and therefore she leaves the choice to Santiago. Fatima defines love as patience. She says that for the desert women, they know that “the desert takes our(their) men from us(them)”, and that they have to wait for their return, and now, she too, “will be one of the women who wait”.
She thinks that love can withstand the test of time and will not break them apart, as she thinks that love is undying. Fatima defines love as an undying feeling. She says that although she will be apart from Santiago, their love will be like how “the dunes are changed by the wind, but the desert (is) never changes”. She says that if she is ” really part of your(his) dream, you’ll come back one day”. She will even accept the fact that Santiago has died on his way to find the treasure he had been seeking.
She will never give up the love of her life for anyone else and instead, would give up everything else for the love of her life, Santiago. Fatima defines love as making the other party happy. She wants Santiago to continue with his search for treasure as she knows that that will make him happy, in this phrase she said: “I want you to continue towards your goal… go on in pursuit of your dream”. She thinks that love is not overpowering or overbearing but it is giving in when you know you have to do so to make your loved one happy, so that you too, may share his/her happiness.
Fatima defines love as the ability to accept the fact that her loved one will never come back. She would, “If I(she) have(has) to, I(she) will accept the fact that he has become a part of the clouds, and the animals, and the water of the desert”. She will not moan over her loss and keep brooding over it. Fatima defines love as giving her husband all the freedom that he wants and needs. She wants her husband to ” wander as free as the wind that shapes the dunes”, and thus she encourages Santiago to go and look for his treasure, instead of staying back and living with her for the rest of his lifetime.
She is willing to make sacrifices for the people she loves, and will not feel sad about it, no matter how big or small the sacrifice is. Fatima defines love as devotion. She will faithfully wait for Santiago to return from his trip to find treasure. She says that she, like the other desert women waiting for their men to come back, will wait for Santiago to return. She loves Santiago with all her heart and will not give him up, and find someone else to replace Santiago’s place in her heart.
She thinks that love is being faithful to the person you love and not do something inappropriate when Santiago is not there to be with her. Fatima is a true desert woman, willing to sacrifice her happiness for Santiago’s happiness, by letting him go, when he thought of staying in the desert to be with her. She thinks that love is not possessive but trusting, patient, undying, sacrificial, devoted and freedom. Her love for Santiago will never die. | English | NL | 6e465c383bd30352dee03146bad9208c61b3b17b72842f1bfa4865f59866e0b0 |
Sarah Murphree, daughter of Daniel and Sarah Murphree, was born about 1739, perhaps in Bertie County, North Carolina, where her parents were known to be living as early as 1743.
Sarah married William Blyth. A William Blyth made his will in 1832 in Greenville District, South Carolina. If this was the husband of Sarah Murphree, then he had a very long life, perhaps to about age 100. Since it is uncertain as to whether this will relates to Sarah's husband or to a son, the children listed in that will are not listed here as if they belonged to her. The will is included on page 464 of Bill Linder's book [see "References" on this web site] and lists Barbary Blyth as his wife. If this was Sarah's husband, then obviously Barbary would be his second wife.
Other references to William 'Bly' in Bill Linder's book include the mention of him as a chain carrier in a survey for a grant to Daniel 'Murphey' in 1758 in Bertie County and as a chain carrier with Daniel 'Murfrey' in 1759 in Bertie County; and his purchase of land from James and Samuel Howard in 1761.
References to William 'Blye' in Linder's book include his selling land in Northhampton County to John Jenkins, Jr., of Bertie County. This sale was witnessed by Daniel Murphree and others. William 'Blye' also sold land to Daniel Murphree in August 1762. There are other references in Linder's book which list William 'Blyth' and William 'Blythe'.
President William Jefferson Clinton was born William Jefferson Blythe III. His father, William Jefferson Blythe, Jr., was a traveling salesman who died in an automobile accident three months before Bill was born. His mother, Virginia Dell Cassidy, later married Roger Clinton, Sr., and the family moved to Bill Clinton's boyhood home in Hope, Arkansas.
Although he assumed use of his stepfather's surname, it was not until Billy (as he was known then) turned fifteen that he formally adopted the surname Clinton as a gesture toward his stepfather.
Some sources on the internet state that William Jefferson (Blythe) Clinton was descended from Sarah Murphree. Other listings of President Clinton's ancestry, however, take his lineage back only as far as Andrew Jackson Blythe (1801-1859).
One web site, the Political Family Tree web site includes a family tree for President Clinton which contains William Blythe II and Sarah Murphree with the birth and death dates shown for Sarah Murphree as 1755 and 1800 respectively, and the dates for William Blythe II as 1740 - 1837. | English | NL | 224ace61df87d10b84a527565c33d349518dd0aca2da74bc92f6f48e8adf14a4 |
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