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The forest was always a peaceful place to be in, but now and then conflicts and disagreements broke out amongst the animals and it was the job of the King to resolve the issue. It so happened the Tiger and the Ostrich had been having issues. There were lots of tension between them that every animal in the forest could feel it. The issue was about who could sit in cold water for the longest time. King Lion. was pissed off and angry and so decided to end all the issue once and for all. He called a contest between them. A midnight lake sitting competition. Now the water of the lake was very cold but at midnight, it was freezing that even the fishes had to sleep on land. “The one who sits in the lake the longest will eventually be crowned the winner of the contest.” King Lion decreed. “Do you both agree to the conditions?” They both responded that they understood. The contest day had arrived, King Lion separated them into two different parts into the lake, the Ostrich on the left and the Tiger on the left. Before the contest, Tiger asked his wife Tigress to come 100 meters towards the river and set up a bonfire. Tiger was afraid of the dark and so he needed the light of the bonfire to feel calm. “The contest has begun, King Lion announced, “May the best animal win.” Tigress lit up the bonfire and Tiger became calm. Ostrich, on the other hand, was hearing howls from the wolves and the cacklings of the hyenas. He was terrified and scared and for that, the cold seeped into his body and chilled his bones.
Tiger was calm because of the fire, the predators ran away due to the presence of the fire, but yet the waters chilled his bones, he was about to give up when he saw the Ostrich get out of the water. Ostrich could not take it anymore and decided to give up. “I give up King Lion.” His voice chattering due to the cold. “Very good, I declare Tiger the winner of this competition.” King Lion announced. Ostrich was not satisfied and he saw an opening with the bonfire. “My King, Tiger cheated, the bonfire Tigress made heated the water for him,” Ostrich said. “My King that’s a lie, the bonfire was there to chase off predators and light up the darkness, it was not to warm up the water,” Tiger said defending, himself. “I’m not, my King.” “Quiet!” The lion roared, “Ostrich it is obvious that you are a sore loser, I myself saw everything that went on and the fire did not warm up the water. I have every right to banish you, but I am fair and just and I will give you a second chance to redeem yourself.” “Yes, my King. Thank you very, very much, you are most kind.” “Very well, Ostrich, for your redemption I want you to boil the water in the river with the bonfire that the Tigress made. Is that understood?” “But my Lord, it is hmmm…’ Ostrich complained and pleaded. “No buts, do you understand? Yes or No!” Lion roared. “Yes, my King,” Ostrich said, finally, Lion, Tiger, Tigress and the rest of the animals that came to the contest left leaving Ostrich behind to boil the river with the bonfire. Did he succeed ? I’m sure you know the answer to that | English | NL | 912c0a7d7f76d7146b92b5b7f1c035f7088dac8169609eaf0b1e2bd4588f34b7 |
NON-CANONICAL EPISTLES AND RELATED WRITINGS
children than the one who has a husband.”3 Now when it says, “Be jubilant, you who are infertile and who do not bear children,” it is referring to us. For our church was infertile before children were given to it. 2 And when it says, “Cry out, you who experience no pains of labor,” it means this: we should raise our prayers up to God sincerely and not grow weary like women in labor. 3 And when it says, “For the one who has been deserted has more children than the one who has a husband,” it is because our people appeared to be deserted by God, but now that we believe we have become more numerous than those who appear to have God. 4 And also another Scripture says, “I did not come to call the upright, but sinners.”4 5 This means that he was to savea those who were perishing. 6 For it is a great and astonishing feat to fix in place something that is toppling over, not something that is standing. 7 Thus also Christ wished to save what was perishing. And he did save many; for he came and called us while we were on the brink of destruction.
Brothers, we must think about Je sus Christ as we think about God, as about the judge of the living and the dead.2 And we must not give little thought to our salvation. 2 For when we think little about him, we also hope to receive but little. And we who listen as if these were little things sin, not realizing where we have been called from, by whom, and to what place, nor how many sufferings Jesus Christ endured for us. 3 What then shall we give to him in exchange? How can we produce anything comparable to what he has given us? And how many holy deeds do we owe him? 4 For he graciously bestowed light upon us. Like a father, he called us chil dren; while we were perishing, he saved us. 5 What praise, then, shall we give him, or what can we pay in exchange for what we have received? 6 We were maimed in our understand ing, worshiping stones and pieces of wood and gold and silver and copper— all of them made by humans. And our entire life was nothing other than death. Then when we were beset by darkening gloom, our vision blurred by such mist, we regained our sight through his will by setting aside the cloud that enveloped us. 7 For he showed mercy on us and through his compassion saved us. For he saw that a great error and destruction was in us, and that we had not the slightest hope of being saved, unless it came through him. 8 For he called us while we did not exist, and he wished us to come into being from non-being.
“Be jubilant, you who are infertile and who do not bear children! Let your voice burst forth and cry out, you who experience no pains of labor! For the one who has been deserted has more
He has shown us such mercy since, to begin with, we who are living do not sacrifice to dead gods or worship them; instead, through him we know the Father of truth. What then is the knowl edge that is directed toward to him? Is it not refusing to deny the one through whom we have come to know him? 2 For even he himself says, “I will ac knowledge before my Father the one who acknowledges me before others.”5 a
Or: that one must save
Acts 10:42; 1 Pet 4:5. 3Isa 54:1; Gal 4:27. 4Matt 9: 13; Mark 2:17; Luke 5:32. 5Matt 10:32; Luke 12:8. | English | NL | 0b5f1a9ab39a26e2e13214b6d203af62b997e6b21b6c6a3cc20ed90881afe742 |
During April 2011, a salvage excavation was conducted in Ramla, between Ta’avura Junction (Ma‘asiyahu) and the Ramla-North Junction, south of and parallel to Road 44 (Permit No. A-6161; map ref. 18818–28/64876–87; Fig. 1), due to improvements to the railroad track. The excavation, undertaken on behalf of the Israel Antiquities Authority and underwritten by the Israel Railways Company, Ltd., was directed by V. Eshed, with the assistance of I. Kornfeld (preliminary inspections), Y. Amrani (administration), H. Torge (pottery) and M. Shuiskaya (pottery drawing).
A previous excavation was conducted north of Ta‘avura Junction (HA-ESI 121
); graves dating to the Early Islamic period that likely indicate the boundaries of the Umayyad city to their south and west were exposed, as well as later architectural remains that allude to the rapid expansion of Ramla in the Abbasid period.
Two areas were opened in the current excavation. Three plastered floors were found in the single square opened in Area B, which was located northwest of Ta’avura Junction and south of the Paz gas station on Road 44; a plastered pit and a plastered reservoir filled by way of a ceramic pipe were found in the two squares opened in Area C, which was located south of the Ramla-North Junction and c. 50 m west of the gas station. Remains dating to the Abbasid period (ninth–tenth centuries CE) were uncovered in the two areas.
Area B. Three sections of plaster floors were discovered c. 1.4 m below the current ground level (Fig. 2). Several layers of plaster (thickness c. 0.1 m) were discerned in the western floor section and to its west, an in situ fieldstone (length 1 m, width 0.5 m, height 0.5 m), possibly the remains of an east–west aligned wall, was discovered. Other fieldstones were also found but were not in situ (Fig. 3).
Fragments of pottery vessels dating to the Abbasid period were found on the floors, including yellow (Fig. 4:1) green (Fig. 4:3) and dark green (Fig. 4:4) glazed bowls, splash glazed bowls (Fig. 4:2, 5), a brown glazed fry pan (Fig. 4:6), a jug (Fig. 4:8) and a lamp (Fig. 4:9); the latter two are made of buff ware.
rea C. A section of a terra-cotta pipe that extended in an east–west direction (L201; diam. c. 8 cm; Fig. 5) was exposed in the east of the area. The northwestern part of a plastered reservoir was excavated west of the pipe. The reservoir was delimited by walls located to the west (W203) and north (W200). Wall 200 was inclined to the north and it seems that a vault that covered the reservoir was constructed above it. The walls were built of fieldstones (0.5×0.5×0.5 m) and gray mortar. On the western side of W203 was a plastered pit (L202; diam. c. 1 m) lined with potsherds. The pipe apparently conveyed water to the reservoir and the plastered pit was also part of the water installation.
A krater (Fig. 4:7) dating to the Abbasid period was found next to W202.
The finds show that during the Abbasid period the city of Ramla had expanded to include the region of the current excavation. | English | NL | fa5aad3816efd1a27ba93c5ceeeb257b4012104109e436eec90ef1442f751053 |
Adam Lettkeman – Meridian Technology Center
From homeschool to higher ed, pre-engineering grad is building a future for himself.
THEN: A boy who loved creating crazy buildings and dragons and spaceships from a pile of Legos. Adam Lettkeman grew up with 10 brothers and sisters. His parents homeschooled him until he was old enough to find a formal outlet for his love of building things, along with his passion for graphic design. He enrolled in Meridian Technology Center’s pre-engineering academy and Project Lead The Way in hopes of channeling his interests into a career path.
Adam was a year younger than his classmates when he started the program, but he quickly became very active, competing in robotics competitions, building model airplanes and more. Adam said the engineering program and the instructors at Meridian Tech
- Helped him choose architecture as his career path.
- Fueled his love for creating things, from circuit boards to buildings.
- Helped him adjust to a classroom setting for the first time and prepared him for college classwork.
- Offered advance math and science classes that he said were more rigorous than some of his college courses.
- Introduced him to 3D modeling software programs, which are a huge part of his architecture design studios in college.
“My instructor, Debbie Short, helped me not only in the classroom but also in my personal growth,” he said. “I will always remember how much joy she brought to the program and how much she helped me along the way.”
NOW: Adam has completed his first three years of a five-year architecture program at Oklahoma State University. He is interning at Guernsey, an Oklahoma City architecture firm, and will take time out from his internship to study in Europe with the OSU College of Architecture. His goal is to work in New York City next summer, accumulating additional internship hours that will apply to his architecture licensure requirements.
“PLTW really kick-started me into believing that my dreams could be accomplished if I set my mind to it.” | English | NL | adc10f1bd19bc72acc6f2f6463051a9e672bfcda86ad673b4f229bf4ae8d520d |
(Taken from a reply to an email)
by Fred Pruitt
More and more I am hearing from otherwise “evangelical people,” that it is no longer correct to say we “receive Christ.” It surprised me to hear the objection. It was as natural as breathing almost for me to use the term “receive Christ” in my early days. Now, I’m not in the evangelistic ministry much these days, though my early days were mostly that, and that is still a common phrase we have used.
Someone recently took me to task over that phrase in my little “Free Will” booklet. She said, “We don’t ‘receive’ Christ, it is just revealed to us that we are His.” My reply was that I had come into Christ that way, and so had myriads of others, and I said, “Well, if it’s not right to say we “receive Him,” nevertheless this seems to be “how” most are coming in. At some point, for some reason, there is a “moment” where we say, “Yes, Lord.” It is not formulaic; there are no certain words that must be said, no genuflecting or prostrating on the ground, but somehow, some way, it happens, and WE ARE INVOLVED, and we know that we are.
Let’s understand the issue here. This is not about correct theology. This is about what it means to be a person, about becoming who we truly are. A “person” is involved with the working out of his own destiny. In some sense, we are each determiners of that. Now I don’t want to tread on theological toes, clash against predestination, etc., but I do not believe I am doing that. No matter what the theology books say, no matter what our doctrines say, down in our innermost being there is a battle, and the battle is between life and death, between being the true person we were created to be, or to reject the truth and continue to live in the deception of independence and “I am in charge of my destiny.” Who will win the battle? Our faith says it is won, which sounds fine on paper, but down here in the streets it’s hard to know the outcome day by day.
And this idea that we do not “choose,” completely takes away our personhood, because grown-up people do nothing but “choose” all day long, and each choice determines the next fork in the road and the next choice, and the next choice, etc., etc., etc.
Trees don’t choose; dogs don’t choose; they just are. But the race of man is not like that. From the beginning, a choice awoke them to self-consciousness. In a sense, until the temptation began with the Tree, they were unconscious of choosing anything, but simply doing it without understanding. Adam “named” the animals, which to me does not mean, “I think I’ll call that a bear and that a cat,” but rather an identification in his consciousness of a particular distinction, a bear, or a cat, and knowing that a cat and a bear are different. He doesn’t just “know” this. He is not born omniscient, nor is empirical knowledge of the world just “poured into him” as a gift. Naming the animals creates his consciousness of the world, opening in his mind the world’s form, context, movement, purpose, a place filled with living creatures, and therefore a place of wonder and discovery. This was how he came to knowing the world he was in, of which he was its lord and guardian.
Since in other places I’ve gone over the Tree story numerous times and it’s easy to get bogged down there, I think I’ll skip it with just this summation. The earthly beginning point of our spiritual heritage began with Adam’s and Eve’s departure from the Garden, after having succumbed to the devil’s temptation and eating (same as choosing or speaking a committed word) the false fruit.
We must understand that the whole concept of “choice” is intimately wrapped in what we call “faith.” All of life is choice; all of life is faith. These two statements say the same thing. Every “choice” is a leap of faith into an unknown. We say, “I’m going to the store to get groceries,” which seems a natural thing we do which we count of no importance in the great scheme of things, but but in effect we are expressing faith, and predicting somewhat of an outcome. Of course, odds are that when we go to the grocery store, we’ll come home with the groceries, but occasionally such a mundane activity, which may not seem like an expression of faith, has a different outcome than the one we originally imagined.
So though quite routine and mundane, it is still a leap of faith into the unknown, for any choice, decision, etc., that we make. Everything in life is like that. Faith in spiritual things, is taking the same “faith-choosing faculty” which is inherent in all our life’s doings, and places it into the “unknown” of God. And just as each and every temporal choice we make has some degree of consequence or outcome, so that we experience that “outcome” as the fruit of our choice, in the same way we can see that in faith toward God (which by the way, originates in God, then out through our inner parts back into Him), has its fruit, too, and we are partakers of the fruit of what we have sown.
Norman Grubb had a saying, “What you take, takes you.” Like eating a meal that is disagreeable to your system. Once down the hatch, we have to ride it out til its done with its rumblings. It “takes” us, after we have taken “it.” And it is the same in “taking” Christ. And I must say, even to those who say we “just wake up to the fact that we are His,” and do not need some “outer” choosing or deciding, that when one just “wakes up,” and sees it, there is some faculty in us at that point, that says, “Yes, I see that, yes, that is true, that is Who I really am!” It is the mating of the Divine and the human. He is the WORD, and it is in the expressed WORD we know Him, and as individual spoken “WORDS” of His, there cannot help but be a recognition, and an acknowledgment, and a receptivity, and finally, an “Abba, Father!” for who would not recognize such a Father?
Every example of a Spirit-led life in the scriptures, involves interaction between God and man, and interaction between man and man, and all that interaction involves the person saying, “yes,” or, “no.” He has called us to be Kings and Priests, Royal Priests. Kings decide. Kings have authority. Priests bring God to the people and the people to God, and decree the decrees of God. These roles are not merely the people at the front of the church on the platform “ministering,” but each of us! Moses said, “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets!” (Num 11:29).
Even the liturgical churches that practice infant baptism (I am a non-practicing Episcopalian), also have some form of “confirmation” service when the children come of age, so that they can commit to Christ in agreement with the prayers that went up for them at their baptisms, when in their tradition, they were “received into the household of God.” Here is an example of what we might call a “predetermined” choice, when the parents and the church congregation express faith for the child’s reception into Christ and his rejection of Satan and all his works, which later on the church realized that even though considered already a part of the Body according to baptism, they must at some point “choose for themselves,” to affirm it, and make it their own.
Everything in life is that way! A million choices every day, about myriads of different things. Choose what you want to wear, what you will eat, where you will go, whether you will do your homework or not do your homework, choose your higher education, choose your political affiliations, choose your spouse or lover, choose which house you will buy. Each one of those “choices” says yes to one thing and no to anything other, and our “path” is determined every single day by those choices. Why would we think that the one most important issue of our lives — a gazillion times more important than which house we will buy or where we will go to school – why would we think we make no choice about that-?!!!!
Let me just identify the “choice” I am speaking of, because I might be scaring someone talking about all this “choosing” and they may be tempted to think we are falling back onto self-effort. No, it is the opposite. I am speaking of maybe the one “choice,” out of which all our sub-choices come, which is light or darkness, love or hate, self-for-others or self-for-self. The only solution to the whole dilemma of man is in this choice and it is in some sense in every man. It is whether we will serve the Lord or “ourselves,” which is tantamount to serving the devil.
(Are all our choices predetermined? What difference does it make if they are or are not? How can we answer that? And even further, how can we argue with each other about it when all of that is contained in the mystery of God, quite beyond our ken as it is now, and whether everything is predetermined or we are working out an uncertain future day by day with some sort of “free will” that we believe we have, as far as I can tell, it really does not matter. Life has its tensions and enough stuff to challenge us that we’re really exercised every day making the daily choices that are put before us – if we don’t make some of those choices, we could end up drugged in a looney bin! We get up out of bed. We decide to go to work. Etc. Do I “feel like” I am outworking some already predetermined course, and am thus held in safety? Hardly!! Most of the time it seems like it’s up to “lil ol’ me,” to figure it all out. But then, “not I but Christ,” kicks in, and I realize another time, “the government is upon His shoulders,” which brings inner peace, but does not necessarily quell the storm swirling outside.)
Now, I happen to believe that we are all working out of one Single Master Plan, and we are all exactly doing the parts called for in the Single Master Plan – the one mentioned in Eph 1:11. That’s the “big view” from God’s perspective. We can only see the “big view” darkly, by faith, whereas God continually knows the end from the beginning.
So our perspective is really only the trees around us – this forest is way too big for us to take it all in. And down here in these trees, it doesn’t “seem” that God is sovereign. I am very much involved in the decisions of my life. Even though long ago I came to realize as fixed fact that, “it is no longer I, but Christ,” I am not spared the almost daily temptation to unbelief toward such an absurd (to the reasoning mind of man) truth. In those times Paul’s word to, “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling,” sounds much louder in my ears than does the following verse, “for it is God who works in you both TO WILL AND TO DO of His good pleasure.”
What am I saying? I think it was Augustine or one of those old writers that said something to the effect that we live in faith in the election and grace of God in the spirit, and live in the world as if it falls on us alone to find the willing and doing of God. He was not talking about a point of theology, but rather our living experience. As well as the living experience of others around us. No matter WHAT we believe, either full-on total predestination Calvinism, or scary day-by-day Arminianism, (and I think most of us are somewhere in-between), it still feels like we’re alone and self-responsible. In fact, it amazes me that legalism is so pervasively rampant in Calvinistic groups or “eternal security” environments, when one would think with that kind of assurance (being one of the pre-chosen elect), it would produce a freedom and joy of being unparalleled, instead of the strict, stern, somber, unyielding, Pharisaical, doctrinally-focused way of life often associated with those groups. Why would that be, except maybe they don’t feel as “absolute” about their election as their theology says, and have to fall back on self-effort to “make sure we” do the right thing? Couldn’t be hedging their bets, could it?
My point is this. Down here in the trenches of day by day living, election is not so clear, and inner assurances come, but it is a daily walk by faith, trusting in the invisible rather than the visible. When living that “walk,” we have placed all our hope and trust in Him and His Promises to us (particularly to “us”), as Paul wrote: “For the which cause I also suffer these things: nevertheless I am not ashamed: for I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.” (2 Tim 1:12).
I don’t know about anyone else, but I have never been able to live by a doctrine. A doctrine does not satisfy me. A doctrine does not comfort me. A doctrine does not save me or give me salvation. A doctrine is not God. The only way I’ve ever been able to get through, day by day, has been this “faith-walk” in the Living God, believing Him only, only that, and nothing less.
The 2 Timothy scripture I quoted above, was one of the first ones I wrote down in a little notebook to memorize in my earliest days. I don’t know if I memorized it incorrectly, or it was due to my “thinking” at the time, but for years when I thought of the passage, I quoted in my mind this way: “For I know in whom I have believed.” “In” whom! Then one day it hit me the “in” was not there. The passage without the “in,” (correctly), says, “For I know Whom …” The “in” is not there. The “in” acted as a degree of separation in my understanding, in some sense, making God still “out there,” with me believing “in” Him, sort of like we “believe in” Santa Claus.
Of course we start there with our faith, because the “outer,” “out there” God, is the only way we can relate in the beginning. But one day for me a shift came in my consciousness, in which I began to know God “in here,” thus losing in some sense, God “out there.” Taking out the “in” of that passage, I realized that Paul was speaking of something more direct and immediate than how I had been seeing. I know HIM! This was the “mixed with” kind of “knowing,” as Adam “knew” Eve – a oneness has occurred, in which I had been taken into the subjective presence of God, rather than relating to God, (Father, Son, Holy Spirit) as out there or up there, with me “over against” Him so to speak, i.e., “gazing” at Him sort of knee to knee. Instead I find myself looking out from the Throne and begin to “know” Him in His flowing out into the world AS me, for what else can, “I and my Father are one,” mean to us, (the same oneness Jesus said in John 17 we would also have with the Father), except that when they look at us, they see Him!??
Isn’t that the “goal” for every Christian person? Whenever a speaker took to the pulpit in a church I used to attend, he would always see a little sign on the podium that read: “Sir, we would see Jesus.” That’s the goal! That’s what the preacher wanted, and what the congregation wanted, too. At least, that’s what they said they wanted.
The problem was, and it is the problem almost universal in the church, is that nobody really believed it was possible, except for maybe a moment here and there. So when somebody pops up and says, “I have seen that Christ and I are one,” they are immediately suspect and often drummed out, not because of having any legitimate objection to offer, but because of unbelief. People think, “That cannot be for me, so HOW DARE HE say such a blasphemous thing!”
Like Jesus’ friends when He came back to Nazareth to announce Himself – He had grown up among them, a man like themselves, so how can He dare to say He is the Messiah? “He is just like us, Joseph the carpenter’s son, how can He be the Messiah? No, he’s gone crazy!” They rose up in anger and would have killed Him, but it was not yet Jesus’ time. And that is what is happening now in our time, as people are rising up all over the world with the revelation of Christ in them, that He is no longer separate from us, with us always trying to close the gap of separation, but now we are “one,” (1 Cor 6:17, Jn 17: 11, 20-23), so that, “when you see Me, you see the Father.”
Here is how I see it in summation:
- I only find “eternal security” in Him. HE IS my eternal security!
- I only find God’s election in Him. By faith HE is my election. The Father’s promise through Christ extends to me: “Behold my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth; I have put my spirit upon him” (Is 42:1).
- HE is the One Who both “wills” and does of His good pleasure by means of “me.”
- The invisibility of God is more real and certain than the visibility of the temporal.
- He and I are “one,” even as Jesus was “one” with the Father.
- He has CAUSED ME to walk in His ways and continues to do so. “A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh. 27 And I will put my spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them.” (Ez 36:26,27).
- I have received His Personal Promise that, “Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory.” (Ps 73:24).
- I cannot transfer His Promise given personally to me, to anyone else. I can only point to it because it is in You. One must find the Pearl in himself and sell all he has to buy it. In other words, as John says, I can, “show unto you that eternal life,” but it is for the purpose that we have fellowship one with the other, and this fellowship can only be found in “the Father and in His Son, Jesus Christ.” (1 Jn 1: 2-4). “Fellowship with the Father and the Son,” therefore, is not a concept, but the reality in which we live when we live in Christ, and the central and only basis of our fellowship. The only way to enter into eternal life is to enter into the fellowship of the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.
- There is ultimately only one “choice,” that is “mine,” alone, to say – “Jesus Christ is Lord!” But of course, one cannot even say that except, “by the Holy Ghost.” (1 Cor 12:3). It is the heart choice, whether out of “free will” or totally predetermined, either way we come to that point. “A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.”(Pr 16:9), and “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.” (Pr 4: 23). Also “With the pure thou wilt show thyself pure; and with the froward thou wilt show thyself froward.” (Ps 18: 26).
- The “source” of our spiritual life, whether light (God, Christ) or darkness (Satan, Sin), is the rider on our horse. Being in and of the kingdom of God through Christ Jesus in us, it is this reality, the kingdom of God, the kingdom of Light and Love, out of which we live and function. It is this reality that sets the course of our lives, and determines day by day our “choices” by the Spirit in us. We live by a “oneness” of persons, in the same oneness in which Jesus functioned with and in the Father, as He prayed in John 17.
- That “oneness” has not blotted us out, nor has it replaced our essential personhood, so that there is no more “me,” but rather in the resurrection, a completely new “me” arises in newness of Life. This new “me” is not just “me” improved, but Christ in and as me, and yet as distinct as can be, because it is truly “me.” This is the life “hid with Christ in God,” (Col 3:3), that we find after we have realized that first we, the old us, the man of sin, died in Christ in the Cross. As Levi was in the loins of Abraham when he gave tithes to Melchizedek, (Heb 7: 9,10), in the same way we were in the spiritual loins of Jesus, and were as present at Calvary as anyone else who was standing there on that Day. So that when He died, we died, and when He was buried, we were buried, and when He was raised up by the power of the Father, so were we raised up by the power of the Father. This action which Jesus alone accomplishedin our spiritual being, has severed us forever from the stronghold of Sin, in that Christ became the Sin that we were, died to it and in Him we died to it also, with the result that because of this sacrifice once offered for all sins for all time having been accomplished, we became the living manifesting righteousness of God.
- We continue to live that life in weakness, as vessels carrying a divine treasure, that the excellency of the power may be seen, not in the “body” life, but in God in the Spirit. We are the offscouring of the world, set forth last even as Jesus was “Last,” “accounted as sheep for the slaughter,” “yea, for thy seek we are killed all the day long,” becoming in our inner being that which He is Eternally, an intercessor, one who stands in the gap for others bringing them through. The “way” He does that is that we carry around in our bodies the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal (perishing, temporal) flesh. (2 Cor 4:8-14).
So let’s leave the “choice” issue, and go to the other you mentioned – “Is Christ in everyone?” And if so, why the passages that talk about two simultaneously occurring opposite truths at the same time, that there are sheep and goats, those who “went out from us,” the “children of the enemy” as in the parable of the tares and wheat, etc.? The New Testament is filled with references to those who remain unbelievers, those who oppose, those who rebel against God and suffer the wrath instead of the Glory of God. So if “Christ has already saved everyone,” why do these passages exist?
Let’s look first at God Himself, and that as we said above, He is Love in All. None of the things we have experienced have been outside the love of God. Since He is above all, through all, and in all, then He is Love above all, Love through all, and Love in all. However it comes to us, in wicked form from man or devil, or in righteous form from someone in the family of God, it is, in the end, God’s love. That is simply because that is all God can be, Love.
Now, this is the foundation out of which we are, and therefore it is the same out of which we speak! I am speaking of God as Universal. Simply put, by “universal” I am meaning that God is equally present in His Total Fullness everywhere there is, and in every state of being there is, as well as being greater than, “everywhere there is, and in every state of being there is,” and much more than tongue can express or mind could imagine.
What we are speaking of could fill libraries, but let’s keep it simple. When Paul preached to the Athenians on Mars Hill, (Acts 17: 22-32), who were unbelievers but “religious” in a pagan way, he told them that it was just as some of their own poets had said, that they were “the offspring of God.” He told them that this “unknown God whom they ignorantly worshiped,” was the God of heaven and earth and had created everything there is, and then he told them the most marvelous of things. That marvelous thing, said to unbelieving Greek pagans, was that they all, “live and move and have their being,”in God. And of course we could likewise take that statement of Paul’s and would be perfectly correct to say the same for all who are living in our generation now. This has always been, and it will always be. All, “live and move and have their being,” in God.
What’s more, Jesus extended the “all live and move and have their being” in God to everyone who ever lived on earth or will live. “Now that the dead are raised, even Moses showed at the bush, when he calleth the Lord the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. For he is not a God of the dead, but of the living: for all live unto him.” (Luke 20: 37,38).Dead or alive (humanly speaking), Jesus said, all are alive to God.
But Paul does not stop there, simply telling them that they are living in God. This idea, this concept, that everything has its being in God, is truth, but in itself not enough truth. There is nothing in that “knowledge” that has the power to save, to reconcile or to transform.
In fact, Paul is telling them something their natural reason can grasp. In another form, that revelation of Paul’s, by itself, would agree with similar statements in many of the eastern religions, as well as their 21st century “new age” counterparts in our time. But Paul says more than that.
This God Who made the heavens and the earth, in Whom Paul says we all live, move and have our being, has “winked” at the times of ignorance, when men made false images and worshiped the false images as gods. Athens was a city of hundreds of temples. They had many gods, including “foreign” gods brought in because Athens was a cosmopolitan city even then, and every one of the gods had a temple. Maybe the politicians of the day campaigned with the slogan: “A temple for every god!” However, in one swoop of his hand, Paul dismissed all of that excessive religiosity, and said that the days of ignorance have passed, because now the True Light has shined, and now God is commanding men everywhere to “repent” – to change their minds and direction.
“And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all men every where to repent: Because he hath appointed a day, in the which he will judge the world in righteousness by that man whom he hath ordained; whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead.” (Acts 17: 30,31).
Now this is the point where natural reason balks. Paul’s meeting broke up at the mention of it. They were tracking along with him until he introduced the Cross of Jesus Christ and Divine Judgment. Why? First, they were caught, as we all have been, as servants of “the prince of the power of the air,” (Eph 2: 1-3). It is first this hidden “prince of this world,” who has us in his grasp and does not want to let us go, who hears and trembles (John 12:31; 14:30; 16:11). He knows his domination is threatened.
And then secondly his servant, the false idol of self-deification he has sold us to be ourselves, becomes “righteously indignant” that someone could dare suggest there could be a “higher” god than itself. Why? Because it desires itself more than anything. This “death and resurrection,” of “Another” for its benefit, is an offense to it, calling into question its integrity, its goodness and its righteous independence, and it will not have it. “Who would dare say ‘I’ must suffer judgment?” So it denies the Divine Seed originating from “Another,” and tries to germinate its own personal divine seed. It mimics the actions of its true father, the “prince of the power of the air,” and in so doing continues to oppose itself, still caught in the snare of the devil.
“And the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, In meekness instructing those that oppose themselves; if God peradventure will give them repentance to the acknowledging of the truth; And that they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him at his will.” (2 Tim 2: 24-26).
So here we’re faced with this dilemma. God is in everyone and everyone is in God. It cannot be otherwise. That’s from God’s side of things. From man’s side, things look different. There is no “evidence” of God. There is nothing in the temporal world that is a “hook” into pure divinity. He encompasses the temporal world and is everywhere present in it, but man cannot see or sense Him because man is beguiled by an hypnotic relationship with the world around us, and that is, for the most part, all we can see or know. Though He “comprehends” us, we neither comprehend Him, nor do we apprehend Him. However, as He draws us and we begin to “know” we are being apprehended of Him, we begin little by little to apprehend Him, i.e., take Him into us as part and parcel of ourselves, which becomes fully ripe fruit when, “Christ is formed [in us],” as Paul wrote to the Galatians. (Gal 4:19).
My wording on this “Christ in every man” concept, is more like, “the Seed of Christ is in every man.” As the “mother of all living,” Eve received into herself in the Fall, the “seed” which would bruise the head of the Serpent, and no “man” could be that except the Man Who was the Lord from Heaven! (Gen 3:15). And Eve would have had to have passed on that seed to all her sons, first Cain, then Abel, and then Seth after Abel died. In Seth and in Cain, the seed split into two lines – the line of flesh and the natural world, and the line through which the “seed” would be carried into spiritual fruition in the fullness of time, as the Seed popped up again prominently in the story of Abraham, with God showing Abraham the stars and the sands of the sea, saying to Abraham, “So shall thy seed be.” “Seed” singular, and not plural, as Paul pointed out in Galatians. So this singular one “seed” is to be the same “seed” that sprouts as Christ in us. And we know the lineage of that one particular seed in the physical line, from Abraham to Isaac to Jacob to Judah … to Boaz to Obed to Jesse to David to Solomon … eventually to the birth of Jesus Christ in the “fullness of time.”
The “natural” seed, however, exists as a potential yet to sprout in each and every human being. None of us can claim Jesus as our earthly relative. Once the Seed came to full fruition in Mary and the birth of Jesus, the physical part of that line was finished, and Jesus’ legacy to us was to that “natural” seed, to call it back, to call it to life, to nurture and tend it until it begins to sprout.
People tend to think the first, “natural” Adam, is forever lost. But I disagree! It was to this end that the Savior came, to recover everything that had been lost, Adam being preeminent in that recovery! Abel died and Seth rose that Cain might recover himself from the “snare of the devil,” who deceived him and caused him to oppose his own true self. And every Adam since (being that “Adam” simply means “man”), the Lord calls, “Adam, where are you?” And without something left of God in their being, Adam and Eve would no longer have been able to hear Him.
The elect? I see a wide open field ready for harvest. That’s what Jesus told us. His elect, many of whom may not know it yet, are out there, waiting to be called, or touched, or brought out of darkness. “How then shall they call on him in whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? And how shall they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things! (Rom 10: 14,15).
When I was first saved, I went out and told everybody I could. I wasn’t thinking so much of saving people from hell, but more that I wanted them to experience this new “life” that was happening in me, that was so wonderful I could not contain it. It was a drive that grew and grew, in that I wanted to go out and tell all the world that Christ had come and was available to “whosoever” would call upon the name of the Lord! I didn’t know anything about “predestination,” or an “elect,” I just knew I had been blind, but now I saw!
It became almost an obsession (a good godly “obsession) for me, to get the gospel out to everyone. Eventually God led us to a church where world evangelism was the goal, and I hungered and thirsted to be a part of that. In fact, I cannot imagine a “Christianity” that does not have true evangelism as one of its main activities. Only now I am hearing from many quarters, that there is no need to repent, there is no need to believe, there is no need to worry or fret over salvation or the end of us, God will bring everyone in because of His “grace,” and “the finished work of the Cross.”
But Jesus said: “Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law. And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household.” (Matt 10:34-36).
I had something of a spiritual “washout” back about 14-15 years ago, and it lasted almost a decade. There were many reasons, but the most predominant reasons in my mind at the time, were the constant disagreements and “judgings” of each other in the Body of Christ, over what we “believe.” Contention! Contention! Contention! It seemed to be getting worse, not better. So eventually I became full of it, didn’t like all the contention going on (with me often in the center as an instigator, and as a result also in the line of fire), so I finally took my ball and went home. It had become so taxing to my being, to be in such constant conflict, that I had to flee. And for years, the LAST thing I wanted to argue about with anybody, was about their “beliefs” in God. Live and let live, was my adopted motto for those years. I became silent on the things of God.
After being left out in the cold for almost a decade, the Lord sent some folks my way and “got me” again. I had never inwardly left Him, but the memory of the contentions and struggles were so painful, I could not talk about the things of God for all that time. And the last thing I wanted when I decided to “rejoin” the others again, was to go back into that life of contention and strife.
So I understand the “hurt ones,” who have come out of maybe something like I came out of, and want it all to be just “peace.” I didn’t want any more struggle. I didn’t want any more pain. I didn’t want any more strong disagreements, or splits, or I’m right and you’re wrong, or visa versa. I didn’t want it to be true that some were God’s people, and some were not. I wanted the earth to be one, big, happy family. I hoped I had seen the last of all that “judging” and contention.
The Lord was gracious and brought me back in gently for the first few months, but it did not stay like that. Eventually contentions arose again, surprisingly about some of the same things, though from different folks. I wanted to hide, but the Spirit faced it in me, and I reconciled in myself that this was part of the “price” of proclaiming the Word of God. There will be opposition, sometimes from those we thought closest to us.
The “exercise” we get from that contention or opposition, is always fruitful unto God! This is what we can begin to see! There is no getting around the fact that the new testament plainly speaks of those who are of God, and those who are not, the children of God and the children of the enemy. The 1 John letter is perhaps the most cut and dried. He is the one who talks about the spirit of anti-Christ. And in this letter, “anti-Christ” is not some last days world ruler, but “And every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is not of God: and this is that spirit of antichrist, whereof ye have heard that it should come; and even now already is it in the world.” (1 Jn 4:3). One or the other, John says – which is it?
The most telling parable of Jesus on this subject is the tares and the wheat in Matthew 13: 24-30:
“24 Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: 25 But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way. 26 But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. 27 So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares? 28 He said unto them, An enemy hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up? 29 But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them. 30 Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.”
And the explanation in Matthew 13: 36-41:
“36 Then Jesus sent the multitude away, and went into the house: and his disciples came unto him, saying, Declare unto us the parable of the tares of the field. 37 He answered and said unto them, He that soweth the good seed is the Son of man; 38 The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom; but the tares are the children of the wicked one; 39 The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world; and the reapers are the angels. 40 As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it be in the end of this world. 41 The Son of man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity.”
I think this is pretty clear and needs little explanation. Until the end, the false will grow up, intertwining itself with the truth as much as it can, and be so close to the “truth” that some are deceived by them. It is not in us to fully discern as the Father does, since God keeps the hearts of others within Himself as He does ours, thus making Him the only judge of “hearts.” That is why Jesus said to not try to root them out. First, He knew that eventually they would expose themselves, because iniquity eventually shows itself; it is its nature. Secondly, He knew that whether exposed or not, they would all suffer the judgment of God, and some things are held until that time.
Our job is not to “root out evil,” but to declare the righteousness and love of God! Evil will be dealt with in its day. It may seem to have free reign in our time, but its time is limited. Until then, what have we to fear? What can man do to us? What can the devil do to us? Maybe a lot, but overriding all of that, is that “nothing shall separate us from the love of Christ!” We have nothing to fear in the love of God. And we have only the expectation of victory, and we know it even now! | English | NL | 9ca0ca6bad91bad8362b088f4922ee77800b22e8e38cd004d824acdc3f1f9b8e |
- You may wish to consult
Karafor other, similarly-named pages.
Kara sold the food to developing planets, although the product was created by Davros. She planned to destroy Davros so that he would no longer get in the way.
Kara employed Orcini, a Knight of the Grand Order of Oberon, to assassinate Davros, a task which given Davros' reputation, Orcini considered honourable. She gave Orcini a bomb, disguised as a communications device, which he would use as soon as he had killed Davros. Unknown to Orcini, the bomb would explode and blow up Orcini, Davros, Bostock and whoever else got in the way, as soon as he keyed in the correct code.
When Orcini and Bostock entered the crypts of Tranquil Repose to look for Davros, they encountered one of Davros' Daleks and destroyed it. This alerted Davros and fueled his suspicion of Kara. Davros, suspecting the assassination attempt, contacted Kara to suggest that she "protect" herself with a squad of Daleks. Because she knew it would have given away her treachery to refuse, Kara reluctantly agreed. When the Daleks arrived, they exterminated Vogel and took Kara. Upon entering Davros' lair, she was asked about the transmitter given to Orcini. She denied that she gave him the device, leading Davros to give the box to Orcini and asking him to do what he was supposed to with it. Kara stopped him and admitted the truth. Angered at her betrayal, Orcini revealed a knife and stabbed her. (TV: Revelation of the Daleks) | English | NL | e4976fc73cbd5d557398c830aedcf23a7fe4d679149df7a139e7f9950aea1037 |
Mr Snodbury opened his classroom door and permitted his class to make
What on earth is that racket next door? Milford-Haven should be on
top of that lot and should start as he means to go on, he fretted.
It was true: Snod never let up on discipline till his charges had
left university, married, sprogged and then bumped into him in B&Q,
usually with their current female in tow. He would, as likely as not,
raise his hat to their enamorata and would greet his erstwhile pupil
with, Ah, dear boy, how are you?
This served to disguise the fact that he didn’t have a clue as to their
identity, but vaguely recognised their physiognomy and was making an
attempt at fraternity, if not egality.
The off-duty master would then feel trapped in the sugar soap and wire
wool aisle and would have to rehearse a charade of interrogating the poor
young man as to his career and its success, when all the grumpy old so-and-
so really wanted to do was to buy a sink plunger and beat a hasty retreat.
As to the unwitting victim, who had merely dropped by to purchase a bag of
charcoal for his barbecue, he immediately shrank to his pre-adolescent self
and was mesmerised by the silencing of his whining, trolley-transported
toddler by a Snodbury glare, perfected over decades and instantly recalled
by its father, who had suffered from a minor form of post-traumatic stress
disorder for a number of years, after having received the treatment himself.
How did he do that? he wondered, as he observed his muted offspring. I’ve
been trying to shut him up all day. I suppose it is because Snod is a
Yes, he was and still is an adept at manipulating youths.
Silence! he bellowed as the class next door made their chaotic way to
assembly. Titters and sniggers ceased and the smiles on their individual
faces appeared to have frozen instantly. Their teacher emerged rather
sheepishly, carrying a plastic bag and stammered: I believe this is your hat,
Mr Snodbury, sir. You left it at the Monteverdi concert and your-ah! Drusilla,
or should I say, Miss Fotheringay-Syylk?…
Here Gus interjected, Drusilla, you say..?
Er, yes, she asked me to deliver it to you.
Nigel Milford-Haven could not help but notice how red Snodbury’s
Brunelleschi dome of a head had become over the summer. Was it
down to sunburn, or rising blood presure now that Snod was back in
Oh, thank you very much, Milford-Haven. (He almost said Caligula) Very
decent of you to bring it back.
No worries, Sir. The minute Nigel uttered these words, he knew that
they were inappropriate regarding tenor and formality level. His eyes
nervously followed his disappearing class.
You’d better run after that bunch and see that they get to Assembly
on time, Snod advised.
Nigel was just about to march down the corridor, trying to look
authoritative- and failing, as usual. He was actually very worried
indeed. He felt certain that Gus would notice that the label inside
the brim read seven and a quarter, when the original had been a
seven and five eighths. Weak though Nigel was at Maths, he knew that
these were not the same measure. He could also see that Snod’s head
had not shrunk in the holidays. He felt semi-paralysed.
What is it , boy? snapped Gus. Can’t you see that we are having a
conversation? He adored rhetorical questions, though they could be
risky. Run along to Assembly!
Please, sir. I have a note from my mother which asks if I can be excused
Assembly as I am a Zoroastrian.
Indeed? Snod appraised the situation at lightning speed. Well, I’d get there
super quick, as Zoroastrians are known to be very keen on convocations and,
in fact, put those of their own kind who failed to attend to a rather grisly and
drawn out death.
So saying, he tore the note into sixteen pieces, took the plastic bag from
Milford-Haven and frogmarched the unfortunate B-S down the corridor, by
the ear, while humming Who Would True Valour see…?
It was number 576, his favourite hymn and he hoped it would be the one
chosen by Mr Geoffrey Poskett, Choirmaster, for the start of term.
Nigel scurried after him like a tug in the wake of The Fighting Temeraire.
Later, at break, he read a report from the journal, Science, that
revealed that whooping cranes found that the presence of older,
more experienced birds during migration, assisted and ameliorated
the performance of the more juvenile members of the flock.
He decided to look to the elder statesman for example and direction
in his personal pilgrimage through the Purgatory of the present
academic term. He just hoped that the hat would fit and Snod would | English | NL | c2dcf4475c45c1edce154f9ba15e3cde70d87ba2524935b65e98781c182c6d35 |
03/15/2016 at 02:01 •
I like to make things that will last longer than my ability to remember them. I am inspired and intrigued by the objects that are held as precious by their owners. Objects that have both inherent and applied narratives, which are often un-noticed design features. A narrative of memory that is so rich and thickly applied that the object becomes a stuck and fixed point in someone's life; something that they would never throw away, but would happily pass on to someone who would continue to appreciate it, adding further to its invisible features of memory and story. That is what I strive to make. Objects that are canvases for the application and absorption of meaning in someone's life.
I am - in essence - the first person to happily pass them on. | English | NL | ac3e0d132816504b4a39ae809b64130e13222bd8bc59068565fabdb1ec19fe55 |
If you are 18 years or older or are comfortable with graphic material, you are free to view this page. Otherwise, you should close this page and view another page.
|“||Condemn them, mother! For they know exactly what they do!||„|
|~ Nemo's only weak line.|
Nemo the Anti-Christ is a character in American Dad!. He is the main antagonist in the episodes "Season's Beatings" and "Rapture's Delight". He was Jeff and Hayley's adopted son but is actually the Anti-Christ, the son of Satan.
In "Season's Beatings", Jeff was seen bringing Nemo in the house, announcing that he'd adopt him as his own child. Hayley and Francine quickly became fond of him. However, Stan rubbed his hair and discovered the numerals "662+4=666", meaning that Nemo is the Anti-Christ. Stan had Father Donovan go to the site of the abandoned orphanage to find Nemo's papers. Nemo sensed their discovery and had the orphanage collapse on Donovan from a really far distance. Before his death, Donovan shared the information with Stan on how to kill the Anti-Christ; with 7 sacred daggers. Stan, Jeff, and Roger went to the Vatican to retrieve the daggers. Nemo discovered that Jeff and Roger were in the catacombs and washes Jeff away with a flood. Nemo was also able to possess Steve into a demonic slave. After Roger found the daggers, he and Stan returned to the house to kill Nemo. While Stan was fighting Nemo, Hayley prevented Stan from killing Nemo by shooting him, even after knowing that her adopted son was the Anti-Christ. At the end of the episode, Nemo was taken in by Sarah Palin. They moved to Alaska.
In "Rapture's Delight", Nemo had grown up and started a 7-year war with Jesus right after the rapture occurred. He had Francine kidnapped and tied up to the ceiling. After the final confrontation, Nemo was killed off by Jesus, but was still able to shoot and kill Stan.
- In "Raptures Delight", he appears to be modeled after The Riddler from the Batman comic book series.
- Nemo's name is Omen spelled backwards.
- He was voiced by Murray Miller.
Guest Star Characters | English | NL | cb1fa96612bc83fca23373b552b6ab5d4934ee4d3fb63d9a8ff15bda665cc5f7 |
Wild Geese (2012) is a dance piece created and choreographed by Monica Karwan, inspired by the poem written by Mary Oliver. I was asked to compose the music. The piece consists of three short movements. From the inception of the piece, Monica was interested in using recordings of the poem as the foundation of the music. After recording Monica reading the poem, I began to transcribe the rhythmic structures of her reading and used those rhythms as the foundation for my composition. The piece was premiered in Lancaster, NY in the spring of 2012. | English | NL | f0674b07888fd07070473952726808790fc56d7e60db7576fbc7b6fafa38ac5a |
I could hear my pulse pounding in my one good ear as she pulled on my leash, leading me to the car’s open rear hatch door. As we got closer, I spotted a large metal cage crammed between piles of bags and boxes. My stomach knotted. Something was not right.
Just five minutes earlier, the girl had woken me up from a solid nap where I had been dreaming about my human giving me freshly steamed carrots that she had prepared. We were hiking on one of the mountains surrounding the village and the snow was as white as light, as fluffy as powder and as deep as my baths. Every swish of my curled tail sent clouds of tiny flakes flying into the air, like mini bursts of misty showers. I could still taste the bright flavor of carrot in my mouth as the girl opened the front door to lead me to the cold air and fresh scents outside. I was stumbling along behind her, still half-asleep, until I noticed that the sky was black and realized that this was no ordinary outing. I paused. My heart skipped a beat and my hackles raised up, like a porcupine in defence mode. I was wide awake now.
She patted my head and held out a small piece of dried salmon. “Come on,” she whispered with a tiny jerk of her head towards the car and a gentle tug on my collar.
I didn’t budge. I didn’t even look at the the yummy-smelling treat in her hand. I couldn’t help but to inhale deeply, only pointing my nose in her direction, as saliva pooled inside my mouth.
She pulled again, harder this time. I dug my paws into the ground, gripping deep with my nails, and leaned against her pull. If it came down to a battle of strength, it wouldn’t even be close, she didn’t stand a chance. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not with this girl and not without my human, anyway.
Her brow furrowed and her face turned a shade darker, like curtains being drawn. A wave of panic rushed through my body as I remembered the mean man who smelled like fried eggs, old cigarettes and pee. The man whose face could turn sour quicker than I could turn my head. One minute he’d be giving me his leftovers and the next… Bile crept up my throat as the memories flooded my brain. He was the cruel man with the pole that lit up on one end. The spot on my shoulder where he zapped me with the pole that first time tingled with the memory. I unclenched my muscles and went limp, allowing her to lead me wherever she wanted. I could hear the buzzing from the pole as we made our way to the car.
“Good boy,” she cooed as she rubbed my bad ear. She offered the treat again and even though I knew a tiny line of drool had escaped out of my left jowl — the smell of food always made this happen — my stomach lilted and I turned away. The memory of the pole man had brought with it the smell of burnt fur and flesh. I couldn’t eat now.
I pawed at the door of the metal cage as I stared out the back window of the car. The lights from the village grew smaller and more distant, and I felt my first pang of pain in my chest. My human was still in that village and I was being taken further away.
We drove until the sky started to brighten with the sun behind the mountains, stopping only for a quick break in a town that had a distinct smell wafting through the air, like rotten eggs and acid. It burned my nostrils and I sneezed three times, trying to purge it from my body. I started walking slowly down the road, back towards the village, but the girl caught me and wrapped my leash around her hand twice, securing her grip on me. My heart sank into my stomach.
The entire time we had been in the car, I hadn’t taken a nap, a sip of water from the bowl, a bite of the treat she had left in the crate. I hadn’t moved at all. My eyes had been fixed on the back window, hoping for a glimpse of the village. They strained to see the village. The village that smelled like fresh bread, clean air and evergreen trees. My village. But it was only my village because it was where my human was right now. Home is where my human is.
I didn’t know where I was or where I was going, but the one thing I did know was that I had to find my human.
Now I just needed to figure out how to escape.
Stay tuned for Part 2: coming soon! Did you enjoy reading The Sour Cage? Please share this with your friends and family who would also like this story! | English | NL | 8f267fd556d72595f5801cbc990904b82ce5bec9bd5021f495c0761e9635f5f8 |
Were you gripped by the first instalment of The (Even!) Darker Side of Styal? Grant Collier now completes the tale…
On Saturday, October 3rd, 1829, John Henshaw awoke in his cell to face his execution. He had been convicted of assisting a violent attack on Lord Stamford’s gamekeepers during a chance expedition with some poachers, and had been sentenced to death despite never having held a gun or fired a shot. In the neighbouring cell was another man, similarly sentenced to death that day – Joseph Woodhouse, a forty-year-old man from York, convicted of the rape of his own ten-year-old daughter.
Rev. Hoskins, the reverend of the gaol, had visited the two men regularly during their confinement to educate them on the conditions of their souls. During John’s confinement, one last plea was made for the mercy of His Majesty to commute the sentence. Nothing is known about the man who formally raised the case, but it did manage to reach the attention of Home Secretary Robert Peel, who refused to recommend John to the King for a pardon.
The note refusing John Henshaw the mercy of His Majesty. No reason is given for Secretary Robert Peel’s decision. (Source: Findmypast, © Crown Copyright Images reproduced by courtesy of The National Archives, London, England.)
On Friday morning, the day before the execution, Rev. Hoskins gave the men their ‘condemned sermon’, “Therefore be ye also ready, for in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of Man cometh” (Matthew 24:44). During the sermon, John wept bitterly, deploring his sinfulness and praying for forgiveness. Throughout the night, John and Joseph prayed and sang hymns, and John engaged so earnestly in this that his voice could be heard echoing throughout the prison.
Following that agonising night came the day of the execution. At four o’clock on Saturday morning the two prisoners were moved to a lodge for breakfast where they were given coffee, a small luxury for their final meal. After more hymns were sung, the city sheriffs arrived and escorted them to the city boundary. The entered ‘the black cart’ without assistance, and were transported by cart to a room near the hanging place. It was reported that a ‘vast number of persons’ turned out to escort the procession, despite the early hour.
Two more reverends then attended the prisoners to administer ‘spiritual comfort and consolation to the unhappy men’. Their chains were removed, and both instantly dropped to their knees and prayed. Woodhouse, the rapist, admitted that he was a great sinner but avoided any reference to his crime, pacing the room and smoking his pipe instead. John solemnly admitted to being a great sinner, ‘getting drunk on a Sunday, cursing and swearing, and not obeying my parents, for which I hope God will have mercy on me’. However, he repeated that he had not touched a gun that fateful night, nor had he ever poached before in his life, and protested that he should not be hanged.
At nine o’clock, the two criminals were visited by family. Somewhat surprisingly, Woodhouse received a visit from his wife, a ‘poor woman, almost distracted,’ with an infant in her arms. There was no mention of his young daughter, the victim, in the accounts. John was visited by his father and brother, and the parting scene was described as ‘most effecting.’ The Sacrament, a final act of penance, was then administered to both of them and the reverend left them to their final moments.
At noon, the fateful hour of his execution, John asked for a few moments longer to beg God for forgiveness. He threw himself to his knees and prayed aloud for mercy for himself and Woodhouse, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer before finally accompanying the executioner. Woodhouse did not kneel, but joined the prayer with a ‘cold formality’ that, according to the reporter, proved his heart had not been touched in the same way as John’s.
As John was led up to the scaffold, the executioner (a dour and serious professional with great experience of his grim work) was overcome by the moving scene and began to weep. Similarly, two sheriffs who had attended to the men while imprisoned were so overcome that they could not bear to watch the final act. The rope was tied, and for three or four more minutes John called upon Christ to receive his soul. Many in the gathered crowd sobbed and, when the final bolt was drawn, there was a collective shriek of horror.
Public opinion was very favourable towards John Henshaw, and it was said that the crowd at his hanging were as sympathetic towards him as they were horrified by Woodhouse’s crime. At his home of Northenden, a large service took place, attended by his (‘almost heart-broken’) mother, father, three sisters, several brothers and around five hundred onlookers. The extent of the grief and distress displayed at the funeral was described as ‘uncommon.’ During the burial, the coffin of John’s grandfather was lifted up, and he was buried underneath it to prevent any attempts to remove the body. A small sum of money was raised for John’s family by the assembled crowd.
The distress caused by John’s death was made more acute by the sense of injustice surrounding his conviction. While John was hanged for providing ammunition, it was reported with disbelief that Joseph Fenna, the man who actually fired the wounding shot, was acquitted! Some reporters saw John’s death as an example of the failures of the criminal justice system and urged a review of the Game Laws, which had only recently reiterated that crimes such as the one John committed should be punishable by death in all circumstances. The Chester Chronicle protested that ‘it is impossible not to feel that the justice of the case would have been abundantly satisfied, by sending this young man out of the country, instead of sending him out of the world’.
Surely, the journalist argued, all of the circumstances should have been taken into account when deciding to put a young man to death. It seems that some expected the landowner, Lord Stamford, to intervene on John’s behalf, and his refusal to act was described as a source of ‘universal disappointment and regret’. The reporter insisted that faith in the law of the land relied on it being seen to be fair and just, and that unfortunate episodes like the hanging of John Henshaw undermined the legitimacy of laws administering this ultimate form of punishment.
To some, the controversy of John Henshaw’s trial and execution created an opportunity to put pressure on those involved to look again at laws which demanded execution under all circumstances. Others expressed their hope that this ‘miserable end to his young life’ would serve as a deterrent to poachers and other criminals. His death, picked up and noted down by a Styal resident sometime in the mid-1800s, may have been the talk of the village. It certainly suggests that residents of Styal took a keen interest in local affairs, and John Henshaw – or the poachers he encountered – may have been well known locally. His story also shows that people were grappling with enormous questions concerning morality, justice and the soul, issues that are just as important and contested today.
Over to you…
Do you think John’s punishment fit his crime? What about Joseph Woodhouse? Was the death penalty appropriate for either of the two men? | English | NL | 9feb611fb4098362b58da4edbdbd3d23bf854b7132596a5541380fcd946665a8 |
Adnan Sami (full name Adnan Sami Khan) is an Indian singer, musician, music composer, pianist and actor popularly known for his songs in Hindi Movies as well as for his notable performance with piano. He is known for his western classical/ semi classical notes, jazz, rock and pop music and he is the first person in history to play Indian classical music on piano. He is also known for playing over 35 instruments and a US based keyboard magazine has described him as the fastest keyboard player in the world.
Adnan Sami was born to a Pakistani father Arshad Sami and Indian Mother Naureen Khan who belonged to Jammu on 15th August 1973 in London, United Kingdom. His father had his career in Pakistani Air Force and later served as a diplomat and served as Diplomatic Ambassador to 14 countries and was a grade 22 Bureaucrat, having served as Federal Secretary. Sami was born and brought up in UK completed his schooling from the Rugby School in West Midlands, UK and later completed his graduation with a Bachelor's Degree in Journalism and Economics. He went on to complete his law degree (LLB) from the King's College affiliated to University of London and qualified as a barrister from Lincoln's Inn, England.
Adnan Sami, since his childhood, had deep interest in music and at the age of five he started playing piano. By age 9, he had composed his first piece of music. In his school days, when Sami visited India during the school vacations, he began to take Indian classical music lessons from the 'Santoor' Maestro Pandit Shivkumar Sharma. At the age of ten, renowned singer Asha Bhosle spotted talent in him at an R.D Burman concert in London and encouraged him to take music as a career. As a teenager he started performing piano on the TV program in Stockholm. Soon he started getting acclaim for his talent and he was described as the fastest man on keyboard in the world by a US based keyboard magazine. At the age of sixteen, he was approached for writing a song for famine hit Ethiopoa for which he received a special award from the UNICEF. The song became a smash hit single in the Middle East and was the number one song in the music charts. He started his career with the formal album 'The One & Only' in 1989 and it was a classical album on the piano and he was accompanied by Table Maestro Zakir Hussain. His first vocal solo album Raag Time was released in 1991 and it became a huge hit in Pakistan. The track of the album 'Teri Yaad' was loved by the masses in Pakistan. Later in 1994, he for the first time composed music for a film and later in 1995, he composed music as well as appeared as a lead in the Pakistani movie Sargam. The film and its music is included in one of the best selling albums of Pakistan and the music as well as the film continue to be a milestone in Pakistan's film and musical history. Later, Sami was also included as the jury member for 'Voice of Asia' competition at Kazakhstan. He rose to popularity in the year 2000 when he teamed up with Asha Bhosle to release the love song album titled 'Kabhi to Nazar Milao'. He composed the music himself and the album became a blockbuster and sold more than 4 million copies in India alone. The specialty about Sami's album was that it always featured Bollywood celebrities in the video songs. The album 'Kabhi to Nazar Milao' featured model Aditi Gowitrikar and a famous Indian actor Govinda and the songs were immensely popular. The album continued to be the best selling album in 2002 and 2003 and was also a huge hit in USA and Canada. After becoming a sensation after the release of the album, he was approached by top Bollywood producers and directors like Yash Chopra and Subhash Ghai to perform the soundtrack for their films. He started to sing for Bollywood movies and in 2001, his song 'Tu Sirf Mera Mehboob' in the movie Ajnabee was a massive hit. Screen Magazine declared the song as a super-hit and called him the 'Pop Personality of the Year'. He became so popular that in 2002, Pepsi Foods made him as its Brand Ambassador in India and he hosted a series of live music concerts across cities and was also featured in the Pepsi Advertisements. He was declared as the most popular Pakistani Artist in India and reported as the most successful face in non-film music in India during 2001-02. In 2002, while his first album was still selling in India, Sami released his second album titled 'Tera Chehra'. The album featured Bollywood superstars like Rani Mukherjee, Mahima Chaudhry and Amitabh Bachchan. The album was one of the most successful albums of the year. In the same year, he also performed the song 'Aye Udi Udi' in the movie 'Saathiya' and the song became immensely popular. Later, he started to sing in few Tamil movies as well. Adnan Sami was performing successfully in his career and later he also became the sole judge for the singing competition program titled 'Super Singer', but in 2005 he suffered from lymphoedema which led to a pause in his career. He was almost forgotten and completely off the media for a very long time. However, the media woke up to Adnan Sami quickly when he returned back to India in 2006, all slim and healthy. He was reported to have lost at least 160 kg and his next performance in Bollywood was in the movie 'My Name is Khan' where he sang the song "Noor-e-Khuda". In 2008, he hosted the Indian version of the American music game show 'Don't Forget The Lyrics' and the Indian version was titled 'Bol Baby Bol'. Adnan in his career, has composed music for several Hindi films which includes films like Khubsoorat, Lucky: No Time for love, Sadiyaan, Shaurya, etc.
Adnan has been married thrice in his life. He first married Zeba Bakhtiar in 1993 and got divorced in 1997 and later in 2001 he married Sabah Galadari and the couple got divorced in 2009. Then in the year 2010, Adnan married Roya Faryabi, a German of Afghan origin. In May 2015, he submitted a request to the Indian Home Ministry for an Indian Citizenship and his request was approved in December 2015. He officially became the citizen of India from 1st January 2016. His last release was the song "Bhar do Jholi" in the super hit movie Bajrangi Bhaijaan released in 2015. | English | NL | 53e9b729452ec6ffd49e8bed10853f1895c083349341d990fd6b147259c4a6e5 |
There are many unknown facts about Goa and this is an attempt to unravel one of it. Many know churches located in Old Goa are famous world over. It serves as a tourist attraction and pilgrimage site as well. But many visitors (tourists and locals) are unaware that one of the churches there has received a ‘Golden Rose’ gifted by the Pope.
The recipient of the honour was the Sé Catedral de Santa Catarina, known as Se Cathedral. In the year 1953, Pope Pope Pius XII gifted the ornament as a token of reverence. It is currently kept in an iron chest inside the sacristy of the Basilica of Bom Jesus with other exhibits.
The rose is blessed on the fourth Sunday of Lent known Lætare Sunday (or as Rose Sunday). It has been presented to churches and sanctuaries, royalty, governments and military figures across the world. Se Cathedral received the rose for its services to the church. | English | NL | 5862b2f9acab2b3be42e8f859a1ead12833b3114a454cdd290d46c2c5b4e3be3 |
The Nothing Equation
Of one thing he was already certain; he would find that nothing was waiting outside the bubble to kill him. The first bubble attendant had committed suicide and the second was a mindless maniac on the Earthbound cruiser but it must have been something inside the bubble that had caused it. Or else they had imagined it all.
He went across the small room, his magnetized soles loud on the thin metal floor in the bubble's silence. He sat down in the single chair, his weight very slight in the feeble artificial gravity, and reviewed the known facts.
The bubble was a project of Earth's Galactic Observation Bureau, positioned | English | NL | 93ac26c65ca4052ffef12a1bc9beaeb6eccf41380c9d6b50345ed3e9136f1b25 |
Children's Fictional Story Book about Hair Pulling
Hair pullers pull out the hair from their scalp, eyelashes, eyebrows, or other parts of the body, often causing noticeable bald spots. Many do so uncontrollably for hours each day. Hair pulling doesn't hurt a compulsive hair puller. In fact, most report the behavior as soothing. While trichotillomania can present itself in any age range – including infants – studies show that its peak onset happens between the ages of 9 and 13, and especially peaks between the ages of 12 and 13. This can be extremely distressing for both parent and child. The Dragon Who Pulled Her Scales written by author William Michael Davidson is an uplifting story for any child - or adult - struggling with trichotillomania (or anyone who has ever felt different). It is a story of hope and encouragement.
Find out the severity of your symptoms with this free online test
What inspired William Michael Davidson to write the book?
Like many parents William didn’t know about trichotillomania or hear about the disorder until his seven year-old daughter developed this condition. He expressed that at the time that he found out that his child was pulling, he went into "catastrophic mode" and became filled with fear and anxiety over his daughter's condition and what this would mean for her growing up. It is normal for a parent to be worried however parents should consider the child’s feelings when addressing it.
How it all started
“One night, in the midst of this terrible fear, I was able to write her this story, The Dragon Who Pulled Her Scales. As a writer who loves the act of creating, I can tell you that I'm not sure if I've written anything that came about this naturally and with this much purpose”
We may not all have the gift of writing but what one can take from William is that as you get to understand the disorder more, you are able to help and support your child better. There are no suggestions that the book helps heal trichotillomania, but it helps the parent understand that their role in this journey isn't to get the child to "stop" pulling their hair; but rather to love them unconditionally, to teach them that their own beauty is not defined by outward appearance, and that they are never alone. Let them know that there is always hope.
This book is for anyone who has ever felt different. This book is for anyone who has been wounded, afraid of the terrible storm they must travel through. This book is for those looking for hope. Although this book is intended for children struggling with the effects of trichotillomania, it is ideal for any child (or adult) who needs to be reminded that our differences do not decrease our value. If you know someone who is having a problem with self-esteem, this book would be ideal for them too.
The book: The Dragon Who Pulled Her Scales
Here is what you can expect from the book:
Long ago, in a world where dragons were the world's protectors, a beautiful girl dragon named Ellam lived in a cool, misty cave. Although Ellam liked to have fun with her friends, she had a secret. She liked to pull out her scales. Ellam was always careful to cover her body-she didn't want anyone to see that she was missing her scales. That is, until one day when Everwynn, the great king of the dragons, needed someone for a special mission. Someone without scales. Join Ellam on her exciting journey as she discovers that everyone's wounds have purpose, and the storms we travel through are part of a greater plan.
You can purchase the book from Amazon here >> | English | NL | ed82c0571c2d3ef645a7f3178a1247734baf154d52757e41c7441de1b9ae556b |
Friday we went to eat in a little cafe in Apalachicola, FL. Filled with tacky fish nets, it was crowded and we had to negotiate seating with the hostess. As she talked to me, she kept her eyes on Austin who was busy looking at the walls and the neon fish caught in those fake nets.
We ended up at two tables for four with Austin still in his stroller. Again, the hostess just kept looking questioningly at him and I began to wonder if she had a relative with Down syndrome.
The stroller proved to be awkward, so Becca brought his high chair over. Austin was in a great mood while he waited for his chicken fingers and french fries. So we passed the time playing pat-a-cake and 'itsy bitsy spider.' When she heard us singing, the hostess left the door and came over and stood directly in front of Austin. She watched him pantomime the hand motions with a wistful look on her face.
"My son used to do that for itsy bitsy spider." And she mimicked his motion...both hands meeting in the middle ...fingertips only. Finally looking at me, she moved in close, leaned down and said,"This is MY angel, Hunter." Around her neck was a medallion with the image of a cute two year old with light hair and round glasses. Ah, I thought, that's it. "Angel" is code in our world for a child with Ds.
"He was two in this picture...he'd be six now. But he had a heart defect."
My heart sank. I didn't want to know, but I asked anyway. She seemed to need to tell me. "So does Austin," I told her. "He had open heart surgery at a week old. What happened to your Hunter?"
She kind of shrugged and continue to watch Austin. "He had surgery at 3 months...then a pacemaker. He did great. Then one day ...he started going down hill, then he was gone." I couldn't help it. In a whisper I said, "How scary." Then a bit louder, "I'm so sorry."
We spent a few minutes more talking about the different heart defects. Then she went back to work. I couldn't eat. I fed Austin and just thought about two year old Hunter. I don't know if she had any more children.
As we finished up lunch, I thought about what I could say to her. I felt a need to let her know that it was okay to have approached me about Austin.....and that I cared about her 'angel.'
I sent the kids on out to the shops while I waited for our bill and watched the hostess roll silverware in cloth napkins. I racked my brain for something really meaningful to say. I almost walked past her without speaking. But she looked up at me and her eyes were swimming in tears. I reached out touched her knee and said, "Thank you for telling me about your son." I couldn't say anything else past the lump in my throat. She smiled and tried to speak but couldn't. We just nodded at each other as tears started to roll down her cheeks.
She wiped her face, sighed and then went back to rolling her napkins. Six days later, I'm still thinking about her angel, Hunter, and the medallion she wears close to her heart. Holding Austin tight, kissing his sweet fat neck, and breathing in that baby scent that still clings to his skin....I realize that even if my angel stays with us only a short while, I'd still choose to be his mommy. Regardless of the therapy schedules, the medical bills, and yes, even the stares, my life is better with him than without him."Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away......I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21: 1, 3-4
Keep the Faith ~Amy | English | NL | b17ff9e225ea4c2a0ae07a80a43c98f98ad5c626b5217b64eef521da67897fe6 |
Finding the Discipline to Writeby Stephen J. Cannell
The Internet Writing Journal, October 1998
The hardest thing for most writers to do is to write. Many of the writers I know hate writing, but love having written. The reason for this is that we often put the need on ourselves to be "brilliant." After all, this stuff is going to be studied in universities long after we die. People will be quoting lines for untold centuries: "Out, out damned spot!" "To be or not to be." Since this is the standard we have set, we reason, "I have to be perfect," and secondarily, "I sure don't want to suffer a bad review. If it's not perfect, I'll die of embarrassment. Yada-yada-yada."
Of course, no one is perfect. We're all flawed and, deep down, even the most egotistical of us knows that we have big holes in our character we're still working on. So, if we're not perfect, how in blazes are we going to write perfectly? This dilemma is what causes writer's block. We can't get that first word on the page because we know, in our hearts, that it is being written by an imperfect being and it most likely won't be brilliant. So, what happens? We stall. We procrastinate. We don't write. How do we solve this?
Give Yourself Permission to be Bad
Every great writer who ever lived has, on occasion, written garbage (in my case it happens all the time). It's okay to write garbage. You're a good critic; you'll fix it later. Shakespeare wrote garbage, Hemingway wrote garbage, Faulkner wrote garbage. It is okay. Every writer has bad days, or a day when he or she isn't connecting with the material. A day when, unknown to us, the story or the character we are writing has been improperly designed. When this happens, writing becomes a struggle. That doesn't mean you've lost your muse, or that you're a creative burnout. It just means that you have a problem in your story structure or with character motivation. Something is dishonest that seemed okay when you set it up. Rewriting is part of the process. Most writers plot with their heads and write with their hearts. Sometimes that causes unintended dishonesty. You start to push to make it happen. It feels forced, you freeze and your creative fire starts to gutter and burn low. You say, "I'm outta here. Time to go to the beach."
Don't go! Stay right where you are. Start asking yourself a few questions. Put yourself in the place you've designed for your principal characters. Ask yourself, "If this was really my problem, would I do what I'm having this character do? Would I say what he or she's saying?" If the answer is "no," start redesigning, get out of your head-plotting demeanor and deal with your emotions.
My favorite story dishonesty (which I see constantly) is where the hero is in trouble, but doesn't seek police help because then the police would solve the case and there would be nothing left for the hero to do. It would wreck the story. You cannot let this flawed logic stand. You must redesign. For example, put the hero's fingerprints on the murder weapon. He's now wanted by the cops, so he can't go to them. This is a much more compelling reason -- one which the audience will buy.
Why is this problem so common? Because we are pushing story points around on our chessboard without regard to what the character would be thinking and feeling.
Once I had this problem TV script early in my writing career. I had a character that was being threatened with murder by a mob boss, and he met with the mob boss to discuss it. He wanted to know why this "mob hitter" had a contract out on him.
I wrote the scene and it sucked.
I wrote it again and it sucked.
I gave the hero a bad cold to make him more interesting (with attitude), "This damn cold, I can't breathe."
I wrote it again...sucked.
Something wasn't right at the core. Finally, I said, "What would I do if I was this guy?" Answer: I wouldn't sit there asking dumb questions, like why are you trying to kill me? I'd be pissed. I had left out the anger. The scene was dishonest and my heart told me it was. So, I hated everything I was writing. Once I wrote it with the correct emotion, it was fine.
All of this, and many other factors that cause bad writing make us afraid to sit down at the keyboard. Writing then becomes a sporadic endeavor. Fear of failure leads to a lack of effort.
Trust me, it's okay to write garbage. You can learn from bad writing. Don't try to be brilliant. It's a standard that you most likely will never attain, and if you're trying to be brilliant, the most common by-product isn't brilliance, it's pretentiousness. It's not that hard. Make up a good story, then let it flow. Leave the brilliant work to the dead.
The only other thing I want to say about getting ready to write is that it is very important to write at the same time every day. Two hours at the minimum. Writer friends of mine sometimes alibi, "I can't do that, I have a job driving a truck. I gotta be at work at eight." Okay then, get up at four. Write from five to seven, then go to work.
You have to make a place in your day for this activity or it will never happen. The one great thing about writing is that you will always improve! With each script, short story or novel, you get slightly better. The ones you write next year will be better than the ones you wrote this year. Keep going -- your talent will grow, but you have to be at the keyboard for that to happen.
**Stephen J. Cannell is the Emmy® award-winning producer/creator of over 42 television shows including The Rockford Files, Baretta, The A-Team, The Commish, Wiseguy, Greatest American Hero, Hunter, Profit, 21 Jump Street, Renegade and Silk Stalkings. One of television's most prolific writers, he has scripted more than 350 episodes of the series he has created. At the age of 50, he decided to pursue his lifelong dream of being a novelist. His first book was, The Plan, a political thriller, which was quickly followed by national bestselling novels Final Victim, King Con, which is soon to be a full-length feature film, and the exciting new action thriller, Riding the Snake (Morrow, Oct., 1998). He is the Chairman of of Cannell Studios, and lives in the Los Angeles area with his wife and family. His website can be found at cannell.com. | English | NL | 46ce738d7693151f134626f219460b4994da6acb8e752f42d1882bf5a8e68ad4 |
We were concentrating on our tacos and enchiladas and were not focusing on the background music being played, sounds that were probably the usual stereotypical Mexican mariachi-style music suitable for such a restaurant.
Then, suddenly, there was that unforgettable, unmistakable staccato cowbell sound and those unique trumpet riffs, and we were enveloped in Hugh Masekela’s Grazin’ in the Grass.
We were only recently back in the US for work, after our first assignment in South Africa, and now, suddenly, at least in our imaginations and memories, we were right back in South Africa again.
Never mind that this great tune would not have been heard on South African radio, nor easily come by in any local record stores at the time, but it had been a number one hit on the American charts in 1968, and it had been played incessantly for months almost everywhere.
Hugh had been living in the US for half a decade by the time it was composed, recorded, and released, and it captured the popular imagination almost instantly.
It could easily have been a musical paean to a homeland now lost to the composer, a place he would not visit again until 1990.
Or maybe it was just a dizzyingly great tune out of Africa as constructed in the mind of the composer.
Besides Grazin’ in the Grass, of course, Hugh Masekela went on to compose and record dozens of other fine tunes, but it was Grazin’ in the Grass that made him a musical household name internationally, early in his career.
As a youngster, at the famed St Peter’s School for African students in Rosettenville, Johannesburg, Masekela had apparently been a troublesome child in class.
When asked by the school’s legendary head, the Anglican priest, Trevor Huddleston, what would help the young Masekela to settle down, the student had instantly replied, “a trumpet!”; Masekela had already fallen in love with the sound and the idea of the trumpet and trumpet player after seeing Kirk Douglas in the 1950 film, Young Man With a Horn, based on a novel that had been inspired by the life of Bix Beiderbecke.
And he knew where he wanted to go.
Recognising talent, or perhaps just wanting the key to helping the boy to settle down, Huddleston scraped together the money to purchase a trumpet for him, as well as to pay for lessons, and this became a perfect fit for him.
Eventually Huddleston even managed to meet Louie Armstrong during a trip to the US and Huddleston obtained a horn from the star – as a gift for his pupil in Johannesburg.
Just imagine that moment and the effect it would have had on a still-unknown, teenaged student in Johannesburg, back in the 1950s, to be able to hold – and to play – an instrument that had already been owned by a world-famous performer like Armstrong.
Some powerful stuff, that.
Horn in hand and still a teenager, by 1956 Masekela was already a regular in Johannesburg jazz and dance bands performing in cities across the country, and by 19, he was a member of the pit orchestra for the country’s great hit show, King Kong, the musical composed by Todd Matshikiza.
King Kong told the story of the rise and fall of a local boxer Ezekiel “King Kong” Dlamini and it became a legendary show, combining the talents of black and white South Africans in putting it together, despite the restrictions of apartheid.
Upon his passing, the New York Times wrote of Masekela after his first successes,
“The next year he joined Abdullah Ibrahim (then known as Dollar Brand) and four other upstart instrumentalists in the Jazz Epistles, South Africa’s first bebop band of note.
With a heavy, driving pulse and warm, arcing melodies, their music was distinctly South African, even as its swing rhythms and flittering improvisations reflected affinities with American jazz.
‘There had never been a group like the Epistles in South Africa,’ Masekela said in his 2004 autobiography, Still Grazing: The Musical Journey of Hugh Masekela, written with D. Michael Cheers.
‘Our tireless energy, complex arrangements, tight ensemble play, languid slow ballads and heart-melting, hymn-like dirges won us a following, and soon we were breaking all attendance records in Cape Town.’ ”
But King Kong also took the cast and orchestra to London on what was supposed to be a much larger international tour.
Successful in London, it never moved to Broadway, but many of the cast and musicians decided not to return to South Africa, including Jonas Gwangwa, Abdullah Ibrahim, Miriam Makeba – and the young Hugh Masekela.
Masekela promptly enrolled in the Guildhall School of Music, but it was not a good fit.
Instead, he gained admission to the Manhattan School of Music in New York City under the encouragement of singer Harry Belafonte where he studied classical trumpet and roamed the clubs of a city that was near the peak of its time for progressive jazz, listening to the likes of Miles Davis and John Coltrane, among others.
Eager to become a jazz performer in that idiom, he got advice from the likes of Davis to draw upon his own musical heritage and make that music his own instead.
(During that period, he was married to Miriam Makeba for several years and although the marriage did not last, their friendship and musical collaboration did.)
By the time my wife and I had returned to South Africa in 1989, it was becoming clear that apartheid was a dying ideology and musicians and other expatriated performers were beginning to figure out how to manage their respective returns to South Africa after long periods of exile.
One afternoon, I received a phone call in our office in Pretoria – I never caught the actual name of the caller – and he told us we had to present ourselves at Kippies that night.
That was it. By this time in the unravelling of apartheid, that could have meant almost anything, and so, curiosity aroused, we drove to Johannesburg to enter the city’s best known jazz club in Newtown, close to the Market Theatre.
It was packed with people and most of those faces were rather well known members of the country’s black music elite or black political figures with a love for jazz.
The first set was well played by some local folks, but there was nothing earth-shaking about it. Then, as the musicians took their respective seats after the break, a short-ish, solidly built man carrying a trumpet case strode into the venue, opened up that instrument case and pulled out a horn and did a few rituals to get ready, and then just played. And played.
And the crowd exploded at the sounds from a musical hero – finally returned home from a far distant place.
Without any publicity or public warning, it was Hugh Masekela’s first public gig in South Africa after three decades abroad.
Years later, when we returned to South Africa for a third assignment and then retirement here, we became better acquainted with him.
By then he had shaken off alcohol and substance abuse problems that had dogged him for decades; he had moved to a home out in Bryanston where he began gardens of vegetables and fruit trees and took up, of all things, the oriental exercise routine of tai-chi to keep him limber and ready for the rigours of live performance.
My wife was teaching in a school nearby Masekela’s home and she remembers seeing him taking long walks through the neighbourhood.
In 2010 and ’11, he was a major part of the very successful Market Theatre production, Songs of Migration – both in Johannesburg and internationally.
About Masekela’s contribution, Market Theatre artistic director James Ngcobo said, “Bra Hugh was many things to a whole lot of people who interacted with him, he was a mentor who loved nothing but sharing his passion of storytelling and heritage.
The whole company that was involved in the creation of Songs of Migration would echo these words and say that around him they had clarity, guidance and a deep sense of memory.”
Songs of Migration recounted the music that so many people had brought with them to Johannesburg from throughout South and southern Africa as they came to work on the mines, as well as the music of immigrant groups from Europe at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries.
Paired up with renowned singer Sibongile Khumalo, as well as back-up singers and a full on-stage band, it was still Hugh Masekela who brought down the house with his horn playing, his singing, his dancing (!) and his storytelling.
And it was his song, Stimela – once again with the cowbells and his gravelly, rasping voice – that told of the tribulations of so many men forced into mine work to feed families, but only if they left their homes.
This time around, the key wasn’t his trademark horn. Instead it was the insistent driving sound of the cowbell – bringing to life the very sense of the train’s movement – and that voice of his, recounting the migrants’ tribulations that again captured his audience:
There is a train that comes from Namibia and Malawithere is a train that comes from Zambia and Zimbabwe,There is a train that comes from Angola and Mozambique,From Lesotho, from Botswana, from Swaziland,From all the hinterland of southern and central Africa.
This train carries young and old, African menWho are conscripted to come and work on contractIn the golden mineral mines of JohannesburgAnd its surrounding metropolis, sixteen hours or more a dayFor almost no pay.
Deep, deep, deep down in the belly of the earthWhen they are digging and drilling that shiny mighty evasive stone,Or when they dish that mish mesh mush foodinto their iron plates with the iron shank.
Or when they sit in their stinking, funky, filthy,Flea-ridden barracks and hostels.
They think about the loved ones they may never see againBecause they might have already been forcibly removedFrom where they last left them
Or wantonly murdered in the dead of nightBy roving, marauding gangs of no particular origin,We are told.
They think about their lands, their herdsThat were taken away from them
With a gun, bomb, and the tear gas, the gatling and the cannon.And when they hear that Choo-Choo train
A-chugging, and a pumping, and a smoking, and a pushing, a pumping, a crying and a steaming and a chugging and a whooo whooo!
They always cuss, and they curse the coal train,The coal train that brought them to Johannesburg. Whooo whooo!...
By now he must have sung, danced and played Stimela uncounted times but in his hands and lips it still had, on stage, the feeling that he had just that night dreamt it up, fresh but outraged – even if his audience most likely knew it all by heart after having heard it for many years.
Flash forward to earlier this year. We last saw Hugh at Sibongile Khumalo’s 60th birthday celebrations at the Market Theatre a few months ago.
There he was in the audience to pay his respects to another great musician, but this time, instead of that nearly protean figure who had defied time, he was clearly not well.
He had an eye patch over one eye following an operation, and he had obviously lost considerable weight.
He was seated right behind us and so at the end of the performance I gently helped him up the stairs, holding his arm, to guide him towards the exit. We never saw him again.
With his passing, there has been no end to the tributes paid to him by broadcasters, journalists, government offices and the like.
Too many of them have picked up the odd formulation of Hugh Masekela as the father of South African jazz. Strange because Masekela was well steeped in the vibrant jazz culture of the Johannesburg where he had grown up.
Rather, his true genius, well beyond an outsized life lived to the full, was as a true giant of world music – even before that term had been invented in the early 1980s.
Masekela integrated his South African traditional and jazz roots, other African musical forms, pop music, funk, rock, electronic effects and American jazz and then turned it all into something new and unique instead.
His music became something that could appeal to purists and jazz fundis, as well as so many more people who just loved a great tune delivered with style, verve and love of the music.
Yes, he lent his talents to the cause of South Africa’s liberation during apartheid, recording music in this vein such as a famous song about Nelson Mandela, (Mandela) Bring Him Back Home. The New York Times’ obituary observed,
“Mr. Masekela tended to emphasise the breadth of the musical tradition that inspired him.
‘I was marinated in jazz, and I was seasoned in music from home,’ he said in a 2009 interview with the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.
‘Song is the literature of South Africa.’ He added, ‘There’s no political rally that ever happened in South Africa without singing being the main feature.’ ”
But, years after the end of apartheid, his essential honesty made him respond that the government still needed to confront and address the great injustices and ills of the new nation.
He still could retain some of his anger over the past, telling a BBC interviewer that he was still in pain over the fact that he had not been able to return home to attend to the funeral of his mother while he was in exile, but then there was a brief, small smile that seemed to signal that, despite that pain, one must move on beyond the deep hurts of the past and focus on the here and now.
In their efforts to sum up his life and assuage their own pain over this loss of a friend and musical colleague, fellow musicians seemed to have it right about both Hugh Masekela’s place in the world of music and musicians – as well as his big-hearted humanity.
South African composer/pianist Rashid Lanie, now living largely in Los Angeles, wrote to say,
“… many people wrestle with the idea of him being a ‘Jazz Musician’ vs him being a ‘Folk Muso’ with Jazz chops.
Well, I got to tell you was [that] I and the rest of the band [were] blown away one night after performing at the International Denver Jazz Festival, the same night the Democratic National Convention was under way nominating Barack Obama for the USA Presidency, he decided to invite us to a Jazz Jam that was happening somewhere downtown in Denver.
Bra Hugh got on stage with some heavy straight ahead Jazzers, Wow! He blew us all away with the knowledge of standards and his improvisational skills that he displayed.
And then I realised he had followed the advice of Miles to stick close to his home music and not waste his time with American Jazz as that was Miles’s domain.”
And Darius Brubeck, after a lifetime of performing and teaching in the US and South Africa (and a son of jazz great Dave Brubeck) could add,
“Our lives connected and intersected at significant points over the last 50 years, starting in 1968 when Grazin’ in the Grass was a major hit in the US.
Back then I was just another student music fan falling for a sound and ‘feel’ that was relaxed yet exciting, new yet familiar. It still plays in my head and I’ve been hearing it almost non-stop since Tuesday morning.
“The importance of that track and Hugh’s music generally was that it announced a new kind of African presence.
It took getting used to in 1968 because Americans mainly associated Africa with drums and choirs and this music sounded both African and western, urban and modern. This is the identity that Masekela’s music projected for the first time on a massive scale….
“In 1987, I formally interviewed him at the Montreux Jazz Festival for The Weekly Mail. I’m sure other people have mentioned Hugh’s humility, but this conversation provided two striking examples in different areas. He was genuinely modest about being on a programme billed ‘Trumpet Summit’ with Randy Brecker and other great players, as though he weren’t one himself.
And, because Hugh was perhaps the most prominent musician in the ANC’s international cultural campaign against apartheid, I thought I should ask if he had a message for his music comrades back home. He brushed this off with the phrase, ‘Messages come from above’.
Although famously articulate, witty and outspoken, he was aware that his life as a free and relatively wealthy black South African outside the country was far removed from the realities his fellow musicians in Soweto and Langa were coping with and he wouldn’t burden them further with advice on how to dedicate their lives to the struggle.
“After he finally returned to SA in 1990, ‘Bra Hugh’ seemed to be everywhere, especially in demand for huge concerts, but discussions did resume about the possibility of teaching at the University of Natal. I was the go-between whenever he came down to Durban and, through the Centre for Jazz and Popular Music, he did conduct significant and memorable classes. His impact on students was indeed like something ‘from above’!….”
And now the man is gone but the world has been left with his great musical legacy. | English | NL | b092eba4c10494d9dafa498a8b6f718abedde3d53fdfef2d9ad44849c8725e0a |
It is not often you come across a 18th Century hand plane that has not been used. These types of plane were often sold as unfinished castings to journeyman carpenters, who would finish them to their own requirements and style.
This one never quite got finished for some reason. Not so much a restoration, it’s more like completing a job that never got finished!
The base casting is in very good condition. The sole is flat, but a little corroded and shows signs of the metal cooling during the casting pour, this shows as a pattern, a little like Damascus Steel. It’s not going to affect how the plane performs though.
The first stage is a bath in white vinegar for 12 hours to clean off all the corrosion.
The blade is by a manufacturer called Hardy and is a perfect fit, although it’s very unlikely that this was sold with the plane originally. The plane is a low angle bevel up block plane, designed to handle end grain. The blade had never been sharpened but had a 25 degree bevel shaped in manufacture, so I sharpened the blade to that angle.
I needed to do some research on the shape of the wedge. They either had short fat pad style wedges or long curved wedges. The shape is based on personal preference as the wedge provides the hand grip as well as holding the blade in place.
I went with the pad style for comfort. This is made from Wenge. This is a very hard wood so it will hold up to the work it needs to do. It was cut to shape using hand saws and then refined with a rasp. Final finishing was with various increasing grits of sandpaper until I was happy with it.
I saw a lot of these planes had some finishing details added, a common theme was a Cupids Bow on the tip of the wedge, so I rasped that into shape then coated it in boiled linseed oil.
Once the wedge was in place it was time to test fit the blade. I had to do some work to widen the mouth to fit the blade squarely. The rear shoulder of the plane was slightly off square which tilted the blade to one side, this was fixed with a metal file.
Flattening the sole was the final stage, some fine grade sand paper was stuck to a piece of MDF and the plane was flat and true in no time.
Some test passes to see how she cuts
A final coat of gun makers stock finish to give it a shine and protect it.
Apply these finishes with a clean lint free cloth in light passes. Keep adding layers until you have the finish you want. Five or six light coats brings a brilliant hard finish. | English | NL | 612e763f3ee55cb90292573d523bfdc9ed74fbf1330df72bd1852b60847c31f9 |
Ram Kumari Sister
...then sister Ram Kumari was seen as a mystifying enigma. I never knew what was hidden inside her. She used to remain quiet as if she was plunged into deep thought or suffering from inexpressible awful mourning. "I'm born as the most intelligent creature in this planet, let's make my life present, let's clutch the joy of nature," these were the thoughts which never struck her head. She preferred to be alone in her room. The room contained verities of modern equipment, but neither of them had seen to be used for a long time. I lived with her for about ten years. But, in this long span of my life, I do not remember speaking to her more than a hundred words.
Initially, I came to her in search of shelter. At that very moment I was shocked by her empty SHEUNDO, a pair of eyes losing their eyesight, pale and charmless face with broad forehead missing TIKA. Every morning at 5'o clock when I woke up, I would see her in the garden. When I got out of the bathroom, I was served breakfast on my table. At 9'o clock she used to serve me lunch, then I would go for work. I never returned home early. It was never before midnight.
Between those days I got an excellent job, and I had to leave the city for it. Anyway, it was the fact that sooner or later I had to go away to make my career and to secure my future. I did not want to leave her without knowing about the reasons for her helplessness and pessimistic feelings. But, I had already got an order to take charge in another place. The day of departure was approaching, and I was getting restless and nervous. Controlling the whirlwind of my heart, one day I appeared in front of her and informed about my impending departure. She got emotional; the words were coming out with great difficulty; maybe it was the extent of her love for me. With the eyes full of tears she replied, 'Please don't make me alone, we both have a similar lifeline, and I don't have anyone except you, I see my brother's image in you, poor boy! If he had survived, would have been of your age.'
Then according to her wish, I married a girl. I had thought that my wife's company would entertain her. But it did not bring any pleasure in her tragic world. She made her health worse after my marriage. She became more introvert than she used to be. Her eyes used to stick in a place for hours; her face became dull and turned pale. One day she left us forever by taking poison. In this way, her memories are continues to grow fainter and fainter in my mind...
03/25/2010 - 23:35 | English | NL | 5acb9ccaa33ba7b05452c5a8757572a4302c24bca78f0646e6696568d1ea30a9 |
JL knew that, short as she was, she often intimidated men with just a look. Thatâs what confidence did. And she had it in spades. It made you as tall as you wanted to be. As pretty as you wanted to be. As rich as you wanted to be. Because if you had confidence, nothing else mattered. That was a lesson sheâd learned a long time ago.
But even with all that confidence, she wasnât blind to the differences between her and Enzo. He was from a different world, and she could feel the distance between their worlds every time she thought about going out with him. It had all been harmless flirty fun until heâd taken things too far and kissed her a few weeks ago. And what a kiss it had been. Heâd kissed her as if he were stuck in a desert and her mouth were the only thing that could quench his thirst. She still felt all sorts of things running through her body when she thought of the way heâd backed her up against a wall, not caring who the hell was around, gripped her neck, and slipped his tongue between her parted lips. Sheâd embarrassed herself by melting into him and mewling in need. In fact, she might have even dry-humped his leg. It had been that good a kiss. Then heâd let her go and challenged her by saying, âNext time youâll beg me to kiss you.â Like sheâd ever beg a man! But now, with his glorious body on full display . . .
As if he could sense her inappropriate thoughts, his eyes met hers. His stare felt like a warm caress all over her already ignited body. The charcoal fell out of her hand and a shiver ran down her spine. Is it getting hot in here? She shifted uncomfortably on her chair, but he didnât break eye contact. Then, the ultraconservative man who had been asking her out constantly for almost a year winked at her. It caught her by surprise, and she quickly hid behind her canvas. | English | NL | de989b00021edb65bed3bddb879b49c65eb74211cebd46f0148048b2d3a7e771 |
So I have some ideas about what I want to do for this multi modality project but no real set goals in mind. It all really has to do with if I have the time and capability to pull any of my ideas off.
One of my first ideas was to make a first person perspective video using a GoPro and creating something like this or at least the execution of it. I was thinking of incorporating something like a video game inventory that the “player” could pull up and use “tools” to solve different kinds of problems. Could even do just a day in the life of a student or through the eyes of a student as well and incorporate certain ideas from different readings that we’ve read through the semester. It just sort of depends if I plan everything out well enough.
Another idea was to make a type of board game based off a lot of the ideas around multi modality and what students can do with it. I was thinking of using certain games like Pandemic, Harbour, and/or others as an inspirations and a basis for some of the game play elements that I would want to incorporate. (Videos are kind of long but the first few minutes show how the game is played).
My idea was for this to be a game in which there are four players or four students and their job is to cooperate together to complete a final class assignment and to use different skill sets, strategies, and tools to accomplish that. The idea would be to have certain cards that would pose hindrances, challenges, or be helpful or hurtful items that could be used to take on the big assignment. That was just one of the things that came to mind of a type of game I could possibly make.
I was also thinking about simply making a simple video game myself using something like RPG maker or the like but what it would be about I’m not sure plus there is the difficulty of trying to code everything and the issue of time. Like the board game idea, I was thinking of following a similar approach but it would be a more individual experience rather than a collaborative one.
Obviously I won’t be able to do all of these but these were just some of the things that have been running through my brain. | English | NL | 83d944932223150fcd22ec91a0178a25614210c288cd79fe09c6eaf6bd131c39 |
It was written in her marriage contract that she had received her mahr but she has not received it and she has started to resent her husband
The mahr is the woman’s right in her marriage, because Allah, may He be exalted, says (interpretation of the meaning):
“And give to the women (whom you marry) their Mahr (obligatory bridal money given by the husband to his wife at the time of marriage) with a good heart”
“so with those of whom you have enjoyed sexual relations, give them their Mahr as prescribed”
Agreement should be made on the mahr and it should be mentioned in the marriage contract; if no agreement has been reached and it is not mentioned in the marriage contract, the marriage is still valid and the woman should have a mahr like that of her peers.
You did not explain in your question whether agreement had been reached on a specific mahr or nor, or whether it was to be paid immediately or deferred. If there was agreement on something specific, it is obligatory to adhere to that and in that case what was written in the contract about you having received the mahr does not count for anything.
The wife has the right to demand her immediate mahr and to refuse to let her husband be intimate with her until he has given her her mahr. As for the deferred portion, she should not demand it unless the time for it comes.
Ibn Qudaamah (may Allah have mercy on him) said: If she refuses to let her husband be intimate with her until she has received her mahr, and it is due to be paid immediately, she has the right to do that. Ibn al-Mundhir said: All of the scholars from whom we acquired knowledge are agreed that the woman has the right to refuse to let the husband consummate the marriage with her until he gives her her mahr. … if some of it is to be paid immediately and some is deferred, then she has the right to refuse to let him be intimate with her before receiving the immediate portion, but not the deferred portion.
End quote from al-Mughni, 7/200
See also the answer to question no. 127325
What you have to do is fear Allah, may He be exalted, concerning yourself and your husband, and to pay attention to his rights, and not let what you have mentioned make you hate him.
You should deal with this problem by finding out about the reasons for it; your guardian may have received the mahr or he may have agreed with your husband that the mahr is to be deferred, or some other arrangement. Deal with the matter calmly and with deliberation, protect yourself and your husband, try to be gentle and loving at all times, and seek your shar‘i rights without impinging on your husband’s rights.
And Allah knows best.
Don't miss out to watch Islamhelpline sponsored Islamic Kids Competition | English | NL | 513a2c75305e79522490b10b594f53be007d8ff702b4bd6a5ccb2a4ed45323f4 |
She had married a soldier in 1854 and headed out to his post in the wilds of Texas. This is their story as pioneers, her husband attached to the U.S. Mounted Rifles.
Of privations she has much to write but she also notes:
“The truth is, all army women, from the wife of the commanding general down to the wife of a second lieutenant, are treated with so much courtesy and politeness by army officers that they do not like anything that has the least appearance of a slight or an infringement of their rights. They never grow old in a garrison, and always receive attentions to which no woman in citizen life is accustomed when no longer young.” | English | NL | b9729bfcbbcbe01320292424c1e5ffe71491356e6acce6c8681fe606e55d4f1b |
“Mohammed, you must go. Go for the leader Alrick, the people living in the village, the future of this village. We need that cure for leader Alricks sickness. Please Alli!” Alli, leader Alricks servant cried. I nodded, “of course. If it’s for the village, I’ll do anything!” Alli smiled, “thank you Alli! Go to the Oasis of Wishes.” I raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t it just a mythical place?” “Oh no! It’s very real! If you want the real story, go to elder Alrick. He’s seen the fountain with his own eyes.” I nodded, “Okay Alli. Thank you!” “No, thank you!” I nodded, and headed to leader Alrick’s place. Once I arrived, I asked if anyone was home. Leader Alrick told me to come in. I entered his place and headed to his bedroom. “Leader Alrick? Are you alright?” He chuckled, “I’ll get better,” he coughed. I awkwardly smiled back. He raised his eyebrow, “what’s wrong Mohammed? Is everything alright?” I took a deep breath, “tell me about the Oasis of wishes.” He sighed and patted his bed, “sit here Mohammed.” I nodded, and sat down. He coughed, and began explaining. “The Oasis Of Wishes is kind of like an oasis version of a genie; you wish for something, and it grants your wish. However, you only get one wish. If you mis-use that one wish, you must beg for another wish. The oasis will give you a task to do, and you must do it!” I nodded, “what else?” He chuckled, “you were always the curious one, Mohammed.” He continued explaining. The journey will take several days. You go north to the desert until you see a palm tree. Once you see the palm tree, pick up the letter and read it. You can read it as many times as you want, however you can’t read it when you arrive at the Oasis. Once you’ve read it, walk east until you see an oasis. Once you reach the oasis, recite what’s on the piece of paper without reading it. Do you understand Mohammed?” I gaped, “wow….I didn’t know---that’s so cool.” He chuckled and ruffled my hair, “why did you ask?” I smiled, ‘I wanna go there and make a wish!” “What is your wish?” “I can’t tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise!” He smiled, “well first, I suggest you get packing. Let the whole village know you’re going on a journey.” I grinned and nodded, now I can wish for the cure! I headed out the door. I yelled out the good news. Everyone cheered and Alli hugged me. I went home and packed for the journey. My mother hugged me, “be careful, my son.” I held her hand and caressed her cheek, “don’t worry, I’ll be okay.” She smiled, “I prepared you a meal for your journey.” I hugged her, “thank you, mother.” She told me to rest for a bit before my journey. I nodded and hugged her. She also handed me a handkerchief, “I want you to have this just in case you get injured.” I smiled and kissed her on the cheek.30 minutes later, I headed on my journey. “Good luck Mohammed! Have a safe trip.” I thanked everyone and headed off. I walked north for what felt like days. I sat down and groaned, “oh god it’s so hot.” I knew complaining would do nothing, so I got up and kept walking. I kept walking until dark. I laid on the sand and stared at the stars, “it’s quite beautiful….I wonder how everyone is doing...I just hope they’re all okay.” I prayed, then I connected the stars to make pictures until I fell asleep. The next morning, I ruffled my hair and groaned, “I should’ve brought a pillow.” I got up, and kept heading north. Several hours later, I noticed a palm tree. I grinned and sped walk to the palm tree. Moments later, I arrived. And sat by the palm tree. I took out mother’s meal and dug in. The sun was setting, so I decided to stay here for the night. I looked up the sky, and grinned, “I’m one step closer to getting the cure.” I prayed that everyone was safe, and I fell asleep on the palm tree.
The next morning, I woke up and grabbed the letter. I read it aloud:
“On your journey to your dreams, be ready to face oasis and deserts. In both cases, don’t stop.” -Paulo Coelho”
I raised an eyebrow, “what does that even mean?” Crap….where do I go again? Today was rather a windy day. The wind blew east….then it hit me! I go east! That’s it! Thank you god! I grinned and prayed to god to say thank you, and I headed east. As I kept walking, I heard someone screaming. I bolted ahead and noticed a man with an injured arm. “What happened, sir?” I asked him as I wrapped my handkerchief around his arm, he thanked me and explained, “I was trying to go to the palm tree; it’s my special place. Then, the sand went in my eyes and I fell in the sand and scraped myself from a piece of glass. “Glass?” I raised my eyebrow. He shrugged, “I don’t even know.” I helped him up, “I hope your arm gets better.” He thanked me, “good luck on your journey. Be safe, and may god bless you.” I smiled, thanked him and wished for his arm to get better. Then I kept walking. The day gradually became hotter and hotter, I groaned, “it’s so hot oh my goodness!” I unfolded the letter and decided to recite the quote until it was dark.
It was dark, so I put my letter back in my pocket. I squinted my eyes and noticed an Oasis. I squealed with joy and sped walk. I took a moment to process my life, AM I REALLY HERE?! DID I MAKE IT THIS FAR?! WOAHHH!!! I coughed, “um, hello holy oasis…” I kneeled down. I recited the quote, “On your journey to your dreams, be ready to face oasis and deserts. In both cases, don’t stop.” My stomach growled, “man...I wish I had an amazing meal-----WAIT, NO-----”
The oasis granted my wish, and I ended up having a whole sack of mom’s curry. I begged the oasis to take away the meal. “Then you must not eat for the next 24 hours.” I nodded, “of course!” “If you do eat before the 24 hours, I will take away your wish and the wish will no longer work, and you must save them by risking your life.” I nodded, “I understand.” “Now, what is your wish?” I coughed, and had a straight face, “I wish I had the cure to Leader Alrick’s cure.” “Your wish is granted.” Then a bottle popped up out of nowhere on a cloud. I caught the cure and thanked the Oasis. The oasis faded into darkness; its last words were, “do you know the meaning of the quote now?” I nodded. I do now. No matter what, I don’t give up. I made my way back to the village. A few days later, I arrived back with the cure. The whole village cheered and gave me treats. I screamed, “NO! IF I EAT LEADER ALRICK WILL NO LONGER BE CURED!” Everyone hid the food as I headed to leader Alrick’s place. Alli smiled at me, “Good one Mohammed.” Leader Alrick raised an eyebrow, “What’s going on?” “I am giving you the cure to your sickness.” “Mohammed, you didn’t have to!” “I wanted to, Leader Alrick.” I told him to drink the whole bottle, he nodded and drank the whole thing. The villagers all cheered for me. I giggled and grinned. Everyone brought out food and began eating. I took a deep breath. This will be a long 24 hours.
Untitled Alicia Monteiro
The first thing she noticed was the heat. The second, was the sand on her face that was preventing her from breathing. Sitting up in a panic she coughed violently, spitting out what had fallen into her mouth. She stood up and looked around wildly. The strong winds whipped her hair around, and the leftover sand stuck to her skin blew off. Where was she? She had no idea, no memory. What struck her about her surroundings was how empty it was, barren. Nothing but miles and miles of sand. She was in a desert, alone, with nothing to keep her alive. She raised a hand to her eyes, shading them from the invasive sun and attempted to find some explanation as to how she got there. But there was no one in sight, no sign of life except her. She began to tremble, a stray tear ran down her face. “Ok, calm down.” She muttered to herself as she wiped her eyes, and took a moment to just breath. She then decided to walk, she had to go somewhere. With no set destination in mind she decided to simply begin walking forward. There was no looking back. After about an hour, she began to grow frustrated. The only signs of her progress were her quickly disappearing footprints in the sand. She decided to stop for a moment, shutting her eyes shield to them from the blinding sun. When she finally reopened them, her mouth dropped open with astonishment. In the distance was an oasis - a beautiful, lush oasis. But she was not such a fool, and quickly the hope wavered inside her as she realized it was most likely a mirage, a figment of her imagination. Yet it looked so real that she decided to risk it anyways. She could die trying to reach it, but felt it better to have false hope than none at all. She began staggering towards it, her body desperate for a sip of water. Yet however far she walked, it only seemed to grow farther. It was taunting her. She would never reach it. This wasn’t fair. Yet her feet kept moving, never stopping their quest to get to their final destination. She was determined to get to her goal, even if she died trying. The day carried on, and her body was growing weaker. But she refused to give up. If there was one thing she was going to do, she was going to make it. The sun was already setting, and the sand was growing cooler. She slowed her pace but she would not give up. Eventually her legs gave out beneath her, and she fell to the ground. Her brain screamed for her to continue on, and she began to crawl, yet the world was beginning to fade. When her arms gave out, and she could no longer go on, she curled into herself and let out a feeble whimper. She had lost connection with her body. She was numb to the world. Darkness engulfed her body, and she drifted away.Her eyes opened, and she let out a small groan. Her head was pounding. Everything was blurry. As her sight returned she focused on a woman standing inches from her face. A terrible confusion raced through her, and she was horrified to discover a video of herself in the desert being played on a monitor beside her. She began to panic she when she noticed restraints on her arms and multiple wires connected to her head. “Well done Avery, I’m very proud of you. You did so well.” The woman’s voice was soothing, but it sent chills up her spine, there was something off about her. “Relax, you’re safe. Here take a sip of water. It’ll take a moment for you to fully return to reality.” She shut her eyes, as a wave of nausea passed over her and her memories rushed back into her head. Her panic subsided, and when she opened her eyes she was no longer the girl stranded in the desert, she was just Avery. “I didn’t make it to the Oasis.” She stated, her voice cracking. The woman’s lips spread into a wide unnatural smile. “Honey, you were never going to make it to the Oasis. The whole point is that you didn’t give up trying to get there.” The woman reached out and gave Avery a stiff pat on the head, before she turned around and stared into a camera in the corner of the room. “Patient number 37 has passed her first test. Unhook her up and take her back to her room. Please reset the trial and reset for our next patient.”
False Hope Jasmine Hrynyk Seabrook
Since I had more energy after my lunch and quick nap I noticed I was pretty dusty from walking in the desert for so long so I thought I’d take a nice cool dip in the pond which was there. As I got closer to the pond it started looking pretty deep. I was getting kind of nervous for some reason but it was fine. I held my breath and jumped into the water. It was the perfect temperature. Not too cool and no where near boiling hot which I thought it was going to be like.
I floated at the surface for two or three minutes before I felt a weak current underneath the water. I was curious what was causing it so I took a deep breath and dove under. The deeper I went the colder the water got. I swam down as far as I could then held onto a piece of seaweed. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was amazed. It was like an ocean under there. There was so many plants and animals everywhere. The water was so clear, I couldn’t believe I didn’t notice this before. I was wondering how far this cave went when suddenly all the pretty fish around me began swimming away. I was confused for about five seconds before realizing what could be behind me. I turned around as fast as I could only to see the biggest shark I’ve ever seen. It had big black eyes, huge grey fins, and teeth like knives. I tried to swim away but it was already too late. The water around me turned a horrible dark red. The shark had ripped off my arm. I screamed in pain which was obviously a mistake but I couldn’t help it. Water started rushing into my mouth and into my lungs. I was drowning. I closed my eyes.
Loop Brenna Hynes
She hadn’t moved, the only thing that had changed was that there were no more tears running down her face, and her breathing was now even- not ragged and choppy as it had been before. Once the girl realises how much time has changed she rubs her eyes, trying to wake herself up- she needs to keep walking. This dessert can’t go on forever, she reasons, pushing herself off the sandy ground and onto her feet which set off towards where the sun had disappeared.
It’s morning and the sun is beginning to peer over the horizon- she sees something in the distance, it looks like a tree but there’s no way to tell from how far away she is so she picks up her pace, marching towards the black blob on the horizon.
It is a tree, but that isn’t the best part about it. The trees conceal a beautiful pond of clear water in the center of them. The girl kneels down next to the water and looks at her face in the reflection, it’s round and studded with wide chocolate brown eyes, her face is covered in blood yet there are streaks of pale skin where her tears had plowed through all the accumulated grime on her face. Her hair is insane, matted with blood and dirt. She reaches a dirty hand into the water and watches as the grime floats off of her hand in clouds of brown and red. She draws her hand out of the water- it’s perfectly clean. The girl reaches into the water with both hands and scoops the water onto her face, letting a waterfall of burgundy coloured water flow out of them, leaving her face clean. There’s something about this water that is strange- but maybe it’s just me. She thinks. The girl then stands up and walks right into the pond, a cloud of dirt and blood following her. The water stings the gash in her arm as it cleans it- but she barely feels it. Once the clouds settle to the bottom of the pond the girl ducks under and runs her hands through her hair, combing the knots and blood out. She watches this cloud settle before lowering her mouth into the water and sucking in as much as she could. The water is the best thing she can remember, she sucks it in until her mouth is no longer as dry as the sand of the desert, until her throat is no longer begging for more. Even then she often sucks in more. But finally she decides that she’s had long enough in the water- her fingers are pruned and so is the rest of her probably. She gets out of the water and wrings out her red t-shirt that might have once been white- it’s impossible to tell anymore. The girl is happy and just wants to stay near the water but she knows that she can’t and must keep going- but when she takes a step forward a bat collides with the back of her head and she collapses- cheek landing in the sand, wide, brown eyes closed.
She wakes in a cement room, it’s covered in blood- as she is. She tries to stand but there are ropes binding her to the chair she sits on. She can’t remember how she got there, how she got covered in blood and everything she can remember disappears as soon as she thinks of it. Suddenly she has no memories. She manages to wiggle her hands from the rope behind her and lift the rope around her body off over her head. She stands on weak legs and stumbles over to the door of the room, she opens it and leaves- beyond the door is a vast desert. The sun beats down harshly on everything beneath it. The girl takes off the flannel she has tied around her waist and uses it as a horrible sunshade. She looks back at the squat little cement building before trudging onwards.
You know what happens next. But she doesn’t.
Rooftop Samantha Muhlig
My eyes were glued to the book I held, my hands trembling in sadness and fear. My desperate attempts to block out my parents bickering were in vain, their voices raising louder by the second. “He is just a kid!” My mother screamed, my father’s feet stomping around the living room. “Yet he can still help around here! All he does is read his stupid books as we practically cater to him! We work for hours and for what? To come home to a damn pigsty! “ My father spat, his words burning into my memory. I whimpered, curling into a hopeless ball. The sound of glass shattering scared me to death. I listened as the house grew quiet, a door slamming shut before my father’s car backed out of our driveway and sped down the road. The house grew uncomfortably silent. I sat up and stared at my closed bedroom door, tears pooling in my eyes and rushing down my cheeks. My mother’s stilettos clicked against the hardwood floor, echoing in our empty house. The front door closed and once again I was alone. I sniffled, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. Standing up, I gripped onto the bedpost to steady myself, before walking over to my mirror. My glasses laid low on the bridge of my nose, black circles resting underneath my eyes. I sighed, running my fingers through my tangled hair before giving up. I looked and felt emotionally drained, and I was so exhausted of constantly feeling that way. I draped the fleece blanket over my shoulder, grabbing the book I was reading and headed for the hallway. A tug at the end of the blanket drew me back, a picture frame from my dresser latching on. The picture frame tumbled to the ground, my carpet floor saving it’s fall. I walked over to pick it up, pausing to stare at the photo inside. It was picture of my family, my parents looking fairly happy like they once was. My older brother had his arms wrapped around my shoulders, hugging me tightly as I smiled gleefully. I was only seven at the time, oblivious to the problems that would soon come. I missed my older brother dearly. When my parents began arguing-- he was the only one who could cheer me up. We’d play games together, laugh at hilarious cat videos and tell stories-- all the while my parents would be bickering for hours. When he got a sport scholarship and had to move to another province for his school, it tore me apart. I pleaded for him not leave me behind, put in the end I understood he had too. We would call everyday, slowly the daily calls became weekly, to monthly, to barely once every few months. I shook the thought from my mind, sniffling quietly as I placed the picture frame back onto my dresser. I ran over to the windowcell, opening the window carefully before tossing my blanket onto the highest roof. I climbed out, walking along the side of the house before pulling myself up onto the roof where my blanket sat. Wrapping the blanket around my torso, I huffed out a short breath and pulled my book out of my coat pocket. I glanced around, staring at the townhouses across the street before my eyes landed upon the townhouse connected to mine. The bedroom window was open, my neighbour’s head popping out before she smiled and climbed out to join me on my roof. “Hey.” She smiled, her gleeful attitude disappearing from his face. She climbed over quickly, feet treading the roof tiles as she sat himself in front of me. Her palm was placed delicately on cheek, my tears being swept away by her thumb. We sat in silence, the sun setting before us with erupting colours. It was slowly becoming nightfall, my parents still missing. This wasn’t anything new, considering the circumstances I was lucky to have him around me this time. “You’re parents fighting again?” She whispered, her eyes glued to the book that sat in my hand. I nodded, letting my tears fall and seep through the thin pages. We sat in silence. “I really don’t like your parents.” She replied, her hands resting by her thighs. She twiddled her thumbs, waiting for a response but all I did was stare at the ground. The sky grew darker as we continued to sit, the wind blowing our hair in different directions. Millions of thoughts were running through my head, too many to the point I couldn’t express any. All I did was sat in numbness, my neighbour watching me in pity. “I don’t want to leave the rooftop.” I whispered, looking at my neighbour. She chuckled, glancing from my shoes to the dark sky. “Because it’s your oasis?” She asked. I breathed out, “Exactly.” | English | NL | faaf823f6649d82d162d1b3df1f7c66684b66bbfd7356646f6698e2d7282cca9 |
I’ve been remiss with my reblog of Interesting Literature’s posts. This one is on Oscar Wilde. Click, read, and enjoy 🙂
It’s Oscar Wilde’s birthday today – he was born on 16 October 1854 – so in honour of this, we’ve compiled some of our favourite anecdotes featuring the great author and wit. Wilde is probably known for his conversation as much as for his literary works. Here are some of the funniest and most thought-provoking stories featuring the man who, as well as being a great wit, was also often rather wise, too (and as the etymologies of the words suggest, the two are not unrelated).
The most famous anecdote involving Wilde concerns his arrival in the United States in the 1880s, when he was already a known figure in England – part of the reason for his trip to America was to promote the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta Patience, which mocked the kind of dandy aesthete embodied by Wilde – but he was known for his flamboyant behaviour…
View original post 574 more words | English | NL | 29bd5fa05229f03f01a6d4fc07a79960489fb4a13f51c6d6c0c8161575c3a908 |
It threaded the hand in the pocket of the left side and obtained two currencies, that would give to buy a bullet and a peanut. It placed the hand in the pocket of the shirt and felt the texture of a paper. Who knows a note of twenty or cinquenta one. It removed the paper of the pocket and saw that it was a brochure. Its head still half was darkened. Slowly it went recouping the full conscience and the pain of being an unemployed came back to punish its heart. That same brochure was that one? The memory searched a little and finished for recouping it total. While drunk seated in the table of the bar, it passed a group of people, each one with a Bible in the hand, distributing these brochures.
The young to decide to read. Its heart was gone off. Its soul in agony. It wanted an exit. It wanted aid. Seated under of the marquee it read: ‘ ‘ Therefore the Lamb that if finds in the way it throne will feed them it will guide and them for the sources of the water of the life.
God will dry them of the eyes all lgrima.’ ‘ Apocalypse 7:17 did not need more nothing. tears had gone down. Its interior if revolutionized. It felt as if a great squeeze if loosened in its heart. Until it arrived to imagine a hand strong pressing its heart vigorously and, of one hour for another one, freeing it of the squeeze. It felt a relief. Wise person not to only explain the reason. In the verse of the brochure she had an address of a church that functioned in the center of the city and had attendance spiritual 24 hours per day. The young did not have more doubt. Immediately it was placed of foot and it was. When arriving in the place very it was well received. It received Biblical conjunct and teachings. When asking to the missionary took care of who it what he had happened with it its eyes had come back to lacrimejar. The shepherd answered: ‘ ‘ You had a meeting with God. It loves to it and goes taking care of of you! | English | NL | 0525b3604e251fa2bb684a6591818b88ee07d5a0302dc8e7e8f9379a43d6cc88 |
Prayer of Confession
The Storm at Sea
When a moderate south wind began to blow, they thought they could achieve their purpose; so they weighed anchor and began to sail past Crete, close to the shore. But soon a violent wind, called the northeaster, rushed down from Crete. Since the ship was caught and could not be turned head-on into the wind, we gave way to it and were driven. By running under the lee of a small island called Cauda we were scarcely able to get the ship’s boat under control. After hoisting it up they took measures to undergird the ship; then, fearing that they would run on the Syrtis, they lowered the sea anchor and so were driven. We were being pounded by the storm so violently that on the next day they began to throw the cargo overboard, and on the third day with their own hands they threw the ship’s tackle overboard. When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small tempest raged, all hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.
Since they had been without food for a long time, Paul then stood up among them and said, “Men, you should have listened to me and not have set sail from Crete and thereby avoided this damage and loss. I urge you now to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship. For last night there stood by me an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I worship, and he said, ‘Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before the emperor; and indeed, God has granted safety to all those who are sailing with you.’ So keep up your courage, men, for I have faith in God that it will be exactly as I have been told. But we will have to run aground on some island.”
When the fourteenth night had come, as we were drifting across the sea of Adria, about midnight the sailors suspected that they were nearing land. So they took soundings and found twenty fathoms; a little farther on they took soundings again and found fifteen fathoms. Fearing that we might run on the rocks, they let down four anchors from the stern and prayed for day to come. But when the sailors tried to escape from the ship and had lowered the boat into the sea, on the pretext of putting out anchors from the bow, Paul said to the centurion and the soldiers, “Unless these men stay in the ship, you cannot be saved.” Then the soldiers cut away the ropes of the boat and set it adrift.
Just before daybreak, Paul urged all of them to take some food, saying, “Today is the fourteenth day that you have been in suspense and remaining without food, having eaten nothing. Therefore I urge you to take some food, for it will help you survive; for none of you will lose a hair from your heads.” After he had said this, he took bread; and giving thanks to God in the presence of all, he broke it and began to eat. Then all of them were encouraged and took food for themselves. (We were in all two hundred seventy-six persons in the ship.) After they had satisfied their hunger, they lightened the ship by throwing the wheat into the sea.
Confession is good for the soul. It lightens our load. But many times it is lightening our load during a storm – done not for convenience, but for survival. Confession is also the 5th step to recovery and the more thorough we are in taking it, the more healing and redemption we open ourselves to receive.
Paul knew, through his prayers for guidance and discernment, that it was unwise to set out to sea, but no one listened to him. I wonder, had he not been a prisoner of Rome at that time, if he would have stayed back and let the others perish at sea. This particular time, he was not given the choice.
How often do you find yourself facing the consequences of actions for which you had little choice? Sometimes it may seem unfair to go to God in confession for those sins. Paul led that time of confession for the crew of the whole ship! Many of us have a romanticized vision of Paul, but from the perspective of the soldiers and crew on this prison ship, Paul was a political dissident and a criminal. Perhaps his calm demeanor put them at ease. Or maybe, it made them even more suspicious.
In the middle of that storm, it didn’t matter. People will naturally follow the clearest, calmest soul in the midst of such chaos. It takes a clear soul to lead others in confession. Our own junk has a way of cluttering our vision and giving us wrong vision of how we to lead others around us. Sometimes it even hides itself in false modesty, convincing us that we do not want to lead ourselves, just give helpful advice. I heard Beth Moore speak on this topic once in reference to the scripture:
What I tell you in the dark, say in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops.
She spoke about the temptation to take what we hear from God and immediately share it with everyone around us before we find out how to actually apply it to our own lives. I have experienced this to be true in preaching especially. My best sermons are the ones that I learn to live before I preach them.
You have to pray your own prayers of confession before you can lead others in them. And sometimes we have to pray them in the storm, not just when it is convenient. Like Paul, God is not going to save us from all the consequences of our sin, but He will spare us from some of it and He will redeem the situation to show everyone around just how marvelous a God He is.
What do you have to confess? | English | NL | 21ce0b27db6ef4ea6465c76c3193af335bbf6d531b18859a1bddd548454ceebf |
Special thanks to Anton G for sponsoring this chapter.
A sword had sword force, wind also had wind force.
Sword force was sharp and brutal, Lin Feng could kill someone every time he used his sword. Wind force was invisible, and seemed nonexistent but in fact it was everywhere.
At that moment, Lin Feng was using his full power of comprehension, he was calmly sensing the energy in the wind. It was enveloping his entire body. He could also sense the movements of the wind.
Lin Feng had the sensation that he had been there for a long time but almost no time had passed, Lin Feng slightly moved, very lightly. He made a very small movement which had a very subtle effect on the wind. Lin Feng entered in his earth fusion and could sense all the small subtleties in each of his movements.
That small move seemingly changed the particular movement pattern of the wind and it was as if the wind had disappeared. That small move seemed like it was made with greatly reduced wind resistance.
“If my movements are in harmony with the movement patterns of the wind, if I manage to move along with it, then I will be able to benefit from its power.” Thought Lin Feng. He then stopped making small movements. He calmly sensed the wind around him. He concentrated on the movements and patterns of the wind.
After a while, Lin Feng moved again and slowly moved forwards.
There was still resistance against his movements, the wind was still preventing him from moving forwards.
But while Lin Feng was moving, the resistance was becoming less and less. Lin Feng was growing more familiar with the wind and its movements.
Finally, when Lin Feng moved, he began to move with the wind and the wind resistance disappeared and instead increased his speed.
“Wind force… That’s wind force….” Whispered Lin Feng. He then stopped moving and opened his eyes.
The Winged Tiger and the cyan winged bat were still fighting but at that moment, the cyan winged bat looked much weaker and it had wounds covering its body which were dripping with blood.
Even though it was extremely quick, each time it attacked the Winged Tiger, it couldn’t injure it, instead, the bat was being injured by the Winged Tiger. The cyan winged bat was much weaker than an ancient ferocious beast. If the bat hadn’t been an extremely quick beast, it would have been killed by the Winged Tiger already.
The cyan winged bat started to shriek, its silhouette flickered and it moved straight towards the Winged Tiger. The bat was not planning on retreating and felt humiliated. It was much quicker than the Winged Tiger but it failed to injure it and it even got injured by the Winged Tiger after every exchange.
“Roaaarrr!” That time, the Winged Tiger roared in a terrifying way and released an incredibly monstrous bestial Qi.
The Winged Tiger spread its fiery red wings which amazed Lin Feng. When the Winged Tiger had its wings spread, it seemed like the wings could cover the sky .
“Roaaarrrr…..” The Winged Tiger roared furiously. Its gigantic wings started to move. That time, it wouldn’t let the bat escape. It was sick and tired of the bat’s attempts of sneak attacking the Winged Tiger. The bat didn’t dare face the Winged Tiger in head on combat which made the Winged Tiger angry.
When the cyan winged bat saw the huge wings of the Winged Tiger, it started to look scared. It shrieked again and stopped moving towards it. Instead, it turned around to tried to escape.
The Winged Tiger tried to capture the bat with its gigantic fiery wings but the bat managed to dodge the attacks and continued to fly away.
The Winged Tiger spread its gigantic fiery red wings again. Its eyes were filled with an ominous glint. The bat had managed to escape again. The Winged Tiger had almost managed to capture it.
The bat glanced at the Winged Tiger in an ice-cold way and then immediately glanced towards Lin Feng. It spread its cyan wings, its silhouette flickered as it tried to escape.
If the Winged Tiger hadn’t provoked it, the bat would have never wanted to fight against the Winger Tiger. After all, there was a huge difference in strength between them. However, it had never been afraid of a ferocious beast of the same level before.
The cyan winged bat flew so close to Lin Feng that it made his clothes flutter. Lin Feng was surprised, that bat seemingly didn’t care about Lin Feng at all, it seemed like it was ignoring Lin Feng’s existence.
Lin Feng then started to move.
“Wind movement.” Lin Feng moved with absolute silence, as if he had lost all power to rush against the resistance. His body was one with the power of the wind.
Lin Feng was moving so quick that it was impossible to see his movements. When the Winged Tiger saw that, it was astonished. How was Lin Feng suddenly so quick?
It seemed like he was much faster than the Winged Tiger.
The Winged Tiger had fought against Lin Feng and had also watched him fight against the cat, Lin Feng was extremely strong but speed was his weakness. Against all expectations, Lin Feng’s speed had surprisingly increased.
As if the cyan winged bat had sensed it too, it slightly turned around and looked at Lin Feng while narrowing its eyes, its eyes were filled with a dangerous look.
Its wings flickered again and it continued accelerating. Under such circumstances, it couldn’t fight against Lin Feng. The Winged Tiger behind would have time to catch up. Trying to fight under such circumstances would be the same as committing suicide.
“You want to escape?” Said Lin Feng with a cold and detached smile. The bat would have to pay the price for ignoring Lin Feng’s existence.
Lin Feng started to smile, the wind force grew stronger and Lin Feng shot forward like an arrow from a bow. He was so quick that it was unimaginable. Lin Feng was quickly approaching the bat with incredible speed and the bat didn’t seem like it could increase its speed anymore.
Lin Feng’s fingertips were filled with an incredibly sharp sword energy and which lacerated the atmosphere as he moved. When the bat sensed the terrifying sword energy, the expression in its eyes drastically changed. It then started to insanely flap its wings in an attempt to increase its speed, but it was already too late.
The bat started to shake, a monstrous sword energy had just pierced into its body.
An extremely high pitched shriek spread through the air, the bat was in agony. Its wings were flapping but it didn’t have the strength to move anywhere, then its body slowly plummeted down to the ground.
The bat landed with a thump onto the ground. It had landed on its stomach, it was still trying to flap its wings but it didn’t have the strength to fly anymore.
Lin Feng had broken through to the second Xuan Qi layer and the bat was a beast at the first Xuan level, how could it defend against Lin Feng’s attack that was filled with such powerful sword energy.
The Winged Tiger arrived next to the bat and looked at it with a ferocious and cruel glare. It then raised its head and looked at Lin Feng.
“Do you want it?” Asked Lin Feng to the Winged Tiger indifferently. The Winged Tiger nodded its head without hesitation.
“Alright, it’s yours.” Replied Lin Feng. The Winged Tiger roared deeply and immediately opened its mouth. Its monstrous teeth bit into the bats body.
The cyan winged bat shrieked, it was in agony but the Winged Tiger, an ancient ferocious beast, didn’t care about the bat’s pain. The Winged Tiger was biting chunks from the bat’s body. It slowly ate the bat while it was still alive. In the end, it swallowed the bats heart whole.
Lin Feng was calmly watching the scene. The mouth of the Winged Tiger was covered with blood. He was a bit surprised to see the Winged Tiger eat the bat’s heart. For a beast of the same level, eating its heart was probably very beneficial.
The Winged Tiger swallowed the heart and a strange sensation invaded its body. It then roared and raised its head. It was looking at Lin Feng with a strange look.
It had already understood that Lin Feng’s speed had increased. Lin Feng had been concentrating on trying to improve his speed inside the waterfall. The Winged Tiger respected Lin Feng’s strength. Besides, it had the feeling that Lin Feng had made huge advancements. In fact, Lin Feng was still focused on improving his speed.
Human cultivators really had a terrifying potential. No wonder the cat had been willing to take the risk of undergoing a dangerous transformation process in order to become human.
“Qiong Qi, are you attached to that place?” Asked Lin Feng while looking at the Winged Tiger. They had been staying there for a long time, Lin Feng wanted to leave.
Qiong Qi shook its head, it only felt hatred for that place. The cat had been treating it as a pet for so many years and this place reminded him of it.
“Alright, let’s go.” Said Lin Feng while smiling. His silhouette flashed and he immediately landed on Qiong Qi’s back, between its two gigantic wings. | English | NL | 332925106a7fa2dc27ff83d6f24453adb8701455f103dbd3856a88812caea128 |
Everyone and everything must have a redeeming quality, a quality that justifies their existence. I don’t like bugs but they have a redeeming quality. So does fungus and forest fires. If you removed bugs and fungus and forest fires from the world, bad things would happen.
Buddy has redeeming qualities that you cannot put into words but some of them can be explained if pressed hard enough. His redeeming qualities are his love, his innocence, his humility, his eagerness to please. Everything about him is wonderful, even that cute little stubborn streak of his. Alas, all of his redeeming qualities are not enough to keep bad things from happening. His previous owner was unkind to him, nature and heart worm nearly did him in and now old age is nipping at his heals. He’s gotten old, he’s slowing down and he’s not firing on all cylinders like he used to. His wobble is worse, his tail wag is awkward and his focus is getting sketchy. For all of his redeeming qualities, he’s still falling apart but because of all of his redeeming qualities, I’m still here for him and I will never leave his side. He will leave mine. When (not if) he is removed, bad things will happen to my heart.
Today, someone asked me what my redeeming quality is. Maybe I have none or maybe I am bugs, fungus or forest fires. Let’s remove me and see if bad things happen, shall we?
What are your redeeming qualities? If you were removed would anyone notice?
For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you.
Who knows, maybe I’m just here to be used as a bad example.
2 Timothy 2:20
But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and of silver, but also of wood and of earth; and some to honor, and some to dishonor. | English | NL | a4fc29f6f69bcdc90c15ba900c203792c6a32028b7d1c0ef0eb2300319700954 |
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Oct 20, 2018 18:41:50 GMT -5
Yes Sir, I'm sure you'll be most comfortable and familiar here.
If the Cast Members would stop saying such things, Jumba would stop being suspicious of what Jake had mentioned and too much intel on him...
Whatever, they were right and the Polynesian Resort did settle some of the homesickness even a few days in.
Of course it was a few weeks in now, not yet to Halloween, though Jumba heard there was some party planned up in a week or so and planned to attend. Right now he was settled trying to figure out far more pressing matters.
"Now you listen here, you...squishy Earth food of nothing but corn syrup! You will not defeat me! Bigger Girl was doing this no problems!", after threatening his current victim, Jumba held the stick with the marshmallow on it over the tiki torch yet again. Smores were the easiest of Earth Customs, he felt, but any time prior when he'd been introduced to the treat, Nani and Lilo had lead the way (while Pleakley pretended to understand things about the custom he didn't); Jumba had not been left to fly solo in the venture until now. Maybe that was also why he was attempting it in broad daylight instead of the traditional Nighttime.
Speaking of which, he could fly interplanetary vehicles, why was this so hard!
Jumba held up his stick expectantly, only to frown at the burnt marshmallow. Too close...while the other one hadn't cooked in time because it had been too far...
Dash was normal-rushing home. Well...back to the hotel room where he stayed with his parents and Vi. He didn't know if he would count it home, yet in that confusing way it perhaps was; it was where all his family was at the moment. That was what made home wasn't it?
The boy to have dealt with so many moves in his lifetime should have known this lesson very well. Yet he kept thinking of each new house as home, in that resiliency of young kids, and before they had to move and he had to do it all over again. He just did the same with the parks now.
He had found the most perfect costume of anywhere for Halloween later! And put in the order and it would be coming to the hotel room (and Mom and Dad would still be the ones to pay for it yeah) but Dash had put in all of the work and was feeling so very pleased with himself!
Enough to contemplate celebrating with treats; though he never needed a reason to do that.
And it wasn't his first thought as he quickly cut through one of the walkways around Polynesian Resort. No the large man who had actually lit one of the tiki torches and in the daytime was; and it was enough to cause him to pause.
He watched the man--though he wasn't human, Dash could tell, despite the themed shirt and shorts--grumble at a marshmallow on a stick. Did he...think people thought he was a normal man? So much about it paused Dash that he soon found himself walking up.
"Um...Hello...what are you doing, Sir?", Dash asked, and tilted his head, then grinned, "Trying to make s'mores?", he was half kidding.
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Oct 20, 2018 22:31:50 GMT -5
While he was scowling at the stick, Jumba heard a voice behind him.
"Um...Hello...what are you doing, Sir? Trying to make s'mores?"
Jumba turned to find a small blonde boy standing there studying him. Not the first child he'd encountered here, but the first to stop and give him such attention. "Yes", he answered to the rhetorical question, "And is being very tricky!". Jumba scowled at the stick again, then realized his manners. All those years in the house with Nani (and Pleakley) hadn't left the Evil Genius with no change in his rude behavior.
He turned to the boy fully and lowered his stick, "Please to be forgiving me, I am Jumba Jookiba", Jumba didn't volunteer the Doctor part, but knew there was little harm in giving his full name. He glanced to the stick with the charred marshmallow on it, then back to the boy, "Um...unburned marshmallow?". He rummaged in the bag near him and held out one of the as yet uncooked ones.
He was also just being nice to a local kid, and not asking an Earth native for help with this S'mores business, that would be degrading; as an Evil Genius he could figure such a simple thing out, he was sure! In fact his brain was already running through ideas...
For later perhaps, and after humoring the local boy.
The person turned to him, and Dash grinned while glancing him over in that way only curious children could, even of his age.
"Yes. And is being very tricky!"
Dash's grin grew, just in amusement. First off, he was not doing very well at not broadcasting "not from here", and in admitting he didn't know the first thing about S'mores. It wasn't perhaps unusual that he wasn't from around here, many weren't, but the whole effort into looking like he was...
It had Dash intrigued.
"Well...you're supposed to do it at night, for one thing", Dash helped, walking up, as the other introduced himself in that odd way of speaking.
"Please to be forgiving me, I am Jumba Jookiba...Um...unburned marshmallow?"
"Dashiell Robert Parr; thanks, Dash gave his own name, and took the proffered marshmallow, popping it into his mouth and chewing while he studied Jumba again.
"Special guest right?", he guessed, "That's what they're calling us when we're...zapped from home to here", he went on to explain, "And so maybe it's ok ya don't know; but S'mores are made at night, usually when camping, but not always, and you have to have graham crackers and chocolate too, and you...squish them", he demonstrated with his hands, clapping them together, "like a sandwich. Here if you have those I'll show you".
It would be fun! Even if it wasn't night, again.
Last Edit: Oct 21, 2018 14:07:15 GMT -5 by Dash Parr
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Oct 22, 2018 19:50:37 GMT -5
Lilo was probably about the only other human child Jumba had come across to stare so unashamed, and not that it was a bad thing. Just that the others back on Kauai, and here, would glance and move on. Dashiell Robert Parr stuck around and engaged conversation.
Admirable, and since Jumba could tell he didn't always pull off Normal Hawaiian Tourist fully.
"Well...you're supposed to do it at night, for one thing"
Ah, so at night was important to the S'mores custom. Good to know.
"Special guest right? That's what they're calling us when we're...zapped from home to here"
Dashiell went on to guess and explain. "Ah! Yes! Am being trapped here; you too?", he exclaimed and then asked.
Dashiell next explained more of the S'mores process.
Jumba had not been that clueless in terms of the set up, but found he could only smile as the boy explained, in detail, and with gestures, the set up. He chuckled, taking a nearby seat and patting the one next to him.
For all his evil geniusing, Jumba was a sucker for kids, always had been, it was part of what made him agree so readily also to helping 626 rescue his new friend who then turned Jumba's adopted Ohana and niece, in terms of his and Pleakley's cover, but which they had readily taken on to help her out of trouble with a teacher.
"Ah, yes, thanking you for the explanation, Dashiell", Jumba said, "Afraid for all my inventing, I am still not knowing about marshmallow and chocolate treat". It was just the Marshmallow Equation he couldn't crack, and cooking it perfectly, but he played up, and played along, to let the boy think he had done well in helping him.
"But yes! Was getting small clues, so have both crackers of divided squares and bars of chocolate!", Jumba produced both from the bag next, in each hand, triumphantly. He handed Dashiell the chocolate, and had extra if the boy ate some before they could make a S'more properly.
"But, am having idea on how we can make pesksy marshmallows behave...", Jumba leaned a bit nearer, but not so near as to immediately scare the boy off, "Observe". Jumba stood and after glancing about, grabbed a few sticks from the surrounding grass.
He then reached back into the marshmallow bag and got one, ”And maybe we will be sacrificing one treat for S'mores to cause”, he told the boy with a smile, smushing the marshmallow into a paste like blob and sticking the sticks in a circle.
Almost a marshmallow spider.
”Now...”, he glanced around at the ground again, ”Am needing...something...”, Jumba knew he couldn’t fully explain. He would know if what he was thinking through would work when, and if, he saw an item that would work, but he couldn't expected the boy to know that, so he scanned for himself.
The way this one talked! And not to label it a completely bad thing...it was...interesting, and he was interesting. Unique. Dash nodded to the question of if he was another Special Guest, and stuck here as well. "Yeah, me and my family".
Mr. Jumba Jookiba next took a seat in a nearby outdoor chair, indicating for Dash to take the one next to him if he wanted. Dash wasn't put out one bit, and normal rushed over to do so.
"Ah, yes, thanking you for the explanation, Dashiell"
Oh, right...that..., Dash caught on to a slight point where he should correct Mr. Jookiba, but also knew to politely wait until he was done.
"Afraid for all my inventing, I am still not knowing about marshmallow and chocolate treat"
A pause came after this, so Dash jumped in, "Um...you can just call me Dash", he said. ”And you make stuff? That’s cool”, he commented causally.
"But yes! Was getting small clues, so have both crackers of divided squares and bars of chocolate!"
Now with the issue of his name taken care of, Dash looked intrigued as Mr. Jookiba procured the chocolate and graham crackers! Handing him the chocolate, which the boy took readily.
"Well that's good", Dash chuckled.
"But, am having idea on how we can make pesksy marshmallows behave...Observe"
And Dash did just that, watching as Jumba got up and gathered twigs, before "sacrificing one of their treats" and making a paste. It was all so Elementary School craft fitting, and yet...Dash just had this feeling about it, so much so that as Jumba went on, saying he needed...something, Dash hopped up, eager to help, and scanned around for...something.
The Cast Members did a good job of keeping trash off the ground, and the whole parks tidy, so Dash raided one of the nearby cans, "Hmm...coke can...old corn dog stick...electric toothbrush...Mickey hat...", he rummaged more, there had to be something!
Last Edit: Oct 24, 2018 21:54:30 GMT -5 by Dash Parr
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Oct 26, 2018 22:57:48 GMT -5
The boy and his family were stuck here. Still missing his own Ohana, Jumba pondered on if that was a good or bad thing. They were together, but together and stuck...and a different stuck than Jumba's own half-probation on Earth.
"Well...am glad you are having people who love you here; is most important thing", Jumba admitted with a small smile. And sure, he may not have said it as much, but he still agreed with the sentiment and on his own end as well.
The boy had given a very long name, but apparently went just by Dash. "Dash", Jumba repeated, "Will be remembering". He next had to chuckle as Dash asked if he made things. If he answered completely honestly and unhindered, he could blow little blonde mind!
"Yes, many useful things, like hydraulic lift for old house, entire top rooftop dome. Am...something of Inventor...and Genius". Jumba left out mentions of Evil and Science and Experiments for the moment.
The scientist had already decided, in his own mind, and before using it, that something as obvious as he ever went with like Blonde Boy, or Little Blonde Boy was Dash's nickname, but given the way he leap up and darted over to be of use (and his own already present name) Helpful Dashing Boy might be better, and in terms of even normal speed, not his looks his mother no doubt found adorable still...
Jumba just smiled and watched as Dash rummaged for his own sake, eager to see what the boy might mention as useful. Can of Earth soda was not to be tossed aside fully and might be useful for other things... this thought was interrupted as Jumba heard Dash mention something he could use now!
"Please to be bringing teeth cleaning pole of electrical power!, Jumba sat up and exclaimed, looking almost like an excited kid, "Yes! Will be most helpful! Give, give, give! Er, Please", Jumba recalled his manners.
Dash just smiled, by way of answering, as Jumba said the most important thing was that he had his family here, or people who loved him. Yeah...it was. He also would try to remember his nickname! So that was a plus!
"Yes, many useful things, like hydraulic lift for old house, entire top rooftop dome. Am...something of Inventor...and Genius"
"Wow! Really?!", Dash looked intrigued! Of course Miss E had cool stuff at her place too, but...she was not accessible and prone to let children mess with said tech...
But more than that! It sounded like Mr. Jookiba made whole rooms! "Have you made anything like that here, yet?", Dash went on to ask. "Yeah, Miss E who designs my parent's...clothes", Dash almost messed up! "...has cool gadgets too, but I don't think she's made any rooftop domes!".
Mr. Jumba just proved all this resourcefulness and Genius, as he called it, when on his search, he stopped Dash about the toothbrush and asked for that! Dash glanced to the thing curiously, "Really? Well...ok". He came over and handed it, taking a seat and peering at the self-proclaimed inventor in interest, swinging his legs as he pondered something, feeling it was alright, he took another marshmallow and chewed it before going on, "Mr. Jumba...is it ok if I ask you something?", Dash went ahead with the something. "Where do you come from that they don't have marshmallows and S'mores?", Dash had heard they got all sorts of strange types, and seen small clues to that already.
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Oct 30, 2018 21:05:51 GMT -5
Jumba had the effect of instantly intriguing Dash with explanation of his tech he’d built even for the Pelekai household. Oh if he was thinking that was something! Jumba smiled, and thought to himself. Dashiell Robert Parr should come see what he had accomplished on Turo! Ok, not all of it...
"Have you made anything like that here, yet?"
Jumba chuckled, ”No...have only been here few days and so am thinking maybe I should not be giving Cast Members reason to kick me out just yet...”. Jumba, of course, wouldn’t let any—or few, Cast Members bottom of the list—stop him if he really had an idea in his mind, but he was joking with Dash a bit; trying to keep whatever cool reputation he may had inadvertently gained. As an alien who posed as an uncle for so long, Jumba wasn’t opposed to children liking him, much as he knew he was a horrible role model at times.
”Jumba’s tech is also having a bad habit of...going kaboom”, he admitted. He heard what else Dash said on this friend of the family. ”Ah, this Miss E is sounding like someone both Jumba and friend Pleakley could both talk to!”, if she did both, ”Is being very rare”.
Dash looked a bit confused when Jumba asked for the electric toothbrush; to be expected, he didn’t yet know what Jumba could do! Dash brought it to him and then took a seat. Thankfully Jumba often kept at least a screwdriver on him, it being useful for repairs and small, on the go, type inventing. If such came up. Also a small magnifier.
After taking the toothbrush, Jumba popped off the bottom to see what he had to work with, and set the magnifier, ”Now...let us be seeing...”, Yes! This would work! Not as well as if Jumba just made something, from scratch, to do the task, but he could work with it...
"Mr. Jumba...is it ok if I ask you something?"
Jumba didn’t look up from his work, but heard Dash. ”Hmm...?”, he was about to say yes anyway, but the boy went on.
"Where do you come from that they don't have marshmallows and S'mores?"
This question caused Jumba to pause, and glance over to Dash fully, lowering the magnifier. It wasn’t a surprise his cover was that transparent, it had always been. He studied Dash a bit, then sighed.
He seemed a good kid, like Lilo. Could probably handle it.
”Alright...am knowing if you come over to see inventions is only going to be short time anyway before all is being up...”, Jumba still paused again, ”Are you believing in aliens, small blonde boy?”, he asked.
”No...have only been here few days and so am thinking maybe I should not be giving Cast Members reason to kick me out just yet...”
Dash laughed. Mr. Jumba was funny! Very funny! And just gave off that air of Super Cool that, as a ten-year-old, Dash felt he was very capable of assessing and picking up.
”Jumba’s tech is also having a bad habit of...going kaboom”
That probably was not a joke, but Dash laughed again anyway. "Well I wanna see it, if I can, and even if it does go kaboom!". Of course Helen would no doubt have a different view of this plan of her son's, but Dash was already quite sure Mr. Jumba was responsible enough even to watch a young boy around even slightly dangerous tech. And Dash himself knew enough not to get hurt. It would be fine, and interesting!
”Ah, this Miss E is sounding like someone both Jumba and friend Pleakley could both talk to! Is being very rare”
Dash chuckled again, "He doesn't like science?", he guessed and asked.
Dash next stood on his chair as Mr. Jumba fiddled with the toothbrush with just a screw driver it seemed! What was he doing? Dash peered closer after throwing out his question, but it caused Jumba to pause and glanced to him. Yeah...and standing closer up now, those four eyes were very noticeable, and since he had had to shift the sunglasses.
Still, Dash didn't immediately think what Mr. Jumba went on to ask about.
”Alright...am knowing if you come over to see inventions is only going to be short time anyway before all is being up...”
Really?! He could come see the inventions?! Alright! Dash silently celebrated this victory even as Jumba went on.
”Are you believing in aliens, small blonde boy?"
That question caused Dash's face to scrunch, just thoughtfully and as he pondered through the movies he'd seen. "Aliens? Like round saucers that come down and steal cows?* And suck up your brains?", he asked. Granted the alien movies he had had access to were very cliche, and not that Mom exactly let him watch some of the scarier, color, ones either. Then another question. "Are...you an alien?".
<<*Ok I can't find that they used the cliche in a movie but the story of it's been around since 70s so...creative licence>>
Last Edit: Nov 3, 2018 12:32:23 GMT -5 by Dash Parr
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Nov 6, 2018 14:21:10 GMT -5
"Well I wanna see it, if I can, and even if it does go kaboom!"
Dash declared! Jumba chuckled and ruffled his hair, "That is being the spirit! You would make fine scientist yourself with that attitude, ah you are like Little-Girl-Lilo, not scared of anything!", he praised, then moved past even his own reference. If Lilo wasn't here, that meant she was home and with 626, so she was very well taken care of. He didn't know yet, but even here, she still was.
Dash next tried to guess out why Pleakley and Jumba himself couldn't talk too long to one person and on one topic. Didn't like science...
Jumba was honest enough to admit to himself it was yes and no. He didn't like Jumba's science.
"Ack, is not understanding true genius!", Jumba explained. "For the bit of instance, one time Jumba made entire system of...racks, for clothes. Pleakley does all the laundry for family we help because Jumba hates it, so am thinking will make rack that moves clean clothes to closets, all on it's own!", Jumba explained, "It would even sense dirty clothes and be bringing them down".
Of course the device sounded a lot like a still flawed Experiment he'd made and yet to suffer the consequences from, but still, he had had high hopes...as he always did.
As he told his story, Jumba sighed, "Pleakley was complaining when fancy robe he wore for...something, am forgetting what, was so clean, by his own doing, machine picked him up, still in clothes, and shoved him in Bigger-Girl-Nani's closet! I can not be fixing every bug!".
As to whether or not Dash believed in Aliens...as Jumba prepared to come clean.
"Aliens? Like round saucers that come down and steal cows? And suck up your brains?"
Jumba made a face, "Am not knowing anyone personally to travel so many light-years for Earth beef...or brains", the idea these humans had!
"Are...you an alien?"
Jumba smiled, and checked that they were still alone currently before spilling that much, "Yes, though old space ship was more of...rocket and have never eaten earth brains or human".
"That is being the spirit! You would make fine scientist yourself with that attitude, ah you are like Little-Girl-Lilo, not scared of anything!"
Dash was starting to realize that Mr. Jumba just titled people like that. Small Blonde Boy; Little Girl Lilo. Who sounded cool off this description. He guessed he now technically had two, maybe three nicknames himself. Mr. Héctor having given him one as well, and on top of Uncle Lucius calling him Speedo. Well, but cooler adults got that right, and Dash would now lump Jumba into that along with Mr. Héctor and Uncle Lucius even.
"Ack, is not understanding true genius! For the bit of instance, one time Jumba made entire system of...racks, for clothes. Pleakley does all the laundry for family we help because Jumba hates it, so am thinking will make rack that moves clean clothes to closets, all on it's own! It would even sense dirty clothes and be bringing them down"
Mr. Jumba just proved Dash's even unspoken point with this! See making laundry interesting!
"Pleakley was complaining when fancy robe he wore for...something, am forgetting what, was so clean, by his own doing, machine picked him up, still in clothes, and shoved him in Bigger-Girl-Nani's closet! I can not be fixing every bug!"
Dash laughed, "Yeah that does sound like just his fault! And your machine sounds so cool! So what ya gonna do with the toothbrush?!" Now that Dash knew the possibilities!
"Am not knowing anyone personally to travel so many light-years for Earth beef...or brains"
Dash gave an almost embarrassed chuckle, "Well I don't know that's just what the movies show...".
"Yes, though old space ship was more of...rocket and have never eaten earth brains or human"
"Wait really?!", event though Dash had guessed it, to know he was sitting here talking to an alien! "A rocket! Like with...thrusters and everything! Do you have it with you?!", Dash stood on his chair again, forget toothbrush engineering, if there was a rocket ship concealed somewhere Dash had to see it right this very second!
The fact that this meant Mr. Jumba was probably a pilot, and Mom would probably find that interesting made it into Dash's mind, to be evaluated if ever important, but was not his main focus right now!
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Nov 14, 2018 10:38:31 GMT -5
"Yeah that does sound like just his fault! And your machine sounds so cool! So what ya gonna do with the toothbrush?!"
Ah! And his own hunch about the boy was correct as well! Jumba grinned and gave Dash a friendly little shoulder poke, "Very good, Small-Blonde-Boy-Dash, see! Was knowing you were just so smart to take Jumba's side! Very, very, very so smart!", Jumba gave a small chuckle, then held up the toothbrush, "As for bit of small earth-power!", now that the alien earth-feline was sort of out of the sack, "Jumba shall be converting into Marshmallow-toaster--aider....will think of better name. Observe!".
He kept tinkering even through the rest of the conversation.
"Well I don't know that's just what the movies show..."
Dash admitted sheepishly. Jumba glanced up to give him a reassuring smile, before glancing back, "Oh, am loving Earth-Alien-Movies, not to be getting opinion wrong; like giant ant that destroyed whole village? Very very classic! One of Jumba's favorites". Jumba kept tinkering. He almost had it...
"Wait really?! A rocket! Like with...thrusters and everything! Do you have it with you?!"
Dash's excitement and hopping actually caused Jumba to start enough to drop his screwdriver. He just chuckled to himself though, he should have known, after so long around Lilo. Earth kids were excitable. He'd finished anyway and after picking up his screwdriver, popped the toothbrush casing closed.
"Sadly no, Rocket-converted-to-Lab is back home; but Blonde-Boy-Dash can watch this!", he held up the toothbrush triumphantly and squished the marshmallow-stick-craft on-top. "Now we are seeing...". Jumba pushed the switch up that was supposed to just make the brush part (now hidden under marshmallow) move, but instead it now spun at a medium-rate-rapidly.
"Haha!", Jumba grinned to Dash, obviously waiting for the boy to tell him how good he'd done, "Now we shall be speeding up the process and accounting for Jumba-error! Uh, last is very rare though", he told Dash as he stood and walked back over the fire, holding the now rotating sticks over it.
Dash just chuckled as Jumba praised him for being so smart as to take his side. Well, yeah, he was always on the side of fun vs. stuffy!
"Jumba shall be converting into Marshmallow-toaster--aider....will think of better name. Observe!"
Dash pondered names himself as he watched. Hmm...Marshmallow-toaster-aider could work. It was on the nose, like Incredmobile.
"Oh, am loving Earth-Alien-Movies, not to be getting opinion wrong; like giant ant that destroyed whole village? Very very classic! One of Jumba's favorites"
Dash actually knew what Jumba was talking about! Those old black and white horror movies Jumba had no doubt watched for the nostalgic scene fitting were closer to his time and sometimes played on TV.
"Oh yeah! I've seen that one!", Dash laughed, "Mom and Vi were talking about how bad an ant that size would be in the house!".
"Sadly no, Rocket-converted-to-Lab is back home; but Blonde-Boy-Dash can watch this!"
Aww man! Dash got over his sadness at not being able to explore an actual alien space ship lab! "Worst luck!", he sounded just as, if not more, disappointed than Jumba himself and slumped back in his chair, before hopping back up to stand on the seat as Jumba went on showing more cool science.
As a rule Dash thought Science was ok, nothing like what Miss E could do with a fashion line, but this was Alien Science!
"Haha! Now we shall be speeding up the process and accounting for Jumba-error! Uh, last is very rare though"
Dash was unaware he had a job, but still did it very nicely. "Woah! That's amazing!", despite the cool gadgets the boy had seen, he was pretty easily impressed, and by an alien's half try. He hopped up and followed Mr. Jumba as he put the now spinning marshmallows over the fire. Dash was then hit with an idea.
"Hey I know! I'll get the graham crackers and chocolate ready and we can have a S'mores assembly line!", he ran over and grabbed the packages, getting one cracker and chocolate ready.
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Nov 21, 2018 23:29:28 GMT -5
Little Dashiell Robert Parr's young enthusiasm was fun to be around! And for the energy that reminded him of Lilo again. He chuckled along with the boy's point of a giant ant. "Hmm...yes, I suppose would be very scary for humans...interesting point, will have to remember that...".
He was half kidding. He was not going to try to make a giant ant...probably.
Dash seemed as upset, if not more so about Jumba's lab being back in Hawaii. The alien gave a small chuckle. "Not to be worrying, will work on problem of finding one here".
The boy gave the obligatory response to Jumba's all but expectant pause, but far more genuinely than Pleakley ever had...and not followed by mentioning how it would endanger everyone! Jumba smiled pleased as he walked over the fire, Dash following to continue to watch.
"Hey I know! I'll get the graham crackers and chocolate ready and we can have a S'mores assembly line!"
Jumba chuckled again, and could hardly shoot down Dash's enthused idea. "Alright, be getting crackers of divided squares and bars of chocolate", he repeated the name he called the earth stuff by, as he kept his attention on the marshmallows' progress.
"Hmm...yes, I suppose would be very scary for humans...interesting point, will have to remember that..."
Mr. Jumba said, but in a way that didn't give Dash confidence he wasn't going to try something. In fact it gave him the opposite feeling and he wondered a bit what the alien could have meant by that. Not in a watching Super Villians kind of way, just intrigue.
He then promised he would find a lab here! "Ok! I'll come visit when you do!", Dash gave his own promise. Of course he was promising such without regard to any plans that may come up and with little boys not owning their own free time anyway, but he meant the promise as near as he could fulfill. At some point. When he could. And if he had it.
Mr. Jumba agreed to the S'more's Assembly Line idea! Dash normal rushed over and grabbed the packages, prepping one. If he let himself go full steam, he knew he could keep up the assembly line no problem, but he also knew he shouldn't do that outside of costume. Dash reminded himself to not be competitive...
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Nov 25, 2018 16:02:23 GMT -5
Dash promised to visit him in his lab when he had one! Ah, now he had even more reason to keep to such a promise, and he hadn't even come across 625 yet! Not that it was a problem. Jumba did intend to keep his promise and get up a lab, he just needed a few more days with which to scout probably.
The boy was also pleased when he agreed to the assembly line idea. Well why not, and if it worked! The thought that 625 would also be good at such a job, with advance sandwich-making skills he had given himself and worked out, did cross Jumba's mind just in casual pondering.
He wouldn't expect one Earth boy to be up to those standards but they would see!
And Jumba didn't actually intend to go hard on the youth...it just happened within the process as the rotating stick finished up one batch, which he handed off, pleased with the performance, and then another. On about the third, Jumba noticed it had maybe been a bit faster than the last...by the fourth he was concerned about the apparatus!
No smoke though, so he handed it off...watching the tool a bit too much to see if Dash was ready.
Dash stood, poised and ready, and could watch the set of sticks rotate without giving anything away about his speed, which translated to super reflexes as well, enough to handle when he ran. There were six sticks, so six at at a time. Dash prepared to prep that many at a time and at half-normal speed.
He was still learning what that was in some situations.
The first set Jumba passed off when well, though! And the second! Hmm...but that was getting faster..., Dash noticed, and wondered if it was on purpose, still had this! Well, or he only dropped one...
Dash just shook it off and prepared again. Now it was spinning very fast, and he wondered if he could keep up without giving anything away, still he geared up to try...when it came apart or something. Something happened to end up with him feeling like the soft parts of the marshmallows suddenly hit him in the face and next blink through goop now on his face...
He blinked again, the dabbed at it and licked his finger.
Post by Jumba Jookiba on Nov 25, 2018 16:04:00 GMT -5
The boy was very good! Jumba was impressed at how well he was doing, yet then of course the plan went out the window...
Jumba winced as marshmallow flew out and then covered the Earth boy. Oh well, it was a rare invention that went completely right...
"Ah, so sorry there, small-blonde-boy...", Jumba fished out a rag he also always had on him, for invention help and half handed, half dabbed at the boy's face himself. He then sighed, "Well, that was being bust...perhaps back to board for scribbles!", if Jumba had one thing, failure didn't get him too down.
He picked up the brush part of what was once the toothbrush and discarded the damaged branches to replace for try two...or maybe replace them with metal. Yes that was sounding better, he decided. As he worked, he side glanced over to Dash. "But suppose you are now wanting to do something besides be pelted with marshmallows for aiding?", he guessed and asked. Pleakley had given up helping him with anything after a similar incident, besides the closet stuffing one.
Jumba handed him a rag for his face. Dash wiped at it. board for scribbles? Oh back to the drawing board! Dash was getting better at translating Mr. Jumba, as it were.
"But suppose you are now wanting to do something besides be pelted with marshmallows for aiding?"
The boy actually laughed, like that would get him down! Hero work involved that and more! He couldn't mention this reason though...
"Oh, nah, it's fine", he said as he finished up wiping his face and handed the rag back, "I probably should go just because my Mom's expecting me before too long! But I'll come help again, and...if ya really want to find out more about S',mores you should check out Wilderness Lodge and the spots around there, they have camp sites and stuff and S'mores are a very big part of camp outs!", Dash gave a parting bit of advice.
"But anyway, I had fun!", Dash assured, and since he knew it would look like he was beating a hasty retreat, "See ya later Mr. Jookiba! And don't worry, I won't tell folks you're an alien". Dash understood secrets.
Last Edit: Nov 25, 2018 16:05:25 GMT -5 by Dash Parr
Jake: Hello there, and welcome!
Aug 1, 2019 17:04:22 GMT -5
Basil: Basil and Vanellope had an...interesting relationship.
Aug 1, 2019 21:44:00 GMT -5
Ronno: A belated welcome Vanellope!
Aug 6, 2019 17:13:19 GMT -5
Helen Parr: Heyy sorry about the delay! The kitchen remodeling took an entire month and then my sister left for vet school, so it's been super busy for me. I'm back to posting though <3
Aug 8, 2019 23:46:21 GMT -5
Ronno: Good to see you back! Congrats and good luck to your sister too! It’s a tough route but very rewarding. (I’m actually a vet tech myself ).
Aug 9, 2019 13:38:22 GMT -5
Elsa: I'm coming back as well! Pruning a few characters, have an idea for a new one (i have a mild addiction... XD)
Aug 9, 2019 18:41:51 GMT -5
Negaduck: Admitting it is the first step to a cure.
Aug 9, 2019 19:06:58 GMT -5
Helen Parr: Lol that's awesome that you're in that field, too! <3 My sister was a vet tech as well! Thank you! It definitely sounds tough.
Aug 13, 2019 20:11:54 GMT -5
Ronno: <3 ! Vet techs unite! Always good to hear of a fellow vet tech. ^_^
Aug 14, 2019 20:56:04 GMT -5
Edna Mode: welcome back helen hope things went ok been waiting for the thread to continue
Aug 15, 2019 2:10:44 GMT -5
Elsa: relatively unimportant message for Basil
Aug 16, 2019 20:21:29 GMT -5
Helen Parr: Hey Edna! Thank you! I think I'll wait for Vi and Dash to post in there before I post again, but I'm looking forward to the thread too! And yay Sage, love seeing your amazing posts again <3
Aug 16, 2019 23:52:09 GMT -5
Papá Héctor: As for Héctor, I'm getting ready to introduce the whole dance quince court thing in the party this weekend, so prepare yourselves! <3
Aug 16, 2019 23:55:34 GMT -5
Basil: Cool! I have company for the weekend, so I may be late in replying.
Aug 17, 2019 8:33:53 GMT -5
Basil: Yay! A post in the balloon thread!! Hurrah!!
Aug 17, 2019 20:44:45 GMT -5
Jiminy: Soooo so sorry for the crazy delay on literally all of my posts y'all. I'm done with training so I should be less sporadic now with any luck, haha!
Aug 17, 2019 21:05:40 GMT -5
Basil: Jiminy is worth waiting for!
Aug 17, 2019 21:28:51 GMT -5
Judy Hopps: I just spotted that thread for Judy & Nick. Sorry, Fibber! But I'll wait until Reuben posts first.
Aug 21, 2019 14:23:40 GMT -5
Nick Wilde: I was waiting on others, hehe.
Aug 21, 2019 16:45:32 GMT -5 | English | NL | 6a59a2e7030a91e9817abb2aa5fd34a394a9080bc74e404a552231088b739664 |
Life has a habit of going in a different direction than we expected. We think we have found the perfect job, relationship, or our life just seems perfect…then something happens. At times, it is because of decisions we made recently or in the past. At other times, it is because of choices and consequences inflicted on us by others. But God has a way of working things out on our behalf.
Paul had the same problem. In Acts 27 – 28, we read the story of Paul, a prisoner at the time, trying to sail to Rome. He warned those in charge of the danger of the trip which could include loss to the ship, cargo and possibly the lives of those on the ship. However, his warning was ignored. While at sea, the storm came but God had plans for Paul to go to Rome and saved the lives of everyone on the ship.
After they had gone a long time without food, Paul stood up before them and said: “Men, you should have taken my advice not to sail from Crete; then you would have spared yourselves this damage and loss. But now I urge you to keep up your courage, because not one of you will be lost; only the ship will be destroyed. Acts 27:21-22 (NIV)
Did you like this post? Share it! | English | NL | 75fb99e61f143a47dc1bbcde980b060822d80c3950ed4e513b220ea9606ccd1a |
Jesus begins to minister at Capernaum
Dec 16, 2013
Jesus’ narrow escape from Nazareth made it virtually impossible for Him to live there any longer. His universal and impartial application of the law made Him a target for assassination. We do not know where Mary was living at the time, but if she were in Nazareth, it is very likely that this is when she moved as well. We know she was still living, because she forms part of early church history. Joseph was presumed dead already, as he had already faded from the historical record.
Luke 4:30, 31 says,
30 But passing through their midst, He went His way. 31 And He came down to Capernaum, a city of Galilee. And He was teaching them on the Sabbath.
Jesus was accepted in Galilee, which was more cosmopolitan. It was called Galilee of the Gentiles (“Nations”) for a reason, and in that way it was the virtual opposite of Nazareth. Matthew comments further on this, though he leaves out the story of Jesus’ near execution in Nazareth. Matthew’s gospel, after all, was directed toward the Jews themselves, presenting Him as the promised King, the Lion of Judah. Thus Matthew often avoided recording details that were inflammatory to Jews.
Luke, however, included the story of His flight from Nazareth, because he was writing first to Theophilus, who was more amenable to Greeks (and even had a Greek name), and secondly to a foreign audience, mainly Greek, who would admire Jesus for His courage. Luke made it clear that Jesus was not a Jewish nationalist, nor was He influenced by the rabid views of the people in His own home town.
Matthew 4:11 speaks of the end of Jesus’ fast in the wilderness, and then verse 12 says,
12 Now when He heard that John had been taken into custody, He withdrew [anachoreo, “to return”] into Galilee.
Matthew skips some months here. Jesus’ forty-day fast had begun on the Day of Atonement in late September, so it ended some time in November. He and His mother attended the marriage feast in Cana soon after leaving Nazareth, which John alone mentions in his gospel. John the Baptist was executed the following April just before Passover, but he had already remained in custody for an unknown time prior to his execution.
So during that winter, we find Jesus gathering His twelve disciples while He lived in Capernaum. Jesus had already moved abruptly to Capernaum by the time John was arrested. Matthew skips many details, including the circumstances of His move. He picks up the story when John was arrested. We are not told where Jesus was when the arrest took place, other than that He was outside of Galilee; but wherever He was, He returned into Galilee.
Mark’s account likewise skips many details between the forty-day fast and the start of Jesus’ ministry. Mark 1:14, 15 says,
14 And after John had been taken into custody, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of God, 15 and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel.”
Mark’s purpose was to show that Jesus’ ministry really began with the arrest of John. We know from the account of the marriage feast in Cana that prior to John’s arrest, Jesus restrained Himself from doing much ministry, or at least from performing miracles. In John 2:4 Jesus said, “My hour has not yet come.” Even so, he changed the water into wine.
If we reconstruct this interim between the forty-day fast and the execution of John in April, it appears that John was arrested quite soon after Jesus’ fast, but not before the marriage feast in Cana. If the marriage feast occurred in December, as many believe, then perhaps John was arrested in January or February.
As for Jesus, we know from Luke’s account that He had already done some ministry in Galilee before teaching in Nazareth (Luke 4:23). He apparently had done some miracles as well. It is likely that the people of Nazareth had heard of the Cana miracle, so perhaps he taught at Nazareth shortly after that wedding feast had taken place.
But Jesus seems to have felt restrained as long as John was still preparing the way before Him. When John was arrested, preventing him from preaching the gospel of the Kingdom, then Jesus did what John could not do from prison. At the same time, He began to gather His disciples, as Mark’s account tells us.
John was then executed at the time of Passover—most likely on the preparation day for Passover, the same day that Jesus would be crucified three years later. Matthew 14 tells the story of John’s execution, and Matthew 14:12 says his disciples buried him and then reported his death to Jesus. Verse 13 says, “Now when Jesus heard it, He withdrew from there in a boat,” crossing the Sea of Galilee.
The people followed Him, and He then fed the 5,000. John tells us in John 6:4, “Now the Passover, the feast of the Jews, was at hand.” It must have taken place just after the feast, because the boy had five loaves of barley, no doubt newly harvested after the wave-sheaf offering. But this dates John’s execution—and also the transition of ministry from John to Jesus.
John was God’s choice of high priest in those days, regardless of who was chosen officially by the Roman authorities in Jerusalem. Hence, John was a high priest without a temple and ministered in the wilderness. When John died childless, his office passed to his nearest relative, his cousin, Jesus. Though Jesus was of Judah and not Levi, this marked the change from the Order of Levi to the Order of Melchizedek, and Jesus was then officially able to complete His work.
He could preach the gospel of the Kingdom while John was yet alive, but He could not do the high priest’s work on the cross without the mantle of the high priest.
Matthew 4 tells us that Jesus went to Galilee to fulfill the prophecy of Isaiah 9:2, for we read in Matthew 4:12-16,
12 Now when He heard that John had been taken into custody, He withdrew into Galilee; 13 and leaving Nazareth, He came and settled in Capernaum, which is by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali. 14 This was to fulfill what was spoken through Isaiah the prophet, saying, 15 “The land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, by the way of the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles— 16 The people who were sitting in darkness saw a great light, and to those who were sitting in the land and shadow of death, upon them a light dawned.”
Zebulun means “dwelling,” so Jesus began to “dwell” in Galilee of the Gentiles. Naphtali means “my wrestling,” and this prophesies of the circumstances by which He came to dwell in Galilee. Jesus had “wrestled” with the people of Nazareth, and by extension, with Judea as a whole, ending with His crucifixion at their hands.
But in Galilee, which was more liberal and cosmopolitan, having Greek and Roman colonial towns, Jesus found a more receptive audience. These were people who were not at all impressed with the self-righteousness nationalism of Nazareth. In fact, when Nathanael heard of Jesus from his friend Philip, his first reaction was: “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?” (John 1:46).
Luke 4:31, 32 says,
31 And He came down to Capernaum, a city of Galilee. And He was teaching them on the Sabbath; 32 and they were amazed at His teaching, for His message was with authority.
Jesus spoke with authority, not because He forced men to believe, but because His words were backed up by the power of the Spirit. When He spoke words of healing, men were healed. When He cast out demons, they left immediately. Luke gives us such examples in the following verses.
Luke 4:33-36 says,
33 And there was a man in the synagogue possessed by the spirit of an unclean demon, and he cried out with a loud voice, 34 “Ha! What do we have to do with You, Jesus of Nazareth? Have You come to destroy us? I know who You are—the Holy One of God!” 35 And Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be quiet [phimoo, “Be muzzled, as in 1 Cor. 9:9] and come out of him!” And when the demon had thrown him down [rhipto, medical word for “convulsions”] in their midst, he came out of him without doing him any harm. 36 And amazement came upon them all, and they began discussing with one another, saying, “What is this message? For with authority and power He commands the unclean spirits, and they come out.”
These are Luke’s examples to show the authority of Jesus and the power of His message. Jesus first received witness from His heavenly Father at His baptism (Luke 3:22). But in Capernaum, Luke says, even the unclean spirit bore witness to Him, both verbally and by its obedience to His command.
37 And the report about Him was getting out into every locality in the surrounding district.
Luke’s second example to show Jesus’ authority is in Luke 4:38, 39,
38 And He arose and left the synagogue, and entered Simon’s home. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was suffering from a high fever; and they made request of Him on her behalf. 39 And standing over her [epistas epano], He rebuked the fever, and it left her; and she immediately arose and waited on them.
This event is also recorded in Matthew 8:14, 15 and in Mark 1:30, 31. Matthew uses it as a general example of Jesus’ healing ministry, but Mark and Luke date it at the start of His ministry.
When Jesus stood over her, Luke uses the medical term, epistas epano, which is the equivalent of saying that He came to her bedside as a doctor might come to examine a patient. He then rebuked the fever, showing that He had authority over sickness.
This is part 14 of a series titled "Studies in the Book of Luke." To view all parts, click the link below. | English | NL | 9b8897d37d273c37a473ba660e715bd03abc93b3692290a72c020363e05eec2c |
Two abandoned babies are dropped off at the orphanage run by sadistic nuns. Rose develops a gift for humour and movement; Pierrot for music. When they were young adolescents they were sent to rich people’s homes to entertain for generous donations to the orphanage. Escape seems possible, happiness imminent. They dream of creating their own circus together for fame and fortune. As the mother superior knows, though, happiness always leads to tragedy. Rose and Pierrot are farmed out as teens to separate homes, with no idea where the other has gone. And the Sisters make sure they never find each other. A good portion of the book is the two yearning for each other and almost crossing paths, so it is a delight when they find each other as adults.
Hotel reminded me of The Night Circus which was full of magic realism. O’Neill is a wonderful writer so Hotel is a page turner.
“Women were still strange and inscrutable creatures. Men didn’t understand them. And women didn’t understand themselves either. It was always a performance of some sort. Everywhere you went, it was like there was a spotlight shining down on your head. You were on a stage when you were on the trolley. You were being judged and judged and judged. Every minute of your performance was supposed to be incredible and outstanding and sexy.
You were often only an ethical question away from being a prostitute.”
“All children are really orphans. At heart, a child has nothing to do with its parents, its background, its last name, its gender, its family trade. It is a brand-new person, and it is born with the only legacy that all individuals inherit when they open their eyes in this world: the
inalienable right to be free.” | English | NL | 3db503945eebd767ed22a21766c0c79ee3e6a489f51bf700228dd4f1bcef51bd |
When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus. Acts 4:13 (NIV)
Think of the people God has used in your life. Most of them were just ordinary people doing what God called them to do. It could have been your grandmother or mother praying for you when you were headed down the wrong path. It could have been a friend or co-worker that kept inviting you to church until you finally said yes. It could be your spouse that God uses to be a positive influence in your life. It could have been a neighbor who was there when you needed them.
God doesn’t call the qualified, He qualifies the called. Each of us are called by God to do something. We are called to be the ordinary one making a difference in the lives of those around us. We are to be the ordinary one praying for the lost. We are to be the ordinary one inviting others to church until they say yes. We are to be the ordinary one God uses to be a positive influence in the life of your spouse. It doesn’t take anything special, just be your ordinary self.
God, I may be ordinary, but that doesn’t stop you from using me. Show me today what I can do to make a difference in the lives of those around me. In Jesus’ name. Amen. | English | NL | 25e2bb6f6d25bff2ed81b91ebfe09011d336380bfc1fbef8d6c01f38382a4ec3 |
Born: January 01, 1970
Biography: Euclid, fl. 300 BC, also known as Euclid of Alexandria, was a Greek mathematician, often referred to as the Father of Geometry. He was active in Alexandria during the reign of Ptolemy I. His Elements is one of the most influential works in the history of mathematics, serving as the main textbook for teaching mathematics from the time of its publication until the late 19th or early 20th century. | English | NL | 1768ee31ff85b61b9f017146b2e0b6a088b442c99fce3b194ad6f54098726336 |
Friday, 26 April 2013
For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. Romans 5:6
There will be three categories of man noted in the five verses from 5:6 to 5:10, all summed up in the concept of the “ungodly.” The first is in 5:6, those who are “without strength.” Then “sinners” are noted in 5:8 and this is followed up by “enemies” in 5:10. Paul is showing that all categories, from the top to the bottom, need Christ.
He begins with “for.” This is an affirmation of what was stated in 5:1-5:5. 1) We have been justified by faith; 2) We have peace with God; 3) We have access by faith into the grace in which we stand; 3) We hope in the glory of God. This came from the process of tribulations, perseverance, and character; and 4) We have God’s love poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit.
The use of “for” today introduces the affirming reasons why these things are so. The first is that something occurred “when we were still without strength.” The word translated as “without strength” indicates one that is feeble. It was, as it were, a disease which afflicted us. It is an apt comparison because sin is a disease which affects our ability to proceed in a right relationship with God. The disease must be treated before we can proceed, and it was. When we were without strength to save ourselves, “Christ died for the ungodly.”
The “ungodly” here is a comparison to those who were “without strength.” The intent then is that Christ died for the very people we were, weak and unable to accomplish the task. The implication is that He is godly and is making an exchange. Paul will explain this as he continues.
Life application: It is easy to forget the state we were in after being saved for a time. We begin to develop in our walk and eventually we look at those around us as ungodly sinners who deserve God’s wrath. While this is true, we need to remember that this was once us. Instead of feeling superior to the sinner, we need to remember that we were in the same boat. We were given the lifeline and now we need to pass it on, not hold it out of reach.
Lord, I once stood as a poor beggar needing bread and You provided it to me. I know there are many around me who need what I needed. Help me to remember that I was in the same place as they were and someone took the time to tell me about You. Now, help me to act in the same charitable manner toward others. Help me to be gracious in offering what I have received. Amen. | English | NL | 3159e6a08998d214ff043b34644dc3d5117519a79171c4d2a96846285f14da93 |
Famous Pirate: Henry Morgan
The Buccaneer King
Despite some of his actions were brutal and illegitimate, Henry Morgan was not a pirate. The Welshman was a magnificent buccaneer , certainly the most famous one . Described as a remarkable leader and a fearsome conqueror, he had a couple of legendary battles and unique tactics which brought him fame and wealth. Because of all his deeds, Morgan was a true hero of the Caribbean and the English nation.
Henry Morgan was born around 1635 in Llanrhymny, Wells. Already as a youngster, Henry was ambitious and very lively person who could not settle with a monotonous life in a quiet place. He decided to move on because he had a dream to be a sailor. Although Morgan wanted to gain wealth and fame as soon as possible, a pirate way of life was not in his interest. Therefore, he joined the England’s naval army to serve as a buccaneer .
It is uncertain how Morgan arrived in Jamaica, but it happened in the in 1655, when island was occupied by the buccaneers. He joined the England forces which attacked and robbed Spanish colonies in the Caribbean . There he built his buccaneer career first as a common solider and soon as a respected sailor. By joining a famous captain, Christopher Myngs and his fleet on some of his expeditions, Morgan gained much more naval experience.
Finally, in 1662, he became a captain of a small privateering vessel. His first successful raid was in 1664, when a group of buccaneer captains harassed together. They plundered many ships and colonies on the coast of Yutacan Peninsula and the rich town Granada in Central America.
All those attacks brought him a great financial income and also an excellent reputation . He bought a plantation on Jamaica and married his cousin , Mary Elizabeth. She was the daughter of Morgan's uncle, Colonel Edward Morgan, the governor of Jamaica. Edward Morgan died soon after, in attack on the Dutch colony. The new governor of Jamaica was Sir Tomas Modyford , who became a very good friend to Henry Morgan . Because of that friendship and his constant success, Morgan was promoted to a vice-admiral of the Jamaican fleet.
Meanwhile, the Spanish activity increased in Cuba, so Mayford choose Morgan to lead the Jamaican fleet. In January 1668, more than 10 ships and over 500 soldiers sailed to Cuba. Once again Morgan turned nightmarish for Spain. The City of Puerto Principe was easily conquered without much loss. Problem was that this raid brought to his army only 50,000 pieces of eight. Many disappointed soldiers left Morgan.
Fearless Henry planned another attack right away despite his army was almost halved. Target was a fortified and a well-guarded town, Puerto Bello. The tactic that Morgan was using during this conflict was crucial . He anchored his ships far from the city and used the canoes to approach the city quietly at the night. The attack was quick, the guards were unaware and two of the three main forts were easily conquered. However, the third one was almost impossible to occupy. Then Morgan came up with a brilliant idea to use the imprisoned monks and nuns as a human shield. With that strategy they succeed to conquer the last obstacle. The Buccaneers captured the town and the governor of Panama was forced to pay a lot for the slaves. 250,000 pieces of eight were taken from that impressive raid.
Next Morgan's terror took place in Venezuela in 1669. With 8 ships and 650 crewmen he conquered the city of Marcaibo. His buccaneers tortured many Venezuelan citizens almost like the cruelest pirates, in order to discover all hidden booty .
At that time, Morgan was the indisputable king of all buccaneers . He had wealth, the most powerful army in the Caribbean , and what is most important, a constant success. In most fights, Morgan performed such achievements that even Spaniards praised his bravery and leadership.
With the powerful force of 1200 buccaneers and 30 ships, his last great attack began in 1670. It was the greatest challenge and his main goal - Panama. First he took fort, San Lorenzo, which allowed his troops to reach Panama through the jungle. However, it turnout that trip was much more exhausting than Morgan expected. He lost many people because of hunger and sickness. However, buccaneers' charismatic captain boosted everyone's moral and they finally reached their goal. An enormous number of Spaniards was gathered in order to defend the rich city, but they could to nothing against the supreme army of buccaneers. The city was taken in the great fight and then entirely plundered and demolished. That happened to be the last Morgan's raid .
Actually, he did not know that he had committed act of piracy . England and Spain had been at peace when last attack occurred, so after his return to Jamaica, Morgan was promptly arrested by the new governor and shipped to England for a trial. However, that trail never happened. Morgan was a powerful and influential man with many great deeds for England behind him. Although a prisoner of state, he has never been punished. Instead, he was honored by the King and promoted to the deputy governor of Jamaica. In the period between 1674 and 1682, he was still military active in defense of the island from the pirates.
Retirement & Legacy of Henry Morgan
The severity of the Morgan's destruction of Panama in 1671 reached such a level that entire city had to be re-established several kilometers from its
original ruins, raising the tensions between Spain and England whose governments have signed a peace treaty year earlier in 1670. With treaty hanging on
balance, English decided to promptly remove Henry Morgan from his military post. Morgan was arrested and ordered to return to England where he was stripped
of his position in the Navy. However because his significant influence, Morgan was not punished for many of his horrific acts. He was knighted in 1674 and
was awarded the position of the Lieutenant Governor position in Jamaica in 1675. Six years later in 1681, the relations between Henry Morgan and King
Charles II were soured, which caused his removal from the governor position. New appointment to the place of Governor could not be worse for Morgan, for it
was awarded to his longtime political rival Thomas Lynch.
Immediately after arriving on the post of Governor, Thomas Lynch launched several political attacks against Morgan, most successfully by promoting the 1678
book “De Americaensche Zee-Roovers“ (About the Buccaneers of America, today known as one of the most important reports concerning the 17th century Age of
Piracy) written by the Alexandre Excqemelin who described him in the report as savage, bloodthirsty, and responsible for many horrific attacks against
natives, naval shipping and citizens of the city of Panama. Morgan immediately counter-attacked, launching not only public campaign to discredit the book
but also a libel suit in which he was awarded not only two hundred English pounds from the publishers of the book William Crooke and Thomas Malthus, but
also a public retraction.
Morgan spent rest of his life peacefully with his wife, on a big plantation. When he died in 1688, almost no buccaneers in the Caribbean were active.
After the death of Governor Thomas Lynch, Morgan was reinstated to the Council in 1688. That same year he died on August 25, many believing from
Tuberculosis or dropsie. He left his estate to his two godsons and secured regular payments to his sister. Henry Morgan was buried in Palisadoes cemetery
in Jamaica which was sunk into the sea during the 1692 earthquake that drove the majority of the Port Royal City, the wealthiest and largest city in West
Indies, below the waves.
In modern times Henry Morgan is remembered both as a historical figure that played prominent role in the Golden Age of the Piracy, as one of the most
successful naval commanders who managed to take advantage of strained relationship between governments involved in the New World to launch his own
buccaneering attack all across the Caribbean and gain significant wealth for himself, his crew and the English crown. The romanticized version of him is
present in many films and books, including a mention in a popular Hollywood film franchise “Pirates of the Caribbean”.
In the summer of 2011 was reported that the archaeologists from Texas State University managed to locate remains of the Morgan's sunk flagship
“Satisfaction”. Subsequent dives to the ocean flow managed to identify the wreck as a Spanish merchant ship “Encarnación” who sunk off the coast of Panama
during the powerful storm in 1681. | English | NL | b87b83213f690682a421755d0a92099cbc38ec2b8e22354b8926681b59fcb42f |
Something unscheduled and unpredictable happened during the General Audience that Pope Francis held in front of 7,000 faithful gathered in the Paul VI Hall today. As he was greeting the faithful in various languages, the Pope was unexpectedly surprised to see a child standing in front of him. He had escaped from adult supervision and run up the white marble steps leading to the stage just to meet the Pope and embrace him. The Pope smiled, pleasantly surprised, and returned the hug and the greeting: “He is Argentine and undisciplined”, he joked, turning to Mgr. Georg Gänswein, Prefect of the Papal Household, who was sitting next to him. And he went on to greet the Spanish-speaking faithful, using his mother tongue to make some off-the-cuff remarks about what had just happened.
“This child cannot speak, but knows how to communicate”, he said: “He is free, undisciplined-ly free, but he is free!”, Pope Francis remarked, inviting those present to ask themselves: “Am I so free before Jesus? When Jesus says that we have to become like children, it means that we must have the freedom that a child has before his father”. | English | NL | 3d5ca26cc14d729a6a3ec15dd44189968a96fd151572a8d4f46f401749260875 |
I have been remiss. Yesterday (February 1) was the birthday of Langston Hughes and the kickoff to Black History Month. Hughes was born in Joplin, Missouri, at the beginning of he last century. He lived briefly in Mexico with his father, whom he disliked intensely. He was “discovered” in Washington, D,C, by Vachel Lindsay when, working as a busboy at the Wardman Park Hotel, he slipped a few poems to the Lindsay in the dining room as the august poet was eating dinner. Although by that time Hughes had already won awards for his writing, he was briefly celebrated as the “busboy poet.” Hughes’s poetry was often deceptively simple. His life was also rich with ironies. There was that breakout moment at the Wardman Park Hotel. Later, there was a wealthy white patroness in New York City who decided that Hughes was her vehicle for uplifting the African American race. Hughes would riding to performances in her limousine during the days of the Great Depression, while others slept on park benches, and realized he wasn’t cut out for that kind of plush life. His poetry suffered.
Both Hughes’ life and his poetry were rich with the suggestion of jazz and blues—an art form he came to admire on 7th Street in Washington D.C. and in the halls of Harlem. He was a key figure in the Harlem Renaissance and became an institution in the neighborhood. As an ambassador of his race, he was peerless—liked and respected by black and white. He was also pretty fearless. His poetry has a resilience, approachability, and bounce, in tones of joy and sorrow. His place in American letters is assured.
1. Busboys and Poets Restaurant and Bookstore in D.C. and Virginia
2. Hughes on Haiti from Foreign Policy
3. A bit of Hughes-flavored uplift in an economic downturn
4. Recently discovered poetry of Langston Hughes, revealing a depth of anger he rarely displayed, but that he was unafraid to confront.
5. Jazz collaboration with Charles Mingus and Leonard Feather. | English | NL | 0a48aaef957cfc104cef58e337618b2dc60c72340ebb8361eeeed27921eff5ff |
Omraam Mikhaël Aïvanhov was born on 31 January 1900 at Serbtzy in Macedonia and later lived in Varna in Bulgaria. His early years were marked by great difficulties: the loss of his father, poverty, constant social unrest and wars were all opportunities for him to develop his willpower, deepen his spiritual knowledge and strengthen both his love and his desire to be of use to his fellow human beings.
At the age of 17, he met Peter Deunov, the Bulgarian Master, who was very well-known at the time in Bulgaria and whose reputation had spread well beyond his own country. For twenty years, the exchanges between Master and disciple were abundant and intense. After his university studies, Omraam Mikhaël Aïvanhov became a teacher and then a college principal. At the same time, he faithfully followed the Teaching of Peter Deunov. An avid reader of books on spirituality, he experimented spiritually with the truths he heard from his Master.
In 1937, sensing that the political troubles would bring with them a ban on all associations of a spiritual nature, Peter Deunov asked his disciple to leave for France in order to preserve and continue his work and to make this Teaching known, while at the same time developing it and adapting it to new social conditions. In spite of difficulties and ordeals, Omraam Mikhaël Aïvanhov remained faithful to the mission he had received and tirelessly and disinterestedly gave of his love, his knowledge and his attention to all those he met.
In 1959, having worked for more than twenty years at the task entrusted to him by Peter Deunov, Omraam Mikhaël Aïvanhov left for India, remaining there for a year. On the 17 June 1959 he met the spiritual Master, Neem Karoli Baba (? – 1973), from whom he received the name ‘Omraam’, in circumstances which he never fully disclosed. During this visit, he also met many other gurus, including Ananda Moyi Ma (1896-1982), swami Nityananda (1896-1961), Anagarika Govinda (1898-1985) and swami Shivananda (1887-1963).
Up until now, brother Mikhaël had refused to be addressed as Master by his disciples. He had always regarded himself as the disciple of his own Master, Peter Deunov. Following this stay in India, everything changed. His disciples, who had already been following him for 22 years, insisted on paying him due respect, and he finally agreed to be called ‘Master’.
The man whose disciples now called him Master, in the eastern meaning of the term, implying mastery of self and a gift for teaching, would always say that a true Master is someone who knows the truth, who understands perfectly the laws and principles of existence and respects them, and who also has the will and the capacity to master his inner world and to use this mastery with the sole goal of ‘manifesting all the qualities and virtues of disinterested love.’
with his mother
Peter Deunov in the middle,
Omraam Mikhaël Aïvanhov
(then called Mihail Ivanov)
on his right.
1937 - On arrival in France
1959 - Before leaving
1960 - On his return | English | NL | caf5bfe867b62897a606ef372c7ff8abc88c2d9e2793714ea92af5783fbd6391 |
So the episode Time to Get Cereal has brought some to the conclusion that Al Gore was telling the truth the whole time about Manbearpig's existance. Well in my theory, Manbearpig's appearance has instead done the opposite and proves that Al Gore was lying about Manbearpig.
Al Gore had stated many times at the end of the Manbearpig episode that he killed ManbearPig. If he killed Manbearpig in 2006, then why is Manbearpig killing people in 2018? He even made a public announcement about him killing ManBearPig and yet nobody remembers that. Al Gore even thought the New Kid was ManBearPig and attacked him and then later dressed up as ManBearPig and attacked the New Kid again. Though that did not make sense as ManBearPig is not seen to be capable of disguising itself as a full human, since Al Gore asked Stan if his dad had pig hooves in which Stan replies no. The New Kid did not have pig hooves as feet or any features of ManBearPig so that was another slap in the face to Al Gore.
What really was happening was Al Gore did not know ManBearPig was real. He didn't make the demon up, but he thought he had made him up. When the boys came to Al Gore telling him he was right, Al Gore was very shocked in his mind, but he did not want to act surprised or else the boys would know he was lying. So Al Gore went along with it and acted like he was right all along and decided to act stubborn in order to get more attention. He used this technique to make the boys lick his boots and apologize even though it was unnecessary. He may have been able to summon Satan, but anyone was able to do that including Stan who actually did in the Freemium episode. The only thing Al Gore did that was the closest to being helpful was telling the boys that ManBearPig was a demon. But of course anyone could have predicted that and didn't need his help for that. It is unknown why the boys sucked up to Al Gore for help instead of calling him out for bragging about killing ManBearPig when the demon is clearly still alive. Well ManBearPig is no longer a threat for now, no thanks to Al Gore. He never knew about the demon. He didn't have any clue how to defeat it. He just craved attention as always. And that is why ManBearPig's appearance ultimately proves that Al Gore was lying. | English | NL | bcf36cabe9864bd8cb971a9f554a93333ebf44fa192e7840a9b52ab1181b1835 |
Special thanks to Tue N for sponsoring this chapter.
P.S. Going to take a shower, so the next chapter will be up in 30-60 mins tops?
I will just leave this here, it has absolutely no resemblance to this chapter at all!
Other than the young people, a moment ago, there were also nobles with close ties to the imperial family who were extremely respectful towards Yan Yu Ping Sheng, it was obvious that Yan Yu Ping Sheng’s social status was extraordinary.
“Yan Yu Ping Sheng surprisingly favours the princess.” Thought Lin Feng, otherwise, he wouldn’t have brought Lin Feng here to give her the opportunity to meet him again.
“Lin Feng, I’m leaving, you can head back on your own later.”
At that moment, a very loud voice spread through the atmosphere, and Lin Feng saw a silhouette in the distance, it was Yan Yu Ping Sheng.
Lin Feng was a bit surprised and smiled wryly while shaking his head. Yan Yu Ping Sheng was leaving Lin Feng behind in the Imperial Palace.
Duan Xin Ye also looked surprised when she saw Yan Yu Ping Sheng leave. She immediately said: “Lin Feng, what do you think about my painting skill?”
“The painting has much more charm than I do.” Lin Feng smiled. Duan Xin Ye’s portrait was really splendid.
“You’re just being nice!” Whispered Duan Xin Ye while looking shy. She then pulled Lin Feng and said: “Come with me.”
Duan Xin Ye took Lin Feng to a cave, when they arrived near the cave, Lin Feng discovered a place of exceptional charm and beauty, the pieces of furniture were in a picturesque scene, it looked extremely graceful and elegant.
A moment after, Duan Xin Ye brought Lin Feng into a room inside the cave. Inside, there was the sweet fragrance of a young girl, the room looked exactly like a young lady’s sleeping chamber.
“Lin Feng, I live here, I like calmness and tranquillity so I decided to live here. Nobody can bother me when I’m here.” Said Duan Xin Ye in a soft and gentle voice, immediately after, she pointed to some paintings.
When Lin Feng saw these portraits, he was stupefied, the entire wall was covered in portraits, all of them were of the same person: Lin Feng.
When he saw these portraits, Lin Feng felt his heart tremble, if he hadn’t met Meng Qing, then he would have engaged in a relationship with Duan Xin Ye, the beautiful princess, without hesitation.
“Lin Feng, aren’t these portraits better than the one outside?” Duan Xin Ye was looking at Lin Feng with her beautiful and limpid eyes, looking slightly impatient.
“They are all very beautiful.” Replied Lin Feng.
Duan Xin Ye’s eyes twinkled, she then pulled Lin Feng towards the edge of the bed and said: “Lin Feng, sit down, I want you to taste the tea I make.”
“This……..” Lin Feng looked embarrassed. That was Duan Xin Ye’s room, and that bed was the bed in which a princess slept, it even smelt like her, Lin Feng was embarrassed to be pulled onto the bed.
“Lin Feng, are you still embarrassed about such things when you are with me?” Said Duan Xin Ye softly, she then immediately started boiling water for the tea.
Lin Feng smiled wryly and looked at Duan Xin Ye who looked really clumsy, he couldn’t help but smile and shake his head, she was a princess, she probably rarely did such things herself.
Lin Feng looked around him, while looking at all the portraits of him, he was wondering if Duan Xin Ye was thinking about him every day.
“Xin Ye, let me do it.” Said Lin Feng walking towards Duan Xin Ye trying to take the cup that she was holding.
“No need. I can do it.” Said Duan Xin Ye while drawing back her hand. Then, water splashed, Duan Xin Ye screamed and then the cup fell to the ground.
Duan Xin Ye wanted to catch the teacup but Lin Feng grabbed her hand and prevented her from moving, then the sound of the teacup breaking into pieces broke the silence. However, Duan Xin Ye seemed like she hadn’t even heard it, she just lowered her head and looked at the palm of her hand.
“It’s just a teacup, it doesn’t matter.” Pure Qi started undulating in Lin Feng’s hand which was holding onto her hand and started to heal her minor burns. He then opened his hand again.
Duan Xin Ye was looking at the hand leaving hers and she suddenly felt a bit sad yet she smiled warmly and gently.
“Let’s go take a walk.” Said Lin Feng. He found it too strange to stay in Duan Xin Ye’s room.
“Alright.” Said Duan Xin Ye in a soft tone while nodding. Then the two of them left the cave.
“Lin Feng, I would like to ask you a question.”
While leaving the cave, Duan Xin Ye had remained silent for a while and then finally responded.
“What is it?” Asked Lin Feng while looking at Duan Xin Ye’s strange facial expression. He had the impression that Duan Xin Ye was avoiding his eyes.
Duan Xin Ye looked at Lin Feng, her lips shook, she looked nervous but she finally found the courage to ask: “Lin Feng, that beautiful woman who wears white clothes, do you like her?”
Lin Feng was a bit dumbstruck, he wouldn’t have thought Duan Xin Ye would ask him such a question.
“Yes, I do.” Nodded Lin Feng immediately. That ice goddess was always silently standing by his side, she was like his own shadow, without asking for anything in return, everything she did was for him. Even though she was ice-cold, Lin Feng could feel her love, especially during the times when he was hurt or in danger, Meng Qing became so furious that her body started to freeze. She only cared about Lin Feng’s well being, more than her own.
Duan Xin Ye had always known about her, but she couldn’t help it, she looked extremely sad.
They remained silent for some time and arrived near a stream and sat down on a stone.
Duan Xin Ye picked up some small rocks and threw them into the stream which made the water ripple.
“Lin Feng, are you going to marry her?” Asked Duan Xin Ye, without restraining herself, while looking at the water ripples.
“I will.” Replied Lin Feng resolutely and straightforward. He would, of course, marry Meng Qing. They really loved each other so they had to make an official pledge of love.
“She’s really lucky.” Replied Duan Xin Ye in a weak voice.”I also want to be with the one I love and stay with him. I want to watch the sunrise and the sunset everyday with him, I want to watch the water of the streams flow.”
Lin Feng was speechless. He obviously understood that the person she loved was him. All these portraits of him made her intentions clear.
“But I must say it clearly, for the one I love, I can abandon everything, it’s not a problem at all.” Said Duan Xin Ye in a low voice almost as if she was whispering to herself. Immediately after, she turned her head and looked at Lin Feng while smiling in a warm and gentle way.
Some people, If they missed an opportunity, had regrets their entire life. Since this was the current situation, why not seize any possibility and chance?
“Lin Feng, if I abandon my status as a princess, abandon my home, and the status as the first wife, would you accept me?”
Duan Xin Ye’s voice was soft, moving and touching. She had the majestic social status of a princess, she could get married with any extremely wealthy or powerful person and millions of people would fall to her beauty, but because of Lin Feng, she was willing to abandon everything, her social status, her home, and even the title of wife, because Lin Feng said that he would marry Meng Qing.
In other words, Duan Xin Ye was asking to become Lin Feng’s concubine.
Her love for him was so deep, how could he remain calm?
While looking at that beautiful smile, Lin Feng’s lips shook, he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what he wanted.
“If you don’t like me in that way, I can just stay by your side and become your servant, I would serve the both of you.” Continued Duan Xin Ye with the same magnificent smile on her face, it was extremely touching and moving.
Lin Feng’s lips shook but immediately after, he stretched his hands, put them around Duan Xin Ye’s shoulders and pulled her into his arms, he then embraced her and pulled her head into his chest.
With her beauty, elegance, gentle nature, with such a deep and pure love, Lin Feng couldn’t remain unaffected, it was impossible for him not to be moved, only a cold-blooded animal would remain unaffected by such a pure act of love. The problem was that in Lin Feng’s heart, there was only Meng Qing. A while ago, he had actually already secretly decided that he would marry Meng Qing. If he accepted Duan Xin Ye, what would he be able to give her?
He wouldn’t be able to give her anything but Lin Feng hadn’t thought that Duan Xin Ye wouldn’t ask for anything in return, she just wanted to be near him, even if she became a servant.
When Duan Xin Ye felt Lin Feng’s warm body, she smiled, she looked like a resplendent and magnificent flower. However, even though she was smiling, crystal clear tears started to flow down her cheeks. Love could be magnificent and wonderful, but it could also be subtle, silent and painful. | English | NL | 3e64032ed1a234c63865d4fac42a85d43d4151a913753d20362e8c2ae57f8507 |
by Grace Gems
A merchant was one day returning from market. He was on horseback, and his saddlebag was filled with money. The rain fell with violence, and the good old man was wet to his skin. At this he was vexed, and murmured because God had given him such bad weather for his journey.
He soon reached the borders of a thick forest. What was his terror on beholding on one side of the road a robber, with leveled gun, aiming at him, and attempting to shoot him! But the gunpowder being wet by the rain, the gun did not go off–and the merchant, giving spurs to his horse, fortunately had time to escape.
As soon as he found himself safe, he said to himself: “How wrong was I, not to endure the rain patiently, as sent by Divine Providence! If the weather had been dry and fair, I probably would not have been alive at this hour, and my little children would have expected my return in vain. The rain, which caused me to murmur, came at a fortunate moment to save my life and preserve my money!”
And thus it is with a multitude of our afflictions. By causing us slight and short sufferings–they preserve us from others far greater and of longer duration.
“We know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose!” Romans 8:28
by Grace Gems | English | NL | 2bb250ab922899302f52b8e6a61bbbf77891e4582348c75c9b21e8c8f908f8d7 |
The first born of the former King of Oren Pampo Perea and Lady Dawn Perea. He was a valiant warrior who would go out on many quests for the kingdom. On his last adventure he and his men encountered a force much greater than them, the forces slaughtered his men and left Rhonin with only the option of running away. Full of the feeling of grief he started a long walk of shame back toward Oren. He soon met a Mage who granted him one wish. Rhonin's wish was to get away from what just happened and have to time on his own…. The Mage then cast him in to the future. Doomed to walk the land of Asulon with no knowledge of where he was or what time he was in.
He wandered the land for years until one day he found himself at the Sanctuary of the Cloud Temple. Seeking advice he asked a monk what to do. The monk pointed him towards Salvus and told him he would find a home there.
When he arrived at Solace the first thing he took notice too was a bakery called Dawn's Bakery. Quickly he rushed to the nearest person who looked important, which happened to be an Orcish shaman… Rhonin inquired about who actually owned the shop. The shaman lead Rhonin to the keep, where Rhonin was reunited with his mother and was brought up to speed about what happened with Aegis and how his father and younger brother were killed.
It is not known if he escaped the destruction of Asulon. | English | NL | 6de76cbfe886d64464046d2f8107383a57b1d0bf11695fed70936eb6c2a8846f |
1Then Jacob went on in his journey, and came into the east country.
2And he saw a well in the field, and three flocks of sheep lying by it: for the beasts were watered out of it, and the mouth thereof was closed with a great stone.
3And the custom was, when all the sheep were gathered together, to roll away the stone, and after the sheep were watered, to put it on the mouth of the well again.
4And he said to the shepherds: Brethren, whence are you? They answered: Of Haran.
5And he asked them, saying: Know you Laban the son of Nachor? They said: We know him.
6He said: Is he in health? He is in health, say they: and behold Rachel his daughter cometh with his flock.
7And Jacob said: There is yet much day remaining, neither is it time to bring the flocks into the folds again. First give the sheep drink, and so lead them back to feed.
8They answered: We cannot, till all the cattle be gathered together, and we remove the stone from the well's mouth, that we may water the flocks.
9They were yet speaking, and behold Rachel came with her father's sheep: for she fed the flock.
10And when Jacob saw her, and knew her to be his cousin-german, and that they were the sheep of Laban, his uncle: he removed the stone wherewith the well was closed.
11And having watered the flock, he kissed her: and lifting up his voice, wept.
12And he told her that he was her father's brother, and the son of Rebecca. But she went in haste and told her father.
13Who, when he heard that Jacob his sister's son was come, ran forth to meet him; and embracing him, and heartily kissing him, brought him into his house. And when he had heard the causes of his journey,
14He answered: Thou art my bone and my flesh. And after the days of one month were expired,
15He said to him: Because thou art my brother, shalt thou serve me without wages? Tell me what wages thou wilt have.
16Now he had two daughters, the name of the elder was Lia: and the younger was called Rachel.
17But Lia was blear eyed: Rachel was well favoured, and of a beautiful countenance.
18And Jacob being in love with her said: I will serve thee seven years for Rachel thy younger daughter.
19Lahan answered: It is better that I give her to thee than to another man; stay with me.
20So Jacob served seven years for Rachel: and they seemed but a few days, because of the greatness of his love.
21And he said to Laban: Give me my wife; for now the time is fulfilled, that I may go in unto her.
22And he, having invited a great number of his friends to the feast, made the marriage.
23And at night he brought in Lia, his daughter, to him,
24Giving his daughter a handmaid, named Zalpha. Now when Jacob had gone in to her according to custom, when morning was come he saw it was Lia:
25And he said to his father-in-law: What is it that thou didst mean to do? did not I serve thee for Rachel? Why hast thou deceived me?
26Laban answered: It is not the custom in this plac, to give the younger in marriage first.
27Make up the week of days of this match: and I will give thee her also, for the service that thou shalt render me other seven years.
28He yielded to his pleasure: and after the week was past, he married Rachel.
29To whom her father gave Bala for her servant.
30And having at length obtained the marriage he wished for, he preferred the love of the latter before the former, and served with him other seven years.
31And the Lord seeing that he despised Lia, opened her womb, but her sister remained barren.
32And she conceived and bore a son, and called his name Ruben, saying: The Lord saw my affliction, now my husband will love me.
33And again she conceived and bore a son, and said: Because the Lord heard that I was despised, he hath given this also to me. And she called his name Simeon.
34And she conceived the third time, and bore another son: and said: Now also my husband will be joined to me, because I have borne him three sons. And therefore she called his name Levi.
35The fourth time she conceived and bore a son, and said: Now will I praise the Lord. And for this she called him Juda. And she left bearing. | English | NL | bb128721ce022dc4df32bd126f15e1efda622e1542ae45c90d9f5aa57c272271 |
Creative Writing by Delia Bazzurri
This is not a fairy tale like the others …..
Everything started as a normal visit but unexpectedly all became magical, at times fabulous
and at times terrifying.
She was walking in the park, nothing suggested that soon everything would change or that an enchanted portal (or, better, a sort of portal) would appear in front of her. No, it was a normal visit in a beautiful, floral park and she was enjoying it, like everyone else.
She was strolling along the blue lake when she heard a strange noise. At first, she thought it was a chick crying desperately in search of its mother, but then she entered the forest and the more she walked, the more she could hear that clamour. Like a call. She tried to think about other things but unexpectedly she heard the sound of an old wooden door. Yes, exactly that! The squeaking that it makes while opening. She shivered. So scary and creepy. Calmly she turned but there was nothing, absolutely nothing. Could it be just her imagination? No, it was almost impossible. And so, what was it? The wind howled in the trees, the weather was changing. She accelerated her pace and found herself in front of an old house dating back to the nineteenth century. It had clearly been abandoned for a long time, the windows were dirty and from the little that she could see, the inside was full of white and thick spiderwebs. There was nobody around but she heard a chant, or better, it seemed like a man singing but it was only two words, just two words. That, moreover, didn’t mean anything, maybe it was another call?
She was afraid, quickly she ran away because all that she wanted to do in that moment was to return to her home, as fast as possible. On her way back to the exit she found herself in a deserted garden with only one possible
direction. She went up the stairs and a “new world” appeared before her eyes. There were short palms and wood chips everywhere. The atmosphere seemed very warm, there was also a little river and a small bridge that crossed the creek. At the bottom of that magical place there was an amazing waterfall. It just seemed like a jungle! Unbelievable. She turned back to see the stairs, but they had vanished. What was happening there? She walked insecurely around the place, now there wasn’t a way to exit. What to do? In the blink of an eye she saw something moving on a tiny palm, she approached it gingerly, making no noise and watched it. Oh my God, there was a little gnome, with big brown eyes staring at her. She was shocked, in a good way, but shocked. How could it be possible? Who knows. The little man smiled at her and pointed at something far from them. She looked in that direction and turned back but the gnome just disappeared, so she decided to follow the indication of the fantastic creature and went near the waterfall. She discovered a hidden gateway just under the surface of water. She went on that byway and found herself in the most magical, enchanted, fantastic, mysterious world ever! Fairyland.
There were soft-edged rocks absorbed by the greener moss and the trees let themselves fall, creating a sort of dome on her. And it seemed like the coloured flowers wanted to greet her, caressing her face with their white leaves. And then the fairies arrived shyly, with their tiny bodies and red cheeks. They were so beautiful and magnificent with pastel colours and little designs on the wings.
Then a dazzling light came through the trees. She closed her eyes and when she opened them all of it had disappeared. All that she saw in that moment was the ceiling of her bedroom.
“Just a dream.” A grin formed on her lips. | English | NL | cee6d9f82956c936cc6cfcf358c2ad30c7d9a15c2ad44f66d775ad2419f11677 |
Decoding Alan Turing
Alan Turing was a brilliant mathematician, logician, and cryptographer. A Cambridge graduate who was fundamental to cracking the Nazi's Enigma Code during WWII, Turing created what is hailed by some as the first modern computer and was a legendary innovator in his field.
He was also gay, and fell victim to the intolerance and legal prosecution of his time, as homosexuality was considered an extreme mental illness and subject to criminal sanctions in the UK. Turing was pursued legally based on his sexual orientation, and eventually ruined professionally, exiled from his colleagues, and forced to undergo chemical castration in an attempt to “cure” him.
Posthumously, Turing is lauded; whether in the Academy-Award Winning film The Imitation Game or at universities around the world where there are programs and buildings in his name. And, since 1966, the Turing Award has been given each year by the Association for Computing Machinery, widely considered to be the computing world's equivalent to the Nobel Prize.
This short documentary features interviews with those who knew him, and those who have studied him, to examine the life of one of the most profound LGBTQ historical figures, and a man who changed the course of history for the entire world.
Reviews and Awards
“an excellent biographical documentary.”—Educational Media Reviews Online | English | NL | f8df3978211ff79fc22b41c3dbcd014f7d4c4c071195f14a7414fe392c25fa07 |
Kenneth Joseph Krieger, 94, of Marshalltown, IA, formerly of Mason City, IA, passed away peacefully on Sunday, July 21, 2019, at the Iowa Veterans Home in Marshalltown. A Celebration of Life Memorial Service with Military Honors will be 2:00 p.m., Tuesday, August 6, 2019, at the Iowa Veterans Home Chapel with Deacon Tom Renzy officiating. Following the service, an ice cream social will be held in honor of Ken's favorite nightly ritual. Inurnment will be in the Iowa Veterans Cemetery at Van Meter, IA, at a later date. Arrangements have been entrusted to Anderson Funeral Homes in Marshalltown. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be directed to the Iowa Veterans Home or to the Mason City Senior Center. Online condolences may be sent to www.andersonfhs.com.
Ken was born on December 29, 1924, to Charles and Pearl (Hyberger) Krieger in Cresco, IA. He grew up with two younger brothers, Dale and Gene, in Charles City, IA, where he graduated in 1942 from Immaculate Conception High School. After graduation, Ken enlisted in the United States Navy, where he served in World War II. Stationed in San Diego, California, he served primarily as a naval dental technician. He joked that San Diego ruined him for Iowa winters. Upon returning from the Navy, Ken studied accounting at Hamilton Business College in Mason City, earning his diploma in 1949 and his Certified Public Accounting certification in 1956. Ken worked as a CPA and resident manager for Frank J. Enbusk & Company at their newly-opened Decorah office, as a comptroller at Blue Ribbon Beef in Mason City, and as office manager for S&R Chevrolet in Mason City, where he worked until his retirement. Ken was an avid golfer, scoring not one, but three holes-in-one in his career. He later traded his golf clubs to return to the workforce, joining the Hy-Vee pharmacy team as a delivery driver. He re-retired in 2015 after 15 years of service, at the age of 90. In his second retirement, Ken often visited the Mason City Senior Center where he would have lunch multiple times a week. When he moved to the Iowa Veterans Home, he became a frequent BINGO player and a favorite among the nursing staff. In 2018, Ken was honored as a Quilt of Valor recipient, which moved him greatly. Ken married Imelda "Amy" Laubenthal of Algona, IA, on August 17, 1953. After briefly living in Decorah, IA, they returned to Mason City, where their daughter, Diane, was born. Ken adored his family and relished their visits. He was especially fond of his three great grandchildren, as was evident in the way he would light up when they were around.
Ken is survived by his wife, Amy Krieger of Mason City, IA; daughter Diane Leaman of Cambridge, IA; two granddaughters: Kelly Leaman of Ames, IA, and Mindy (Michael) Schlader of Waterloo, IA; three great grandchildren: Jackson (6), Addison (3), and Emersyn Schlader (1); and several nieces and nephews.
Ken will be remembered as a kind, gentle man who was usually quiet, but was known to have a sly twinkle in his eye and a witty response. He kept his good nature and sense of humor until the end. He will be greatly missed by all who knew him.
A GREAT tribute to a GREAT Veteran. I was amazed the GREAT life Ken lived.
Ken always thanked me for coming to visit him& always had a smile I was very happy to get to know him. He is pain free now & reunited with his loved ones. God Bless Ken.
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Healing Registry Unavailable at the Moment! | English | NL | 2e06d5cefbf3d5e2e302e0f7b87104a42f1319302f56ae858b6d616889624551 |
Lincoln Alexander, prominent attorney and politician, was born on January 21, 1922 in Toronto, Ontario, the son of West Indian immigrants. His mother was a maid, and his father a carpenter by training. In Canada, however, he had to work as a railway porter, which in those days was one of the few jobs available to a man of colour.
In 1942 Alexander joined the Royal Canadian Air Force and served in Europe during World War II. Following the war, he attended McMaster University in Hamilton, receiving a degree in History and Political Economics in 1949. Continuing his education, he graduated in 1953 with a law degree from Osgood Hall Law School in Toronto. Initially, employment proved difficult when many established law firms turned him away. In 1954 Alexander joined the first interracial law firm in Canada, Miller, Tokiwa and Isaacs in Hamilton. In 1962 he became a partner in the firm and three years later was appointed Queen’s Counsel.
Alexander began his political career in 1968, when he was elected Canada’s first black Member of Parliament. He represented Hamilton West in the national assembly. As the first black person in Parliament, Alexander attracted much publicity. While he did not concentrate on civil rights issues, Alexander nonetheless became nationally admired, particularly by Canadian blacks. While in Parliament, Lincoln Alexander focused on immigration reform, relief for Biafra in the Nigerian Civil War, and urban renewal. He also supported the Official Languages Bill.
Alexander was re-elected in four federal elections, and served in the House of Commons for nearly twelve years. In 1979 when the newly elected Progressive Conservative government gained power, Alexander was appointed Minister of Labour and thus the first black cabinet minister in Canada’s history. Alexander held the post for nine months until the Progressive Conservatives were swept from power in the winter of 1980. Later that same year Alexander resigned his Commons seat to accept an appointment from Prime Minister Joe Clark | English | NL | 4277c858294a2dd8780749c8e43e1b169dab5aea27f9bd31947c1db6398acfaa |
Finn Dam Rasmussen
Click on a thumbnail for a larger image or click here for a detailed view of Finn's work
Finn Dam Rasmussen was born and raised in Copenhagen, Denmark. After finishing school he studied ceramics between 1967-72. He was a professional ceramicist with his own studio and gallery situated on the island of Fyn. During this time he collaborated, trained and exhibited with other ceramists as a member of ‘Dansk Kunsthåndværk’.
In 1978 Finn graduated from Odense University with a degree in Sociology and taught and researched at the University of Roskilde for a number of years. He then decided to open Klassik in 1991, a gallery dedicated to Danish vintage furniture and arts and crafts. Throughout his teaching years he always held an interest in ceramics and maintained his practice and studio.
Finn produces contemporary vessels and forms, which are inspired by modern abstract sculpture. Most of his works are painted with vitreous slips, which he adds in several layers to give the unique surface and colour variations. The surfaces he creates are a result of many years of experimenting with engobes and glazes. He often uses salt glazing to enhance the tactile qualities and subtle variations in his work.
Since returning professionally to ceramics in 2007, he works in his studio located in Tisvildeleje where he lives. Since then he has had both solo and group exhibitions in various galleries and fairs in Denmark and abroad including Ceramic Art London. He is a proud member of the ’Danish Crafts & Design Association”. | English | NL | b18ffeda80a0505718c9c900807a73bd5f328841c0545b3ab5a0a6f6f2df13c7 |
The Dark King – Chapter 348
The sixth day.
“Master there is a letter from the wall. I was told to give it to you as soon as possible.” Gwyneth’s had come back to the subway and handed out an envelope to Dudian.
Dudian took the letter form the envelope and calmly read it. As he finished he ignited a match and burned it into the ashes “Cut open the remaining materials and hid in a place near the passage. We will build a base. Sergei you will be responsible for this task. Do I need to elaborate on location and structure of the base?”
“Of course, not.”
Gwyneth said: “Master, Neuss said that it was an urgent message. IS there something wrong?” ‘Neuss’ was Jin’s original name.
Dudian faintly smiled: “It’s a good news. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good news?” There was doubt in Gwyneth’s eyes. She saw Neuss’s anxiety and it didn’t look like a good news to her. It seems that situation was extremely serious. Did Dudian intends to hide the news from both of them? But as she looked at teenager’s relaxed expression it didn’t seem that he was deliberately trying to disguise anything. Many ideas flashed past her mind but her face was calm without any emotions. She asked: “Master, do I need to reply?”
“No.” Dudian answered: “For the time being don’t enter the wall.”
Gwyneth replied: “Yes.”
Sergei looked at Dudian but didn’t make a sound.
Dudian left the subway in hurry as he moved towards the splitter’s nest. He fed the seven young splitter and found a flat and dry place to sit down. As he leaned against the wall he he reached into the backpack and took out a huge cold crystal. It was shiny and much purer in comparison to normal cold crystals.
He bit his left hand and grabbed the cold crystal.
The crystal began to melt and mix with his blood. It was as if the mucus had consciousness of its own as it drilled into his body through the wound on his finger. It turned into a blue line as he spread into his body along his arm. The coldness spread into his organs.
In few moments the cold feeling quickly passed through every part of his body.
The cold feeling faded away as the energy of the cold crystal diluted within his body. Dudian felt surge of vitality burst out through his body. His eyes seemed more bright.
“It is improving my constitution.” Dudian looked at his left arm: “It’s just I can’t absorb much or my left hand will freeze again. It should adapt if I continue to absorb one a day.”
He looked at the seven young splitters. There rich energy within the flesh and blood of the adult splitter had nurtured these young splitters and made them grow fast. Originally they would need about two months to grow up to ten meters but right now it took only few days for them to reach eight or nine meters. He believed that after a few days they will enter the growth period and they will give birth to parasitic worms.
“The longer they get the better it is…”
Dudian’s mouth curled up.
Dudian’s castle. Commercial district.
“Mr Neuss, did you send the letter?” Old Fulin looked at Neuss.
Sander, Jake and others eyes fell onto Neuss. He answered: “Old patriarch I have sent the letter and I believe soon the young master will get it. If he saw the letter then he will be back as soon as possible.”
Old Fulin, Sander, Jake and others were relieved as they heard this.
“I wish he could get back as soon as possible.” Old Fulin sighed.
Neuss said: “I have sent people to wait at the exit of the passage. If there is anything new then they will immediately report back.”
“It’s been hard on you.” Old Fulin nodded slightly.
A brown haired boy who saw standing in the hall checked the clock hanging on the wall. He looked at Old Fulin and others: “Patriarch, we will be having a guest. Is it possible…”
Old Fulin looked at the teenager: “Guest?”
“Young master’s guest.” Teenager nodded.
Old Fulin turned around and looked at Sander and others: “Go upstairs and sit quietly.”
“Yes.” Sander got up and took the lead.
Everyone followed him in silence. The Ryan family had suffered a disaster and the whole family had turned into a frosted eggplants. There was not a trace of anger in them.
The teenager looked at servants: “Get ready to meet the guests.”
It didn’t take long before a carriage came to stop in front of the castle. An extravagant woman got off the carriage. The teenager and Neuss greeted her at the door: “I’ve heard that Mr Dean is free today. I’ve come to talk about ‘lightning rod’.”
The teenager replied: “Hello Miss Rossie. I’m Mr Dean’s butler Kroen. This is the captain of our knight team Neuss. Please come into the castle.”
Rosie nodded as she went into the hall. She saw Old Fulin sitting in the hall. There was a trace of smile on her face: “I didn’t expect to meet the chairman of New World consortium in here. I haven’t prepared any gifts, please forgive me.”
Old Fulin laughed but he was surprised. He didn’t expect that messenger of Scott consortium would be Dudian’s guest. He hasn’t come back yet so how they will talk about the contract? He couldn’t help but glance at Kroen. He had nurtured him carefully but it seems that right now it was very difficult to see through him.
Kroen asked Rosie to sit down as he ordered the maid to bring tea: “Miss Rosie, today our young master is working on a new invention. He had already printed the contract and given it to me regarding the sales of rights of ‘lightning rod’. Please look over. If there is no problem then you can sign it now.”
Rosie was slightly started. According to the information from their intelligence network she naturally was aware of recent happenings. She was aware that the genius architect was outside the giant wall so she had come here in full doubts today. But it seems that the other side had left a contract. She looked through the contract after Kroen handed it to her.
In addition to the basic terms there were several specific conditions in the contract. Although some of them were petty but she felt that it was acceptable. After all it was an important civil invention and the market was huge.
Rosie raised her head and looked at Kroen: “There is no problem with the contract. We agree to it. However I didn’t think that Mr Dean is so bold to let his butler to finish the contract. It seems he trusts you a lot.”
Kroen smiled: “Miss Rosie is polite. Young master have always trusted us. If you think that there is no problem with the contract then please sign it.”
Rosie pulled out pen and quickly signed the contract. She smiled as she looked at Kroen: “It seems Mr Dean is working on a new invention. How long will it take for it to be ready? Our Scott consortium has cooperated with Mr Dean quite a few times so tell him on our behalf that we are willing to give the price of superior grade four star item as an offer. If architect Dean estimates the price to be less then we are ready for further discussion. Thanks you.” | English | NL | 534cb363230c56b71afb066726513b4c86360e0b0f004cbed45e4f809c03c860 |
J. C. W. BECKHAM was born in Bardstown, Kentucky on August 5, 1865. His education was attained at the Roseland Academy, at Central University, and at the University of Kentucky, where he earned a law degree in 1889. After establishing a legal practice in Bardstown, Beckham entered into a political career. He served as a member of the Kentucky House of Representatives from 1894 to 1898, was speaker of the house in 1898, and was elected lieutenant governor of Kentucky in 1899. On February 3, 1900, Governor William Goebel passed away, and Beckham, who was lieutenant governor at the time, assumed the duties of the governorship. On November 6, 1900, Beckham won a special election that was held to fill Goebel’s unexpired term. He was reelected to a second term in 1903. During his tenure, a uniform textbook law was sanctioned, two normal schools were established, a women’s and child labor law and an improved pure food law were enacted. Also, funding was secured for the new state capitol, the public deficit was reduced, and the state railroad commission was granted additional power. After leaving office on December 10, 1907, Beckham continued to stay active in public service. He served as a delegate to the Democratic National Conventions from 1900 to 1920, and was a member of the U.S. Senate from 1915 to 1921. In 1936, he served on the Public Service Commission, as well as on the Department of Business Regulations Commission and on the State Government Reorganization Commission, of which he was chairman. Governor J.C.W. Beckham passed away on January 9, 1940, and was buried at the Frankfort Cemetery in Frankfort, Kentucky.
Biographical Directory of the U.S Congress
Governors' Papers, Kentucky Department for Libraries & Archives, Public Records Division
The Political Graveyard
Sobel, Robert, and John Raimo, eds. Biographical Directory of the Governors of the United States, 1789-1978, Vol. 2, Westport, Conn.; Meckler Books, 1978. 4 vols. | English | NL | 7ebc61e7995775ff417a0cb9dd5f6b70e9a6128154c92124b625587bafeb0280 |
When Sharon Olds' 32-year marriage ended in the late 1990s, the poet dealt with the loss the best way she knew how: by sitting down with a ballpoint and spiral notebook and chronicling her heartbreak and healing in poetry.
More than a decade later, after her children had grown, Olds published the poems in Stag's Leap, a collection which won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry on Monday. The Pulitzer Board called Stag's Leap, a “book of unflinching poems on the author's divorce that examine love, sorrow, and the limits of self-knowledge."
In an interview with The Huffington Post, the 70-year-old said the news left her clutching her phone and struggling to make sense of what she had just heard.
"I was out on the porch, holding the phone, and in some way the words I heard didn't make sense to me, and the light in the yard got both brighter and a little cloudy," Olds said via e-mail. "I think I was in shock. It was beyond unexpected. There are things we think won't happen to us -- that are outside our picture of ourselves."
Considered to be one of America's greatest living poets, Olds has spent more than 30 years writing confessional poetry about sex and love, childbirth and death. Was writing about her divorce any different -- more painful, perhaps -- than her prior works?
"I think not writing is a lot more painful than writing," said Olds, who published 11 poetry collections prior to Stag's Leap. "Working -- though it's really a kind of playing -- to make something that can stand on its own, a small song, that's fun."
In her prizewinning book, Olds grapples with the small and large struggles of divorce -- from steeling yourself before sitting the kids down on the couch to break the news, to silently waiting for an acknowledgement of your suffering from your ex.
Throughout it all, Olds regards her ex with sympathy, as in the title poem, where she writes, "When anyone escapes, my heart / leaps up. Even when it's I who am escaped from, / I am half on the side of the leaver."
Though some readers have suggested that the poems are too soft on the figure of the husband -- that there's not enough judgment or anger -- Olds herself is content with the balance she struck.
"I had to tune each poem, and tune the book, to get the balance of its qualities feeling right to me -- the idealizing, the anger, the self-pity," she said. "I didn't have ideas I wanted to illustrate; I hoped each poem could find its own way from its beginning to end -- that I could 'stay out of its way.' I guess I'm pretty happy with the balance of the book ... But of course it's going to be a different book in each reader's hands!" | English | NL | 681a82dd29ff8c1a372da5cd1d87ff77307fd719452baf2c0882d3efbfb22419 |
Herodian (late second, first half third century): Greek historian, author of a History of the Roman Empire since the Death of Marcus Aurelius in which he describes the reign of Commodus (180-192), the Year of the Five Emperors (193), the age of the Severan dynasty (211-235), and the Year of the Six Emperors (238).
The translation was made by Edward C. Echols (Herodian of Antioch's History of the Roman Empire, 1961 Berkeley and Los Angeles) and was put online for the first time by Roger Pearse (Tertullian.Org). The version offered on these pages is hyperlinked and contains notes by Jona Lendering.
Severus in Asia Minor
[3.2.1] [January 194] Severus, in the meantime, pressed on with his army at top speed, halting for neither rest nor refreshment. Having learned that Byzantium, which he knew was defended by the strongest of city walls, had been occupied by Niger, Severus ordered his army to march to Cyzicus.
[3.2.2] The governor of Asia at that time was the general Aemilianus, to whom Niger had entrusted the military preparations in that province. When he learned that the army of Severus was approaching, Aemilianus marched toward Cyzicus at the head of his entire army, which included both the troops he had enrolled himself and those sent to him by Niger. When the two armies met, savage battles were fought in those regions; the army of Severus conquered, and the soldiers of Niger, put to flight, were routed and slaughtered. Thus the hopes of the East were shattered, while the hopes of the Illyrians soared.
[3.2.3] There are those who say that Niger's cause, immediately betrayed by Aemilianus, was doomed from the start, and they cite two reasons for that general's action. Some say that the governor plotted against Niger because he was jealous and angry that his successor as governor of Syria was about to become his superior as emperor and tyrant. Others, however, say that he was forced to betray Niger by his own children, who urgently begged him to do so in order to insure their own safety; for Severus, finding Aemilianus' children at Rome, had seized them and was holding them under guard. Nor was he the first to make use of this extremely foresighted stratagem.
[3.2.4] It was Commodus' practice to keep in custody the children of the governors of the provinces in order to have pledges of their loyalty and good will. Severus, familiar with this practice, when he was made emperor and Julianus was still alive, grew anxious about his children. Sending for them in secret, he had them brought to him from Rome to prevent their falling into the hands of someone else.
[3.2.5] When he came to Rome, Severus gathered up the children of the governors and those who occupied positions of importance in the East and all Asia and held them in custody; these children he kept so that the governors might be led to betray Niger in fear for the safety of their children, or, if they continued to favor his cause, envisaging the agony they would suffer if their children were killed, they might do something to protect them.
[3.2.6] After the defeat at Cyzicus, the troops of Niger scattered far and wide; some fled into the mountains of Armenia, others into Galatia and Asia, hoping to reach the Taurus Mountains before the soldiers of Severus and take refuge behind the fortifications there. Meanwhile the army of Severus pressed on, passing through Cyzicus and advancing into neighboring Bithynia.
[3.2.7] When the report of Severus' victory was made public, dissension immediately arose in the cities of all those provinces, not so much because of affection or good will toward the warring emperors but from mutual jealousy, envy, and hatred, together with indignation over the slaughter of their fellow citizens.
[3.2.8] This is an ancient failing of the Greeks; the constant organizing of factions against each other and their eagerness to bring about the downfall of those who seem superior to them have ruined Greece. Their ancient quarrels and internal feuds had made them easy prey to the Macedonians and slaves to the Romans, and this curse of jealousy and envy has been handed down to the flourishing Greek cities of our own day.
[3.2.9] Immediately after these events in Cyzicus, the Nicomedians in Bithynia announced their support of Severus; they sent envoys to him, welcomed his army, and promised to supply all his needs. The Nicaeans, on the other hand, because they hated the Nicomedians, welcomed the army of Niger, both the fugitives who came to them and the troops sent by Niger to defend Bithynia.
[3.2.10] Then the soldiers on each side rushed forth from the two cities as if from regular army camps and crashed together; after a savage struggle, the supporters of Severus won a decisive victory. The adherents of Niger who survived the battle fled from those regions and poured into the Taurus Mountains, where they blocked the passes and held the fortifications under guard. But Niger, leaving a force which he considered adequate for the defense of these barricades, hurried off to Antioch to collect troops and money. | English | NL | 3b0eda9f1c1607e566274b8d6afa72999101aeb4e19d41d0e935fe42485dc9d1 |
Good story full of trusting God when times are tough.
Daniel Weaver, a grandson of Ellie Eash, is happily married to the woman of his dreams. Life goes well for them for a few years, and then the hard times hit. During this period, Daniel's wife suddenly disappears. With five young children to care for, a job in town, a farm to tend, and the whole world looking down on him, Daniel can only pray that God's will might be done.
Daniel tries to understand his parents' disapproval of his choice of wife (she's too "fancy", is an adopted child with little background, etc), but disagrees with them. When Hildie goes missing, Daniel's mother is unfortunately the most critical. However, his parents do as much as they can to help.
Daniel and Hildie are hard workers. Daniel does everything he can to provide for his family, especially in the hard times.
One woman tells a child to lie; later, she spreads a lie of her own, leading to unfounded suspicions about Daniel and Hildie's marriage. Over time, people in the church shun and eventually excommunicates him temporarily.
Daniel, his family, and his friends are Amish. They all have a great faith in God and Daniel depends heavily on Him. Daniel hates hearing blasphemy. He is submissive and firm in his beliefs. He also teaches his children lessons such as not judging others too harshly, forgiving, and so on. His excommunication is due to his "going against" the Order of the church.
Daniel's oldest daughter is slapped across the mouth by a woman who spoke badly of Hildie. Daniel's sons have a fight. His oldest son challenges a couple boys for making fun of his grandpa. Daniel's arm catches in some machinery and he suffers a couple broken and cracked bones as well as cuts and bruises. Two of his daughters fight, resulting in the younger one falling onto and being burned by the stove. Blows are exchanged between a couple men (these are heard, not seen). Another character is roughly treated.
Drug and Alcohol Content
A girl who helps Daniel's family reveals that her mom worked at a bar and her dad drank a lot. Daniel swerves his bike away from a drunk driver. One of Daniel's coworkers not only drinks, but makes moonshine and chews tobacco. He and his kids come across three men in the wood, all of whom had been drinking. Someone discovers a moonshine still.
Crude or Profane Language or Content
None except for unknown curses.
I personally enjoyed this story more than its predecessors. It takes a small portion of a man's life and draws a fully-developed story from it. There's a small hint of mystery as Daniel struggles to understand what has happened to his wife. The story allows you to empathize with him and his children as they cope with their trials and come out fulfilled.
Note: Readers, or the parents of readers, should probably research the doctrines of the Amish while reading this series to be clear on what they teach. | English | NL | c6b11853bd556c6b400e48617393379e818b09c6a76e37a763d8ed450a2d3fd1 |
We welcome the fifth of this season’s visitors from Yorkshire as Leeds United arrive at Deepdale for the 25th time for a league match, making this our 50th meeting in all in the competition.
Leeds have been infrequent visitors, with those 24 previous meetings spread over more than 90 years since they first turned up here in 1925.
There is some symmetry in their record, as the most recent game here repeated the scoreline in that first game, both resulting in 4-1 defeats for North End. Fortunately, we have had much the better of the contests in between those two heavy defeats, with 13 wins and five draws outweighing the additional four victories our guests have claimed.
There was a 40 year gap in games between our clubs here from 1964 until 2004 and it was to be another two years before we finally claimed all the points for the first time in 42 years.
We have twice scored five goals in a match in this fixture, winning by 5-1 in 1927 and 5-0 in 1936, whilst we have also triumphed by 4-1 in 1962 and 2006. With an aggregate of 77 goals and only one goalless draw, the odds on neither team scoring today must be pretty long.
United are not the only side from the city – or indeed Elland Road – that we have met in league action. United formed in 1919 after the Football League forced Leeds City to disband after making illegal payments to players during the First World War. Leeds City joined the league in 1905 and faced North End twice at Deepdale, both of which we won. After City were forced out of business, United took their place in the league and also moved into City’s former Elland Road ground.
Numerous players have played for both clubs, with several members of our successful side of the early 2000s making the move east, in David Healy, Richard Cresswell and Eddie Lewis and they were subsequently joined by Sean Gregan and Andy Lonergan.
Neil Kilkenny and Jermaine Beckford numbered Leeds amongst their former clubs and going further back in time, Frank Worthington and Clive Clark wore both versions of our clubs’ white shirts. Of our current squad, Paul Huntington spent two years at Elland Road after leaving Newcastle United, during which time he made 32 appearances and scored three goals.
On This Date
Our regular left back in the late 1960 and early 1970s, John Ritchie, was born on this date in 1944. From Ashington in Northumberland, which was also the birthplace of the Charlton brothers and the Milburn footballing family, John joined us from Port Vale in 1967 and was a fixture of the side for the next five years, despite suffering regular knee injuries that saw all four cartilages removed.
Described at all three of his league clubs as ‘hard and uncompromising’, he also managed to score from over forty yards for both Port Vale and North End, his example for North End coming in a 3-0 win over Watford in August 1969. He left for Bradford City in 1972 and died in 2012, having worked as a prison officer after ending his playing career.
Scottish winger Kevin Magee, who spent 18 months at Deepdale in the 1990s, has his 47th birthday today.
Adam Barton made his North End debut on this date in 2010 as a promising midfielder. He made 58 appearances for us before moving to Coventry but his career here was interrupted by a bad leg break in 2012. He subsequently played for Fleetwood and Portsmouth and is one of several former North Enders playing in Scotland, Adam being on the books of Partick Thistle.
We have played 17 previous home games on this date, losing only once whilst winning ten and drawing six.
Notable matches include 4-0 wins over Wolves (1893), Gillingham (1976) and Mansfield (1990). We also overcame West Bromwich Albion by 4-1 on this date in 1937 to reach that season’s FA Cup Final.
Frank Becton scored his fourth hat-trick of the season in the 1893 win over Wolves, whilst Steve Harper recorded his only treble for the club as we overcame Mansfield in the 1990 fixture.
Last Five Games At Deepdale
Preston North End 1 (Vermijl) Leeds United 4 (Roofe, Sacko, Doukara, Hernandez), 26th December 2016
Preston North End 1 (Hugill) Leeds United 1 (Wood (pen)), 7th May 2016
Preston North End 1 (Hume) Leeds United 2 (Kilkenny, Paynter), 8th March 2011
Preston North End 4 (Dichio, Pugh, Nugent, Neal) Leeds United 1 (Healy), 31st October 2006
Preston North End 0 Leeds United 2 (Hulse, Richardson), 8th May 2006 | English | NL | f1c40088b1ed8d366ed8c3bd0c53d604037b534f32145ad3586f15a45de1bf7a |
- زمان مطالعه 13 دقیقه
- سطح متوسط
دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»
این فصل را میتوانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید
متن انگلیسی فصل
It was January in northern New York State, sixty-seven years ago. Snow lay deep everywhere. It loaded the bare limbs of oaks and maples and beeches, it bent the green boughs of cedars and spruces down into the drifts. Billows of snow covered the fields and the stone fences.
Down a long road through the woods a little boy trudged to school, with his big brother Royal and his two sisters, Eliza Jane and Alice. Royal was thirteen years old, Eliza Jane was twelve, and Alice was ten. Almanzo was the youngest of all, and this was his first going-to-school, because he was not quite nine years old.
He had to walk fast to keep up with the others, and he had to carry the dinner-pail.
“Royal ought to carry it,” he said. “He’s bigger than I be.”
Royal strode ahead, big and manly in boots, and Eliza Jane said:
“No, ‘Manzo. It’s your turn to carry it now, because you’re the littlest.”
Eliza Jane was bossy. She always knew what was best to do, and she made Almanzo and Alice do it.
Almanzo hurried behind Royal, and Alice hurried behind Eliza Jane, in the deep paths made by bobsied runners. On each side the soft snow was piled high. The road went down a long slope, then it crossed a little bridge and went on for a mile through the frozen woods to the schoolhouse.
The cold nipped Almanzo’s eyelids and numbed his nose, but inside his good woolen clothes he was warm. They were all made from the wool of his father’s sheep. His underwear was creamy white, but Mother had dyed the wool for his outside clothes.
Butternut hulls had dyed the thread for his coat and his long trousers. Then Mother had woven it, and she had soaked and shrunk the cloth into heavy, thick fullcloth. Not wind nor cold nor even a drenching rain could go through the good fullcloth that Mother made.
For Almanzo’s waist she had dyed fine wool as red as a cherry, and she had woven a soft, thin cloth. It was light and warm and beautifully red.
Almanzo’s long brown pants buttoned to his red waist with a row of bright brass buttons, all around his middle. The waist’s collar buttoned snugly up to his chin, and so did his long coat of brown fullcloth. Mother had made his cap of the same brown fullcloth, with cozy ear-flaps that tied under his chin. And his red mittens were on a string that went up the sleeves of his coat and across the back of his neck. That was so he couldn’t lose them.
He wore one pair of socks pulled snug over the legs of his underdrawers, and another pair outside the legs of his long brown pants, and he wore moccasins. They were exactly like the moccasins that Indians wore.
Girls tied heavy veils over their faces when they went out in winter. But Almanzo was a boy, and his face was out in the frosty air. His cheeks were red as apples and his nose was redder than a cherry, and after he had walked a mile and a half he was glad to see the schoolhouse.
It stood lonely in the frozen woods, at the foot of Hardscrabble Hill. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and the teacher had shoveled a path through the snowdrifts to the door. Five big boys were scuffling in the deep snow by the path.
Almanzo was frightened when he saw them.
Royal pretended not to be afraid, but he was.
They were the big boys from Hardscrabble Settlement, and everybody was afraid of them.
They smashed little boys’ sleds, for fun.
They’d catch a little boy and swing him by his legs, then let him go headfirst into the deep snow.
Sometimes they made two little boys fight each other, though the little boys didn’t want to fight and begged to be let off.
These big boys were sixteen or seventeen years old and they came to school only in the middle of the winter term. They came to thrash the teacher and break up the school. They boasted that no teacher could finish the winter term in that school, and no teacher ever had.
This year the teacher was a slim, pale young man. His name was Mr. Corse. He was gentle and patient, and never whipped little boys because they forgot how to spell a word. Almanzo felt sick inside when he thought how the big boys would beat Mr. Corse. Mr. Corse wasn’t big enough to fight them.
There was a hush in the schoolhouse and you could hear the noise the big boys were making outside. The other pupils stood whispering together by the big stove in the middle of the room.
Mr. Corse sat at his desk. One thin cheek rested on his slim hand and he was reading a book. He looked up and said pleasantly:
Royal and Eliza Jane and Alice answered him politely, but Almanzo did not say anything. He stood by the desk, looking at Mr. Corse. Mr.
Corse smiled at him and said:
“Do you know I’m going home with you tonight?” Almanzo was too troubled to answer.
“Yes,” Mr. Corse said. “It’s your father’s turn.”
Every family in the district boarded the teacher for two weeks. He went from farm to farm till he had stayed two weeks at each one. Then he closed school for that term.
When he said this, Mr. Corse rapped on his desk with his ruler; it was time for school to begin. All the boys and girls went to their seats. T h e girls sat on the left side of the room and boys sat on the right side, with the big stove and wood-box in the middle between them. The big ones sat in the back seats, the middle-sized ones in the middle seats, and the little ones in the front seats. All the seats were the same size. The big boys could hardly get their knees under their desks, and the little boys couldn’t rest their feet on the floor.
Almanzo and Miles Lewis were the primer class, so they sat on the very front seat and they had no desk. They had to hold their primers in their hands.
Then Mr. Corse went to the window and tapped on it. The big boys clattered into the entry, jeering and loudly laughing. They burst the door open with a big noise and swaggered in. Big Bill Ritchie was their leader. He was almost as big as Almanzo’s father; his fists were as big as Almanzo’s father’s fists. He stamped the snow from his feet and noisily tramped to a back seat. T h e four other boys made all the noise they could, too.
Mr. Corse did not say anything.
No whispering was permitted in school, and no fidgeting. Everyone must be perfectly still and keep his eyes fixed on his lesson. Almanzo and Miles held up their primers and tried not to swing their legs. Their legs grew so tired that they ached, dangling from the edge of the seat. Sometimes one leg would kick suddenly, before Almanzo could stop it. Then he tried to pretend that nothing happened, but he could feel Mr.
Corse looking at him.
In the back seats the big boys whispered and scuffled and slammed their books. Mr. Corse said sternly:
“A little less disturbance, please.”
For a minute they were quiet, then they began again. They wanted Mr. Corse to try to punish them. When he did, all five of them would jump on him.
At last the primer class was called, and Almanzo could slide off the seat and walk with Miles to the teacher’s desk. Mr. Corse took Almanzo’s primer and gave them words to spell.
When Royal had been in the primer class, he had often come home at night with his hand stiff and swollen. T h e teacher had beaten the palm with a ruler because Royal did not know his lesson. Then Father said: “If the teacher has to thrash you again, Royal, I’ll give you a thrashing you’ll remember.”
But Mr. Corse never beat a little boy’s hand with his ruler. When Almanzo could not spell a word, Mr. Corse said: “Stay in at recess and learn it.”
At recess the girls were let out first. They put on their hoods and cloaks and quietly went outdoors. After fifteen minutes, Mr. Corse rapped on the window and they came in, hung their wraps in the entry, and took their books again. Then the boys could go out for fifteen minutes.
They rushed out shouting into the cold. The first out began snowballing the others. All that had sleds scrambled up Hardscrabble Hill; they flung themselves, stomach-down, on the sleds and swooped down the long, steep slope. They upset into the snow; they ran and wrestled and threw snowballs and washed one another’s faces with snow, and all the time they yelled as loud as they could.
When Almanzo had to stay in his seat at recess, he was ashamed because he was kept in with the girls.
At noontime everyone was allowed to move about the schoolroom and talk quietly. Eliza Jane opened the dinner-pail on her desk. It held bread-and-butter and sausage, doughnuts and apples, and four delicious apple-turnovers, their plump crusts filled with melting slices of apple and spicy brown juice.
After Almanzo had eaten every crumb of his turnover and licked his fingers, he took a drink of water from the pail with a dipper in it, on a bench in the corner. Then he put on his cap and coat and mittens and went out to play.
The sun was shining almost overhead. All the snow was a dazzle of sparkles, and the wood-haulers were coming down Hardscrabble Hill.
High on the bobsleds piled with logs, the men cracked their whips and shouted to their horses, and the horses shook jingles from their string of bells.
All the boys ran shouting to fasten their sleds to the bobsleds’ runners, and boys who had not brought their sleds climbed up and rode on the loads of wood.
They went merrily past the schoolhouse and down the road. Snowballs were flying thick. Up on the loads the boys wrestled, pushing each other off into the deep drifts. Almanzo and Miles rode shouting on Miles’ sled.
It did not seem a minute since they left the schoolhouse. But it took much longer to go back.
First they walked, then they trotted, then they ran, panting. They were afraid they’d be late.
Then they knew they were late. Mr. Corse would whip them all.
The schoolhouse stood silent. They did not want to go in, but they had to. They stole in quietly. Mr. Corse sat at his desk and all the girls were in their places, pretending to study. On the boys’ side of the room, every seat was empty.
Almanzo crept to his seat in the dreadful silence. He held up his primer and tried not to breathe so loud. Mr. Corse did not say anything.
Bill Ritchie and the other big boys didn’t care.
They made all the noise they could, going to their seats. Mr. Corse waited until they were quiet.
Then he said:
“I will overlook your tardiness this one time.
But do not let it happen again.”
Everybody knew the big boys would be tardy again. Mr. Corse could not punish them because they could thrash him, and that was what they meant to do.
مشارکت کنندگان در این صفحه
تا کنون فردی در بازسازی این صفحه مشارکت نداشته است.
🖊 شما نیز میتوانید برای مشارکت در ترجمهی این صفحه یا اصلاح متن انگلیسی، به این لینک مراجعه بفرمایید. | English | NL | 109c58bce8831a459e3c2c53f5409dc90798d3e3909c1ae50c0a4477a90a9963 |
~Background- Her real family hated her. They were her parents, Jantren and Neild,
her older sister (from another litter) Lessa, and in her litter, from oldest for youngest
were Xentos, Zizztsa, Kata, Istar (who looks identical to Kata) Aztec, who was the
only male of the litter. From the start, everyone hated Kata, except for Aztec. To
make a very long story short, someone killed Aztec, everyone thought it was Kata
(which isnt true) they hated her even more, and abandoned her. Maca found her,
taught her everything, blah blah blah. Exotica, Rumpleteazer and Griddlebone looked
after her as well. Everything was okay for a while, she had a father, and few brothers
and sister, and a best friend, Raza. Then her father died, her closest brother Cazity
died, and then her best friend, Raza died. Kata hated life from then on, and got a lair
near the Jellicles, swearing shell carry on her fathers aim in life. So far, no luck, since
she cant be bothered to do anything. Shes looking after two kittens she found,
Satine, and Raza, named after her best friend, and a cool chick she saw in a movie.
She doesnt have a mate cause she doesnt like lovey dovey stuff, and keeps to herself,
not wanting to look powerless. | English | NL | 522272c681b3bc0e576d9b28303c2676294e6a096064084b07201fc9b89eb2bf |
Church: A New Family
Scripture Reading — Ruth 1:6-18
Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. — Ruth 1:16
In our story for today, Ruth, who married into Naomi’s family, pledges to remain with Naomi and to join with her people and worship God. At the end of the book of Ruth, we find Naomi with a grandchild, born to Ruth and a kinsman-redeemer named Boaz, who has married the widow Ruth and taken her mother-in-law Naomi into his household (Ruth 4). Hope is restored to this family through God’s provision of extended family members who show his love to one another.
I experienced something like that in a church full of transplants. People from many places became a large extended family to one another. I especially remember a woman named Carol who had no grandchildren but became a grandmother to my own children.
One purpose of the church is to reshape our understanding of family. Being part of a church family means including people who are not related by blood—except for the blood of Jesus.
The early church quickly became a community in which people relied on one another and even called each other brothers and sisters.
One of the ongoing challenges of being a church family is to understand that our relationships are to be shaped by our relationship with God. God is making us into a family.
Father God, help us, your children, to have church families in which we love each other as brothers and sisters in faith. Forgive us when we do not act that way. In the name of our Brother, Jesus, Amen. | English | NL | 3e38085a5fcfc648e62a40365e72e9a3ed420f145253f8c961f634643bf7042b |
Fay Wray Stock Photos & Fay Wray Stock Images - Alamy
Cary Grant (born Archibald Alexander Leach; January 18, – November 29, ) was a British-American actor, known as one of classic Hollywood's. Fay Wray. Canadian-American actress. Alternative Title: Vina Fay Wray dates. August 8 · September Fay Wray, Canadian-born actress (born Sept. Fay Wray, who has died aged 96, played opposite some of the most attractive male stars of the golden era: Gary Cooper, Ronald Colman, Joel.
She retired from acting in after her second marriage but due to financial exigencies soon resumed her acting career, and over the next three decades, Wray appeared in several films and also frequently on television.
Paul Hartman played her husband, Albie Morrison. Inshe played Mrs. She ended her acting career in the made-for-television film Gideon's Trumpet. Wray holding her autobiography Inshe published her autobiography, On the Other Hand. She was a special guest at the 70th Academy Awardswhere the show's host, Billy Crystalintroduced her as the "Beauty who charmed the Beast".
Who is Fay Wray dating? Fay Wray boyfriend, husband
She was the only s Hollywood actress in attendance that evening with fellow s actress Gloria Stuart winning an award, while male contemporaries Bob Hope and Milton Berlewith Sid Caesar were present. In her later years, she also visited the Empire State Building frequently, once visiting in as a guest of honor at the building's 60th anniversary, and also in May which was among her last public appearances.
Her final public appearance was at an after-party at the Sardi's restaurant in New York City, following the premiere of the documentary film Broadway: She became a naturalized citizen of the United States in In her autobiography On The Other Hand: A Life Story she declared herself a Republican.
InWray was approached by director Peter Jackson to appear in a small cameo for the remake of King Kong. She met with Naomi Wattswho was to play the role of Ann Darrow. She politely declined the cameo, and claimed the original "Kong" to be the true "King".
Before filming of the remake commenced, Wray died in her sleep of natural causes on August 8,in her Manhattan apartment, five weeks before her 97th birthday. The script of the film had been written by John Monk Saunders, a handsome, charming, former Rhodes Scholar who had been a flying instructor during the war and had wept when he heard of the armistice, because he would never now see action.
Captivated by Fay Wray's "Nefertiti eyes", he had a failed marriage behind him and was a much more disturbed person than Fay realised when she embarked on a relationship with him. While she was on location in Maryland, filming The First Kiss with Gary Cooper, Fay Wray heard that her brother Vivien had died, ostensibly by accident, probably by suicide. Saunders arrived to comfort her, and, with Cooper as witness, they were married.
For the first time she felt independent of her mother.Fay Wray and Billy Crystal at the Oscars
Saunders himself won an Oscar for his script for The Dawn Patrol Fay Wray went to New York to star in his musical play Nikki, which flopped but which introduced her to Cary Grant, who was still called Archie Leach "Cary" was the name of his character in the play. She had already discovered that Saunders was a compulsive womaniser and a periodic drunk.
Fay Wray | Canadian-American actress | ordendelsantosepulcro.info
Although late in life she was to refer to the coming of talkies as "a kind of rudeness" which led to her being "tossed on to the commercial heap", she appeared to take the development in her stride. She made 10 films in Hollywood, one of which was King Kong, which had a week shooting schedule spread over most of the year. It saved RKO from bankruptcy, although nobody then, including Fay Wray, had any idea of its potential impact.
For the rest of her life, she was asked about the special effects. King Kong himself was just 18 inches high, but the arm which lifted her was six feet long and, when she felt that she was slipping from his paw, it was genuinely frightening.
It is said that Fay Wray had been one of a dozen actresses auditioned for the part of Ann Darrow, and that she had been selected because she produced the loudest scream.
Throughout and she started a new film every fourth Friday, which was how Hollywood worked in those days. Reflecting on her career inFay Wray lamented what she saw as the death of romance in cinema.
Of screen-kissing, she remarked: Today there is no such thing as a really wonderful embrace. You never saw Ronald Coleman taking a great big bite out of someone. Of silent movies, she said: They held us close to their hearts. Every time we saw a silent film, we were drawn by the fact that the caring was inherent.
You seem to see nothing but gasoline explosions. Saunders showed her Oxford and took her to the Boat Race. She returned to Hollywood for the birth of her daughter, Susan; but in she and Saunders separated.
"King Kong" star Fay Wray dies at 96
Fay Wray busied herself with films and also with summer stock theatrical productions in New England. On one occasion while she was away, Saunders took Susan away with him. Fay traced and recovered her daughter with the powerful assistance of Colonel William Donovan, who was soon to create the Office of Strategic Services, which begat the CIA.
Theatrical work improved her skill and introduced her to intelligent new people. Sinclair Lewis fell for her heavily, and pursued her relentlessly; Howard Hughes courted her briefly. | English | NL | 55b1c8d1c5e55efa7d1aae19b800dceeb4fe29eb6bc0f28649b6d1050ce47bca |
As your toddler throws his toys across the room and begins screaming at the top of his lungs, you think back to when he was a baby and didn’t talk back or throw tantrums. Tantrums are a normal part of toddler development, but you can minimize their frequency or eliminate them completely by taking an active and involved approach to discipline. All children do not respond to discipline the same way, so it can take multiple strategies to figure out which one is the best for your family.
You need to follow through with the consequences you want to use for your toddler’s specific behavior. Avoid threatening that you are going to take away your son’s cars and trucks if he doesn’t stop throwing them across the room at his brother, unless you intend to take them away. Otherwise, he will quickly learn that your threats are empty and he isn’t going to receive any punishment for misbehavior. Ensure that all adult influences in your child’s life, such as your spouse or his grandparents, are also aware of the punishment and use it consistently.
Don’t set your expectations too high when enforcing methods of discipline. Expecting your hyperactive toddler to sit still for a two-hour movie or sermon might not be feasible, while expecting him to pick up a few toys and put them in his toy box at home is. Think carefully about his cognitive and physical abilities before automatically punishing him for something that is perfectly normal for his age.
Not all punishments work for each child. Children individually feel that certain things are more important than others. A teenager might feel that punishment restricting going out of the house is inhumane, while your toddler will probably be much more receptive to a punishment such as taking away his favorite toy. A hyperactive child might feel like sitting in the corner for three minutes is torture, but if your toddler likes time on his own to chill out, it might not actually be a punishment as much as you anticipate. Make the punishment appropriate for both his age and personality.
Focus on the Good
Don’t limit the attention that you give your child to negative actions. Praise him when he does something that you approve of. Instead of criticizing him for putting on mismatched shoes because it’s going to make you late, praise him for being independent and putting his own shoes on today but it’s better to have two shoes that are the same. If the attention your child receives is primarily negative, he is going to act out because it gets a reaction out of you. | English | NL | 77cb1b92fb5d83971e930e696791c84e7aae6b1395b118b793ca0c04011eb5b0 |
Thomas Hastings; yet another ancestor suffering from a genealogical condition I call "ancestor inflation". As great as the big ancestry websites are, there is a downside to most of them. They allow for the perpetuation of bad genealogy almost like spreading a virus. The infected researcher gets a giddy feeling and begins to have visions of grandeur. They believe they are related to someone famous or some member of royalty or even worse, an Indian Princess. And instead of taking their genealogical temperature and listening to the voices of reason, they too pass on the infection to everyone who looks at their tree.
I wish that there was some way to "call out" a tree that has bogus information, ancestry.com does not have that option. There are some new sites that have a more communal style where everyone can edit a shared ancestor, which would seem to lead to a more authentic family tree. The ones I like are We Relate and Wikitree they both allow registered users to correct mistakes.
If you have done research on Thomas Hastings and believe that you are related to Sir Henry Hastings and Eleanor Knyvett than you have been infected! So here is what I know to be true about Thomas Hastings of England and Watertown, Massachusetts.
Thomas' English origins are unknown, not where he was born, not his parents were, nothing can be written about his ancestry that is based on fact. For information about his ancestors, who they were not and who they might have been see this webpage by Scott Billigmeier he does an excellent job of dispelling the junky genealogy attached to Thomas.
What is known is that Thomas Hastings aged 29 and his wife Susan aged 34, boarded the ship "The Elizabeth" in Ipswich, Suffolk, England on 30 April 1634, bound for New England. As most of the other travelers aboard the ship were from East Anglia it is likely that Thomas and Susan were as well.
Thomas' first and only stop in Massachusetts was Watertown, which was begun in 1630. The first town records were begun in 1634 and Thomas' name appears on Dec 10, 1638 when he was elected one of the Prudential Men for the following year. He would hold this post for many years to come. In addition to serving as a Prudential Man, Thomas' was appointed and paid for various town jobs such as fence building and to build a house for another Watertown resident. In the town records of 1647 Thomas is called Deacon Hastings and he was chosen to be on a commission to set the county rates (taxes). Thomas was still active in town government in 1680 at age 75.
Thomas and Susan do not seem to have had any children or at least had none that survived early childhood. Susan died on Feb 20, 1650, she would have been about 50 years old. Thomas married for the second time some time prior to the 1652 birth of his child Thomas Jr. His new wife was Margaret Cheney daughter of William and Margaret Cheney. At the time of their marriage Thomas was about 45 and Margaret 22 or 23. Thomas and Margaret had eight children all of whom lived to adulthood, a rarity in those harsh days.
Thomas Jr. b. 1 July 1652 in Watertown, married Anne Hawkes 10 Nov. 1672, married (2) Mary Burt 14 Feb 1706.
John b. 1 March 1653/4 Watertown, m. Abigail Hammond 18 June 1679
William b. 8 August 1655 Watertown, drowned in August 1669
Joseph b. 12 September 1657 Watertown, m. 21 Nov. 1682 Ruth Rice, m (2) Martha Sheppard 8 Jan 1684
Benjamin b. 9 Aug 1659, m. Elizabeth Graves 1683, m. (2) Mary Clark Parsons 1699
Nathaniel 25 Sept 1661, m. Mary Nevinson 1690
Hepzibah b. 31 Jan 1663/4 m. William Bond 2 June 1680
Samuel b. 12 March 1665/6, m. Lydia Church
Thomas was obviously an upstanding member of his community. He served the town for many many years as a Prudential Man or Selectmen as they were later called and holding other civic positions. Thomas also served in a ministerial position in his church. The job of Deacon entailed multiple duties including filling in for the Minister if he was absent. In most churches or meeting houses as they called them, the Deacons faced the congregation seating on a slightly raised platform.
In 1671 The Hastings Family became embroiled in a scandal involving the pregnancy of Thomas' servant Susanna Woodward. Susanna claimed that Thomas Hastings Jr., her master's son, was father of the child. This must have been very embarrassing for Thomas, especially given his role as Deacon in the church. The family denied her claims and put forth the name of John Chadwick as the father. He too denied that he was the father.
The paternity of the child was very important as the father was expected to pay for the maintenance of his offspring. The case was dragged through the courts with the final decision that Thomas was the father. He married the next year and left town, becoming a reputable doctor.
Thomas wrote his will on March 18 1682. He was survived by his wife Margaret and all of their children. His will was proved Sept. 7 1685. Margaret's death was not recorded.
Robert Charles Anderson, The Great Migration Begins 1634-1635
Roger Thompson, Divided We Stand, Watertown 1630-1680
Note about Roger Thompson's book: Divided We Stand. This book is an excellent description of life in Watertown from it's beginning. I have read it several times and refer to it frequently as a source for my blog. Some of my ancestors are described in the book including Thomas Hastings. I highly recommend it. | English | NL | 639d4f0a77fbeec993e819e4a6af2c9fc02ab31e62deaf25926dd2c7bb6a7dca |
At mass recently we had to do, the introduction (me), the second reading (herself), the prayers of the faithful (all of them and some other children rounded up on the morning).
The reason for this was that a number of our choir members sing in a national youth choir and they were singing at mass so regular readers were thin on the ground (either singing or preparing tea for the singers). The regular reading organiser asked me to round up children to say the prayers of the faithful. A number of novice readers I approached in the church shrank back in horror and I was left to fall back on my own brood. Daniel and Herself are regulars but Michael has only done it once before. I had him practice two prayers. Just before mass, one of the regular young readers turned up and I nabbed her and said to Michael, “OK you only need to do one now.”
I did my introductory bit and I thought that considering how bad previous attempts of mine have been, it wasn’t too awful but my family said I looked pale and shook like a blancmange. Can this be true? Hey, don’t mock until you’ve had a chance to bore a church full of people yourself. The Princess missed her cue for the second reading as she was distracted by the really beautiful responsorial psalm sung by the choir and had to zoom up to the altar with the speed of a coursing hare. She was fine once she got there – she has nerves of steel.
And then I found myself worrying – when are the prayers of the faithful? When do my little readers need to be shepherded to the altar? The Princess and I exchanged agonised glances. The priest paused. “Is it now?” I hissed at Mr. Waffle. “I don’t think so,” he said. Oh the agony. There was a really meaningful pause after the creed and the Princess gathered the children together and brought them up to do the prayers of the faithful. Michael was up first. Although he has read less often than the others, he is a clear and confident reader from the altar so, once he was there, I entertained relatively few fears. He began. It was the wrong prayer – he had got confused in the messing about before mass. He realised this. Instead of ploughing on, he put his hand to his forehead and said, “Oh no, oh no, it’s not this one.” Alas. Poor Michael, he was very cast down, though nobody minded at all, on the contrary, I imagine that they welcomed the variety from the standard prayer for vocations (singularly ineffective).
In other religious news, this Sunday, I will be operating a slushy machine for the Church Garden Party. The early Christian martyrs have nothing on me. | English | NL | bb072fe9e47353babe2ba99c810545ae43004ba1fe3b172880d45798d723e5a8 |
Anita Pallenberg, a model and actress who was sometimes called the muse of the Rolling Stones and had affairs with three of the band’s key members, including a decade-long, drug-fueled relationship with Keith Richards, died June 13 at a hospital in Chichester, England. She was 75.
Richards confirmed her death to the Associated Press through a spokesman. The cause was not known, although she reportedly had hepatitis and other ailments.
The alluring Ms. Pallenberg, who met the Stones by sneaking backstage at a concert in 1965 and offering the band hashish, may have been the ultimate ’60s rock-and-roll “it girl.” She quickly became the lover of one of the band’s guitarists, Brian Jones, then left him for Richards, with whom she had three children and a shared appetite for heroin.
While making the cult classic film “Performance” with Mick Jagger in 1968, she reportedly had an affair with the Stones’ lead singer. The strikingly beautiful Ms. Pallenberg had such a magnetic presence — an “evil glamour,” in the words of Jagger’s onetime paramour, Marianne Faithfull — that she was credited with helping mold the group’s lasting image.
“She almost single-handedly engineered a cultural revolution in London,” Faithfull wrote, “by bringing together the Stones and the jeunesse dorée” — the young, fashionable and rich. “The Stones came away with a patina of aristocratic decadence that . . . transformed the Stones from pop stars into cultural icons.”
Throughout the 1960s, Ms. Pallenberg seemed to be everywhere. She grew up in Rome and was an international model who spoke several languages; she was part of Andy Warhol’s eclectic group of artists at the Factory in New York, where she became friendly with Beat Generation writers Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs; she acted in films alongside Jane Fonda and Marlon Brando.
Faithfull described her as “dazzling, beautiful, hypnotic and unsettling. . . . Other women evaporated next to her.”
When Ms. Pallenberg entered the orbit of the Rolling Stones, they were seen as the raw, street-savvy counterparts to the Beatles. She was originally linked with Jones, and they soon adopted identical haircuts.
But their relationship took a violent turn, and during a trip to Spain and Morocco in 1967, Richards saw that Jones was beating Ms. Pallenberg. Richards took her back to England, leaving Jones stranded in North Africa.
“It’s said that I stole her,” Richards wrote in “Life,” his 2010 autobiography. “But my take on it is that I rescued her.”
By the time Jones drowned in his swimming pool at age 27 in 1969, Ms. Pallenberg was pregnant with her first child with Richards. They named their son Marlon after Brando, with whom Ms. Pallenberg appeared in a campy 1968 sex farce, “Candy.”
She had a role in the 1968 science fiction spoof Barbarbella, opposite Fonda, then co-wrote and acted in the surreal “Performance,” which was set in the London underworld and starred Jagger in an androgynous role. The sex scenes between Ms. Pallenberg and Jagger were so steamy that they won an award at a Dutch film festival — a porn film festival.
Richards later wrote that on the day he realized Jagger and Ms. Pallenberg were having an affair, he composed the opening lyrics to one of the Stones’ greatest songs, “Gimme Shelter,” accompanied by a snarling guitar riff:
Oh, a storm is threat’ning
My very life today
If I don’t get some shelter
Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away
Ms. Pallenberg was a constant presence with the Stones in the late 1960s and 1970s, when they recorded several of their most acclaimed albums, including “Let It Bleed,” “Sticky Fingers,” “Exile on Main St.” and “Goats Head Soup.”
For a while, Ms. Pallenberg matched the highflying, dope-taking, deal-with-the-devil way of life of Richards. Her fashion sense influenced the Stones’ flamboyant style, and Richards, who was the same size as the 5-foot-9 Ms. Pallenberg, sometimes wore her gender-bending outfits onstage.
The couple had a daughter, Dandelion, in 1971. Another son was born five years later, but he died at the age of 10 weeks of sudden infant death syndrome.
Richards and Ms. Pallenberg never married, but their 12-year relationship was marked by heroin addiction, drug arrests, tempestuousness and tears. Richards’s mother decided Ms. Pallenberg was an unfit parent and raised their daughter, who dropped the name Dandelion in favor of Angela.
Both Richards and Ms. Pallenberg were known to stray, and in 1979 a 17-year-old boy killed himself in Ms. Pallenberg’s company, possibly while playing Russian roulette. She was cleared of any culpability in his death.
Richards broke up with her soon afterward, and Ms. Pallenberg fell into a deeper spiral of drug and alcohol addiction. She entered rehabilitation in 1987. Except for an unshakable cigarette habit, she said she was largely drug-free in her later years.
“I like a high-spirited woman,” Richards wrote in his autobiography. “And with Anita, you knew you were taking on a Valkyrie — she who decides who dies in battle.”
Anita Pallenberg was born April 6, 1942, in Rome. (Her year of birth is listed in most records as 1944, but Richards’s spokesman confirmed the earlier date.) Her father was a travel agent.
She was expelled from a German boarding school when she was 16 and became a model in Italy and New York.
In 1994, Ms. Pallenberg received a degree in fashion from Central Saint Martins, a London art school, and became an influence on model Kate Moss and fashion designers Bella Freud and Stella McCartney.
After having two hip replacements, she resumed acting in her 60s, appearing in Abel Ferrara’s “Go Go Tales” (2007), and Harmony Korine’s “Mister Lonely” (2007).
She was often asked about writing her memoirs, but never did. “I had several publishers and they were all the same,” she told the Guardian in 2008. “They all wanted salacious.”
Survivors include her children and five grandchildren.
Richards has been married to onetime model Patti Hansen since 1983. Ms. Pallenberg never married.
“She knew everything and she could say it in five languages,” Richards once said about her. “She scared the pants off me.”
In a 2008 interview with the Guardian, she said, “I still do.” | English | NL | 0e576dd008d4c359733177d79ee80b6ca5da48105eb72d87cd0831c3591d2bbc |
Martial World - Chapter 222
Chapter 222 - The Spreading News of Death
The snow was falling faster and harder;the bodyguards on watch weren't on high alert.
The temperature was 20 degrees below zero. But this wasn't anything to a Pulse Condensation period martial artist. As long as they revolved their true essence, they could easily dispel the frosty cold. However, the maids were the ones who suffered. They had no cultivation, so after standing in the biting cold wind and snow for a long time, they soon began to tremble.
Even though they were almost frozen, the Allied Trade Association had very strict rules. They could not even rub their hands or stomp their feet for warmth.
At this moment, there were several maids carrying grapes and other sweet snacks as they walked. Their small faces almost iced over, and the plates they carried were covered with snow.
A guard checked the fruit and snacks before nodding and indicating that they could pass and deliver the trays. But, as soon as he waved them past, he suddenly stiffened. He looked with unbelieving eyes at the waterside pavilion not too far away.
The pavilion was empty!
’’This... my Lord!?’’
’’Mm?’’ Guard Two and Guard Three also looked over, stunned.
’’What's going on!?’’
The four bodyguards panicked and used their movement techniques to enter the pavilion. They saw that Ouyang Dihua had already vanished, while Zhang Fengxian was lying prone on the ground, his condition unknown.
The four bodyguards' hearts were suddenly filled with an inexplicable chill. They had been standing guard here, so how had this happened?
’’Mister Ouyang? Has he been kidnapped, or... ’’
As Guard One said these words, he trailed off, not wanting to continue. The other three suddenly felt their hearts go cold and sink into their stomach. If Ouyang Dihua died, they would face severe punishment from the Seven Profound Valleys!
Guard One put his hand over Zhang Fengxian's mouth to see if he was still breathing, and found that he was. As soon as he opened his eyelids to check, Guard One suddenly gasped. His pupils had vanished, leaving nothing but the whites of his eyes!
’’Hurry... hurry and report this to the Martial House. Use the long distance information transmission array to inform the Total Faction that Mister Ouyang is in trouble!’’
The truth was, the moment that Ouyang Dihua had died, the Seven Profound Valleys had already been informed. Ouyang Dihua was an important figure, so he had a Life Jade Plate.
As soon as he died, no matter how far away he was, the Life Jade Plate would shatter.
The deacon disciple that was guarding the Life Jade Plate Chamber suddenly heard a cracking sound. Stunned, he looked at the sign of the Jade Tablet, and immediately lit a sound transmitting talisman.
At this moment, in a cave dwelling at the Seven Profound Valley's back mountains, a middle-aged man dressed in black was sitting down cross-legged in meditation. His long, thick black and white hair draped down to his waist, and his face was as apathetic as a rock carving. He was circling his true essence to cultivate his martial arts. The faint sound of a weeping ghost spread out from his body, and a chilling energy spread through his body. A layer of ice formed on the ground around him.
This man was Ouyang Dihua's uncle, Ouyang Boyan. He was an Elder of the Seven Profound Valley's Acacia Faction and he was an early Xiantian realm master.
A burning flame appeared in front of Ouyang Boyan, and the voice of the Jade Plate Chamber deacon sounded into Ouyang Boyan's mind.
’’What!?’’ Ouyang Boyan's eyes flew open, a dangerous coldness flashed through them. ’’Who killed my nephew!?’’
In the next moment, Ouyang Boyan was like a ghost as he rushed out of the cave dwelling, and suddenly arrived at the Jade Plate room. The Jade Plate Chamber deacon was already waiting, his hands holding up a tray with Ouyang Dihua's Life Jade Plate. There was a sharp crack in the Jade Plate, it proved that Ouyang Dihua had already died.
’’Since they dare to kill my nephew, no matter who it is, I will make them beg for death! Their entire family will pay with their lives as well!’’
Ouyang Boyan's eyes were overflowing with killing intent. 20 Years ago, Ouyang Boyan hadn't broken through to the Xiantian realm yet. He was on a mission with Ouyang Dihua's father when the two of them were ambushed and chased down. The two of them had fought with their lives on the line. Ouyang Dihua's father had died, but the enemy had suffered a big loss because of him. This was the only reason that Ouyang Boyan was lucky enough to preserve his own life. Therefore, he had always regarded Ouyang Dihua as his own son, and tried to meet all of his needs the best he could. Sometimes, because of his own lasciviousness, Ouyang Dihua would offend a powerful figure in the mortal world. When this happened, Ouyang Boyan would help his nephew resolve the incident.
The Seven Profound Valleys was not a monolithic sect. The seven different factions each managed their own matters. Their cultivation methods were all different, and as a result, their corresponding personalities were also different. As the saying went, those who walk different paths have to go their separate ways. There wasn't much of a relationship between the seven Great Elders, and not even the Seven Profound Valley's Valley Master could solve this.
Although the Acacia Faction was a subordinate of the Seven Profound Valleys, they were not subject to restrictions. As an Elder of the Acacia Faction, Ouyang Boyan had enormous power and influence. He was able to shelter Ouyang Dihua so that he could do whatever he wanted.
Ouyang Boyan had been protecting his nephew like this all along, but now, he had actually died! This aroused Ouyang Boyan's ultimate wrath. When he passed into to netherworld, where would he have the face to see his big brother?
’’Ready the Heavenly Wind Eagle, I will depart for Sky Fortune Kingdom immediately!’’ Ouyang Boyan coldly issued an order, his heart filled with a firm determination. Even if he had to turn the Sky Fortune Kingdom upside down, he would find the murderer that killed his nephew!
Sky Fortune City, Bai Family
Sky Fortune City's Bai Family had been court officials for generations. Every generation of the family, they would have someone who passed the Imperial Examination. They could be described as a scholarly family that had been prominent for centuries.
Most of the Bai Family were scribes, they were responsible for keeping and tracking history and literature, reviewing court documents, and handling the affairs of state.
The Head of the current Bai Family generation was Bai Yuanpei. This generation, the Bai Family had reached the peak of its prosperity. Bai Yuanpei had become the number one scholar of his generation, and he has passed the Imperial Exam to be a second-grade official at the age of 45, and he was a vice-minister.
However, in Sky Fortune Kingdom where martial arts was considered the most prestigious path, the glory of being the number one scholar every three years was less than that of being the number one examination candidate from the Seven Profound Martial House's entrance examination that took place twice a year. Even the Prime Minister's position in the government was inferior to that of the ten Great Generals.
Therefore, the Bai Family's status in Sky Fortune City wasn't considered too outstanding.
However, there had actually been an anomaly that occurred in the generation of Bai Yuanpei's grandchildren, that would be Bai Yuanpei's granddaughter, Bai Jingyun. She had actually been born with an amazing superior fourth-grade talent.
Bai Jingyun's father was a mortal with no talent or cultivation in martial arts. As for her mother, she had only been a superior third-grade martial talent. For Bai Jingyun to be born with such a martial talent, it could be considered a precious miracle.
But, when Bai Jingyun was 15, her princess-like life had suddenly ended.
This was because Ouyang Dihua, who had been travelling, had taken a fancy to Bai Jingyun's exquisite beauty and outstanding talent, and he decided to marry her as a concubine.
The Bai Family had refused. However, Ouyang Dihua had directly approached the Emperor, and the Emperor had then passed down an Imperial Decree. This was an ironclad order, how could Bai Yuanpei refuse? Ouyang Dihua's power and influence was greater than the Emperors. Even if it was the Emperor who desired to receive a minister's daughter as an imperial concubine, the minister would not dare to refuse. Ouyang Dihua's uncle was an Elder of the Seven Profound Valleys. If his uncle wished, he could dethrone the current Emperor and install a new one in his stead.
So Bai Yuanpei had no choice to comply. However, Bai Jingyun's father had strongly opposed this. Who knew how many concubines Ouyang Dihua already had? Marrying his daughter to that bastard was simply like shoving her into a fiery pit!
However, no matter how much opposition there was, Bai Yuanpei could not change his decision.
Bai Jingyun's father was only a frail, weak scholar. His body hadn't been healthy to begin with, and he had been bedridden for years. All of stress happened to catch up with him, and he suddenly passed away.
According to the traditions of Sky Fortune Kingdom, once the father dies, their children had to live in a small hut for 100 days, and then mourn for three years to fulfill their filial obligations. Ouyang Dihua had wanted to marry her, but after receiving this news he could not break custom, so the marriage had been dragged out.
Now, the mourning period of three years was soon over, and Ouyang Dihua had actually come to Sky Fortune City as the current Seven profound Envoy. This caused Bai Jingyun to feel an absolute despair take root in her heart.
Before Ouyang Dihua had become Sky Fortune Kingdom's Seven Profound Envoy, the Bai Family had been unable to resist him when he had proposed marriage. Now, with Ouyang Dihua having occupied the position of Seven Profound Envoy, his status was equal to that of an overlord. Bai Yuanpei was only a small vice-minister, the results of any refusal could be imagined.
Bai Jingyun had used adventuring as an excuse to leave, and had already hidden away for more than a month. Now, she had helplessly come back in order to face her unavoidable destiny.
She hadn't gone to the Martial House for several days. Most of the time, she stayed in her room. This morning, after Bai Jingyun had washed herself, someone knocked on her door.
’’Jingyun, may I come in?’’
It was Bai Yuanpei's voice.
Bai Jingyun sighed. For the family's future, her own grandfather had pushed her into this situation. She didn't hate or despise him, but she didn't hold much sentiment for him either.
Especially after her father had died, her attitude towards Bai Yuanpei was even colder.
’’Come in.’’ Bai Jingyun calmly said.
’’Jingyun, have you had breakfast yet?’’ Bai Yuanpei said as he walked in. He tried to smile in order to hide his own guilty conscience.
’’I don't have an appetite.’’
’’You still have to eat a little. I'll have the kitchen make a little something and send it in for you.’’
’’There's no need. I have to rest for a while’’ Today, Bai Jingyun really did not want to talk to Bai Yuanpei, because she didn't want to know why Bai Yuanpei came here for.
’’Well... ’’ Bai Yuanpei awkwardly coughed, ’’I know about the matters concerning your marriage... ’’
’’You don't need to say anymore, I already understand.’’ Bai Jingyun's voice was desolate and bleak. Marriage was just a nice way of putting it. According to the customs of Sky Fortune Kingdom, a man could have several concubines. Generally speaking, only a proper and legitimate wife could be married, a concubine didn't have that privilege. Even the Emperor's imperial concubine was not considered married.
Bai Jingyun knew what the reality of the situation was. It was impossible for her grandfather, who was just a little vice-minister, to rebel against the Seven Profound Envoy.
Bai Yuanpei's words stuck in his throat. He could only hollowly laugh. ’’That... after another half a month, the Tenth Prince, his highness the Cloud Prince, has decided to hold a banquet at his palace. Mm... this is the invitation... ’’
Bai Yuanpei bitterly shook his head as he pulled a gilded invitation card out of his chest pocket.
Bai Jingyun glanced at the card. She could able to guess that at the Cloud Prince's banquet, he would also have invite Ouyang Dihua. The Tenth Prince had already attained the unofficial support of Ouyang Dihua. As for the Crown Prince, because Lin Ming had left without speaking, his reputation and prestige had experienced a large drop. Those forces that were taking a wait-and-see attitude had already turned towards the Tenth Prince.
’’I won't go!’’ Bai Jingyun icily said.
’’But, Jingyun... ’’
’’I have already said that I will mourn my father for three years! For three years, I will eat vegetables. For three years, I will wear white. For three years, I will not marry! Before then, I do not want to see Ouyang Dihua! If you force me to, I would rather die!’’
Bai Jingyun spoke this with an unwaveringly adamant expression. Bai Yuanpei was shocked, Bai Jingyun was too short-sighted. Not only would he lose his granddaughter, but he would also provoke the anger of Ouyang Dihua.
He quickly said, ’’Jingyun, calm down. You don't need to go, okay. You don't need to go. I'll just report to his highness the Cloud Prince and...’’
As Bai Yuanpei spoke, a sound transmitting talisman suddenly lit up in front of him. He froze like a wooden chicken as he heard the message that was transmitted.
Ouyang Dihua... was actually... dead!? | English | NL | a380eac8ec6dacdca68a80930a2c21f6e998d323854e1e3af7321aa31440f496 |
Martial World - Chapter 376
Chapter 376 - Pale Youth
With a mere Bone Forging stage cultivation, Lin Ming had been able to absorb the Purple Flood Dragon divine Thunder that only a middle Xiantian master should have been able to. If there wasn't any secret within Lin Ming's body, Mu Yuhuang would never have been able to believe this. But, if Lin Ming's bloodline was used as the explanation, she could reluctantly come to terms with it.
After all, the Purple Flood Dragon divine Thunder contained the brutal will of a Flood Dragon. If it was to encounter a more formidable and ancient bloodline, this Flood Dragon bloodline would be awed into submission. With Yu'er's help, this could also explain how Lin Ming was able to absorb it.
Mu Qianyu nodded, saying, ’’This is also the first time disciple has seen the phantom behind Lin Ming. When Senior-apprentice Sister Qinghong returned from the Seven profound Valleys, she described to me what she had seen. It was probably a similar scene... disciple believes that this is an ancient noble bloodline similar to my divine Phoenix Island's that Lin Ming managed to obtain through some lucky chance.’’
As for Lin Ming's life and background, they had already been clearly researched by divine Phoenix Island. The common people of Sky Fortune Kingdom had been mortals for generations, it was impossible for Lin Ming to have this kind of bloodline from his family. Thus, the only other reason was that the heavens had gifted him a lucky miracle.
’’Ancient noble bloodline?’’ Mu Yuhuang hesitated. Perhaps matters weren't so simple. Just what sort of ancient noble bloodline could cause even the Vermillion Bird bloodline within her to shiver in fear?
Could it be a God Beast?
Mu Yuhuang dared not believe this. A God Beast did not exist in the Sky Spill Continent. It was said that above the Sky Spill Continent was the Realm of the Gods. But, even within the Realm of the Gods, a God Beast was an extremely rare existence. Where did Lin Ming find the blood essence of a God Beast to transplant into his bloodline?
Even if he had gotten that far, how could a mere Bone Forging boy have absorbed such a bloodline?
In any case, it was true that Lin Ming had a secret bloodline within him, and that this bloodline had an extraordinary origin.
However, Mu Yuhuang didn't wish to pry into his secrets. In truth, lucky chances were also a part of one's destiny. A great lucky chance came with a correspondingly great destiny. Destiny was the essential truth that an unrivaled talent needed to become a peerless emperor. Ever since ancient times, the birth of peerless emperors usually resulted from the accumulated destiny of a character that stood at the pinnacle.
If one didn't have such a destiny but still coveted these things, they would instead attract an unexpected catastrophe upon themselves. History had proven this point again and again throughout the annals of time. These so-called unlucky calamitous treasures were often priceless. However, what was strange was that if one obtained it, they would die as if they had been struck by a curse. If one didn't have a great destiny as if they were the protagonist of the world, they would not be able to gather such treasures to them.
In order to birth a genius that would become a peerless emperor, perhaps not even divine Phoenix Island had such a destiny. Much less, Mu Yuhuang was just an old lady with a few hundred years of life left in her. This sort of calamitous treasure was not something she would be able to afford. Even if she managed to peacefully obtain it without accident, with her age, it was basically useless.
What Mu Yuhuang most wanted to see now was only that her divine Phoenix Island would be able to enter an age of prosperity.
On the martial arts stage, Lin Ming and Xiao Chi fought once more. Both spears clashed. One side was a spear skill genius of Golden Bell Mountain whose every move contained profound principles. But as for the other side, he had a deep comprehension of spear potential. Although his spear skills were simple and lacking, every spear was like a landslide, every spear was like a tsunami, every spear contained the power of endless mountains and rivers. These two were well matched against each other.
Clang clang clang clang clang!
With every strike, a violently raging true essence shockwave erupted, an azure color mixing with a golden color, causing the ground itself to shake. Because of the intense shockwaves in the air, the audience that witnessed this battle scene seemed to be watching it under the twisted ripples of water.
Every spear that Lin Ming thrust out contained an enormous pressure. Even though Xiao Chi's spear contained a strange power, it was actually forcefully dissolved by Lin Ming's strength.
The two youths fought for several dozen moves. Lin Ming had consumed a great deal of true essence, but so had Xiao Chi.
This battle was the longest that Lin Ming had ever fought.
With his strength, he could simply have used the Thunder Soul and won with overwhelming force. But, he did not do this.
He needed this battle to see what degree of skill one's spear play could reach.
Xiao Chi turned, thrusting out his spear. Although this spear skill looked very slow, in just a split-second the spearpoint would instantly arrive in front of you. This sort of strange and confusing spatial skill was nearly impossible to defend against.
Even Lin Ming was unable to completely dodge the spear with such a confusing spatial skill. The spearpoint rubbed against Lin Ming's bodily true essence, and with a ripping sound, an incomparably sharp golden spear had pierced through Lin Ming's bodily true essence, taking just a touch of blood.
Xiao Chi was surprised. What was going on? In that attack, he had felt like his spear had stabbed into iron, it simply hadn't been able to do much damage.
But at the same time, Lin Ming's spear came smashing down like an avalanche!
Xiao Chi quickly lifted his spear to block.
As soon as this blow smashed down, the golden spear in Xiao Chi's hand curved into a crescent moon. He staggered back, every step creating a deep imprint in the ground. The tiles of the stage that were supported by an array formation were broken by the pressure of his feet, cracks littering the stage.
After retreated 70 to 80 feet, Xiao Chi finally came to a stop. He felt like his right arm was numb, and even his fingers were shaking.
’’What a terrifying strength and spear potential!’’
Although he managed to block that last attack, he felt the blood within his body roiling and his meridians in crazy disorder.
In the audience, the Golden Bell Mountain elder gasped. ’’What a terrifying boy. Chi'er used a special technique to unload the force on his body. Lin Ming's strength and spear potential that he unleashed poured along Chi'er's muscles and skeleton, entering the ground through his feet. Even though he had let so much strength pass through him, he was still wounded. The power of this spear potential is simply like having a mountain fall on you.’’
’’Indeed... this boy is truly a spear genius. But it's such a pity that he doesn't have a great master that can teach him spear skills. If all he learns is some Foundation Spear Technique skills, then it is truly wasteful...’’ Another Golden Bell Mountain elder said with some regret, obviously sad that Lin Ming hadn't joined his Golden Ball Mountain.
’’Haha, what a great fight!’’ Xiao Chi suddenly put away his spear. His entire forehead was covered with sweat, and his face was flushed red. Blood was surging within his body, and he had obviously consumed a great deal of strength.
Lin Ming was also panting for breath. After several continuous battles, even with pills to supplement him, he had consumed over 70% of his true essence. Not only that, but within the true essence of his body, there were many complex and strange factors. Lin Ming's current combat strength was less than half of his optimal condition.
’’You're just a monster. You fought through five straight fierce matches and yet you can still fight to this degree and have energy left over. I admit defeat.’’ Xiao Chi sighed, lamenting the result. He had been evenly matched with Lin Ming, but it turned out that Lin Ming's endurance was much greater than his. If they continued, his defeat was simply a matter of time.
’’Well fought.’’ Lin Ming cupped his hands together and bowed. During this match against Xiao Chi, he had learned many things and gained many insights. It seemed that he really needed to look for a spear art manual in order to make up for his deficiencies there.
After Xiao Chi admitted defeat on his own, the entire audience was silent. The strongest direct disciple under the six great chief disciples had actually lost.
’’Senior-apprentice Brother Xiao was defeated...’’
Even the Five Element Region disciples that were desperately cheering for Xiao Chi were unable to accept this. The truth was, when Lin Ming hadn't used this power of thunder and fire, yet was still able to fight evenly with Xiao Chi using just his spear play, they had already foreseen the ending that Xiao Chi would lose. It was just that they weren't willing to accept this truth.
’’Senior-apprentice Brother Xiao lost. Above Xiao Chi, there are only the six great direct disciples...’’
Although everyone knew that Lin Ming was already spent of all energy, there was no direct disciples that went onstage to challenge him. Lin Ming's winning streak had left them breathless, and no one had the courage or qualifications to challenge him.
Lin Ming swallowed a pill and propped himself up on the stage using his spear. This time, he did not challenge anyone to battle. He was well aware that if he fought again, it would be against a chief disciple.
Six great chief disciples... it was unknown just how many he could fight.
Lin Ming turned to look at Mu Dingshan and saw that he was preparing. Next would be a contest between chief disciples!
’’Dingshan, Xiaoqing, if you fight, try to delay as much as possible so that Lin Ming can have more time to recover.’’ Mu Dingshan and Mu Xiaoqing simultaneously heard the true essence sound transmission of old lady Yuhuang.
’’Yes, Honorable Sect Master.’’
Within the Thundercrest Sect banquet area, the pale youth glanced at Zhou Lie, ordering him to go onstage. ’’You challenge Lin Ming to draw out Mu Dingshan, I'll help you take him!’’
The pale youth tersely said.
Zhou Lie frowned. He absolutely did not wish to do something so insidious like taking advantage of someone while they were in a vulnerable situation. This was not how a true gentleman acted. With such a large audience present, he couldn't afford to lose.
’’Hehe, what's the matter? You think you're taking advantage of someone while they're down? Alright, we'll take a break and look for another reason when they lose.’’
The pale youth casually spoke, his words carrying an imperious tone that made Zhou Lie feel uneasy.
'This fellow seems very keen on what he said before, and wants to challenge the direct disciples of divine Phoenix Island by himself. What does he want from all this?' Zhou Lie thought, baffled.
At this moment, the pale youth used a true essence sound transmission to communicate with Lei Jingtian. Then, Lei Jingtian stood up and smiled, ’’High Master Yuhuang, your great island's Lin Ming is truly a hero that from among the young. However, after he competed against five masters from my Five Element Region, it seems that he has already exhausted himself. How about we have a truce and take a break so that Lin Ming can rest. Afterwards will be the final competition between chief disciples. How about it?’’
’’Mm? Mu Yuhuang's willowy eyebrows rose. This fellow, just what did this little weasel want? What was he thinking about? He actually offered to call a momentary truce?
It had to be known that Lin Ming had consumed too much energy. Even if Mu Dingshan and Mu Xiaoqing were able to delay for a few matches so that Lin Ming could rest, he still wouldn't be able to fully recover in this short time.
After Lei Jingtian spoke, he sat down with a cheerful laugh before waiting for Mu Yuhuang's answer.
Zhou Lie was confused, just who was this pale youth? It seemed that his master seemed to care about his opinion a great deal.
'This fellow is shrouded in mystery, he's just like a frosty snake! Master said that he was a Saint rank talent that he found in the northern domains, but I always felt that this explanation was too farfetched. His martial talent is surprisingly good and he also understands many different cultivation methods. His cultivation is only at the early Houtian realm, yet he can easily defeat me! Not only that, but he seems to know some secrets about Sky Spill Continent, such as the legends of the Saintess...'
There was definitely a problem with this man!
Just who was he?
For some time, Zhou Lie even suspected that the pale fellow was possessed by some ancient monster. Of course, this was something that only existed in fantasy novels;he had no idea if things like possession existed.
As Zhou Lie was daydreaming, Lei Jingtian was exchanging a true essence sound transmission with the pale youth. ’’We'll follow everything as you planned. Events should progress smoothly...’’
’’Mm, very good!’’ | English | NL | 5d6baa658ab3f203cc9fe0684b34ec52f03962e0c078208b4b16482c21677072 |
Old Newspaper Collections Project
By Clayton, Deb, & Holice
The Murdress, Mrs. Nelson Sherman
Extra special thanks to Holice B. Young for being such a trooper and typing a ton of old news articles! Without her this project wouldn't be here!
Detroit Daily Press, 1872
THE MODERN BORGIA
The Murderer of Three Husbands and Eight Children--History of the Accused--A Night Scene in a Country Graveyard--Chemistry as a Detective.
Correspondence of the New York World.
Derby, Conn. July 2, 1871.
The dark, smooth waters of the old Naugatuck course along here at the bottom of what looks like a deep ravine. The river banks are high and precipitate, and overstudded with a thick growth of wood. At the summit of the west bank, where lies the chief part of the old village of Derby, there is a broad, dusty street, with white cottages on either side; the church bells are ringing mournfully, and scores of children are on their way to Sunday-school. There is one house, perhaps a little larger than the rest, at which all the children stop for a moment and take peep through the white pickets. In the front room a young girl is playing a sacred tune on a cottage organ, and the alleged murderess, Mrs. Nelson H. Sherman, is caged in the room directly back. Two officers of the law sit in the same room, and night or day, never let the woman out of their sight. If even half that is charged against this woman be true, she is undoubtedly the greatest criminal this country has ever produced, and her career has been that of a real demon on earth. Her victims are thus summed as eleven in number: Three who were husbands and fathers, one a refined and educated young lady, and seven boys and girls, six of them being her own offspring, and all less than 10 years of age.
A FEARFUL REVELATION.
I will now proceed to relate he story of this woman's life, after having collected all the facts, partly from her own lips, and partly from those whose official oaths have made it their duty to examine the woman's career. Mrs. Nelson H. Sherman, nee Lydia Danbury, was born at Burlington, N. J. When she was less than a year old her mother died, and her father became a butcher at Trenton. She lived under the parental roof until her father remarried, when, not liking her step mother, she went to live with her aunt at New Brunswick. Here she remained until 17 years old, when she became acquainted with Edward Struck, a police officer of New York city, to whom she was married. Struck had been married before, and had two children who were now placed under guardians. The newly-married couple lived together about seven years, during which time six children were born. And now begins the awful events which throw such an air of mystery around the woman who is confined in this house accused of eleven murders. First, her husband was taken sick, and suddenly died. It appears that a physician attended who said he didn't know what the man died of. The symptoms, as described by those who saw him, were those of a person who had taken poison. Mrs. Sherman said the cause of his death was his getting up in the absence of the doctor and taking the wrong medicine. Subsequent to the death of her husband, her children, six in number, all died inside of about two years, and no one seemed to know what ailed them, except this--they all died suddenly.
THE FATE OF OLD MR. HURLBURT.
Mrs. Sherman--or Mrs. Struck, as she was than named--spent two years after the death of her first husband as a seamstress and nurse. She next for employment in a sewing machine store in Canal Street, where she made the acquaintance of a Mr. Curtis, who afterward engaged her to live with his mother, at Stratford, about nine miles from this place. It was while living there that she became acquainted with her second husband, a man named Hurlburt, who lived at Huntington, and who was thought to be quite well off. At his death he left considerable real estate, beside $10,000 in cash. This man had lived quietly and economically as a farmer and fisherman, and was well known all round by the name of "Old Hurlburt." Mrs. Sherman professed a great fondness for her husband, and it was not long before he had made a will bequeathing all his property to her in the event of his death. They lived on, apparently happily, the neighbors noticing that every time he returned from his business she met him at the door and kissed him. Time passed on, and one day Dr. Church, the village physician, was summoned to attend Mr. Hurlburt. On arriving at the house he found him suffering acute pains in the head and stomach, accompanied by an intense burning, as if the patient had a violent fever. Dr. Church, become alarmed at the critical condition of his patient, sent for consulting physicians. "Old Hurlburt" died before the doctors had agreed upon a diagnosis, and was buried out of sight. Both doctors, on retiring home after the death of Hurlburt, fell to cogitating. Finally they met in the street, and Dr. Pinney said to Dr. Church:
"Church, what do you suppose was the matter with Old Hurlburt?"
"I really can't say," replied the other, "but I have been studying up and I find that his symptoms were exactly those of arsenical poisoning."
This seemed to coincide with the opinion of the other doctor, who said he was sorry there had not been a legal investigation. The pith of this private conversation leaked out, and quite a sensation followed; still no legal steps were taken.
A MECHANIC MARRIED THE WIDOW.
Nelson H. Sherman was a skilled mechanic and a man much loved for his genial spirits. Indeed, his greatest fault was too much generosity. So expert was he among machinery that the owners of the tack manufactory at Derby found it almost impossible to run their complicated machinery whenever he was absent for a day or two, and they therefore paid him the very highest wages for remaining with them. So popular was he with his townsmen that they had several times elected him to office, but he each time resigned, as his business was more lucrative. A little more than a year and a half ago his wife died, leaving him with four children, the eldest, a son named Nelson, aged 17; a daughter, Addie, aged 14; another boy, "Nattie," aged 4 years, and an infant 5 months old. The widow of Mr. Hurlburt was still living in the same place. "Old Hurlburt's" place, near the river, had always been quite an attraction for visitors, as he used to take paints to show them how he fished for shad, etc. The same visitors continued to frequent the place after Hurlburt's death, and one day Sherman accompanied a party of friends to the place. He there first met Mr. Hurlburt's widow--his future wife. They were married in September, 1870, and went to Massachusetts on a wedding tour. Returning, they settled in the house where the wife is now a prisoner. From that stage on to the present time the facts relating to the career of this mysterious woman are clearer and more terrible in proportion. The next person to become "suddenly ill" was Mr. Sherman's infant son by his former wife, which died in a few days. The next victim, either to the devilish designs of the prisoner or the strangest series of fatalities on record, was the much-loved daughter of Mr. Sherman. This young lady was in the very bloom of health, always vivacious and remarkably intelligent. She was the idol of her father and the favorite of many friends. In the middle of last winter she also was taken "suddenly ill." Her father, as soon as he found that her symptoms were dangerous; became greatly alarmed and summoned the advice of a number of physicians. The symptoms in all these cases appeared to be the same--that of acute pains in the head and stomach, with intense fever. The doctors found it impossible to help the girl, and in a few days she was lying in the grave beside her infant sister.
THE MECHANIC BECOMES DISSIPATED.
Sherman, whether on account of his troubles or not, had begun to dissipate, and together with his own, spent most of his wife's money.
On the 11th of May, six weeks ago, Sherman started off with a number of friends for New Haven, telling his wife he would be back that night. It appears that the party all got to drinking in New Haven, Sherman among the rest, and did not return for about a week. When they proposed to go back Sherman objected to going at all, and so the rest of the party went by the cars, leaving Sherman with the team in the city. Young Nelson, after waiting a day or two longer, said he was going to find his father. Mrs. Sherman gave him $2.50, and he went in search. Sherman was found in a den with low people. Sherman was in a very bad way, and unable to go to work for several days. Finally, when he did go to the factory, he appeared very low-spirited, and would not go home to his meals. Mrs. Sherman here appeared to have considerable regard for him, for each day she sent his meals to him, the best she could get.
THE DEADLY SANGAREES.
About the 1st of June Sherman, after drinking his usual evening beverage mixed by his wife, went down town. In two hours after he came back, sat down on a chair, and said he had a bad headache. The headache was followed by a raging fever and fearful cramps in the stomach. Drs. Pinney and Beardsley both attended him, but he died after two days, suffering dreadful agonies. The doctors held another consultation after his death, and as the symptoms of the sick man had been precisely those of his two daughters, they decided to hold a post mortem examination. Accordingly the stomach was taken out, beside about a third part of the liver. These were boxed up and sent to Prof. Barker, of New Haven, for analysis. It required nearly three weeks to make the analysis, and it is only a few days since that the startling report of the proof was sent in, saying the liver had been found perfectly saturated with arsenic, and that there was enough in it to kill three men. A warrant was at once sued out for Mrs. Sherman's arrest, and put in the hands of Deputy Sheriff Henry A. Blakeman for execution at the proper time. Since the suspicion had grown so strong, young Nelson, his brother Natty and their grandmother had all left the house, through fear that they might become the next victims if they stayed. Mrs. Sherman was not arrested immediately, but she was closely watched by the sheriff and the men employed by him. Although the report of the chemist had been kept as secret as possible, its import had become known, and was discussed on the public street. In two or three days Mrs. Sherman, not knowing that she was watched, quietly removed to New Brunswick, N. J. The Chief of Police at that place was directed to keep watch of her movements, and he employed a lady to assist him.
THE GRAVE GIVES UP ITS SECRETS.
The most thrilling chapter in the history of all these terribly interesting proceedings is that which now follows. As soon as Mrs. Sherman had left the village of Derby the authorities resolved to continue the unraveling of the mysteries by exhuming the bodies of Mr. Hurlburt, the daughter Addie, and the infant. Under cover of a dark night, June 10th--for they acted with the greatest caution--a party of three men, on a grave-digger, carrying a spade and pick, another a surgeon, with a set of knives and instruments, and the other the sheriff, carrying a dark lantern, stole forth and entered the Birmingham Cemetery. They groped about over the graves until they came upon two rather fresh mounds, on a very small one, these were the tombs of Addie and her little sister. The grave-digger for once was deeply affected as well as the others present, for they had once seen happy smiles on the faces which they now uncovering to find ghastly and cold as the earth that surrounded them. The two coffins were at length brought to the surface, the covers were removed, and the concentrated rays of the dark lantern were turned upon the inhabitants. The surgeon, who had brought all the necessary implements, had soon completed his awfully solemn task, and portions of the bodies of Addie and the infant were placed in boxes, which were tightly sealed. The coffins having been lowered again, and the earth filled in, the party proceeded noiselessly into another cemetery, the one at Huntington, where was buried "poor old Hurlburt." While performing a similar operation there a startling incident occurred. They had just raised the black, earthy coffin to the surface, when some laboring men driving past saw the bright round light of the dark lantern, and distinguished the outlines of the men's forms. They stopped, and after a breathless silence, one of them shouted in hollow tones, "For God's sake, what devilish work is going on there?" Nothing but profound silence followed--the three grave-openers shutting off the light of the lantern and standing motionless. The outsiders left their seats in the wagon and crossed over about half way to where the three were, and again shouted in the same hollow voice, "Who's there?" and again, "What's the matter there?" Still receiving no answer, they retreated almost like shadows, and soon drove away rapidly, not to return again.
ARREST OF THE ACCUSED.
The stomach taken from the three bodies were immediately sent to Prof. Barker, of New Haven, for analysis. The chemist, having had the bodies under his inspection for 12 or 14 days, came to Derby on Wednesday last with the report that he had discovered arsenic in each of the three bodies. By this time Mrs. Sherman had left New Brunswick on a visit with her sister in Philadelphia, intending to return soon. A detective was watching her every movement, and reporting to New Brunswick, thence to this place. Sheriff Blakeman immediately telegraphed to Philadelphia and New Brunswick, telling the police to arrest Mrs. Sherman at once. The sheriff himself went to New Brunswick, learning that Mrs. Sherman was then on a train coming through from Philadelphia, proceeded on as far as Trenton, where he waited for her. The train was so long and so crowded that the sheriff did not see Mrs. Sherman until she got off at New Brunswick. She was then arrested, and in a short time was on her way back to Derby. She accepted the situation with perfect nonchalance, while her sister was quite frustrated. The prisoner asserted that she had at no time anticipated her arrest, and made no effort to allude the officers, not knowing they were watching her. Mrs. Sherman was brought through by way of Bridgeport on Friday night, and lodged in her own house with officers to watch her. The prisoner was taken before Justice Platt, of this township, yesterday, when a day was fixed upon for her examination.
INTERVIEWING THE PRISONER.
I drove over from New Haven to-day--there being no trains running--for the purpose of looking upon the face of this most extraordinary prisoner, and of talking with her, providing she had anything she wished to say to a stranger and a representative of the press. Mrs. Sherman was in her own sitting room, where she had sat with her husband and his children many a day and evening. The family occupied one side of the house owned by Mr. Hubbard, and of which I have previously written. At the side door, leading through a little hallway into the room where she was imprisoned, I met a police officer, who readily admitted me. The room as small, but had an air of cosyness, the furniture being simple and comfortable, and the carpet clean and neat. A little lock ticked sharply on the mantel, and on it right and left were some simple mantel ornaments. The largest picture in the room as a portrait of young Nelson Sherman. There was also a picture of Addie, taken when quite small. A large looking-glass, with a few more pictures, French fancy pieces, and a very well executed water scene, sketched by Nelson, completed the ornaments. Mrs. Sherman was seated on one side of a large sofa, with a pillow for a rest when she wished to recline. I found the prisoner a tall woman about 40 years old, rather slim, with a sallow complexion, and sharp firm features. She was dressed in a light-colored cheap calico dress, and a thin negligee shawl was worn around her shoulders. She sat with a pin in her hand, with which she kept picking at her finger nails, or else at her clothing, probably more from the force of habit of sewing than from any want of self-possession. Her manner was quite cool and collected. When she spoke she talked off hand and free. I should say she was a woman of little intellect, but a great deal of firmness and not a little cunning. She has dark eyes, quite large, and think black hair, which was done up plain. The only way she had of betraying her feelings was an occasional spasmodic lifting of the chin, and a simultaneous twitching of the lips, the way some women have for silent self-assertion. In the absence of the prisoner's counsel I refrained from asking he woman any questions which might tend to commit her. She said she felt quite contended where she was, as it would be useless to be otherwise.
Copyright Clayton Betzing, 2001
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Luso descent of 35 years, was born near Paris, but is originally from Porto de Mós.
Since childhood, loves to draw and spend the days contemplating objects, images, places, people. He was always attracted to the light above these objects or faces that he tried to reproduce on paper with his pencil.
In 2013, his first child was born and he bought a camera to capture this momentous moment. From then on, there were two new passions that came into his life: being a father and the picture.
Photography came to him and after much work he could finally convey exactly what he saw, but this time on photographic paper. Today he mainly photographs these important moments of life, the meeting of couples, marriage, pregnancy, birth, baptism, family moments. And in addition to seeing the light on the faces of children or grooms, what they love most is to transcribe their smiles and emotions. | English | NL | 25cc2f9f00eba4c1f466219906c7d9130a0391c6be821a14fa024b63575307f1 |
This is a fictional reflection of the Gospel reading from this past weekend: the story of the woman caught in adultery. Most of it I made up since only a small part of her story is told in the Gospel. I just thought it would be interesting to see what might have taken place after she walked away.
We had only just got married, Isaac and me. Then he left. He didn’t really say where he was going. Just on business. He was a merchant: had some things to sell. He was a smart man. He would buy things that smiths and carpenters and other people made or grown, and then sell them for profit, but he had to travel a lot. It made me lonely. So that was how I ended up with Michael.
We were only friends at first, but then we were more than that. People got suspicious since he would come to our house a lot. People started asking questions. I kept getting strange looks in the market, and our neighbors would even avoid me. I could tell they at least thought we were up to something. I told Michael that we had to stay away from each other for a while, and we did. It didn’t really work out, though.
He came to me late one night. We were both feeling lonely. The thing was, he had been set to be married a year before, but his fiance got sick and died. It would have been alright, except that my neighbors were noticing, and that night, Isaac came back. I didn’t hear him come in. I hadn’t expected him to be coming back in the night. He threw Michael out of the house, and he didn’t press charges against him, but he was very angry with me. He slept in a different room, and the next morning, he brought me to the authorities, and they took me to the temple. I was so scared.
There was this new teacher, though who was there, and for some reason, the Pharisees didn’t like him. I was terribly afraid of him because he seemed to have some kind of authority. They said to him that the law said they should stone me, which I knew was right, but they asked what he would say. I don’t know why they asked him, but then he did something scary and weird. He asked me my name. I told him it was Elizabeth. He wrote my name on the ground, and he wrote what I’d done. Then he said that if any of them didn’t have any sins, they could kill me. He gave them kind of an odd look, and I didn’t really know what it meant, but they started walking away. When maybe half of them were gone, he bent down to where he’d written, and wiped it away with his hand.
There were some people left, but they walked away slow, too. When nobody was left, I was still scared. I didn’t know if I should leave or stay or if he was going to do something or what, so I just stood there. I felt pretty awkward, and I was embarrassed of the whole thing, and I kind of wanted to cry, and I didn’t dare look at him. He said, “Hey, look at me.” I didn’t dare not, so I looked him in the face, and he smiled. “Has nobody condemned you?” he said, and I said, “No.” I looked away because I still felt bad. He walked over to me, and touched me, so I looked at him again. He smiled and said, “Neither do I. Now go. Make amends with your husband, and don’t do this again.” I nodded, but I couldn’t say anything. I just walked away.
It wasn’t normal, what he’d done. I was still really anxious while I walked home. I had to go through the market to get there, and I hoped I wouldn’t see my husband until that night when he got home, but he saw me at the same time I saw him. We both stopped for a couple of seconds, and then he started walking over. He didn’t look angry. I couldn’t really tell anything by the look on his face. I didn’t know if I should try and get away or wait for him, really. I didn’t have time to decide, though. He caught me, but he wasn’t angry.
“I’m so sorry for what I did,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”
I wanted to say, “You just almost got me killed!” but I didn’t. I told him what had happened. I said, “There’s a new teacher. He got even the pharisees to go away.”
“Who is he?” Isaac said.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but you could ask around and find out.”
“Okay,” he said, and then he said again, “Can you forgive me?”
I thought of what the teacher had done, and finally, I said, “Yes, I forgive you.”
It took us a little while, but eventually, things got back to normal. We found out that this teacher’s name was Jesus, and that he’d done quite a few strange things. I was glad of it, though. They were all good strange things. A few months later, by chance, Isaac had to go away again. This time he said I should stay with a cousin. I thought that was a good idea, so I did. It turned out that my cousin knew some of the teacher’s followers. That’s how I got to know some of his friends, and I finally got to know him. | English | NL | fdf5ae84fb3844451bfeb3b5ed565f18d5775dacdb83a365a33293734c31b09a |
Gowdie, Issobell(religion, spiritualism, and occult)
One of the Auldearne coven of witches tried in Morayshire, Scotland, in 1662. Gowdie, young and red-haired, became famous partly because her testimony was so full of details and partly because it was supposedly freely given, without torture. However, as Cameron points out, preliminary torture—which could include being deprived of food and drink, being kept without sleep, and even beatings and having the legs crushed—was frequently ignored by the courts. The recorded torture was only that which was applied at a later stage, to obtain the names of accomplices. Prior to that, the words "The prisoner confessed without torture" would be written into the records. However, Gowdie did tell her story at least four times, between April 13 and May 27, never once deviating, contradicting herself, or altering her testimony in any way, including the recitation of a number of spells and incantations.
Gowdie claimed she had been initiated fifteen years earlier (in 1647) at Auldearne Church in Nairnshire by a man dressed all in gray. Her sponsor was a woman named Margaret Brodie. The man in gray put his "Devil's mark" on her and gave her the eke-name of Janet. From that time forward, she met with twelve other women—a traditional coven of thirteen—on a regular basis, with sabbats taking place every quarter.
Gowdie's testimony included everything one would expect to hear about the activities of witches at that time: attendant imps, the use of a wax image to harm another person, blighting a farmer's fields, meeting with fairies, transformation into animals, riding to sabbats on straws, shooting elf bolts, and feasting and drinking followed by wild orgies. The latter she described in lurid detail.
The attendant imps, or devils, were of various types and dressed in a variety of colors. Gowdie's was named Reed Reiver and wore black. The use of the wax image was to destroy the male children of the Laird of Park. One of the coven—John Taylor—provided the clay which was worked upon to create a poppet, a figure representing a male child in all details. The witches then laid the poppet in the fire till it baked hard. After that they would roast it each day, concentrating on a particular part each time.
The coven raised storms by beating wet rags against stones and chanting. To blight a farmer's field, they dug up the body of a child from the graveyard and, after sharing parts of it with another neighboring coven, buried pieces in the farmer's compost pile, which worked against the fertility of his fields.
To the authorities, the most shocking part of Gowdie's testimony was her detailed description of sexual rites. Some were the outcome of feasting, dancing, and festivities, but some were of a ritualistic nature. Gowdie made much of the fact that the devil's penis was extremely large and extremely cold, as was his emission. The female leader of the coven—the "Queen" or "Maiden"—was Jean Marten. In that position, she was always the first to enjoy the male leader's sexual favors.
Most authorities say there is no record of the outcome of the trial, although they assume Issobell Gowdie paid the usual penalty, along with her coven mates. Tindall, however, says that Gowdie was hanged at the West Point of Elgin and her body later burned. The ashes were scattered. | English | NL | 88c8ab41fdf4943ed92d57cd2c80edd4fd3bdc397a3f5345e24ffd1cd0b9500d |
Graduated from University of Sydney in 1982. Admitted in 1986. He has worked in small suburban practices for nearly 25 years. He has been with Rodney Shields & Co. since 1988 until it changed its structure to Shields Lawyers. He has concentrated on conveyancing, estate and law, and particular commercial litigation in the Supreme Court.
Amal Yaghi has worked at Rodney Shields & Co. and Shields Lawyers since 1999. She has been a licensed conveyancer since 2003. She specialises in property conveyancing and assists in the practice in regards other aspects of law and in practical management. | English | NL | a06f461e6db405301a07f08d85b39e164a346b67af65950e3bf790419e26cfee |
An internationally recognized performer and winner of first place in the second International Violin Competition in Russia who has been decorated with many awards and scholarships.
She began playing violin when she was two years old and had her first solo at the Purcell Room two years later.
She was the youngest person to be signed to Warner Classics U.K. when she was thirteen.
She was born in Guildford, Surrey.
She performed for Yehudi Menuhin when she was five years old and, due to the high quality of her playing, he invited her to study at his school. | English | NL | c5126a3fa24084d00e0859342dbc988e0e355c10a4f9eee6ede4d5a95971ee15 |
Jesus and the Pharisees, scribes, priests and elders were on a collision course.
Out in the open, Jesus taught for several days in the Temple while behind the scenes the leaders plotted against Him. A confrontation was inevitable. The leaders wanted to choose the time and the issue to give their team the best chance of shutting Jesus down. The issue they chose was authority. They could not attack His power to heal for the evidence was overwhelming and very human. They could not denounce His teaching for He was bringing the words they had studied all their lives to vivid life. The only thing left to the opposition was the 1st century version of “Who do you think you are?”
By what Authority?
“Tell us, by what authority are You doing these things?
They were the ones with the God-ordained authority. How dare He instruct the people in the things of God, the Temple, and the right way of living! That was their job. They wore the priestly robes, the lawyers’ regalia, and the invisible trappings of time-honored power and privilege. Where were His robes? Who were His teachers? Where did He study? His power was undeniable so they tried to cast doubt on the source of it.
“…who is he who gave You this authority?”
They demanded Jesus’ credentials. It wasn’t enough that blind people could now see or that deaf people now heard perfectly. They needed more than anecdotes—disputable testimonies of people who were healed at His touch—witnesses can be bought. Everyone knows that. They needed footnotes: His teachers, school, and other sources. False Messiahs rose up with pitiful regularity in and around Jerusalem, all of them ending up in prison or in the graveyard. How was He different from them?
They seemed to say to the crowd, ignore the healings and think for a minute. Power must have a source and if the source of Jesus’ power was not linked to the established religious system, what was that source? Doubt was the mission of the leaders, to sow seeds of doubt in the minds of the people. How could God move in direct opposition to the religious system He Himself had ordained? It was a good issue for this public showdown. What possible answer could Jesus give that would not discredit Him or even incriminate Him?
“I also will ask you one thing…”
Instead of falling into their credentials trap, He asked them about the authority of John the Baptist. This issue was settled in the minds of the people—John was a prophet from God.
“…answer Me: The baptism of John — was it from heaven or from men?”
Now who was in a trap? The leaders went into a defensive huddle. How could they answer? They could not say John’s authority came from God because they did not follow him. To declare John to be less than a prophet, would be to invite a stoning from the people and there were always lots of stones around.
The Temple crowd fell into a deep silence awaiting the answer. Finally, they confessed that they did not know the source of John’s authority. The silence broke into roars of laughter. Whatever the source of Jesus’ authority, it was greater than that of His opponents. Jesus, laughing with people, replied,
“Neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things.”
Godly authority speaks for itself.
Now it happened on one of those days, as He taught the people in the temple and preached the gospel, that the chief priests and the scribes, together with the elders, confronted Him and spoke to Him, saying, “Tell us, by what authority are You doing these things? Or who is he who gave You this authority?” But He answered and said to them, “I also will ask you one thing, and answer Me: The baptism of John — was it from heaven or from men?” And they reasoned among themselves, saying, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ He will say, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ But if we say, ‘From men,’ all the people will stone us, for they are persuaded that John was a prophet.” So they answered that they did not know where it was from. And Jesus said to them, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things.”
Psalm 40:7-9 KJV
Then said I, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me,I delight to do thy will, O my God: yea, thy law is within my heart. I have preached righteousness in the great congregation: lo, I have not refrained my lips, O Lord, thou knowest.
Hebrews 10:7 KJV
Then said I, Lo, I come (in the volume of the book it is written of me,) to do thy will, O God.
Lord Jesus, I have felt the authority of Your touch. I have heard the authority of Your voice. I have lingered peacefully in the authority of Your presence. I don’t need footnotes or credentials—I have You! Yet, with You stands the authority of Your Word, for I indeed find You “in the volume of the Book.” I also walk with You every day. I tell Your story today and even with my humble telling, Your unmatched authority still flows. Thank You, Lord! Amen.
Words and Music: Debbye Graafsma
Mighty Warrior dressed for battle Holy Lord of all is He.
Commander in Chief, Bring us to attention.
Lead us into battle To crush the enemy.
1. Satan has no authority here in this place. He has no authority here,
For this habitation was fashioned for the Lord’s presence; No authority here.
2. Jesus has all authority here in this place. He has all authority here
For this habitation was fashioned for the Lord’s presence. All authority here.
© 2018 Stephen R. Phifer All Rights Reserved | English | NL | 4c01fc99585accd89170f24f6bbf87ab36928efc430941379345c382e22f4513 |
I just got my 1980 Chrysler LeBaron 318 V8 back from the mechanic, who replaced the timing gears and chain, which were the originals and very worn.
Soon after leaving the mechanic, I noticed my vacuum pressure gauge was reporting high vacuum pressure on idle - 5 inches of vacuum pressure on idle. According to this article:
Idle vacuum for most engines is about 18 to 22 in.-Hg, but some may produce only 15 to 17 inches at idle.
This was indeed what I observed prior to this fix (closer to the 15 inch mark). Furthermore, it says:
Higher-than-normal vacuum at idle is a common clue to overly advanced ignition timing, while low vacuum can indicate retarded timing.
Can you confirm this statement? Is "ignition timing" managed by the timing chain that was just replaced? Was it timed incorrectly by the mechanic?
I also found this article about ignition timing which says:
To get the most power out of an engine you really need to give it as much advance as it will tolerate without preignition, or pinging, also more accurately called "spark knock"
So could the mechanic just have been trying to optimize the power of this old engine? It had been a bit sluggish, and after this repair it seems much more peppy. There does sometimes seem to be a little bit of an occasional knock that wasn't present before, which I'm postulating could be from it being a little too far advanced.
I am willing to consider that my vacuum pressure gauge is reading inaccurately, but until now it seemed to be providing consistently reasonable readings. Could the timing chain replacement have meddled with the vacuum pressure gauge inputs?
In short, should I be concerned that my gauge is reading 5 inches of vacuum at idle? | English | NL | eb18b6f2b25afdb311b088ea77c50499c7150f1fbf43d1139b29b13ab8f8d0fb |
Dr. O’Neill has been a practitioner of Counseling Psychology since she earned her Masters Degree in the specialty from Gonzaga University in 1981. She then worked in private practice in Seattle, WA for a few years, after which she decided to deepen her education and training in the specialty by seeking a Ph.D. in Counseling Psychology. She was awarded her Doctorate degree in 1990 from Washington State University. Her doctoral training included a Counseling Internship at the University of California at Berkeley.
After becoming a Licensed Psychologist in Arizona, Dr. O’Neill was employed at Northern Arizona University’s ‘Counseling and Testing Center’. She worked with students on a broad range of counseling issues, but specialized in working with students challenged by eating disorders. She was a part time professor in N.A.U.’s Psychology Department, where she taught the ‘Psychology of Women’ course for seven years. She concurrently built her private practice in the town of Flagstaff where she worked with faculty and staff of the University, as well as a broad spectrum of clientele from the Flagstaff community, who were seeking individual and couples counseling expertise. Dr. O’Neill provided her specialized approach of counseling to the people of Flagstaff in her Private Practice for 20 years.
Dr. O’Neill and her family engaged in a ‘change of venue’ in their lives and relocated to Colorado. She became a Licensed Psychologist here in 2009. She opened her practice in the Vail Valley, where she offered her specialty of individual and couples counseling in her traditional office, as well as outdoor “Walk and Talk” counseling to the people of the Vail Valley for six years.
She and her spouse, Don, with their Bernese Mountain dog, Moseley, came to a life crossroads. They knew the time had come to engage and settle deeply into a thriving, connected, mountain community. The offerings and the community of Durango swept them away, so they moved here in 2015. Dr. O’Neill is thrilled to now be offering her counseling expertise here at “Counseling Psychology of Durango”.
Member of the American Psychological Association since 1991.
Colorado Licensed Psychologist #3121. | English | NL | 0d501e20caa52e9b1f7c1de970984b12a6cdc9325d8662a4688236a507039bdd |
Elizabeth McGovern was born on 18th July 1961 in Evanston Illinois. She is an American film, theatre and television actor and a musician. Her mother, Katherine Wolcott was a high school teacher, and her father, William Montgomery McGovern Jr. was a University professor of law. Her younger sister, Cammie McGovern is a novelist. Her brother, William McGovern is also a professor. She is of Scottish, English and distant German ancestry and comes from an illustrious family. Elizabeth graduated from The Oakwood School and studied at the American Conservatory Theatre in San Francisco and then at The Julliard School in New York City. She is married to British film director and producer Simon Curtis and has two daughters Matilda and Grace. Previously she was engaged to actor
Sean Penn when she was just 23 years old. McGovern was offered her first film while she was at Julliard, Ordinary People (1980) starring opposite Timothy Hutton. For the role in Ordinary People, she dropped out of college briefly. After she had completed her college education, she began to appear in plays, and later major theatre productions. In 1981, she did the film Ragtime for which she received the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress.
Other movies of hers include Once Upon a Time in America, Racing With the Moon and Lovesick, all of which she did in 1984. In 1989, she acted in Johnny Handsome and The Handmaid’s Tale in which she played the role of a rebellious lesbian. Other films she has acted in include She’s Having a Baby, The Bedroom Window, A Shock to the System, etc. Elizabeth is a versatile actress and has covered many genres throughout her career. She is famous as Cora, Countess of Grantham in the British TV series
Downton Abbey. Other TV shows that she appeared in include Tales from the Crypt: The Changeling, Freezing, Law & Order, Shelley Duvall’s Faerie Tale Theatre, etc. She claims that acting on stage is much more challenging than on screen. “By definition, an actor’s life is a recipe for regret. There are always roads you could have taken. But I’ve lived long enough to realise that each road has its rewards”, says Elizabeth.
Although she has a very busy schedule, working on important film projects throughout the year, she tries to take out time to do theatre. McGovern was also the lead singer in the band Sadie and the Hotheads since 2008. Her band performs at The Castle pub venue at Portobello Road, London. The band plays music of kinds, most of which are written by McGovern herself. Their second album – HOW NOT TO LOOSE THINGS featured McGovern’s Downton Abbey co-star Michelle Dockery. The band collaborates with a lot of artists for their songs, many of which are contacts that McGovern made during her work on films. In an interview, McGovern mentioned how she never planned to have children and that when she moved to London, she found it very difficult to adjust to marriage, having kids and work at the same time. But she identified more with the nature of work in the British entertainment industry rather than Hollywood. She calls life in Hollywood very fast. She currently lives in London with her family, loves travelling by the Tube and claims that her favourite authors are Henry James and Edith Wharton. She fondly talks about her younger days as an actress and what it was like to be ‘hot and happening’ in Hollywood. She uses her experience over the years to put life into her characters and attempts to work hard each year. Although she is hitting 54 years now, she can still give the younger actress a good run for their money when it comes to looks and great figure. Her latest film Showing Roots is due for release later this year. | English | NL | e2186436153ff9a3bab8bcabd14550120e66fdd28ab4b2d03cefd03fbefe5b48 |
Russell Julian is originally from Derbyshire. He studied Illustration in Cambridge and now lives in London with his partner and three children. When not drawing or painting he likes to potter in his garden, do a bit of DIY or read a book, and he quite likes eating too. He has previously illustrated successful picture books for Scholastic and OUP. This is his first title for Caterpillar Books. | English | NL | ccf8a2b4e9e4d7f9e545d3bf2b96eff73f56ac8161acb714b7f4ec10d82de73f |
It’s been one week since Martha died, and I’m still in a sort of stunned place. I think all of us are. I don’t fully get it yet; as with the passing of anyone close, you find yourself thinking about the person as if you’re going to see them again – and then you remember all over again. Having seen her coast gradually down to a stop – and then seeing the rapid decline in her final few days – that helps to acclimate me to this new reality of a post-Martha world, and it helps me to know unquestionably that Martha’s death was not only inevitable, but in the end, welcomed. And in her last few days, even Martha – who always spoke as if decades of life still lay before her – finally let on that she knew what was coming, and that she was at last ready.
She died in the wee hours of Saturday morning, on the 13th of June. The day before had been rainy, and the house had been once again full of friends and visitors. But on her last day she didn’t do or say much. She was merely hanging in there, breathing and sleeping, and no doubt still listening to us all as we visited, shared stories and laughed. I was surprised to see how much she’d changed in the past twenty-four hours; her eyes had become sunken, pink orbits and her skin waxen and cool. But mom, Elihu and I had been lucky to have been with her one day earlier when she could still communicate. I hadn’t realized on a conscious level that this would be my last true visit with her, but that’s how it turned out. More importantly, she was able to let me know something that concerned me more than anything else. She had been crabby with me – actually, she’d been a downright bitch – in the last few weeks, but that was ok; somehow she was blaming me (and mom, too) for her situation, and I recognized it for the impaired thinking it was (I know this well from experience with my brother). I knew that she loved me, and in spite of the things she was saying to me at the time, I loved her too. I knew she was comfortable and pain-free for the most part. And she was home; that was key. But what of her true, innermost feelings about what was taking place? I was worried that she was full of fear – and too proud to let on. She had hardly the energy to speak, but when I went to her side and placed my hand on her head, she simply said to me “I am not afraid.” I told her that I was so very glad to hear this, but I didn’t want her saying this for my sake – or for appearances. I didn’t want her doing the stiff upper lip thing to the very end! Of course she didn’t have the energy to explain her thoughts, but she made herself perfectly clear by repeating, as loudly as she could, one more time: I am not afraid.
In that same visit Martha had revealed herself to be living one foot in our world, one foot in another. Once, a week before, when I was passing the morning with her, I asked her where her thoughts were. “All across the spectrum”, she’d answered. In the final few days, it seemed the spectrum had become even wider. (I remember this same near-the-end phase of dear friend Jim Lewis. He was an actor, a gentle man and a thoughtful one. He seemed lost and agitated in his last days. When I asked what this was like, he too, answered me simply with all of his focused effort: “I can’t place my place.” This seems to be the brief state of confusion through which many pass just before death.) Martha opened her eyes and looked at mom and said weakly…. “I’m just remembering that I’m in my beautiful home, with all of my friends, and my puppy…” Truly, these were the most important things. My most urgent hope through these past few months was that she die at home. And now finally here she was, with her beloved black hound dog by her side and all her dearest friends nearby. And all in that amazing farmhouse. The same house in which her own mother had died, the house in which no doubt others had also died – and been born, too. In and out of reality though she may have been, she knew where she was, and she was not afraid. We’d almost made it.
I kinda wished I’d been more aware of my last kiss and goodbye, but as it was there was some general laughter and conversation going on, plus the concern of a rapidly approaching summer storm, so Elihu and I left Martha’s bedroom much as we would any other visit. Which was probably best, anyhow. That’s how Martha would’ve liked it. No fanfare or drama. Just everyday life. Mary, the overnight nurse, was surprised shortly after three a.m. by what she said sounded like “a man’s voice talking”. She got up and went in to check on Martha in time to see her exhale one final time. There has been some speculation on who exactly it might have been who ‘came to get her’, and most agree it was her dad – and likely not her sometimes-philandering husband. After telling me the story, mom quickly added her take – a staunch, no-frills opinion that Martha would have no doubt shared – and said that we could forget the idea of anything paranormal having occurred here; that it was just Martha’s deep, robust voice, uttering one last vocalization. Ok. She can believe that. And maybe that’s the truth. But Mary does this kind of thing for a living, and she’s got a career that depends a lot on observation. Like my friend the retired state trooper who saw an image of Ruthie in the porch of her house (and knowing nothing about her), I’m going to go with the nurse’s take on the event. Me, I believe that someone who loved her very much came back to help her across the threshold. My humanist friends can think me delusional or at best, self-comforting – but I don’t care. Whether her concsiouness has gone on to a new experience or has been extinguished forever, it doesn’t really matter. Martha lived a very full life and had a positive influence over countless people, and she concluded that fruitful life as peacefully as ever one might hope.
Game over. Game won.
Martha Ward Carver
was born on July 17th, 1926 in Binghamton, New York
to F. Erwin Ward and Isabella Post Ward of Deposit New York,
and died at her home in Greenfield Center, New York on June 13th, 2015.
Martha Ward Carver, 88, grew up in Deposit, New York and graduated from Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, NY in 1947 with a degree in public school music, as it was then called. She served as Supervisor of Music in the elementary and junior high schools of Greenfield, Mass from September of 1947 to June of 1955.
She returned to Skidmore College in the fall of 1955 to join the Music Department faculty, implementing the music education program. After fifteen years at Skidmore she chose to leave the campus in favor of domestic life on the farm.
Martha was a long-time friend of the Festival of Baroque Music and attended performances every year from its beginning in 1959 to its final season in July of 2011. She was a member of the Saratoga County NAACP, and SEAD (Saratogians for the Equality and Acceptance of Diversity). Ms. Carver left over one hundred acres of farmland to Saratoga PLAN.
Ms. Carver is predeceased by her husband, Frank Carver, originally of Milo, Maine, and her brother Charles (Chuck) E. Ward of Ballston Spa, NY, and is survived by her stepson, Robert J. Carver of Nokomis, Florida; her foster son, Michael Spiak and his wife Kelly of Greenfield Center, NY; nieces and nephews Susan Ward of Catskill, NY; Braden Ward of Oneonta, NY; Mary Jane Benenati of Norwich, NY; Mark Ward of Walton, NY and cousin M. Edward Hartz of Wilmington, NC in addition to a loyal support group of friends and neighbors as well as her faithful and beloved dog Macy.
At Martha’s request there will be no funeral service. She has donated her body to the Anatomical Gift Program at Albany Medical Center.
Memorial contributions may be made to the Deposit Educational Endowment Program (DEEP), Deposit, NY, 13754 or the Yellow Rose Fund, Skidmore College, 815 North Broadway, Saratoga Springs, NY, 12866.
Remembrances may be made on the Hans Funeral Home website at www.hansfuneralhome.com.
Martha, right, with her brother and only sibling, Chuck. Decades later the two ended up living just miles apart on the same road in tiny Greenfield, hundreds of miles from Deposit, where they grew up – purely by chance. I still can’t wrap my brain around that kind of coincidence.
Martha is accompanying a local choral group. I have this dress – and it came with a story: Just as Martha was ascending the final stair to the stage – audience and chorus awaiting her – she heard a loud rip, and then heard the room gasp slightly. She looked down to see she’d stepped on her organza skirt and it had ripped all the way up the front. With many layers beneath it, she paid it no mind and continued on her way. Later, she simply took some scissors and cut a triangle out of the front to make it look ‘right’. When I pass on this dress one day, the story and pic go with it.
Martha Ward Carver and Francis Speed Carver on their wedding day in Chicago, May 12th, 1956. He was teaching in South Dakota, she in Greenfield, Mass, so they met in the middle. After the wedding they both flew back to their respective jobs ’til they were concluded. It would be Frank’s teaching job at Skidmore College which would soon bring them to Greenfield Center, New York.
A studious group of Skidmore Music faculty listening to a hi-fi; her husband Frank, standing far left, Martha center, and friend and soprano Ruth Lakeway standing behind in black. (All three very important to dad and mom’s Festival of Baroque Music).
Her famous “Texas Cake”, a chocolate cake recipe she learned from an organist in Texas whose name is lost to us, but this cake became a staple at the farm. I’m not a fan of cake – and chocolate’s not my go-to flavor, but this cake I always love. There is nothing like Martha’s Texas Cake.
My mom and baby Andy on Sylvia, in front of the old barn, which burned to the ground in the early seventies – and on Martha’s birthday! Frank had made the mistake of packing wet, green hay, which created fumes that combusted. Sadly, this is how many barns go. It took the giant, gorgeous maple tree in front of the house too. Totally transformed the feel of the place and was a devastating loss for us all.
Little me on a big horse. Also, in front of the grand, original barn. Martha and Frank’s farm made these kinds of experiences possible for so many kids. Life at the farm added tremendously to the quality of my childhood.
Elihu is about to play “Simple Gifts” for Martha on his mandolin. We all know we’re getting close, and on this last night there’s a different feeling in the air.
We all kinda thought Martha’d make it til her 89th birthday on July 17th. Trying to assign some meaning to the 13th – or at least perhaps discover a clever way in which to remember it – Mom learned that Queen Elizabeth’s official birthday fell on June 13th this year. ! Martha and Queen Elizabeth were neck and neck til now… But that’s ok, Martha will always reign supreme in our world. | English | NL | ce392799887787f25fe17ccd36bdda305eb36ee64017790b47c03d595e0bc83f |
Tuesday October 11, 2011
Pottery has always been a hit or miss with me. There is some pottery that I have seen and I would never pay any money for the pottery that is being sold. There is other pottery that is interesting to me and I have shelled out the money to buy a coffee mug, or a set of dishes. I remember my favorite pottery coffee mug that I had for years that I drank my daily coffee from. I would wash it daily so that the next day I could use it. In college the washing of the cup was less than sanitary at times. Eventually it was cracked and had to be thrown away.
I have always been fascinated with passages in the bible that relate to the potter and the clay. They always have symbolized God being the potter and the clay being us. Jeremiah wrote about the potter and the clay when he said, “So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the Lord came to me. He said, “Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?” declares the Lord. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel. If at any time I announce that a nation or kingdom is to be uprooted, torn down and destroyed, and if that nation I warned repents of its evil, then I will relent and not inflict on it the disaster I had planned. And if at another time I announce that a nation or kingdom is to be built up and planted, and if it does evil in my sight and does not obey me, then I will reconsider the good I had intended to do for it. (Jeremiah 18:3-10 NIV).
Sometimes we think we are in control of our destiny and our life, but God is the potter and we are the clay. He can at any time choose to take us when he sees us marred and seek to reshape us. In this passage, we as clay need to be willing to be reshaped and not fight against the remolding process. We have a choice in whether we choose to be remolded into His image and His purpose, but He has ultimate say in our destiny if we choose to rebel and not repent of our destructive ways.
On this journey, it is most helpful to choose to be moldable clay for the master to use in the way He wants to use us. | English | NL | df8c33449399c5df8d933fef23ac1d5d828f1b1fe2b8270eaf8d8924a8199539 |
These notes and letters were written by James Peters Elliott (1835-1909) while serving with Co. I, 1st Connecticut Heavy Artillery. The notes pertain to the time Elliott was posted with other members of Co I at Battery No. 5 and No. 10 before Petersburg, Virginia, in late March and early April 1865, including a description of the assault on a Rebel line of works on 3 April 1865. This assault — with others — culminated in the fall of Petersburg and the collapse of the Confederacy.
James Elliott enlisted at Bridgeport, Connecticut. He served with his brother George Frederick Elliott (1834-1919) who left after three years service while James re-enlisted. Another brother, Edward Augustus Elliott (1843-1863), served in the 5th Connecticut Infantry and died in 1863. Several of James’ letters can be found on the website, Soldier Studies. He entered the service as a private and mustered out as a 2d Lieutenant. After the war, he returned to Bridgeport and was for many years a foreman at the Union Metallic Cartridge Company. The Bridgeport Evening Farmer published a notice of Elliott’s death in 1909, calling him “the veteran of many bloody battlefields in the Civil War.” He was buried in Manchester, Massachusetts.
Battery No. 5
Part of Co. I
I left the platform before the works went there last September [ ] was terrible hot weather. The first night we was there, as soon as [it was] dark, the negroes commenced to shovel and strengthen the works. The rebels fired on them and they came rushing over the works. A regiment of negroes arrived in the rear of us and they fired a volley of bullets among us but as we was laid down trying to sleep, none of us was hurt.
George Morgan & David Sullivan were wounded with the same bullet. James Kelley was killed with a 30 pound shell which came through the parapet. Ebenezer Selleck was sitting in a chair leaned back against an old board shanty [when] a shell came through the shanty and burst near the chair which sent Ebenezer sprawling. He was nearly scared to death but not hurt, About that time a shell upset a kettle of beans for us. Chester B. Russell and Henry W. Loomis was in the magazine [when] a shell struck it and came so near through that it filled the magazine with smoke. Russell run out but Loomis stayed in.
At Battery No. 10, Richard B. Tucker & Levi Sommers were killed ¹ & Benjamin F. Reed wounded by flinging powder into the fire at the cook house from a 30 pounder shell from the reb guns. The company were out drilling at the time but were dismissed as soon as they heard the report of the shell.
On the 2nd of April a detachment of one hundred men was detailed from the First Heavy A Battery to join in the charge and man the rebel guns in case we were able to capture them. There were 20 men from Co. I. We laid on our arms till the morning of the 3rd. About daybreak we joined the infantry brigade and with cheers we started through trenches and holes — all sorts of obstructions. The rebels opened with artillery but fired too high to be very effective. By the time we reached the rebel works, we were well mixed up with the infantry. I think our colors were the first inside the rebel fort.
After a short struggle, the rebels retreated to their reserve line of works. Our detachment turned their guns on them and compelled them to lay low. They made an attempt to form a line and charge on us twice but were completely broken up by our well-directed shots. The rebels run a cannon out in the open field and attempted to use it but we made it so hot for them they never fired a shot from it.
We had three of their guns we could use on them which only took about twenty of our men to man. Walter Wright & Levi Slocum were wounded. Wright with a grapeshot in the breast; Slocum with a bullet in the hand. Corporal Russell’s thumb was badly burned thumbing the vent — the gun being very hot from rapid firing. ² The rest of the boys were engaged carrying ammunition which we were obliged to carry about a mile across the lots by hand — a shell in one hand, a cartridge in the other. The struggle was kept up all day. We doubled [the gun] with canister at night but the rebels took advantage of the night [to retreat] and all was over in the morning of the 4th, We picked up our traps and returned to Battery 10.
¹ Both Tucker and Sommers were killed on 28 March 1865 at Battery No. 10.
² During the loading sequence on a gun, a member of the gun crew places his thumb over the vent hole to prevent a draft and seal off any excess air in the bottom of the bore.
TRANSCRIPTION LETTER ONE
Spring Hill Fort
August 12th 1864
Again I resume my pencil to inform you and the rest of the family that I am still in the land of the living and at the same place where I was the last time that I wrote to you. I have had a light attack of the “back door trot” but have not had to be up only two or three times a night yet, and I think it is somewhat better today. I have tried “sweet-gum tea,” Tamoca ginger, & blackberry cordial. I have no pain and seem to be gaining. I do not think the water here is first rate although it is quite clear and looks good.
Oh! I hear some news to tell you and that is the 37th New Jersey Regiment is here with us. They are out for 100 days. I was with them the other day looking for some of my pupils thinking there might be some of them here and finally I found a young man that lived about three miles from where I used to teach. He was acquainted with most of my patrons and finally I asked him if he knew John Dobler. He said yes—that he belonged to Co. (II) of his regiment so a day or two after I called on him. He knew me and was very glad to see me and also very much surprised. I found him most sick with a turn of the colic. He is a corporal. His father & mother are still alive and well and most of their neighbors also. Butler still stay there and keeps his span of grey as in days of yore.
The paymaster has been here and paid us off to July 1st. I have about one hundred dollars and I am in hopes that by the 1st of next January that I may have two hundred to pay in on my place so that encumbrance may be reduced to $400. Then we shall have to pay only $12.00 interest the next six months and then things will be a little more clear, but they look clear enough now ion nothing happens to George or me—that is, if he is willing to look out for you at home. At any rate, there is at this time 290 dollars more bounty due me from the government.
Another member of our company has run his race. Died of sickness in the hospital since I wrote last. His name was James F. Huntly. One more is quite sick now.
Stamps are played out. Cannot get any here. Love to you all. — James
TRANSCRIPTION LETTER TWO
Battery No. 4 near Petersburg, Va.
October 25th 1864
Again I resume my pen to write you a few lines, not that I have anything of importance to communicate, but as much to pass away the evening as anything.
I have dated my letter the 25th although it is the evening of the 24th, but it will be the 25th when I send it to mail as it is near enough. I have some cotton that grew in a field near our fort in a field say about a mile from here and I thought you might like to see some of it an that is the reason I write tonight—so that I can send the cotton in this letter. Some of it is in the boll as it grew and some of it it picked out. It is very nice cotton although the staple is not very long. I will send also some blue yarn or worsted that I picked up near Jordan’s house. It is of no value but may be looked on as a curiosity more than anything else.
I saw some rose buds that were picked in the garden near the same house last night. I think it is getting rather late for roses up in Connecticut but they bloom all summer here until the cold weather kills them which will not be until next month.
I think by appearance here that another move will be made here immediately. If such should be the case, you will hear from me often so that you need not worry about me if you should hear of a fight, for letters will inform you of my whereabouts. I am well. Have not had any more shakes and think they are not worth having anyway even if a man could just as well as not.
I see by the papers that Gen. Sheridan gave the rebels a good dressing up the Valley last week.
Do you remember Russell Perkins? the man I learned to paint oriental painting of? He used to board at Mrs. Carrol’s at the time I did. He belongs to Co. L of our regiment and was badly hurt by a shell last Saturday.
Love to you all. From your affectionate son, — James
TRANSCRIPTION LETTER THREE
Battery No. 3
Bermuda Hundred, Va.
Since I wrote to you last both of your last letters have come to hand and the money all right, and I will reply to them both at once being that I had just written at the time the first of them reached me.
There is not much news to write about here—only that the pickets have stopped firing at each other on this line so that all is quiet here now.
I suppose you will wish to know how I get along and how I like it here first rate. There is quite a difference in our living from what there was when I was an enlisted man, for now we have as good as the market can afford. Fresh meat three times a day and coffee generally twice & tea once. Also soup two or three times a day. Butter all of the time. Mackerel almost every day. Codfish cakes three or four times a week. Oysters & chicken once in awhile &c. &c. But these things cost us the cash and we have to advance the money for them, and as there is four months pay due us, we are a little short of funds until the paymaster comes around which I hope may be in January. Therefore, if you can spare me another ten dollars and not cut yourself short, please send it and when I get paid, I will return the same to you at that time. Everyone here is short of money at this time or I could borrow it without any trouble.
Just say to Austin and Benjamin I want they should keep wood enough cut to last you a week and that they can do it easy if they are a mind to try. Now boys, you are old enough to attend to the chores around the house without making Mother any trouble, and I want you to do so. You ought to be ashamed to give mother any occasion to write me concerning your slackness about these little things.
Mr. Hall have moved to No. 390 Main Street (in the third floor). Can you find it? I have not heard from Mr. Hill’s folks for several weeks. I walked 25 miles yesterday and am a little lame today but am well.
With love to you all. I will close. Your affectionate son, — James
Direct the same as last time. No more snow here yet.
TRANSCRIPTION LETTER FOUR
Redoubt McConihe, Virginia
April 8th 1865
Your very kind letter came safely to hand. I was very sorry to hear that the family has been unwell. It must make it very hard for you. I should have thought George would have been home again before he went to Brooklyn. I am sure I should and would even now if I could come but that is beyond my power and therefore I shall have to remain for a time longer. You didn’t say how you were off for money and thinking you might need some, I will send you ten dollars. I should like to send you more but cannot very well spare it at this time, not knowing how long it may be before we get any again. I hope that Bennie and Charlie are better by this time. I hope you will do all you can for them regardless of the expense as I will attend to this when I have an opportunity which I hope and trust now may not be many months more for I believe the Rebellion is nearly over, and how the war can last much longer I cannot conceive.
One of our Lieutenants in coming on met George on the boat between Hartford and New York. He sent his address to me as G. F. Elliot or Thos. Paine, No. 128 Prospect Street, Brooklyn, New York. Thinking you might wish to know where he is, I concluded to let you know, fearing it might be too much work for him to write you a letter.
I have a letter from Mary. All well as usual. Send your next letter to me as Washington D. C. as I cannot say where I may be. With much love to you all, I close affectionately, — James | English | NL | f85bf8f3a3ca0a1dbd039ca5818436bddd27728904c906f31609e661d6ab2f70 |
More from Hedge House, a paranormal/urban fantasy that I hope to have out later this year.
Picking up from last week, with Jacob and Cara discussing the plans for the day.
Cara shook her head. “Did he… leave a note? Do they know why?” She swallowed hard. “It’s because I said I was going to report him to the Bar, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. I do know that whatever made him do it, it’s not your fault. You didn’t push him to it, you didn’t tie the knot and put the rope around his neck.”
“No ‘buts,’” Jacob said firmly. “There is such a thing as personal responsibility, and the responsibility in this case rested firmly and squarely with Henry Rupert.” His tone softened. “I know that sounds harsh, but I want you to be clear that it was not your fault, that your actions and words had no bearing on what happened.”
She nodded slowly. She could accept that she wasn’t to blame, but something made her believe that something had happened to make him do it, and that it was somehow related to her…
“Is it because I wanted to compare the documents? He knew there would be discrepancies.”
Jacob hesitated for a moment. “Yes and no,” he said. “He knew there would be discrepancies and he knew what they were, but he wasn’t the only one who knew.”
She looked at him for a moment, puzzled.
“Jonas.” She barely breathed the name, but Jacob nodded.
When Cara Hawthorne returns to the childhood home she had been torn away from twenty years earlier, she thinks it will be to do nothing more than settle her grandmother’s estate and return to her job as a junior lawyer at a prestigious law firm in Tulsa.
But every nook and cranny of the house and gardens unearths long-buried memories, and when the town’s mayor sets his sights on her and the property she finds herself caught up in a centuries old battle with powers she has only barely begun to understand | English | NL | 241af5a751def74f799e8b790c70e77528e8df4f6265fc0f9dc03925db7ba344 |
When a guy asks to be called daddy, it can definitely feel weird. You get that a guy might like dirty talk in the bedroom, but he is decidedly not your daddy and just the idea seems weird to you. While this might be a common request, it doesn’t make it feel any more normal if you are not used to it. Depending on the guy, there are a number of reasons why a guys like being called daddy that could be going on.
Why Do Guys Like Being Called Daddy?
It turns out that some guys like being called daddy because it makes them feel powerful. He is not looking for an actual father-daughter relationship. He just likes the term because it makes him feel strong and powerful when he is in bed.
Some guys like being called daddy because it makes them feel more masculine. More importantly, it makes them feel like they are more masculine with you in the bedroom. While there are surely less odd ways to achieve this, some guys just like being called daddy.
3. It Fits an Archetype
Obviously, he does not actually want to be your father. The father role is dominant. It is considered protective, authoritative and nurturing in real life. Because of that, a guy feels like he has all of these archetypal qualities when you call him daddy in the bedroom. It makes him feel like you are opening up your vulnerabilities to him and that he is protecting you.
4. A Term of Endearment
There are many different terms of endearment that lovers use in bed. It might have nothing to do with seeing himself in a fatherly role or seeing you in a daughter-like role. Instead, it is just a term of endearment that he likes for some reason.
5. He Likes Role Play
Sometimes, guys like role playing in the bedroom. They like to play a character to spice things up. In some cases, the guy wasn’t the one who even thought of the character to start with. He may have had a girlfriend before who called him daddy, and he liked how it made him feel.
6. He Loves the Taboo
Other guys enjoy that being called daddy feels taboo. Some people like taboo sexual acts like bondage or role play. Being called daddy is just another option for breaking sexual norms and societal roles. For these guys, there might not be any more thought given to the term than that it turns him on and makes it feel like he is doing something unique or taboo in the bedroom.
7. He Watches Too Much Porn
What we see and encounter each day can shape who we are and what we want out of life. In the case of porn, sexual desires can be shaped and modified. He may not have thought of daddy as a desirable sexual term before, but he saw it used on porn movies a lot. Before long, he started to wonder how it would feel if you used the same term with him. Because it seemed so sexually charged and desirable in the movie, he imagines that he will get to enjoy the same feelings if you use it in the bedroom.
8. It Makes Him Feel Respected
In general, fathers are a fairly well-respected part of society. In some cases, a guy likes being called daddy because it makes him feel like he has the same respect that a father gets. He might not feel like he is respected in his daily life, so he seeks out that sense of empowerment and respect in the bedroom.
Technically speaking, fathers do not own their daughters. There is a sense, however, that children are the responsibility of their parents. Some guys like being called daddy because it makes them feel as if you are entirely theirs. He may think of it as a sign of your commitment and dedication to him. He knows that he doesn’t actually own you, but the term makes him feel like you are entirely his.
10. It Is an Odd Quirk
There are definitely times when guys like being called daddy for no reason at all. He might have heard the term on a porn film and wondered what it would be like to hear in real life. He may have used it with a previous girlfriend. You may have said it jokingly during sex before, and he found that it turned him on. For whatever the reason, he just likes being called daddy. He might not even realize why he likes it, so he definitely can’t tell you the reason why he enjoys the term so much.
What Should You Do Now?
What you do next is entirely up to you. If you are comfortable with the term, then try it out and see if you like it. If you don’t like calling him daddy, then don’t do it. You should do whatever makes you feel comfortable in the bedroom. Since you are in a relationship with him, talk to him about how you feel. Make sure to set your boundaries about what you like and dislike. Safe words are also a good idea if you two are trying to push the boundaries in bed. There is no inherent harm in calling him daddy, so whether you do or not is entirely up to you and what you are comfortable with saying. | English | NL | 5cfaac39338eca6fd5a0867da233b6c384e409ff5c1d35a3776968e779244ac1 |
It was July 19th, 1978 when a lonely, middle aged woman named Meredith moved into 728 West Grove Avenue. Meredith had just lost her husband to cancer, a kind man to whom she had been married to for 27 years. Meredith had no children. Her only remaining family was a sister who lived in St. Petersburg, Florida, more than 1,000 miles away from the lonely old house in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. So Meredith was all alone, a broken woman, in her new, very old house.
The only company she had on the first day of her new life was her young neighbor, Mrs. Anders and her two children, a five year old boy named Carter and his eight year old sister, Jenna. They had decided to welcome her to the neighborhood with some fresh baked cookies. Meredith didn’t have the heart to tell Mrs. Anders that she had diabetes.
It was only after Meredith began unpacking her collection of porcelain dolls that she began to notice some strange happenings within the shabby old house. Back aching, she noticed that a couple of her dolls had been turned around. She thought nothing of it. A wind or a careless arm could’ve done it. But then, one day while Meredith was coming up from the dark, moldy basement, she heard the distinct sound of porcelain shattering against hardwood. Meredith ran upstairs to the little shelves where her dolls were so lovingly placed, only to find that the very first doll she'd ever bought, a beautiful, Russian-style girl with long dark hair, was in smithereens on the floor.
Meredith was more sad than scared. She swept up the remains of the shattered little doll, and not being able to throw it away, put the scraps in a cardboard box and pushed it deep into the darkest, loneliest corner of her bedroom closet. Meredith had heard rumors of strange phenomenon in the house. The older man she'd bought the house from had told her to be careful. Told her that the house could have some strange effects on the mind. Meredith had thought, at the time, that the man was old and confused, he must’ve been in his late eighties, after all. But now she began to think and ponder on what the man had said. Especially the curious statement he had made last: “There’s something wrong with the basement.” The basement was dingy and wet, yes, and perhaps there was some mold or fungus growing in the darkness, but this didn’t bother Meredith. That's what basements are like, after all.
As she exited the basement again, a knock sounded at the door. It was a fast, frantic knock. Meredith slowly walked towards the door, cautious. She was an older woman living alone, and a robbery wouldn’t be unheard of. She opened the door. It was Mrs. Anders, her neighbor. She looked panicked, her eyes bloodshot and her hair a mess. “Oh, Meredith,” she began, her voice shaking, “please tell me you’ve seen Carter today?” Meredith thought hard, her mind wasn’t what it used to be. Her memory had started to fade faster lately.
“No, I can’t say that I have,” said Meredith, as she stood wracking her brain. A look of disappointment and fear washed over Mrs. Anders. She looked up at Meredith and let out a small gasp.
“Meredith, are you feeling alright?” she asked, concern in her voice. To tell the truth, Meredith hadn’t been feeling alright. The last few days she hadn’t slept much. She was so tired, and her joints were screaming. She could feel her bones scraping together with every move she made.
“I’m fine, dear,” said Meredith.
Mrs. Anders left and went to the next house. Meredith creaked her way out of the basement and up to look in the mirror in her bathroom. She looked dreadful. Her eyes were sunken, her hair was thin, and it her skin had gone ashen-gray. She felt her forehead, expecting to find fever, but she was cold and clammy. “There’s something wrong with the basement,” she muttered to herself, echoing the old man.
As she left the bathroom, she felt a sharp pain in her foot. She sat down on her bed and brought her foot to her lap. A large shard of porcelain was protruding from her heel. She felt dizzy. Grasping the shard, she began to pull it out, wincing in pain. The shard drew cleanly from her heel, and a small trickle of blood followed it.
As she came up from the basement, the front door rattled in it's frame from a loud, frantic pounding she had never heard before. She made her way to the door, her back brittle, her joints corroded and stiff. It was Mrs. Anders again. “Meredith!” she shouted, her previous patience and kindness had completely evaporated. “I know you’ve done something with her, you witch!” Her hair was stringy, her eyes sunken. She hadn’t slept in days, “Where is Jenna? I know you know where she is!”
Meredith remained calm, almost absent, with these screams of anguish. “Please calm down, dear. Come in and I’ll make you some tea.”
“I don’t want tea!” shouted Mrs. Anders, tears running down her face, “I want to know what you’ve done with my children!” Meredith looked puzzled. She leaned in close to Mrs. Anders. Her putrid breath smelled of metal. In a harsh whisper, she uttered, “There’s something wrong with the basement…” Mrs. Anders shoved past Meredith, knocking her to the floor. Mrs. Anders stormed through the decaying, decrepit house, or what used to be a house. Dust and mold was abundant. It stunk like a rotting animal. Mrs. Anders approached the threshold of the basement. She opened the thin door separating the house from the rotting underbelly that was the basement. She stood, staring down into the abyss, her legs shaking and her stomach turning. She already knew what she would find in the moldy darkness.
Just as Mrs. Anders’ foot touched down on the first step, she felt a sharp push from behind. She tumbled down the stairs, bashing her head on the banister several times. Her head hit the wet concrete floor before she came to rest at the bottom. She held her hand up in front of her eyes, and recognized blood in the dim light. Blood that wasn't hers. At the top of the stairs, she recognized the silhouette of Meredith. Speaking with the voices of twenty at once, she solemnly said, “Mors tua, vita mea.” and shut the door.
As Meredith walked up the stairs to her bedroom, her dolls, broken, battered, and dusty, littered the hallways. Her bedroom was close, she was so tired. She did what it had asked. She was sure she'd done what it had asked, but she couldn’t seem to remember it, not anymore. Maybe now it would grant her the peace of death. Maybe it would release her husband so they could be together… after. As Meredith lay in her bed, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She smiled as her vision faded “There’s… something wrong… with the basement,” she muttered as she slowly and calmly faded away, her heart beating more erratically until it finally stopped, and she was free. | English | NL | 27c6144322b1643e7f8978e7e47866cd136602c267d3e40a4c39709e655409ac |
Bible Reading: John 6:1-14
Memory Verse Praise Him for his might acts. Praise Him according to His excellent greatness. Psalm 150:2
The disciples looked at each other. It was getting late and they were hungry. Jesus had been speaking to a huge crowd all day. Five thousand people! He healed many of them and taught them about the Kingdom of God. Now it was late in the afternoon.
“Send the people to the nearest villages,” they told Jesus. “There’s nothing to eat out here and they need to find food.”
“You feed them,” Jesus said.
“A paycheck for a whole year wouldn’t feed all these people,” Philip said.
“There’s a boy here offering five bread rolls and two little fish,” Andrew said. “But what good is that small amount?”
Jesus took the lunch that the boy had shared. He looked up to heaven and blessed the food. As he broke it into pieces, he handed them to the disciples. The disciples handed them out to the people. They watched in wonder because no matter how much Jesus broke, there was more in his hand.
When all the people had eaten, Jesus told the disciples to gather up the leftovers. There were 12 baskets full of bread and fish.
Jesus explained the miracle. “I am the Bread of Life,” he told them. Jesus is the source of everything we need. We shouldn’t focus our lives on food and clothes and stuff here on earth that fades away. But look for the eternal bread in heaven.
One more detail. One boy in five thousand was willing to give his lunch away. Because he gave his little bit, he played a big part in Jesus’ mighty miracle.
For you and I, when we give our “little” to Jesus, He can do great things. Our sacrifice might be small but our God is big.
What about you?
How would you feel if that was your lunch that Jesus used?
Do you feel like you have nothing to give God
Thank you Heavenly Father that you accept the little gift I have. Help me to do great things to bring You glory. In Jesus name, Amen. | English | NL | 6a83b8a03b20b930b27355663c9cc7ca1473eee26c0cb910ac38a1ff0c363af7 |
Charles M. Defieux was born in Liverpool, England on April 9, 1901. In 1911 his family immigrated to Canada and settled in Edmonton, where in 1917, he began his newspaper career as a copy boy and later junior reporter on the Edmonton Journal.
Although under age in the First World War, Mr. Defieux joined the Royal Air Force for the last two months of the war in 1918. The next year he joined the U.S. Army, staying for two years, including service in Siberia. Returning to Edmonton from the U.S. in 1921, Mr. Defieux combined newspaper work with radio. He was the first Canadian broadcaster to announce basketball games when the Edmonton Grads women's team was the world champion.
He continued to combine newspaper and radio work during the 1920s and 1930s in Vancouver, where he was a news and sports announcer for CJOR and CKWX, as well as a writer, actor, dancer-singer in radio and national radio revues. Mr. Defieux also worked briefly at KOMO in Seattle in 1928. While in Edmonton and San Francisco he also acted in stage productions. In 1923 he came to The Sun where he stayed for most of the next 17 years. In 1924, he coached the first Canadian football championship team, the Ex-King George men's team from Vancouver, and during the 1920s and 1930s was an emcee at hockey, wrestling and bicycle racing events in Vancouver.
In 1940 Mr. Defieux entered the RCAF, serving as an officer working in public relations and operations intelligence. In 1945 he was discharged as a flight lieutenant. That same year he returned briefly to The Sun as head of The Sun's Veteran Bureau, a service helping vets adjust to civilian life through counselling and help in dealing with government departments. Later in 1945, he joined the federal department of veterans affairs, a two-year job that included service as a personal assistant to the then-minister, Ian McKenzie. During later writing trips abroad, Mr. Defieux wrote reports on business and finance for the then-prime minister Lester Pearson, and handled China and Poland relief contributions for the federal government. Returning from Ottawa in 1947, he started a public relations business in Vancouver, becoming actively involved in publicity for and management of the Pacific National Exhibition for the next 12 years.
He also ran the weekly Richmond-Marpole Times for two years before selling it in 1951, and continued work on the massive volume Years of Man, begun in 1943 and completed in 1961. The work began as a history of medicine but later branched out to include all other major historical events with some 17,000 cross-referenced entries. Though it was never published, Mr. Defieux did get a royalty advance on the book and took a world tour writing newspaper stories. In 1958 he had made a four-month study of the economic system of the United Kingdom.
With a lifelong interest in the sea, inherited from his father who was a master mariner on sailing ships, Mr. Defieux was best known in for his column on shipping news and local marine history. He began the column in 1964, 40 years after he was named marine editor in an earlier stint with The Sun. Prior to his death on October 9, 1972 at the age of 70, he was still active as a freelance journalist, lecturer in marine affairs, and writing The Sun column, "Of Ships and Men."
Collection consists of textual records comprised of research notes, correspondence, and working papers related to the maritime research undertaken by Charles M. Defieux. Collection also contains newspaper clippings from The Vancouver Sun and excerpts of journal articles from publications including Sea Breezes. | English | NL | baba2bc155c95a06dcc70767a982f1f022bf7188e4a3e1d7a77d184a322ba56a |
by Ed Nichols
John Cabe liked to eat his lunch in the gazebo. The roof provided shade and the open sides let him watch the town square. He always ate his lunch in the gazebo after he finished mowing the courthouse lawn. He ate slowly and sipped iced tea from his thermos. Occasionally a warm breeze would bring the cut grass smell through the gazebo.
He watched traffic going around the square. Gears changing, engines purring and knocking, tires making soft screeching sounds on the hot asphalt. He watched people milling about town. Some days, tourists stop and take pictures of the gazebo. Occasionally they take a picture of the large granite Veteran’s Memorial which is located on the lawn halfway between the courthouse and the gazebo.
For over twenty-five years, John Cabe has been cutting the grass around the Habersham County courthouse, and around the gazebo and the Veteran’s Memorial. He has never charged the county a penny. Sometimes, in the late afternoon, he likes to sit in the gazebo and watch the sun go down behind the mountains. And when the street lights come on, he listens for the first sounds of the crickets and tree frogs starting their night songs along the river.
Later that afternoon, John Cabe shaved and showered, and put on a clean shirt and
overalls. He left his house on Waters Street and walked down to the city park beside the Soque River. He sat on a bench overlooking the river. He knew so well the soft gurgling sounds the river made. Occasionally, he would lean forward, arms on his knees, and stare downstream to where the river disappeared around a bend. The river will always be here, he thought. Its soothing waters had helped him get through a lot in his lifetime. If I hadn’t lived here, in this little town near this river, I probably would’ve died, too. He leaned back on the bench and stared up at the sky. Life can be hard. But the simple things, the simple ways, can somehow ease the burden, he had always reasoned.
Finally, John Cabe stood up and started back uptown. The sun was setting and there were a few people about. He walked across the grass to the Veteran’s Memorial. Slowly, he traced his fingers down the list of names, reading each out loud. Hoping, somehow hoping, that one name was gone, had never been etched in the granite. That maybe he’d just had a bad dream. But, his fingers stopped on: Bobby Cabe 4/12/48 – 6/15/69. Leaning hard against the granite, he closed his eyes and let the memories wash over him. He didn’t try to push the memories away. He let them come, just as he always had, just as he always would.
President of Nichols Consulting. Graduate of University of Georgia. Thirty years Human Resource experience. Seminar leader. Published non-fiction author: The 8 Great Principles of Managing. Written two novels (unpublished), and several short stories, (one published). Short story award winner from Southeastern Writer’s Association. A story accepted this month by an online press to be published in June. | English | NL | 79c4c527c2b30829dd318cc14943b7d016158d738236718bad6156af0a434138 |
Steven L. Head
Steven Head is a partner at the firm. He has devoted his entire career to litigation of risk insurance matters. He concentrates his practice on workers’ compensation, representing the interests of employers, insurers and third-party administrators throughout Georgia. Mr. Head received a B.A. from Emory University in 1975 and a J.D. from Emory University School of Law in 1979. He has served as an appointed member of the Advisory Council of the State Board of Workers’ Compensation since 2005, assisting in legislation and legislative affairs. He is also past Chairman of the Workers’ Compensation Section of the Atlanta Bar Association. Mr. Head is an associate member of the Georgia Workers’ Compensation Association. He serves as a member of the Board of Directors of the Georgia Chamber of Commerce. Mr. Head has been a frequent speaker at continuing education seminars on a number of topics concerning workers’ compensation, and is a certified mediator and arbitrator. He is rated “AV preeminent” by Martindale-Hubbell Law Directory. | English | NL | 070836dc25a120bb5c2ba8808a50f977b7509778ca1cc930995b905693bff837 |
Max Krimmel has been fascinated all his life with the way things are made. When he became interested in learning to play the guitar, he quickly figured out how to build one, and between 1965 and 1982, built 167 instruments that have been collected by American music stars. A friend once asked Krimmel to store a wood lathe for him, and when the artist tried making a few bowls for Christmas gifts, he was hooked. He began turning alabaster on the lathe after seeing an exhibition of the technique, and has produced more in stone than in any medium since.
Luce Artist Biography | English | NL | a9123b56bcc3de5f3fda69d83ca708077f728a1c2933ce5f93c42fff80235290 |
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I drove us down Beverly, then Sunset. Up and down, past expensive hotels and film studios. I figured this would be an easy way to rack up the meter without driving too far.
“Do you ever think about dying?” she asked me, her voice small. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror. Her head was still limp against the car door. Anyone else in my back seat and I might’ve been wary of being asked something like that past midnight, but she didn’t seem threatening. Perhaps she just had a morbid curiosity. I could relate.
“Yeah,” was all I could say.
I do think about death sometimes, less and less these days but it was an obsession with me as a child when my mother died. She was crossing the street one day and, that’s it. It was quick, painless they said. I missed her a lot. I was young, maybe nine or ten, but it didn’t change my outlook on the world too much. (I became a cab driver, for god’s sake.) That should’ve been the kick in the ass I needed to realize that life was fleeting and could be over at any second. But it wasn’t. I stayed inside as a teenager, read books, kept my dad company while he watched TV, then grew up to drive old folks around the small Anaheim neighbourhood I lived in, before I went on to do doing it full time. No college, no girlfriends, a small studio in Garden Grove was all I achieved. Sometimes I wonder if things would’ve been different if my mother were still around. Probably not.
“Are you scared of it?” my passenger asked, taking me out of my trance. Her hand was sticking out the window now, being pushed back by the air.
I shrugged, figuring a shrug was a good enough answer, but she continued to stare at me in the rearview, her bright blue eyes hard to ignore.
“Can’t stop it,” I said. “If it happens, it happens. Nothing to fear when you don’t exist anymore.”
The girl nodded, gaze drifting back to her flapping arm. “I used to be scared, then I came to the same sort of conclusion.”
A moment passed in silence.
“But wait!” she started, there’s more — “What about heaven?”
“What about it?”
“Do you believe in it?”
I inhaled. My mother and father believed in it, probably because my grandparents instilled it in them. They never forced me to care much about church or the bible, and after the accident my father believed my mother was inside the pearly white gates in the sky, the big man giving her the tour of the place with a clipboard in his hand and clouds under their feet, but he never made me believe the same. Some kids at school told me my mom was in a hole in the ground and that was that. My father had a few choice words for their parents, no one talked about it again with me.
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Really had to ponder that one, huh?” she gave me a polite smile.
Do you? I wanted to ask but didn’t. No more hole-in-the-ground talk for me tonight.
“It’s okay, I do too. Maybe I shouldn’t, I don’t know. Gets my hopes up. But that’s what it’s supposed to do, right?”
I nodded. The comforting thought that you’re still here when you’re no longer here.
“I hope when I die, I’m wrong and there’s nothing out there anymore.”
“Why?” I said, looking up at her.
“I don’t want to feel the pain I do right now.”
In the mirror, she just sat there, her gaze fixed outside on nothing. She looked through the road and straight to the void beyond. I was right when I said I could see it in her eyes, whatever pain she must’ve been feeling, but her look was just so absent and wooden. It was the same look my father had when he had the remote in one hand and a can of beer in the other, all night every night until I moved out. But I didn’t want to push her, like how I never wanted to push my father until I realized I should have, but by then it was too late.
“Are you okay?”
My words hung there, dangling between us until she finally acknowledged them.
“I have cancer,” she said. “It’s in my kidney. Stage four, inoperable.” | English | NL | 3807a3cc9fb2663503634fc66377371e453735dd03405e71f0de1147d726caf7 |
|1 John 5:1 |
1 [In this chapter John carefully defines what are the qualifying experiences of a believer who is born of God, which are summarized here:
1 Whoever believes that Jesus is the Christ, is born of God, and everyone who loves the father also loves him who is begotten of him.1
1 The single scripture verse, taken out of context, which people use to fool themselves to believe they are born again, is:
Whoever believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God .. 1 John 5:1.
"See" they say — "scripture proves I am born again because I believe Jesus is the Christ."
But look at the verses immediately after this partial verse taken out of context: Verse 1: Whoever believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God, and everyone who loves the Father also loves him who is begotten of Him. Verse 2: By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and keep His commands. Verse 3: For this is the love of God, that we keep His commands. And His commands are not burdensome. Verse 4: For whoever is born of God overcomes the world; and this is the victory that overcomes the world, even our faith. Verse 5: Who is he who overcomes the world, but he who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?
So John is saying: if you have been born of God: 1) you love God, 2) you love your fellow believers, 3) you keep God's commands [are obedient], and 4) you have overcome the world. John tells us who really believes that Jesus in the Son of God: he who has overcome the world, by fighting the good fight of faith, to victory over sin. He who believes in the Son of God has the witness in himself ... He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life, John 5:10,12. To have the Son, is to possess the Son and the Father in your heart, in sufficient measure to be your true Lord in control of your thoughts, words, and deeds. If you have been born again, you know Him to be in total control of you; you don't have to search the scriptures to think that you have eternal life. Paul confirmed: "For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God." Rom 8:14. | English | NL | 4bd295ef7ff3d6a6fc90c79d49680c1f79e10377367e3d60d69a81f1bdabf3b6 |
Charmed Season 1 Episode 17 Recap
In the previous episode of The CW’s Charmed, the Charmed Ones discovered that Charity killed Marisol. In Charmed Season 1 Episode 17, Harry faced the consequences of his affair with Charity while the sisters hunted a virility demon.
Niko asked Mel to come over. Scarlet, a woman she gave her card to, escaped to her apartment. Her memory was fuzzy, but Niko believed a cult had held her captive for a month. Because of Mel’s involvement with the Sarcana, Niko thought Mel would be a good resource.
The Charmed Ones determined they were dealing with Viralis, a virility demon. Viralis needed ten women to sacrifice themselves to maintain his virility and life force. He offered them their greatest desires before asking them to surrender, effectively hypnotizing them. Since Scarlet last remembered reading a sad poem at the student union, Maggie volunteered to serve as bait. She read a poem at the student union, and he immediately went to her. Her deepest desire was a love that would never leave.
After Harry helped them fix Charity’s tracker, which Maggie had on her, they were able to track her down to a barn. Macy and Mel found the women in the middle of the ceremony. Maggie fought Mel, while Macy went after Viralis. She threw his dagger at his crotch and vanquished him.
Harry had broken the rules by sleeping with Charity. To punish him, the Elders took his powers away. Without his powers, he would age quickly to 98 years old, the age he should be. He offered to help the Charmed Ones for as long as he could.
Mel used her powers in public to get the Elders’ attention. She fought for the restoration of Harry’s powers, considering they were the Charmed Ones and more powerful than the Elders. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
Harry wanted to see Fiona. When Mel asked Jada, she refused to help her. Mel rejected the Sarcana and broke up with Jada. At the barn, Jada helped Fiona try to get into Harry’s mind. Later, Fiona visited at the house under the guise of helping Harry. She took him to the temple under the house and de-aged him. Fiona tried to break into Harry’s mind again and took him with her.
Maggie wanted to serve as bait for Viralis to get demon blood for Parker. Although it would reverse the progress Parker made on his mother’s serum, he needed demon blood, and Alistair wasn’t an option for them. Macy was able to get a vial of demon blood from Viralis.
Julia refused to let Maggie see Parker since he would get worse before he gets better. When she went to administer the second dose of blood, he appeared to be full shadow demon.
What did you think of this episode of Charmed? Let us know in the comment section below! | English | NL | 2fdb435c7c536035b08afb9ffc47f1b6a6fb45eb22db7cecc40d93dd93e864d6 |
- Eric Zencey
Eric Zencey, professor, writer and social critic, died on July 1 at his home in Montpelier. His wife, Kathryn Davis; daughter, Daphne Zencey; and sister-in-law Anne Davis were at his side. He was 65.
Eric arrived in Vermont in 1980 to teach at Goddard College, quickly developing a deep love for his adopted state. It was at Goddard where he met Kathryn and where they were married, building a life together and raising their daughter, Daphne. Eric adored hiking Camel's Hump, swimming in #10 Pond, walking with Kathryn and their dog in Hubbard Park, and kayaking with Daphne at Wrightsville.
Eric spent his career teaching courses that explored crosscurrents among economics, philosophy, political science, history and ecology. In addition to Goddard, he taught in Empire State College’s International Program, was a visiting lecturer in the Sam Fox School of Architecture at Washington University, and taught in the Honors Program at the University of Vermont, where he was a fellow at the Gund Institute.
Most of his writing focused on the subject of ecological sustainability, publishing Virgin Forest: Meditations on History, Ecology and Culture; The Other Road to Serfdom and the Path to Sustainable Democracy; and Greening Vermont: The Search for a Sustainable State. In addition, his novel Panama became a national best seller in 1995. These works had been supported by fellowships from the Guggenheim, Bellagio-Rockefeller and Bogliasco foundations.
Over the years, his commentaries appeared in several publications, including the New York Times, and he was quoted on both NPR and in the Harvard Business Review.
Eric is survived by his wife, Kathryn, and his daughter, Daphne, as well his brothers Carl and Matthew Zencey. He was predeceased by his parents, Ruth and Charles Zencey, and half-brother C. Frank Shaw. In the months before his death, he raised more than $100,000 to endow the Eric Zencey Prize in Ecological Economics. Contributions in his memory may be made to the Eric Zencey Prize through the UVM Foundation, 411 Main St., Burlington, VT 05401. A memorial service is planned for September 29 in VCFA’s Chapel. | English | NL | e6c7b5f2622d349553dc5f3a77d49d92791dcce1c887ea6808a776333a19fbaa |
SharkChic is the business of Meredith (Meri) Peach, artist, fibre sculptor and basket maker.
I am an Australian fibre sculptor working with natural fibres and reclaimed synthetic materials. My route to this career was circuitous. Since I was a child I have been interested in art and nature, and as an adult I have worked in both art and biology. I completed a Bachelor of Visual Arts and worked for several years as an artist, illustrator and photographer. Feeling that the more analytical side of my personality was not being satisfied, however, I later returned to university to do a Bachelor of Science and PhD in biology, and thereafter worked as a marine biologist. My nickname at the time was Shark Chick – and I’m not the only one; it’s a moniker often given to women working with sharks. I often joked that if I ever returned to being an artist, that is what I would call my business.
I first experimented with basket making in 2002 and soon after branched out into fibre sculpture. Over the next decade I gradually phased out my scientific work as my artistic practice became full-time. My biology background continues to influence my work, which often references structures in nature and human relationships with the environment. I have taught fibre sculpture and basketry workshops since 2005. I regularly exhibit my work in group and solo gallery exhibitions, some of which I have also curated. I sell my baskets through Sturt Gallery and Timeless Textiles. I was a founding member, former President and Newsletter Editor of Basketry NSW Inc. I also write about fibre and basketry (see a recent article here), and am currently researching and writing a book on basketry history in Australia. | English | NL | 3d736c2e97135202c82b23f1545b3057d7b3b42d2b61f8e63687118008007f38 |
Tuppence Middleton joins the established cast of Downton Abbey for the upcoming film adaptation, and the actress has revealed that while she was worried about going into something "so big and iconic", the addition of new faces "added fresh energy" to the much-loved drama.
The movie starts in 1927 and reunites the aristocratic Crawley family and their army of loyal maids, butlers and cooks, who are thrown into disarray by the impending arrival of King George V and Queen Mary.
Their sprawling Yorkshire estate is being run by fewer servants in the wake of the Great Depression and the aftermath of World War I, and so the family ask retired head butler Carson (Jim Carter) to return to help with their affairs. Middleton arrives to Downton with fellow new cast member Imelda Staunton (who is married to Carson's Carter off-screen).
"You do sort of worry, going into something as big as this, that that it will be cliquey, or the fans won't accept you, and that any number of things can go wrong," the War and Peace actress told Harper's Bazaar UK.
"But it was so welcoming, and everyone was glad to see some new faces, and for these new characters to come in and affect the lives of some of the beloved characters that have been in the show for years. It adds fresh energy to it I think."
"It's such an iconic cast," she continued. "Sitting at the table read, it was really amazing seeing these faces that I've admired for as long as I've been working, and even before that, so it was great experience."
Middleton also disclosed details of her new character Lucy Smith - and hinted of a romance for Lucy that might cross the restrictive class barriers of the 19th century.
"I play Lucy Smith, she's the maid of Lady Bagshawe's (played by Staunton), and she travels with her to visit Downton along with the royal family," said the star.
"So there's this whole new group of people that come in, and the Downton regulars have to manage all these new personalities. And she also possibly has a little love story with someone..."
The original cast returning include Michelle Dockery as Lady Mary Crawley, Laura Carmichael as Lady Edith Crawley, Robert James-Collier as Thomas Barrow, Joanna Frogatt as Anna Bates, Maggie Smith as Violet Crawley, and Hugh Bonneville as Robert Crawley.
Meanwhile, Tuppence reunites with Imitation Game's Benedict Cumberbatch for historical drama The Current War, which follows the rivalry between electricity titans Thomas Edison and George Westinghouse.
The actress plays the wife of Thomas Edison Mary, who was a progressive woman who fought against the misogynistic conventions of her time by working. This was mostly unheard of in the late 1800s.
"The fact that she met when they were working together shows she was a modern woman," says Middleton. "She stopped working in our version when she married and had children, but she was still involved in what Thomas was doing, and that never went away."
"Mary was a very intelligent woman, and we didn't want her to be the supportive, meek wife - we wanted her to have her own voice and to have an effect on Edison and to be the person at the heart of the story who drives him forward. We tried to give her a bit more of a voice."
The Current War is in cinemas from 26 July, while Downton Abbey is released on 13 September. | English | NL | c3ce87505b09cfdd3a7a29866411077dfa6f1d6f1d038d33c9715cc76a2267c6 |
Even before we moved in, I was haunted by our house. I was a relatively young first-time buyer and the 1810 Colonial seemed very, very old. The price we offered was several thousand dollars above our sworn ceiling. The neighborhood, while congenial, was a tad more settled than I was feeling at the time.
But none of that spooked me as much as Marianne, the owner. A striking, white-haired, dignified lady in her mid-70s, she had proudly greeted us at the door the day we came to look. To the obvious annoyance of the real estate agent, lurking a few steps back, Marianne was evidently intent on accompanying us every step of the way. "This," Marianne said, ushering us into a high-ceilinged room off the front hallway, "was my husband's office. How he loved working in here!" The commandingly stylish agent tried to assert herself. "It could make a super playroom. For the kids." Her emphasis on this last word was made in obvious hope that Marianne would get the message, which of course was that Marianne's husband was dead, her children were grown, and her once vital role in the unfolding lives of a family was down to a whisper.
Our tour resumed, with Marianne in the lead. She drew our attention to the sunlit living room where, she noted, her daughters had the habit of curling before the fireplace on long winter afternoons. "How long have you lived here?" I asked. "Forty years." I slumped against the wall, feeling short of breath and claustrophobic. Forty years hence this could be me—or more likely, my wife—and it would all have vanished. Our bounteous future would have drained into the receding past. Our two boys, now just 4 and 5, would be far away, calling on Sundays if we were very lucky.
To escape this onset of sorrow, I asked to see the basement. I'm no Mr. Fix-it, but I'd been briefed that basements were somehow important. We opened the cellar door. There, etched onto the frame, was a column of notches ascending like ladder rungs: Chris, 1968. Alice, 1970. And so on, topping off at about 5'4" in 1982. Oh yes, at the bottom was "dog," measuring a bit over 2 1/2'. Did the girls grow no taller? Or was 1982 the year when each small increment ceased to matter? When, I worried, would that dread year arrive for my family?
The closing was held in the conference room of a small law office. Marianne was seated stiffly, stoically, with her lawyer. The mortgaging bank's attorney was present, as were my wife and I, plus our lawyer. The table was cluttered with piles of documents. Our attorney, an affable fellow who had three other closings that day, swiftly perused each pile, mumbling an occasional comment to let us know he was on top of everything. Marianne remained somber. Her utter irrelevance to the process appeared to depress her. It was all like some heavily ritualized religious ceremony conducted in an untranslatable tongue. Obediently, we signed each and every dotted line.
The lawyers exchanged paper-clipped copies. Extraneous documents were wedged back into manila folders. Briefcases snapped shut. Done deal. Marianne abruptly stood. "My lawyer," she announced, "said I shouldn't do this." Her lawyer scowled, confirming this fact. "My daughter had the idea to write something. About our lives in the house and all it has meant to us." The attorneys nervously consulted their watches. Time was money and maybe their clocks were running. Mine stood stone still. The paper trembling slightly in her wrinkled hand, Marianne began to read. As a young couple, she and her husband had moved in with their babies. Virtually everything she hoped would happen in this house had come to pass. It was more than a house; it was a place where life occurred. Now it was time for her to move on. Marianne gazed directly at me and my wife. In a voice husky with emotion, she said, "May the new owners enjoy a full and rewarding life." With that, her eyes teared up.
Suddenly, all the procedural trivia of the closing dissipated. This was a benediction, not just a transaction. There's a deeper realm to this construction of lumber and lawn we call property. As when the fog burns away to reveal a vista, I finally saw clearly what was happening. Time would indeed sweep by far too quickly. My wife and I would raise our children and in what might seem like the blink of an eye, we would grow old. But thanks to Marianne, I would not be haunted. It would all be okay.
Bob Katz is a writer living in Lexington, Massachusetts. | English | NL | 34b68bc811cf4fa0599a05bb73d1773bed30660e2385b5f88a8b292d07c7e146 |
The new season of winter meetings of the Historical Society got off to a fine start and a very full hall to hear Joseph Giacopazzi talk about Italian migration to Scotland in the 19th and 20th centuries, with particular reference to his own family.
Mr Giacopazzi gave us an excellent background to the history of Italy and highlighted the tiny village of St Vincenzo, some 2000 feet up in the Appennine mountains, isolated and inhospitable, from which his forefathers came.
From 1820, Italian migrants had walked to Paris and on to London in search of more income. Often they were street vendors with hand carts, selling ice cream in summer and roast chestnuts in winter.
Mr Giacopazzi's grandfather, Guiseppe, took the train to Scotland when a youth of 18 but went back to Italy in 1904, aged 23, returning to Scotland with his bride, Livia, 17. It was interesting to hear that there were 340 Italian ice cream shops in Glasgow alone and many others in other parts of Scotland. There were no fridges or freezers in those days and the ice cream was made by collecting ice from the local Lomond hills and storing it in wooden bunkers. Guiseppe went back to Italy to fight in WW1 while Grandmother Livia kept alive the business in Scotland. He was demobbed in 1918 and returned to Scotland, buying his shop in Milnathort for £400. Guiseppe and Livia had two sons, Trentino and Eduardo, Trentino being Joseph Giacopazzi's father.
At the beginning of WW2 Trentino was imprisoned in Perth and Edinburgh as an "enemy alien" with hundreds of other Italians. He had a passion for flying and after much trouble he persuaded the RAF that he was indeed a loyal Scot and the RAF let him fight for Britain. Trentino's mother ran the shop while he was away.
Joseph Giacopazzi has carried on the family business in Milnathort and this year, 102 years after Joseph's great grandparents were married, Joseph's son Peter was married in the same village of St Vincenzo in Italy.
Mrs Mary Muirhead thanked the speaker for a lively and very interesting talk. | English | NL | 1e1a9da40fdb18e74bf814d5ce32f947f7a39ef02410218eb54283281d8e55b6 |
Christ Church Frederica
St. Simons Island, Glynn Co., Georgia
In February 1736, the first English settlers arrived on St. Simons Island. The group left England for the Americas on 10 December 1735, under the guidance of Gen. James Edward Oglethorpe. Three ships carried these 227 immigrants to their new land, the Symond under Capt. Joseph Cornish, the London Merchant under Capt. John Thomas, and the Hawk under Capt. James Gascoigne.
Amongst them were the English settlers, the Moravians, the Salzburgers, and three missionaries, Rev. Benjamin Ingham, and the Wesley boys, Charles and John. The Moravians did not come all the way to St. Simons, they landed near Savannah, but the rest of the party arrived and formed the town of Frederica.
An early description in a London paper stated that they had one minister who has a salary from the Society for Propagating the Gospel in Foreign Parts. No mention of a church building.
Charles & John Wesley,
Benjamin Ingham, and George Whitefield, were members of a club
back in England at Oxford University. This club was deemed the "Holy
Club" by the general public. The group was formed by the Wesleys
and there were about 15 members total.
John Wesley was sent to America under the guidance of Dr. John Burton, one of the trustees for the founding of the Colony of Georgia. John was authorized by the trustees to perform all religious offices in the towns of Savannah and Frederica. It was also arranged for his brother, Charles, to come along as Secretary to Oglethorpe and as Secretary to Indiana Affairs. Just before their departure, Charles was ordained as a deacon, even though he originally had no interest in the holy orders. His mind was changed when he was told that he would be able to better serve the spiritual interests of the colonists if he were a clergyman. This calling was to prove his salvation.
Benjamin Ingham arrived in Frederica several weeks before the Wesley boys, and was on hand to greet them as they landed. John had stayed in Savannah, but later arrived at Frederica when duties called Charles to Savannah. However, John did not stay permanently, he traveled back and forth between Savannah and Frederica. In their journals, both men stated that they held services in the open air, or at certain buildings. Charles held four services every day, John scheduled Wednesdays and Fridays for meetings. An oak tree at the Christ Church property is designated as the Wesley Oak, where the men sometimes held services under its sprawling limbs.
Charles was considered a Methodist, and his first charge was at Frederica. The term Methodist was coined due to the followers' strict way of life. This congregation later became the Methodist Episcopal Church. John Wesley was here for about a year or so, Charles only 10 weeks, both returning to England, never to see America again.
After the war, St. Simons became a hot spot for new plantation owners, therefore the parish was re-organized, called St. James since 1758, and to show their thanks to the Christ Church of Savannah, the church at Frederica was named Christ Church as well. In 1808 lands were petitioned for on which to build a church, the people were granted 100 acres around the town of Frederica and three lots within the town for use by the church.
William Page and Dr. Robert Grant were named wardens and Joseph Turner, John Couper, James Hamilton, Raymond Demere, Jr., and George Abbott were vestrymen. The lands were rented and the funds went towards building the first Christ Church of Frederica in 1820 with the Rev. Edmund Matthews, DD serving as rector.
During the Civil War, the island
was yet abandoned again, the church was used by northern troops, and was
demolished beyond repair. But the church found it's savior in the
form of Anson Green Phelps Dodge, Jr., who in 1879, re-organized
the parish once again, and rebuilt the church in honor of his late wife
Anson Dodge later became the rector of the church, and due to the recent loss of his first, and only child, formed a home for boys, boys that he and his new wife, Anna Gould, adopted as their own. But tragedy struck once again, and Anson passed away at the young age of 33 years. The home for his newly adopted sons was named the Anson Dodge Home for Boys in his honor. It was not only a home, but a private school, that the local island children were allowed to attend for free. This was the only grammar school on the island until 1956.
Christ Church also has one of the oldest cemeteries in the county, the earliest death recorded on a stone is 1803. Most anyone who settled St. Simons in those early years, can be found interred on these hollowed grounds. The Coupers, the Kings, the Grants, the Goulds, various rectors of the church, and those who we may never know due to the ravages of time.
The church built in the 1880s by Anson Dodge remains standing today, still holding services, with over 1000 members! Only about 160 people, more or less, can be seated so services are divided into four on Sunday, and other services conducted at another property. You can also pay a visit during day light hours throughout the week, go inside, sit down, and enjoy the views of the stained glass windows depicting scenes from the bible, and early St. Simons Island days at Frederica. Or take a stroll through the ancient cemetery, shrouded in majestic live oaks, dripping with Spanish moss.
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Long overdue, President Obama recently awarded 24 Congressional Medals of Honor to servicemen or their surviving family members that had been denied earlier because of their race or religion.
One of the men to receive the medal was Staff Sgt. Melvin Morris, who served in the Vietnam War. Morris was one of the earliest members, and first black men, in the Army Special Forces, better know as the "Green Beret."
In an interview with NBC News, Morris showed his beret to a reporter. Morris said, "Yeah, it's beat up, it's sewn up, but it's survived. But I will never wash it because I always said, 'Let the blood, sweat and tears stay in it.'"
To Melvin Morris, the blood, sweat and tears are sacred reminders of a war in which he fought, was wounded, and saw his brothers in arms die. It was a time and place where he suffered, was tested and tried, and by the grace of God, survived.
There was another man who suffered, and his blood, sweat and tears should never be forgotten - in fact, they can't be.
A friend who knew him well was doubting the fantastic story falling on his ears. The one who had suffered death on a Roman cross, whose sweat was described as "drops of blood," who was beaten, pierced through his hands, feet and side and removed lifeless and placed in an empty tomb, was now alive.
The Bible says, "So the other disciples were saying to him, 'We have seen the Lord!' But he said to them, 'Unless I see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my finger into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.'" (John 20:25)
It was eight days later that Jesus came again into the presence of his disciples again. Jesus invited Thomas to "touch his hands and side."
Thomas' response was both astonishment and praise, "My Lord and my God!" (John 20:28)
Some make the argument that the only "scars" in heaven will be the scars that Jesus bore for our sin. We should not forget. Indeed, how can we forget the blood, sweat and tears of Calvary? To forget them would mean we could forget our very salvation, our deliverance and our deliverer.
We cannot forget the cross where our savior suffered, nor should we forget the empty tomb where he arose. Some might want to politely forget the suffering as not being politically correct and others, like Thomas, may doubt the validity of the empty tomb.
Yet the scars are a reminder of the blood, sweat and tears of the Gospel, and they must remain. They are a tangible reminder that Jesus is alive and words on our lips should always declare, "My Lord and my God!"
The Rev. Charles G. Jones is a Baptist minister who lives in Watkinsville. | English | NL | f92df86370e19288cf8074068c8f7fe8a6f638f7da9b2290b2cedd1cec3a4c37 |
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