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It wasn’t too back in time and it isn’t dated in memory. As such, it isn’t a childish memory. Only childlike. But it still was a good day, fresh in my heart as if it were only yesterday. This was the day when two hearts met through some thought-out planning and some cheerful, harmless mischief. This was the day that I realized, when things are right in life, you must go about and shout #KhulKeKheloHoli.
I hadn’t met her for five years. It’s not a small time and things do get between two people that make their relationship less nurturing, less fulfilling and finally, tough to carry on. As that, it had been months we hadn’t talked, nor had we exchanged pleasantries on Birthdays even. Bizarre things were starting to happen in our lives and neither of us saw any way out of them. Things weren’t bad or sad. They just were saturated, not leaving time or space for that soft corner you have for special people in life. But that Holi, things took a change for the better.
It was the Hindi new year and her street was abuzz with girls and boys playing and enjoying the different shades of Holi. They would throw water balloons on one another, throw entire buckets of water among them, ambeer-gulaal and the ‘kaala wala rang’ as we always call it. Among all this chaos, I was walking somewhere on a harmless path where my White Kurta and Jeans would not be tattered or spotted by any pinch of stray colour coming from a water-gun. It was an unknown street for me and I was an unknown person to them so somehow, they didn’t bother to get me in their game. They could if they wanted to but they didn’t. Maybe they were good people. Maybe they liked my Kurta too much 😛
Anyway, so as I made my way through the street to her door, I heard an unknown voice call a very known name. Sadly, you wouldn’t get the name here 😛 . And then, a very known voice responded to the very unknown voice as my heart knew no bounds. It was she and she was there. I had made all this plan of coming to her house and surprising her on HOLI on the paper-thin premise that I knew she was having a good amount of holidays at her college and so there was more than a fare chance that I would be able to find her at her place, at her home.
I rang the bell, although the gate wasn’t really shut as a symbol of welcoming guests wholeheartedly on Holi. But I was an uninvited guest and so I had to. Her father came to answer the door as I wished him Namastey, touched his feet and went on to put just a little ‘teeka’ of gulaal on his forehead, wishing him a very happy Holi.
At that very moment, that respected man right there had an expression on his face that spelled a thousand emotions but was blank in words. He had never seen me before and was befuddled as to who this unknown guy was, behaving as a long lost son (or maybe one wanting to be 😛 ). To clear his confusion, I told him my name and that I was his daughter’s friend. Maybe he understood the situation then and called out to her. As he did, she came running to the door and when she saw me, she was flabbergasted. But before she could come over to wish me a happy Holi, it was her mother who came forward first, maybe because the real gravity of what was happening had dawned upon her.
Her mother came up to me and I again touched her feet, wishing her a Happy Holi as I applied another little teeka, this time a green one, on her forehead. Her mother gave a ‘knowing’ sort of nod to me and then to her husband as they welcomed me in. On the way in, I simply wished her a happy Holi and did not even bother to put any colour on her. Maybe we thought it would be rushed. Maybe we thought that there would be a better time.
She made me sit at one of the chairs they had put in their verandah for guests as her father came in with his plate of colour. He called me by my name as I got up to his call. He first put a teeka on my forehead and then proceeded to apply some on my cheeks and chin too. He then did something that made his daughter’s eyebrows go wide. He put down the plate and hugged me a very happy new year, something that was although customary on Holi but something that she wasn’t expecting.
She offered me some of the Holi snacks that she must have set on the table beforehand. I took the smallest looking thing from amidst the box and put it into my mouth. Soon her mother came in carrying a glass bowl in her hand. As she came near, she put the bowl on the table and picked up the plate of colour in her hands. Seeing her stance, I got up again as she put a teeka of red on my forehead, just a little one and brushed off some of the green her husband had applied. She then handed me the bowl containing a halwa, one which I was later told she only reserved for ‘special guests’.
I sat there on the table, trying to act as calm and composed as I could as her parents asked me a little of here and there- that we went to school together, that I used to live in the neighboring muhalla and so on. A little while later, as I got up to leave, she came up to me with her own colour plate and put a teeka on my forehead. I wished her a happy Holi and did the very same to her. Her parents saw this but didn’t seem bothered. And then her mother said something that made our day. She told her that she may go out to play Holi with her friends, now that all the preparations at home were almost done. She rejoiced in herself but didn’t really show it. She just made her way to the door as I once again touched her parents’ feet and bid them goodbye.
I found her parents especially smart in that they did not bother to come to the door as she exited and I followed. As we got out, she gave me a ‘This took guts’ sort of expression but she never gave any sign that looked negative in any way. She looked rather happy and as we moved away from her house and towards the park where her friends would be playing, the complete joy of the festival came upon her. I loved to finally see her that happy and thought in my mind that I had finally made a decision I will look back with the softest of memories.
Once in the park, the complete assault of colour began. I realized that the teeka she had put earlier was just a ‘teaser-trailer’ in the long long film to come. We played with gulaal, the ‘kaala-wala’ colour, water and water balloons and what not. And while we did all that, we were least bothered about getting it off later on. All we cared was to get those colours on and to get those moments in. That day right there was one that had made everything right as we played Holi #Khulke all morning. | English | NL | d336a0a13d46d791010d2ed5895dcd99e19180702df44ac81bba981b96b7024e |
28F - Devil of the Right Arm (2): Horyang has ignited the Ignition Weapon inside him and demands that Viole takes out the Ignition Weapon inside him. When Viole states that he can't, Horyang attacks Viole, and tells him that he will force Viole's "Demon" to reveal itself. Viole dodges Horyang's attacks, appearing in front of Horyang. Horyang yells that he has the right to know if the FUG had anything to do with the experiment that killed 99,997 children. This shocks Viole and he stops for second, allowing Horyang to release a large explosion. Horyang, however, still considers Viole as his friend and misses the attack on purpose.
Viole reveals that when he first joined the FUG, Ha Jinsung told him he could make him a God. He told Viole that they could only give him part of a greater "power", and that one day this power would determine his destiny. Afterwards Viole asked about it but no one would answer his questions. All he could gather was that it was hidden in a water tank on the Floor of Test. The water in this tank was very special and so all kinds of strange phenomena occurred in the waters, such as improving one's ability to control Shinsoo or Shinheuh growing to abnormal sizes. It was also the location for the Submerged Fish Test and it is unknown whether the 2nd Floor Guardian knew about this. Viole continues saying that this was the only thing he knew, and that he was sorry he couldn't help Horyang, and that like Horyang the destiny and power that were given to him were not things that he wanted. As Viole remembers his old friends he explains that what he wanted more than anything was something he already had.
Horyang apologizes, saying he already knew that Viole had nothing to do with the experiments, because he could tell Viole wasn't one to gain power by sacrificing others. He asks Viole to forget everything that happened because they are both victims and wishes that Viole could find what he really wants one day. He then says that he is leaving because he doesn't want his past to drag down the others. Viole tries to warn him that going by himself would be dangerous but Horyang sees that as another reason why he must leave. He explains that for the past two years he made excuses to stay with the team because they treated him like family, everyday with them felt like the day he saw snow for the first time. But now winter is over and he has to leave.
Meanwhile, Koon, Ran and Novick arrive at the 28th Floor where Cassano is supposed to be hiding. When they reach the Hand of Arlen, a shadowy figure, is looking down upon them while standing atop the Hand.
Now I feel like the team assembly is almost done
and the real story of the Regulars will begin. Haha.
About Baam's power-up (...) at the end of Part I,
it seems that many readers thought it was
a natural result of Baam's talent and ingenuity
so they didn't find it suspicious.
It seems you underestimated me...
If Horyang takes out the Devil, he's incredibly strong.
Among the Regulars, there are not many
who can beat Horyang in that state in terms of raw power.
Of course, there are few problems, too. Haha.
When I just begun Part II,
I had to start all over so it was very tough
and I know many readers also felt very uncomfortable,
but now the story is becoming focused and more than anything,
the characters have found their places so I think
I'll be able to truly progress the story of the Regulars ^^
I hope the hardship I underwent was worth it.
Please be careful with the cold going around~
See you next week~ | English | NL | 1c373bbace0e3979959cf66ab6365ae658b4146d8e589737918961ad4a73e854 |
Sunday, 11 November 2018
Witching Hour (2014) - Horror Anthology Film Review
While I did not know anything at all about Witching Hour I will say that I expected it to be low budget rubbish when I turned it on. That was until I realised it was a horror anthology, and that is a particular sweet spot for me as I love the variation this style of film making brings. Sure enough there were some shorts here which were pretty terrible, yet there were also a couple that actually were pretty decent even with the limitations of this low budget indie.
Two housemates: Logan (Emily Johnson-Erday) and Dee (Reanna Roane) are out shopping in an antiques store when one of them is drawn to an old mantlepiece clock that she feels she just has to buy. Talking to the store owner (Patrick Ferrara who also appears in the sequel to this Witching Hour II) he warns her that the clock contains within it an ancient powerful artefact that had been hidden away to stop the Nazi's getting their hands on it during World War II. The warning is ignored and the clock purchased, but it turns out there really is some power within the device, an evil power that is able to influence people's minds for bad.
The wrap around story is literally titled Framing Story and sees one of the housemates desperately try and find a way to destroy the clock which she realises has brainwashed her friend. Rather than just an excuse as a method to neatly fit in the shorts this actually has additional scenes that give it enough meat to stand out as a proper short in itself. It was interesting that one of the housemates was deaf, both in that it leads to prolonged scenes of sign language, but also that it seems that maybe that's why that housemate couldn't be influenced like the one able to hear.
Each of the six short films takes place with a different set of characters who have happened upon the clock. The first is unfortunately also the worst with Gone that is about an aging couple who clearly have not had a happy marriage, the wife wishes out loud for her past to be erased. This one was just dull, it had an unlikeable cast and a plot that didn't really go anywhere at all. I can't say this set me up well for the rest that were to follow.
Next up was Misfortune that was an improvement but it still didn't do much to stand out from a lot of nothingness. In this one a young man enters a magic shop for a reading from a psychic, it soon becomes clear that he knows far more about her than she does about him. The general idea was nice here and I liked the use of tarot cards which really added to the dialogue being said, though the start and end were a bit weird.
The Birthday Present was the first short in Witching Hour were I began to enjoy what I was seeing. In this one a creepy clown is hired by a rich businessman to scare his spoilt daughter, however soon the tables are turned with the clown the one being scared. This was a good short, the clown (as always) was creepy and led to some cool chase scenes. A particular highlight was a scene taking place in a tight alleyway. This one even had a decent enough end, helped by the actress playing the little girl who was able to look a bit unsettling.
The Rules of Being Dead did something different in that it was more light and sweet than the other horror shorts here. In this one a friendly ghost is horrified to find out the same evil clock that caused his death is now in the hands of the new tenant of his apartment. Aside from about five words this was completely silent, there was a Zombieland style vibe in that as it goes on different rules pop up as text on screen to describe the rules of being a ghost. This did a lot in a short time, explaining a lot just via silent scenes. This offered something different to everything else and as such it stood out.
Let There Be Dark was my personal favourite one contained within Witching Hour. While the acting wasn't the best the general idea was solid, there was a slight feeling of H.P Lovecraft with this one. A teenage boy is at a session with his psychiatrist due to his fear of the dark, as he explains it though it is not so much the fear of the dark as it is the fear of the absence of light. Religion played into this and with plenty of dialogue and use of repetition there was a vague build up of anticipation for what was surely to come.
The final short is Blood Writes which was interesting in its meta-ness but didn't really do anything to special. Here a writer for Witching Hour desperate for fame and fortune decides to sell his soul in order for the film to be a success. The problem with this one, like that of some of the others is that the initial idea just isn't developed very far.
I think I will always have a fondness for anthologies, this is a prime example of demonstrating how even if some of the short films aren't so good the work can still be saved by an inclusion of several good ones. Witching Hour can be purchased in the USA here, UK here, and the rest of the world here. | English | NL | d25e9e696457eeb71955c97be578625ffffa5a5a2f637b43039f1062f4230b09 |
In the summer of his 17th birthday, Mik Vagas’s world has come tumbling down. His plan to run away and escape the hold of his migrant family has been brutally undone by the unexpected death of his older brother, Tomi. Only Mik knows the events that led to the tragedy and as far as he can see there is only one person to blame. Himself.
He is suddenly torn between his desire to start a new life with his best friend Dan and the obligation to his broken family. Can he fill the shoes of his adored sibling or is he toxic and destined to bring ruin upon everyone he loves.
Teenage Kicks is a journey through the minefield of adolescence as Mik searches for a way to navigate through his guilt and his explosive sexuality to find the man he can be. | English | NL | c0ca907f3d50bf5a7935f0260167e2d7fdf55055d15d3cfd60772196daffc1d6 |
My Girlfriend is a Zombie Chapter 274 Part 1 – The Ice Cold Beauty Wrapped In Tight Leather
Early the next morning, a dozen fully armed Falcon members went out of the International Building, and guarded the steps of the entrance with their guns.
Xia Zhining had taken off her sportswear, revealing tight black leather clothing. Her long hair had been tied up, and a pretty wheat colored face with an ice-cold expression could be seen.
In addition to those slender sharp eyes of hers, it made her even more attractive.
She had two pistols around her waist, a dagger attached on her thighs, and she wore a pair of leather boots on her feet. Her back was straight and she stood in front of the team, looking out into the distance.
Vice-Captain Chen Youdong, accompanied by Ling Mo and his party, stood by the entrance.
Soon, another group of people came out from inside.
The five people who walked in the front of that group had various injuries. They carried a bulging backpack on their backs, with magazine clips hanging around their waists and a submachine gun in their hands.
Chen Youdong shook hands with the middle-aged man standing in front of the group and said, “We can only count on you now to help us deliver these materials that we collected back to the camp. The safety of these two survivors will also be given to you.”
The middle-aged man stood up straight, then lifted his good arm and gave a military salute, “YES SIR!”
“Okay.Okay. We aren’t in the army anymore.” Chen Youdong seems to be somewhat unaccustomed. He then reached out and patted the middle-aged man’s shoulder and said, “You guys must be careful.”
“You guys also take care!”
While the middle-aged man and Chen Youdong talked, Zhang Er and Li Wei also walked up from behind.
“Um…I’m guessing, my father didn’t leave any last words for me…”
Zhang Er scratched his head and looked towards at Ling Mo.
Without waiting for him to finish his words, Ling Mo reached out and rubbed his head and said, “Live well and keep on living.”
Zhang Er looked up at Ling Mo, and his eyes seemed to have turned a little red.
He bit his lip and nodded hard, then he returned to the middle-aged man’s side.
Li Wei moved closer to Ling Mo with some nervousness. After staring at him for a while, she suddenly reached out and hugged Ling Mo, and then she lowered her head in embarrassment and said, “You…You are actually a good person, so…you need to take care.”
“Giving me the good guy card is really quite unexpected…you guys also take care.”
Ling Mo raised his hand and pinched her cheek, then leaned over next her ear and whispered, “Stop being so timid, you will get bullied this way.”
Li Wei was shocked from head to toe and her ears turned red.
Fiver minutes later, the two teams officially parted ways, and Ling Mo and his team walked in the back, following Xia Zhining’s team to the area where Tom and the others disappeared in.
On the route they chose to take, the number of zombies was relatively small compared to other routes, but it was still a big amount.
Five people walked out in the front in a fan-shaped formation, and no matter what angle the zombies appeared, they would be discovered and killed by these soldiers.
The other three walked behind them and watched the corners, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
When a mutated zombie appears, if the front shoots and fails, or if they can’t hit a vital area, then these three people will shoot in order to make up for the failure.
Chen Youdong and the last two team members were beside Ling Mo following behind them.
Although last night they had exchanged a lot of information, some of the more important issues weren’t mentioned.
It was necessary for them to communicate first since they weren’t in battle at that moment.
“My name is Zhou Guocheng.” A 30-year-old burly man turned his head and looked at Ling Mo. He introduced himself, “I use to be a soldier, later I moved to A City and worked in a orchard farm. When the apocalypse happened, I was loading the car with products to deliver to a customer. Little did I know….cough, let’s not talk about that anymore. I’m a ability user, or what some would call a psychic or someone with superpowers. Anyway, that’s me.”
Ling Mo looked somewhat surprised at him, the amount of psychics in this team seemed to be quite a lot…
to be continued… | English | NL | 2ce2a3502676d03f190c122ece736efd8d155328c8871e65ed15b7aa64dea241 |
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
On this day...
Victorian poet and Jesuit priest Gerard Manley Hopkins died in 1889, at the age of 44. The first of nine children, Hopkins' father, once the British consul general in Hawaii, was himself a poet, writing titles such as 'A Philosopher's Stone'. At the age of 10, Hopkins was sent to boarding school, and, interested in pursuing asceticism, he betted that he could go without drinking for a week - apparently persisting until his tongue became black and he collapsed. As a classics scholar at Oxford, Hopkins became acquainted with prominent writers if the era, such as Robert Bridges, Walter Pater and Christina Rossetti, and began to create his own works, converting to Catholicism along the way.
However, in 1868, having resolved to become 'less religious', Hopkins burnt all of his poetic writings on a bonfire, and hardly wrote again for seven years. Alternating between teaching and study, Hopkins was moved to take up poetry again after being asked by his religious superior to create a work commerating a naval disaster. Hopkins went on to create a number of highly celebrated poems, including such titles as 'Pied Beauty', 'As Kingfishers Catch Fire', and what came to be known as the 'terrible sonnets'. Hopkins became especially known for his invention of the sprung rhythm, a unconventional metre inspired by works such as 'Beowulf'. | English | NL | 5d6e32868ae6c5db3a653ed557caa45b82c76b5c8e7ada6711726112e242900d |
The tradition of landscape painting has always been at the heart of David’s drawing and painting. He works directly from the environment, often revisiting places many times and in ever changing weather and seasons.
His paintings have been inspired by his immediate surroundings as well as his travels. Visits to New York, Europe and Ireland have resulted in a series of larger paintings that also aim to capture something of the essence of place.
David exhibits regularly at The Albemarle Gallery in London and has had many successful solo and group exhibitions all over the UK. His work is included in both private and public collections and last year he was involved in a project with the London Olympics (ODA).
He lives in Dorset with his wife and three children. | English | NL | 8f7044de9d35dd3a2928c7fb94327b1de34320c144e04164b3f57dd982aa6d73 |
RELEASE DATE: 2014
PUBLISHER: OperaHouse, Dramatic Create & Dogenzaka Lab
PLATFORMS AVAILABLE: Windows/iOS/Android (Japanese) & Steam (English)
GAME LINK: The Charming Empire – Steam [DIGITAL]
What initially captured my attention about ‘The Charming Empire’ was the beautiful art and interesting premise for the storyline. For a Dogenzaka Lab title, it seemed to have significantly improved in comparison to their previous games. I was pleased to see factors such as better translations, art and voice acting had been addressed. However, I was still very apprehensive of the game because of my past experiences with their titles.
I have only played their most popular game release which was the Men of Yoshiwara series: Kikuya & Ohgiya. Although I enjoyed them, they still had many glaring issues such as poor writing/translations, lack of voice acting and terribly looped soundtracks. I haven’t played any of their other games due to the poor reception they received.
I decided to try this game out in spite of my concerns, as I did like the art and improvements I could see at first glance. They also had some fairly prolific voice actors in their cast line up such as Kakihara Tetsuya and Tsuda Kenjirou which inevitably convinced me to purchase it.
Our heroine, Amane Kosaka, was living a simple yet happy life in the countryside until one day she was suddenly taken away to live in the empire, summoned by her brother Soshi Amazaki — the current ruler. Though she was unaware of the underlying circumstances, she finds herself brought to this lively and palpable central city.
Living in the immaculate royal palace, our heroine comes to learn that the empire might not be as joyful as it seems.
Her brother is no longer the gentle man she once knew…
A corrupt organization secretly runs things behind the scenes…
The heroine’s fate guides her down the path of love. (Steam Summary)
To the dismay of the heroine, she is whisked away to the capital of the empire against her wishes and for the most part confined to her room during the duration of her stay. She is subjected to studying with many tutors on varying subjects such as history, etiquette and dance lessons in order to prepare for her debut into high society. Amane Kousaka becomes very lonely, as her brother is incredibly cold to her and completely withdrawn within his office. He immediately states upon her arrival that they can no longer have the sibling relationship they once shared from childhood.
To the heroine who has spent majority of her life within the peaceful countryside amongst her loving grandparents, the empire is a strange and lonely place. The servants do not wish to engage in conversation or friendship despite her continual attempts, and she longs to explore the city outside the castle walls. However, she soon comes to realise that the people of the city have become restless and dissatisfied with Soshi Amazaki’s dictatorship.
The citizens view him as a heartless tyrant, and the disparity between the rich and poor continues to grow larger day by day. Fires and violent outbreaks begin to appear in different areas across the city, and rumours of a rebellion to overtake the throne begin to spread amongst the people. Can Amane restore peace to the city she once loved? Has her brother truly changed from the kind man she once knew him to be? What are the secrets behind the political conspiracy kept hidden from her? Will she even find love despite the grim circumstances?
Although the game had a very interesting premise, the writing and execution heavily suffers due to it originally being a mobile game. The prologue is extremely short and abrupt, and you’re immediately thrust into the empire under orders from your brother. The sentences are short and condensed in order to fit into the text boxes that were meant for a small mobile screen.
The story is fairly fast paced and you’re barely able to form any attachments with most of the bachelors, before it moves onto the overarching storyline regarding the political unrest and rebellion occurring across the city. I felt the explanations and different perspectives on the linear storyline could have been fleshed out much better, and many of the endings and conclusions were solved far too easily.
It hints within all the routes that Soshi’s actions aren’t truly what they seem to be at face value, and he meets his demise before you can fully discover the truth in most of the stories (aside from Kagemitsu).
As a result storyline wise, many of them felt lacking and it was clear the routes were mainly used as a build up for Soshi’s story, since that finally reveals the truth and the explanation behind it all. The plot is fairly repetitive due to it following a similar linear sequence of events that eventually leads to the different endings with each bachelor. What I do commend about the writing is that the translations have definitely improved in comparison to previous Dogenzaka Lab games.
There weren’t many typos or errors at all, which was good to see that they had addressed one of their major criticisms in the past. However, the storyline of ‘The Charming Empire’ really wasn’t anything memorable. As it is originally a mobile game, the routes are very short. At a relaxed reading pace, each route took around 1.5hrs-2hrs to complete and the total game time would be anywhere between 10-15hrs overall.
If you’re expecting an immersive and detailed plot similar to Nightshade (which was released during the same month) then this really isn’t the game for you. Considering the total time it took to complete the entire game, you really can’t expect major character development or a complex storyline to fit within that time frame. It is at best a light and cute read that isn’t particularly memorable, but enjoyable to play nonetheless. Although the game definitely had some really cute character moments here and there, it really wasn’t enough to compensate for the subpar plot execution.
Character Development ★★
WARNING! SPOILERS AHEAD! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!
I personally recommend playing the game in order of: Yoshimine Kei → Koichiro Sera → Tanba Toki → Togawa Kagemitsu → Amazaki Soshi due to spoilers and the storyline flows best in this sequence. Although you can switch up between the characters, Amazaki Soshi should definitely be played last otherwise the storyline loses it’s impact. I have a complete walkthrough of the game here.
YOSHIMINE KEI: Kei is the heroine’s private tutor and a captive former prince of the empire. He is essentially a prisoner of war, although he has been fortunate enough to not have been placed in the dungeons. Kei resides within the castle itself, and spends his days reading or in the castle gardens. He bears extreme hatred and resentment towards Amazaki Soshi, as he destroyed his beloved home and took away everything he once held dear. Kei’s family, the former King and Queen of Yako were murdered under false claims of breaking their peace treaty with the empire.
As a result, he is hostile towards the heroine due to her relationship with Soshi and distrusts the people within the empire. However, the protagonist finds herself wanting to know more about Kei. Although he is rude and brusque, he is an exceptional teacher and carries himself with nobility and grace due to his upbringing. He shows glimpses of kindness towards her and is the only person she can regard as a friend within the castle. Kei’s company alleviates the loneliness she feels due to Soshi and as they grow closer, she comes to discover that Kei is easily embarrassed.
Although I picked Kei first as I liked his character design best, I did not expect to enjoy his route as much as I did. His relationship with the heroine was just too cute, and Kei is definitely a tsundere through and through. His moments of shyness and embarrassment towards the heroine’s obliviousness really grew on me as I progressed with his storyline. I felt the writing was best showcased within Kei’s route, as the pacing and descriptions of their interactions with one another were quite well written.
He developed significantly over the course of his route, and it was nice seeing his slow transition from complete distrust of the heroine to opening up to her about his past, fears and true feelings. I also felt the heroine was really proactive in getting to know Kei, and their feelings developed quite mutually.
The gift of the ‘Water Moon’ from Kei was just so cute, and was definitely a pivotal point of their relationship. I really liked the CGs for Kei’s route, and felt that they were definitely the best overall in the game. His route was very light-hearted, sweet and had plenty of cute moments together with the heroine. His route can be read as a stand alone separate from the others, as it doesn’t really delve too much into the overarching plot.
KOICHIRO SERA: The heroine’s unsociable bodyguard who has been assigned to protect her during her stay within the castle. Despite her continual attempts at conversation and offers of friendship, Sera rebukes her as he views they are not apart of his job description. This does little to deter Amane, as he is the closest person to someone she regards as a friend. Although he is admired for his skill in combat, his very own soldiers at the castle view him difficult to work with; which greatly saddens Amane.
As the protagonist gets to know Sera better, she realises that his brusque mannerisms contradict the kindness and consideration of his actions. However, she soon becomes suspicious of his underlying intentions due to overhearing his conversations with others in regards to plans for the empire.
Sera’s route begins to delve more into the overarching plot of the rebellion and there is less focus on their relationship development in comparison to Kei’s route. It is revealed that many of the castle workers are secretly rebels that were allowed access into the grounds through Sera’s authorisation. The heroine is shocked by this realisation out of fear for Soshi’s safety, and Sera’s actions are akin to treason.
Sera is forceful and adamant that it is a necessary evil to destroy and kill Soshi, for the sake of invoking change within their now corrupt city. He presses onto Amane that she must accept her birthright and ascend to her rightful place on the throne. This serves as the main source of conflict within the route, as the protagonist laments that Sera only protected her due to her position rather than out of his own personal desire.
I didn’t enjoy Sera’s route as much, due to the sudden incorporation of the overarching plot that really disjointed the overall character story pacing. The route initially begins with the two slowly opening up to one another and the development of their relationship. However, upon the revelation of Sera’s plans for the rebellion and his intention to have Amane ascend the throne—all that prior development goes out the window.
Sera abruptly changes into a completely different person and becomes forceful in his approach towards Amane. He disregards her concerns on the responsibilities of overtaking the throne and her lack of political knowledge to rule a country. He is insistent that it is the only solution to their problems, without taking into consideration the protagonist’s feelings at all. It just felt like such a major step back from all their progression thus far, and they completely rushed the transition into the overarching storyline.
As a result, I couldn’t help but question the legitimacy of his feelings towards her and he is all too easily forgiven when she eventually concedes to taking over the throne. Although I do like how in his route Amane proves she is capable of becoming a hard-working and caring leader for her people, their overall relationship pacing felt too disjointed and lacked a lot of the necessary development needed to be believable.
TANBA TOKI: Toki is a flirtatious cafe owner, who rescues the heroine from a pick pocket on her first adventure into the city. He is incredibly popular amongst women due to his handsome looks and charisma. Toki is beloved by the customers who visit his popular cafe, which serves many western styled teas and confectionary. The heroine quickly becomes infatuated by his kind demeanour, the lively atmosphere of the cafe and his signature baumkuchen.
She begins to secretly use the hidden passageway underneath the castle to visit him everyday in the city, despite the risks of getting caught. Soshi immediately notices this and grants her permission to visit the city in the afternoons until sunset, after her studies conclude for the day. Amane is delighted by this, as it is the first semblance of kindness he has shown her since her arrival (and from the two routes so far).
Toki’s route is interesting because it is the only storyline that mainly takes place within the city, rather than in the castle grounds. It is clear from the beginning that there is more to Toki than his kind demeanour, although the heroine wholeheartedly believes in his sweet words. They share some very cute moments together initially, with Toki claiming that she is very precious and dear to him—different from all the previous girls he has been with.
He expresses that he genuinely means the things he says to her, and the heroine quickly falls in love with him. However after an outbreak of arson within the city, upon the heroine’s usual visitation to the cafe—Toki is incredibly cold to her. He rebuffs her attempts at reconciliation and offers for help with the injured. He states that a person of her status could never begin to understand the suffering of the poor and her very presence within his cafe invokes resentment from the people.
He dismisses her completely, and insists that it would be best if she does not return as they are from two completely different worlds. Realising the futility of her actions, the heroine regretfully leaves. As the days pass, she is unable to forget her feelings for Toki and resolves to see him one last time before her wedding. However, she is captured in the secret passageway and imprisoned within the cafe hideout.
She comes to the realisation that the cafe was in fact a meeting place for the rebels, and Toki was the forerunner in leading the people. Toki visits the heroine and claims that he had only befriended her due to her status and money. It was only through her actions that he was able to make it this far with his plans. His feelings for her had never been genuine, and she had been a pawn within the rebellion. His strange actions leading up until that point now all made sense, and the heroine is left feeling bitter and betrayed.
Toki’s route suffers from the same underlying problem as Sera’s, where the transition into the overarching storyline was far too sudden and disjointed. Rather than feeling shocked at the betrayal, it was more so confusing and didn’t make much sense. Toki went from claiming how precious the heroine was to him, to treating her as a tool the next moment. It was like they rendered all previous relationship development between the two as obsolete, and the drama was forcefully incorporated just for the ‘shock’ factor.
Amane is quick to blame herself for the incident and is far too understanding of Toki’s behaviour, despite the treatment she has received. She is a helpless victim in the overarching political turmoil and wrongfully condemned by Toki for deeds she did not commit. She has shown Toki nothing but genuine kindness throughout his route, and he holds her responsible for the suffering of the people—despite only recently coming to the empire.
And then because she loves him and due to the few moments of kindness he had shown her—he is quickly forgiven and they end up living happily together. I just could not view their relationship as genuine considering the events that occurred and found it incredibly unrealistic. I especially disliked the abrupt transitions of Toki’s feelings. It alternated between being smitten with the heroine, to resenting her with every fibre of his being, and then suddenly completely in love with her again.
TOGAWA KAGEMITSU: Kagemitsu is the childhood friend of both Amane and Soshi Amazaki, the current ruler of the empire. He is his right hand man and trusted adviser, and shares idyllic memories with the two siblings from their lives in the countryside. As children, Amane had always loved Kagemitsu and wished to stay with the two of them forever. Initially she does not recognise Kagemitsu upon their first meeting, as she had not seen him for many years. She is surprised by his newfound maturity, and is overjoyed to have a companion within the lonely castle grounds.
After witnessing her being bullied by her personal tutor, Kagemitsu angrily stands up for Amane and replaces her. His lessons prove to be both effective and enjoyable, and Amane rapidly learns about the history and culture of the empire. She soon looks forward to their afternoons together drinking tea and strolling through the gardens, reminiscing of the happier times they once shared together as a trio in their youth.
Kagemitsu’s story is very much so connected to Soshi’s route, and significantly builds on the overarching storyline. I recommend playing his route prior to Soshi’s, as it offers a lot more information and further delves into the main plot. I genuinely felt the explanation within his route was much more clearly explained, in comparison to Soshi’s reveal about the empire and the nature of the rebellion. As a result, I felt that his character purpose was more so as an extension that led into Soshi’s route rather than his own stand alone story.
The romance really took a backseat in Kagemitsu’s route, and there really wasn’t much character development on his part at all. He was the same kind, childhood friend that Amane had always remembered and doesn’t really deviate from that character role.
As the two had always shared mutual feelings towards one another, there wasn’t much of a relationship to develop as the foundations were already there. Although there were some romantic moments between the two, his route was rather disappointing and not at all memorable as a stand alone story.
AMAZAKI SOSHI: Soshi is the protagonist’s older brother, and the current reigning King of the Empire. Amane is dismayed by his abrupt request to remove her from the countryside, and she becomes exceptionally lonely during her stay. He is initially cold to her and rectifies that it is impossible for them to share the same sibling relationship they once had. This does little to deter the protagonist, as she continually attempts to socialise with Soshi and creates opportunities to spend more time with him.
However, over the duration of her stay she begins to hear rumours of a rebellion as well as the people’s disillusionment with Soshi’s dictatorship. They view him to be a heartless tyrant who cares nothing for his people and leaves the poor to fend for themselves—despite the constant outbreaks of arson and violence.
The heroine finds herself unable to distinguish the truth from the lies, and begins to lose faith in Soshi. Although she genuinely wants to believe he is the same Soshi from her memories, his actions of constantly pushing her away and leaving her in the dark do little to reassure her concerns.
The threats continue to increase and the possibility of Soshi’s position being overthrown becomes more and more likely as the days pass by. Amane decides that she must take action and discover the truth, both for the people and herself.
One of my main qualms about Soshi’s relationship with Amane is that it’s described rather inconsistently over all the routes. In some stories, it says that they are half siblings, whereas others emphasise how forbidden their relationship is—implying that they’re completely related by blood. Then in Sera’s route, their family tree demonstrates that Soshi isn’t apart of the hierarchy at all. It’s only properly confirmed in Kagemitsu’s route that they’re indeed not related by blood, and Soshi was adopted into the family at a young age.
I was very confused, as I wanted to know if the nature of their relationship was truly incestuous. Although there are incest undertones as they do view one another as siblings and grew up in a familial relationship, it’s technically not truly ‘incest’ because they are not blood related. This definitely made it a lot easier to accept their relationship, because I personally do not feel comfortable with family romances. This ambiguity lies in the fault of the translations, and really should have been clarified considering his relationship with Amane plays an integral role within the overarching story.
I quite enjoyed Soshi’s route, as it definitely filled in all the missing elements that was prevalent within everyone else’s story. He is the ‘canon route’ of the game, and I highly recommend that you do NOT play his story first. Playing his story first completely ruins the concept of the game and storyline, and he honestly should not have been available to play at all. His story should have been unlocked only through the completion of everyone else’s routes. Without the build up of the other stories, his route doesn’t make much sense nor does it have the same impact.
It was frustrating for the majority of his route, as he constantly pushes the heroine away from him and acts coldly towards her on purpose. However, it was nice seeing him slowly open up to her and eventually unable to control his forbidden feelings. Everything he has done has been for the sake of the heroine and her happiness. It explains why he easily concedes the throne in all the other routes and supports her no matter which guy she chooses.
I quite like the twist of his dual-identity and the nature behind the true leader of the rebellion, as it added a subtle complexity to the plot that I wasn’t expecting. His story is one of redemption, forgiveness and acceptance that his past mistakes with the empire do not condemn him for the rest of his life. Soshi’s route is rather tragic in comparison to the others, and I felt the writing and storyline could have been executed much better.
The revelation behind the twist and overarching plot was delved upon much better in Kagemitsu’s route, which didn’t make much sense as it should have had the most wholesome explanation and conclusion in Soshi’s story.
However, I did like that the protagonist took a more proactive role within his route. I was really shocked at her attempted assassination, as although it was understandable—there was absolutely no build up towards it at all. It definitely could have been developed much better and was an interesting facet of the route that fell short of its potential. Their relationship development felt the most fitting out of all the characters, as his presence is prevalent within all the routes and he is the reason as to why all the events in the story occur.
I was actually genuinely impressed by the art and it is without a doubt the highlight of the game. I did not expect to see such clean and crisp character designs that were relatively consistent with the CGs. Although the bachelors in some CGs looked a little different in comparison to their character sprites, the small differences were honestly negligible. I really liked the heroine’s character design in The Charming Empire, and I genuinely felt she looked better than the bachelors in many of the CGs.
I did not expect so many CGs to be incorporated for a relatively short game, and that was a definite plus as the art was really lovely. I was more so impressed as the artist Mitsuya Fuji is relatively unknown and to my knowledge hasn’t illustrated for any other game titles. Her most notable work would probably be the Drama CD series for Rejet ‘Midnight Jiang Shi’ and you can watch the PV for it here.
The only downside to the art of the game were the obvious digital paintings for the backgrounds. They clearly used real life images/photographs and digitally edited them, in order to cut the costs of producing their own backgrounds. Although this is commonly seen in mobile games, it definitely doesn’t transition well onto a steam port. The character sprites looked noticeably distinct against the background, and distracted from the artwork itself. It looked pixellated and out of place in many of the images, which really took away from the overall feel and impression of the game.
Music and Voice Acting ★★★
The voice acting was another aspect that attracted me to the game, and it did not disappoint. It was nice to see Dogenzaka Lab finally incorporating voice acting into their games, in order to compete with the recent otome steam releases. One of the advertised highlights of ‘The Charming Empire’ was their feature of prolific voice actors for many of the characters. It definitely helped the game out a lot because without them bringing the characters to life, the storyline would have been even more monotonous and two-dimensional than it already was.
The voice actors really emulated their personalities perfectly, and I was impressed by the great audio quality. I really enjoyed Kei’s voice actor surprisingly enough, as I felt he really captured his adorable tsundere moments. The music on the other hand, was quite typical of an original mobile port and suffered from blatantly looped tracks. It wasn’t bad by any means, but there was also nothing good about it either.
I found myself turning down the music after the first twenty minutes of playing because the looping was so distracting. Although the BGMs are definitely an improvement from previous Dogenzaka Lab games, they incorporated so little tracks that it became incredibly repetitive to listen to by the end of the first playthrough. It was quite disappointing that the music definitely dragged down and hindered the great voice acting.
What I do commend is that they’ve definitely improved and addressed some aspects of the game that weren’t in their previous titles, such as incorporating sound effects. The game is also fully voiced, so even all the side characters have voices of their own (not including the MC, which is standard for otome titles).
True to their word, many of the characters are voiced by famous voice actors that have done previous work on some very popular otome games. As I mentioned earlier, I recognised Kakihara Tetsuya and Tsuda Kenjiro instantly from the trailer and they definitely convinced me to purchase the game.
- Yoshimine Kei | VA: Masuda Toshiki | 増田 俊樹 |
Taisho x Alice series as Kaguya, Marginal #4 series as Kirihara Atom, Haikyu!! as Chikara Ennoshita
- Koichiro Sera | VA: Eguchi Takuya | 江口 拓也 |
Taisho x Alice series as Gretel, Collar x Malice as Hoshino Kazuki, Danganronpa 3: The End of Hope’s Peak Academy as Sonosuke Izayoi
- Kagemitsu Togawa | VA: Toyonaga Toshiyuki | 豊永 利行 |
Marginal #4 series as Makishima Shy, Yuri!!! On Ice as Yuuri Katsuki
- Tanba Toki | VA: Kakihara Tetsuya | 柿原 徹也 |
Amnesia series as Shin, Code: Realize series as Viktor Frankenstein, Kenka Banchou Otome as Mirako Yuuta
- Amazaki Soshi | VA: Tsuda Kenjirou | 津田 健次郎 |
Yu-Gi-Oh series as Seto Kaiba, Hakuoki series as Chikage Kazama, Nightshade as Hanzo Hattori
The system design and UI are quite nice for a mobile port title. It incorporates all the basic functions such as save/load slots, CG Gallery, skip, text speed etc. I would have preferred the save slots to be listed individually, rather than new slots appearing after every save. It was quite inconvenient to constantly scroll down to reload old saves, and felt rather clunky. I also disliked how even though I set the text skip to ‘already read’, this setting reseted every time I played a new route or re-opened the game.
The voice lists were a nice touch, although they weren’t anything impressive as the lines were very short for each character. I didn’t really expect too much out of the UI, as it was a mobile port. The character select and prologue options are reminiscent of a mobile game, as you would purchase their individual route and lock yourself into their story. If possible, I would have liked a scene recollection option for the CGs and a ‘jump’ button to skip to the next decision.
It would have been very helpful in replays of the route for the normal ending. I did like how fast the text skipping was, as it made replays much faster than usual in comparison to other games.
In conclusion, I had really mixed feelings about the game. If you’re looking for a light-hearted and short read, with beautiful art and great voice acting then this is the title for you. The overarching plot is relatively simple, with a greater focus on the cute character moments and relationship development for the bulk of the game. It has a lot of CGs with every character, in spite of the short length. I can overlook a lot of the shortcomings of the game, if I consider the fact that it was originally a mobile port.
Although it can be considered quite pricey for the amount of game time you’re getting, it is still significantly cheaper than purchasing individual mobile routes and side stories. It also includes full voice acting, which is something rarely seen in mobile games. On that note, I wouldn’t recommend purchasing the game at full price considering the other titles in the steam store for the same price point; but with significantly more playtime. For example: Amnesia Memories, Nightshade and Nameless ~The one thing you must recall~ to name a few.
In spite of my criticisms of the game, I still found it enjoyable to play and read. It was a nice breather from the content-heavy and darker themed titles that I have been playing recently. Although it wasn’t by any means memorable, it still had some really cute moments here and there coupled with the great art and solid voice acting. I surprisingly enjoyed Kei’s route, as the refreshing innocence of the two characters were really endearing over the course of the story.
However, if you’re looking for a game of immersive substance that is really worth your money in terms of content; then I would not recommend The Charming Empire. The routes mainly revolved around the same repetitive storyline that were prevalent in all the stories, with varying perspectives. Despite how similar and connected the stories were to one another, the bachelors made little to no appearances in the other character routes. This was very disappointing considering the game length, and it made it difficult to develop meaningful attachments towards the characters.
Although The Charming Empire isn’t without it’s faults, it was definitely a huge improvement overall from previous Dogenzaka Lab games and a good indicator for better releases in future.
Overall Rating: 3/5
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Written By Cherry | English | NL | 7661d3ead29531f76b85f3c426c291f90334ebeba453e2e4ce3b40526a51cbdd |
This post is dedicated to my lovely Hatty … all good things come to those who wait :)
Hanuman is one of the most important personalities in the ‘Ramayana’, and he also features in the ‘Mahabharata’. He is a vanara, which means ‘human with the tail of a monkey’. His mother, Anjana, was originally a celestial being who’d been cursed and turned into vanara; his father is Vayu, the wind god. Being the child of the god of the wind, Hanuman was born with great physical strength, the power to fly, and divine levels of endurance. Hence, he is worshipped as a symbol of physical strength, perseverance and devotion.
When Hanuman met Rama for the first time during the exiled prince’s fourteen year banishment in the forest, both were already aware of the other’s existence. Hanuman offered his services to Rama, and their lives became forever intertwined.
During the war with Ravana, Lakshmana, Rama's brother, had been gravely wounded in battle and needed the life-giving herb, Sanjivani, which could only be found in the Himalayas. As time was all-important, Hanuman flew to the mountains, but was unable to recognise the herb that was needed. Instead of wasting time, he picked up the mountain and flew back to Lanka, saving Lakshmana's life.
This is my favourite Hanuman story … After defeating Ravana, and rescuing Sita, Rama returned to Ayodhya where he was crowned the rightful ruler. He rewarded his well-wishers at a grand ceremony in his court. Hanuman went up but refused any reward. Overcome with emotion, Rama embraced him warmly, declaring that he could never adequately honour or repay Hanuman for all that he’d done for the brothers, and for Sita. But Sita insisted that Hanuman deserved honour more than anyone else present, and asked him to name a gift. When he finally asked for the necklace of precious stones from around her neck, she gave it to him. Hanuman immediately began to take it apart, peering into each stone. The shocked onlookers demanded to know why he was destroying the precious gift, and he replied that he was looking into the stones to see if Rama and Sita were within; if they were not, the necklace was worthless to him. Some of them began to ridicule Hanuman, insisting that his love and devotion for Rama and Sita could not possibly be as deep as he professed. In response, Hanuman tore his chest open, and all were stunned to see Rama and Sita literally in his heart.
Hanuman statue at Batu Caves 2007 (prior to being painted)
In the 'Mahabharata', Hanuman’s story is tied in with the five Pandava brothers; Bhima, the second brother, and Hanuman shared the same father – Vayu, the god of the wind. Promising to aid the brothers in the great battle at Kurukshetra, Hanuman positioned himself in the flag of Arjuna’s chariot to secure and stabilise the war-vehicle. The triangular saffron flag of Hanuman represents stability and equilibrium, control of the senses and the mind, and a sign of victory over all that is evil.
Hanuman also represents the unlimited power that each of us possesses, which lies unused, and of which we are generally unaware exists. Hanuman directed all his energies towards worshipping Rama; his undying devotion eventually freed him from suffering any form of physical fatigue.
Hanuman is one of those deities who, instead of being only worshipped on a pedestal, is one you can view as your friend, who'll always be right there, by your side. As Hatty says: "Hanuman rocks!" | English | NL | ef3ddf09de5336d854061a820356ac9d7cf66348c32d90e8273caea8a1eb9979 |
Most Notorious Serial Killers
Ahmad Suradji was an Indonesian serial killer who admitted to killing 42 girls and women between 1986 and 1997. His victims ranged in age from 17 to 40, and were strangled after being buried up to their waists in the ground as part of a ritual. He buried his victims in a sugarcane plantation near his home, with their heads facing his house, which he believed would give him extra power. Suradji, a cattle-breeder, was also known as Nasib Kelewang, or by his alias Datuk.
Suradji was arrested on 30 April 1997, after bodies were discovered near his home on the outskirts of Medan, the capital of North Sumatra.
His three wives, who were sisters, were also arrested for assisting in the murders and helping him hide the bodies. One of his wives, Tumini, was tried as his accomplice and was sentenced to death before it was reduced to life imprisonment. He was sentenced to death by firing squadand executed on 10 July 2008.
On 24 April 1997, 21-year-old Sri Kemala Dewi asks a 15-year-old rickshaw puller named Andreas to take her to "Datuk". She informed him to keep it a secret and never requested to be picked up. Three days later, Dewi's naked and decomposing body was found in a sugarcane field by a man and was later dug up by a group of people. The police were called. Andreas reported to the police and Dewi's family that he had dropped her off at Suradji's house three days earlier, and so police visited Suradji for confrontation. Although he denied any links with Dewi's killing, police found Dewi's handbag, dress and bracelet in his home. He was later arrested on 30 April 1997. During interrogation, Suradji slowly confessed to Dewi's murder but also revealed that he had killed up to 42 girls in the same fashion and an excavation process had to be carried out in the sugarcane field where Dewi's body was located. Throughout the process, 42 bodies had been found with some being so decomposed to the point where they were unidentifiable.
He told police that he had a dream in 1986 in which his father's ghost directed him to drink the saliva of 70 dead, young women, so that he could become a mystic healer. Suradji thought that it would take him too long to encounter 70 dead women singly and so he took up the initiative to kill. As a sorcerer, or dukun, women came to him for spiritual advice, making themselves more beautiful or richer or so he could cast a spell on their spouses so they'll never have an affair. He would take them into a sugarcane field and bury them up to their waist, claiming it was part of the ritual. He would then strangle them until they were dead and proceed to drink their saliva. After, he would strip the clothes from their bodies to accelerate decomposition and bury them back into the ground with their heads pointing toward his house. Suradji stated the following to the police:
My father did not specifically advise me to kill people. So I was thinking, it would take ages if I have to wait to get seventy women. I was trying to get to it as fast as possible, I took my own initiative to kill. | English | NL | 922a2ab867931e82c3b6ae5ec052ab59a572fff0a9f1088d5889a9a776e1fa5d |
For some, the thought that we were put on earth to ‘make a contribution’ may be an exciting thought, fuelling their passion. Others may find it to be confronting and a bit overwhelming. Whatever your response, the excellent news is that if we were created to make a contribution, everything we need is within us.
The Purpose Driven Life says we were created to add to life on earth, not just take from it. God wants us to give something back. This is God’s fourth purpose for our life* and it is called ‘ministry’ or service. The bible gives us the details (abbreviated):
- You were created to serve God. “God has created us for a life of good deeds, which He has already prepared for us to do.” (Eph 20:10b) These “good deeds” are your service. “Before I made you in your mother’s womb, I chose you. Before you were born, I set you apart for a special work” (Jer 1:5). YOU were placed on this planet for a special assignment.
- You were saved to serve God. God redeemed you so you could do His ‘holy work’. You’re not saved by service, but you are saved for service.
- You are called to serve God. Regardless of your job or career, you are called to full-time Christian service. A ‘non-serving Christian’ is a contradiction in terms.
- You are commanded to serve God. The old comparison between the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea is still true. Galilee is a lake full of life because it takes in water but also gives it out. In contrast, nothing lives in the Dead Sea because, with no outflow, the lake has stagnated. “Your attitude must be like my own, for I, the Messiah, did not come to be served but to serve and to give my life” (Matt 20:28)
The challenge TPDL is giving today is this: If you’re not involved in any service or ministry, what excuse have you been using? Abraham was old, Jacob was insecure, Leah was unattractive, Joseph was abused, Moses stuttered, Gideom was poor, Samson was codependent, Rahab was immoral, David had an affair and all kinds of family problems, Elijah was suicidal, Jeremiah was depressed, Jonah was reluctant, Naomi was a widow, John the Baptist was eccentric to say the least, Peter was impulsive and hot-temptered, Martha worried a lot, the Samaritan woman had several failed marriages, Zacchaeus was unpopular, Thomas had doubts, Paul had poor health, and Timothy was timid. That is quite a variety of misfits but God used each of them in His service. He will use you, too, if you stop making excuses.
How encouraging. I can tick myself off on so many of the ‘excuses’ listed above.. but apparently God already has the solution!
Have you been making excuses? Do you feel like you have nothing to give? What small step can you take today towards living a life of service?
If you want to share, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Have a great day!
*Purpose 1: Planned for God’s Pleasure/Purpose 2: Formed for God’s Family/Purpose 3: Created to Become Like Christ/ Purpose 4: Shaped for Serving God
PLEASE NOTE: Quotations in this and other posts relating to The Purpose Driven Life (usually entitled Day:?) are sourced from The Purpose Driven Life book by Rick Warren unless otherwise stated. This is an independant study and is based on my opinion and experience only. Copies of The Purpose Driven Life book are available for purchase from all good christian books stores, including Koorong. The first seven chapters of the book can be downloaded FREE from Rick Warren’s official site here. | English | NL | 1d105eb188ccfed79b9cd4857d3cd5b3e84f479a575a2edc7170d1ef0b6c0b5f |
Fraser spent as much time in the studio and touring the world as many of the household names of New Zealand music, many of whom he played with. “He never got the kudos he deserved for his talent,” says Craig Walsh-Wrightson who, with his late brother Dale Wrightson, worked with Fraser through the 1970s. Their work included producing and arranging Shona Laing’s debut album Whispering Afraid, including its lush hit single ‘1905’. “He would never push himself. He was a very humble guy. He underrated his own talent but he could just pull it out of his hat.”
Becoming a professional musician at the age of 19, Fraser drummed his way through the 1960s into the early 1970s. He played on recordings by Mr Lee Grant, Kiri Te Kanawa, Shane, Craig Scott, Maria Dallas, Ken Lemon and more.
And having returned to piano, which he had learned as a kid, he became an in-demand keyboardist, arranger and producer. “I was surprised when I heard he had done back to piano,” remembers Ken Cooper, onetime schoolmate, long-time friend and, for a while, business partner. “‘Jeez Dave, are you sure?’ But he proved us all wrong. He was a very good on piano as well.”
Fraser reflected on his session musician years with National Radio’s Charles Pierard in the mid-1990s. “I used to be in the studio every day,” he said. “It wouldn’t be uncommon for us to record an album in a day. We could have two three-hour calls and we would record six tracks in the morning and six in the afternoon. Even when I hear some of them now they don’t sound too bad.”
Throughout the 1970s and beyond, Fraser’s studio credits continued to expand. As well as Laing’s album, he worked on others by Annie Whittle, the Yandall Sisters, Malcolm McNeill, BLERTA, Gray Bartlett, Tina Cross, Jodi Vaughan and Mark Williams. He wrote and produced movie soundtracks too. His screen work extended from commercials to television docos to the pioneering features of Geoff Murphy.
In the 1970s, Fraser also oversaw stage musicals for Stewart Macpherson’s Stetson Productions. These included The Rocky Horror Show, which brought Gary Glitter to New Zealand and put him on stage with Zero of the Suburban Reptiles.
He also toured the world for many years as the musical director to whistling folk crooner and MOR troubadour Roger Whittaker. This connection came via Cooper, who left New Zealand to become Whittaker’s tour manager in 1982. After occasional forays overseas for Whittaker in the early 80s, Fraser signed on fulltime in 1988 and spent a dozen years helping the singer deliver ‘Durham Town’, ‘The Last Farewell’ and his other ballads to audiences stretching from Las Vegas to Europe to South Africa.
Whittaker made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “It was one of those situations where I said, ‘I’d like to but it would really cost me a lot of money to give up what I am doing,” said Fraser. “I said, ‘This is what it would have to be’, put the phone down and really didn’t expect to hear anything back from them and it was all accepted and I started thinking, ‘Did I really want to do this?’ Anyway, I did ...”
The lucrative contract eventually helped Fraser buy a lifestyle block near Nelson in the 1990s. There, with wife Linda, he built a house and studio which was also used as an occasional 80-capacity live venue. In 2000, after Fraser returned home to live when Whittaker retired from the road, it was this studio in which The Dave Fraser Trio (with Paul Dyne on bass and Roger Sellers on drums) recorded the album Embrace.
Thirty years previous, an earlier incarnation of The Dave Fraser Trio (with Clive Taylor on bass and Billy Brown on drums) recorded and released debut album Music à la Carte. Produced by Peter Hitchcock, it offered Dave Brubeck-esque interpretations of Beatles tunes and movie themes.
Jazz had been Fraser’s first love. Born in Wellington in 1942, he was raised in Miramar and attended Rongotai College where his father was the woodwork teacher. Growing up, Fraser took classical piano lessons, but it was his time as a drummer in a Wellington Boys’ Brigade band that sent him towards becoming a jazz sticksman.
He left school to become an insurance clerk for AMP. He also started playing the vibraphone, took jazz piano lessons with Bob Barcham and became part of the Victoria University’s jazz club. There, he encountered fellow jazz buffs, Geoff Murphy, Bruno Lawrence and John Charles, all of whom would figure in his later screen music career.
After joining The Nick Smith Trio and playing a five nights-a-week residency Wellington’s Sorrento, Fraser soon flagged the day job. “The upshot of this coffee-bar thing was crawling home at two or three in the morning, five nights a week, and trying to maintain a respectable job in the day go too much and – much to my parents’ regret – I left the AMP,” said Fraser.
Eventually, The Nick Smith Trio tried its luck in Sydney. But Fraser soon opted to come home and head back to the piano, starting on a career path which combined studio session work during the day, on keyboard and drums, and piano residencies in the evening.
Soon, his combination of classically trained abilities and jazz sensibilities marked him out as a very useful man to have in the studio: as the Wrightson brothers found when their January Productions became the go-to team for advertising music and occasional album recording.
Wellington was a pretty small scene then, creatively,” remembers Walsh-Wrightson. “And Dave was an extraordinarily good keyboard player and a really good drummer. He became our third Beatle.
“He was a multi-instrumental guy who could take our arrangements, which we had in our heads – but neither Dale or I were could write arrangements. We would have a block booking every Friday at EMI Recording Studios in Wakefield St and we would just book Dave and three of us would go in there and have the time of our lives.
“We would bring in the [NZSO] strings. We would go through with it with Dave and he would write parts on the spot and go and conduct them. There are some musicians who are classically trained and if you ask them to improvise on anything they would fall to pieces. But Dave would just listen once to something and would immediately get the reference. Sometimes Dave would say ‘Ah, that’s not actually musically correct. But fuck it, it works’ and he would laugh his head off. He was one of nature’s gentlemen.”
Along with Fraser’s musical adaptability came a business-mindedness. He formed an agency, in which music promoter Cooper eventually became a partner. The pair bought the Beefeaters’ Arms restaurant on the Terrace in Wellington’s CBD, where Fraser had a long residency. After a few years, they sold the business at a handsome profit.
Television and film work also started coming Fraser’s way. “Like everything else I got into, it was by default,” Fraser told National Radio about his move into screen music. “Perhaps there was no one else around who was as bad as me so they asked me. Or possibly I’d fooled enough people for them to think I could do it.”
Among the early film-makers Fraser worked with were Murphy for children's’ series Percy the Policeman and then-National Film Unit director Sam Neill on some of his early docos. Fraser also recorded with Blerta for the troupe’s self-titled television series and for the Blerta-powered films Wild Man and Dagg Day Afternoon, both directed by Murphy in 1977.
The first feature Fraser composed for was the 1977 feature Solo, which he shared with folk musicians Marion Arts and Robbie Lavën of the Red Hot Peppers. Beyond Reasonable Doubt, the dramatisation of the Arthur Allan Thomas case, was his first solo feature score. Other soundtracks included The Lost Tribe, Wild Horses, and 1980s television shows Roche and Inside Straight. He produced John Charles’s soundtracks for the Murphy movies Utu and The Quiet Earth and produced Charles’s score for Bruce Morrison’s Constance. Writing music for the screen, he said, “is a very ordered discipline to get into. I enjoyed that discipline.”
David Gerald Fraser died of a brain tumour in Nelson in October 2002. He was 60. | English | NL | dddc4a9648bd72833ec548d2a522c83e6aeb9c11e4d053e9f98198d5d6ec06dc |
Snow gets thrown out of the door as she is a cannon ball. She rolls past the ground until her dress becomes all grey in the mud. Raindrops fall with a coldness she has never felt before. It touches her skin like drops of fire. So cold, yet feels so hot. She moans from haplessness and lays where she fell. So much to regret. From riches, down to rags. Lost her grip. Fallen so hard with no succor. Rather than being disgusted by the dirt, she takes time to feel it well. She’s never been there before. The place where no heir of any throne has ever been to or felt like. Laid in the mud, her snowy skin submerged with gravelly muck, her pride injured, her grace stained. There’s a sore on the side of her face. It is probably carved by the stuff that were in her way when she was getting thrown out of here. She has no interest to lift herself from the filth. She looks at her hands, those fingers and fingernails, that someday she used to polish them with gold bits, are now tainted muddy grey, wrinkled and roughed by the means of cold. She pities herself more than anyone else. And by the hate that burns inside of her, she considers herself deservant of this humiliation. The lead actress of the band stands out of the barracks and spits on her. She puts her muscular hand to her hip and throws a bale look down at her pitiable state.
"There’s no place for a pathetic worm like you here. Go back to your mama and cry." She says to her and gets back inside the barracks.
There’s no sound in the distance but the beating rain. Suddenly a lower, deeper sound gently echoes along... the sound of her heart breaking down gradually. Two hands reach for her shoulders and pick her up with a medium care. Rose lifts her from the depth of her despair and looks into her rainy eyes. Now she can see that it would have been better to never send her. Perhaps she did that on purpose only to see if Snow would try and convince them to help her. Now even Snow knows that it was not a good idea to try and tell them who she is, or very likely who she used to be. However, more than Snow is hurt, Rose feels sorry. She softly reaches a hand to the groove that lays over her delicate face. She feels it, that it must be irritating. Snow cries like a child that’s beaten too much and barley can catch a constant breathe. Cinderella tenderly takes her side. She firmly wraps her arms around hers and tries her best to make her feel safe, even though she knows that Snow hates her naturally. But it doesn’t matter. Cinderella's heart is somewhat careless to negative feelings against herself. But to Rose it matters, more than it mattered to keep her from impressions in order to retain her blood in a good condition. It aggravates her with the same flames that burn inside of Snow. Her face becomes red, her fists clench, her eyes stare at the sore on Snow's face so hard, the saliva in her mouth becomes venom, her foots stomp towards the barracks, she slams the door hard. In one hand she holds her knife and her other hand is free to cast deadly spells. Someone turns the knob. The first cling of the lock is the sound that Rose needs to hear. The one behind the door could expect anything but a shot so strong that flies him back. Rose appears with the broken pieces of the door.
"Yo mad berk. Where do ya think you’ve bolted in like a savage?" Says the ugly man the one who probably played the wolf before. "I’ll teach ya a lesson now."
And that is going to be his last words. When the rest of the band either panic or pick what’s near them to hit with it, the big bad guy comes to face Rose on his own, and he has no idea what awaits him in her hands. Rose cuts loose into them like a hungry wolf that assaults a herd of sheeps. Harsh and breaking sounds continuously come from inside the barracks. Yelling and shrieking resonates. Screaming of those that treated her like a filth, now crushes the rainfall. Voices that make Snow creep, sound like a song of agony and blood to Cinderella. It doesn’t even bother her. She listens on and holds Snow to prevent her from shaking. After a few seconds Rose appears out. Her stature has no single drop of blood on it. But the knife in her hand is soaked in blood. Red-drops drip from its edge without a stop. She walks down to them and stands before Snow.
"We need to fix this." She touches the injured side of Snow's face as her eyes still burning. | English | NL | b7e85c1d91b45d336a33f5e901a61558a5148976be2ab49d0feb864ef2db4344 |
As they were brought inside, Micah took Arsha’s hand and lead her away. Rachael was left alone with Dayaram, struggling to match his long strides as he lead her down a corridor flanked by doors on both sides and decorated with elaborate tapestries. She had little time to take in the artistry as they moved past, but Rachael couldn’t help but notice that most of the tapestries seemed to depict strangely fantastical beings; a man with a body made from cogs and gears, a floating cape with the suggestion of a body within, an androgynous figure holding up a needle and thread, and a lithe woman whose body seemed to be carved of jade all caught her eye, though briefly.
Distracted, as she tried to catch glimpses of the images they passed, she was caught by surprise as Dayaram stopped at a door and tapped lightly.
“Come in,” a voice called out, less a request than a command.
Dayaram turned the handle and held the door open, ushering her in. Swallowing, her throat unbearably dry, she stepped through into a study that was too large to seem cosy, but dimly lit in a way that felt warm and enclosed. The walls were lined with bookshelves and tapestries. A pair of wing-backed chairs were set in front of a fireplace, where a few large logs glowed a steady red.
In one chair, facing slightly away from her as she entered, an old man sat with his eyes fixed on the glowing embers. His thinning hair flowed down over his shoulders in neatly brushed silver waves, and his grey beard was thick and well groomed. He wore a long, loose fitting tunic and pyjama trousers of white linen. His bare feet were propped up on a small footstool, toes wiggling in front of the fire.
He looked up as she entered and smiled warmly. She heard the door close and looked back to see that Dayaram was still with them.
“Ah, Miss Barnes, welcome. Please, please, sit down,” the old man said, gesturing at the chair opposite his. His voice had a hoarse, soft quality to it.
She took a seat, as Dayaram knelt by the fire to add some fresh wood. Sheets of red and orange flame leapt up from the grate, and a crackling sound filled the room.
“Ah, that’s better,” the old man said. There was a kindly note to his voice, as he folded his hands across his lap and basked in the warmth of the fire for a moment.
Dayaram moved to the small table between them, where a large silver tea tray had been set down.
“Tell me, my dear, do you take milk and sugar?” the old man said, with a genial air.
For a moment she said nothing, watching his expression as he patiently waited for her answer, willing that placid mask to crack. The fire popped and hissed, and she heard the gentle chiming of a silver teaspoon against the sides of the cup as Dayaram prepared his father’s tea.
“Ah, thank you, Darry. You really should have let the servants handle this, my boy. You do trouble yourself so.”
“It’s no trouble father.”
Accepting the cup, the old man turned to look at her again.
“Milk. No sugar,” she said, stiffly.
“No sugar? Well there’s a surprise,” he said, smiling at his son. “A child who doesn’t have a sweet tooth. You know, my boy Rakesh takes three sugars in his tea, and against all reason he’s still as thin as a rail. He gets that from his mother’s side of course, just like his brother here.” He sighed, gently. “Poor Naveen takes after myself. No wonder he exercises so much.”
The old man gave his son another warm smile, and patted the man’s arm gently.
“Now, why don’t you give us a little time alone, eh?”
“Just call if you need anything father.”
Dayaram turned and swept out of the room, closing the door softly behind himself as the old man sipped his tea.
“Ah, that boy. He’ll smother me with love.”
“Yeah. It’s really touching,” Rachael said, trying not to sound too sardonic.
“Oh it’s quite alright my dear, you needn’t pretend to feel anything other than contempt for me. I extend you these courtesies because I am an old man and it pleases me to do so. You’re quite welcome to take that cup and throw it at the wall if you’d prefer. I’m sure the thought crossed your mind.”
He wiggled his eyebrows conspiratorially at her. For a moment her fingers tightened around the handle of the tea-cup, which rattled against the saucer. She watched a little trickle of tea spill down the side and pool in the saucer.
Gently, with great care, she set the cup and saucer down on the table and moved her hands to her lap. Manindra said nothing, but Rachael caught his self indulgent smile as he sipped his tea again.
“Thank you, by the way, for agreeing to speak with me. I do appreciate having a chance to clear the air a little. Ah, manners. I haven’t even introduced myself.”
He set the cup down, and folded his hands across his belly.
“I am Lord Manindra Bhandari of House Bhandari, and I am quite delighted to meet you young lady. You have, I must say, caused more than a little bit of a stir around here.”
“Is that what you call it when your boys try to kill someone.”
“Ah, so dramatic. It was only your companion we tried to kill, my dear. We had no intention of harming you in any way. You are far too valuable. For all his remarkable talents, the boy was expendable, and something of a problem I’m afraid. I have little sympathy for problems.”
Manindra smiled as he spoke, but there was an edge to his tone, like a razor. Perfectly precise. He was trying to get a rise out of her, she knew. As soon as Rachael saw it, she felt a coolness spread through her, as she settled in a familiar space, where the thinking part of her seemed to have stepped back from what was happening, watching from a distance. It was difficult, to keep her hands from forming fists, keep her expression from turning to a snarl, but she forced the anger down, buried under an icy coldness that seemed to numb her whole body.
Instead of meeting his gaze, she let her eyes wander about the room. The tapestries depicted the same figures she’d seen out in the hallway, but one in particular drew her attention. A woman whose body seemed to be comprised entirely of golden leaves, her face concealed behind a white porcelain mask that left only the mouth and chin exposed. Rachael felt a shudder of recognition, as she remembered a ride in an empty train carriage that seemed a lifetime ago. She could almost hear a voice like dry leaves whispering her name again.
“Fascinating, aren’t they?” Manindra said. There was a curious softness to his tone. “I wonder, how much has Chandra told you?”
Rachael scowled, and Manindra’s eyebrows rose a little.
“Not enough, I suspect,” he added. As the old man continued to gaze at the figures, her curiosity finally got the better of her.
“What are they?”
“We call them the Dreamwalkers, though they’ve had many names throughout the ages. They are ancient, as old as human civilisation. These depictions have been found throughout the ruins of the Ur.”
He seemed to notice her look of confusion.
“The first people,” he continued. “Or at least, the oldest recorded civilisation, and certainly the first to find the means to travel beyond the Hearth, and out here into the Borderlands. There is much we still don’t know about our oldest history, but we do know that after the Ur discovered the ways, they left the Hearth behind, and we suspect it was they who created the Veil, in order to prevent anyone from following them.”
Manindra’s eyes remained on the tapestry for a moment longer, before he turned to regard her again.
“I suppose you’d like to know why I asked to speak with you?” he said, taking another sip of his tea.
“Because this is the part where you tell me your evil plan, right? That’s what bad guys are supposed to do, right?”
She was actually surprised when the old man burst out laughing. Tea slopped over his hands and he carefully set the cup down, smiling as he wiped himself clean with a small white handkerchief.
“Oh my. You’re blunt. I like that,” he said, with a gleeful smile. “Well then, if you must know my dear, my evil scheme is thus. Having learned of the present danger through some close allies of my own, I sent my boys to London to find and capture you, preferably before you could awaken one of the Seeds in the middle of the city you call home, and unleash a nightmare on untold millions of innocents.”
Despite the lightness in his tone, there was a cold edge to Manindra’s expression. Some hard and sharp, like a knife. She forced herself to meet his gaze, in spite of how badly she wanted to look away.
“Right, because you’re so big on caring about other people.”
He shook his head, sadly.
“Do you really still think in such simple terms? I will gladly admit that I did all these things for purely selfish reasons. Gaining control of the Seed would have allowed me immeasurable influence with the Guild Council. Of course, in doing so you would have been spared the awful responsibility of destroying an entire city. So tell me, precisely what harm would have been done if I had succeeded in my nefarious plan?”
“Your men attacked us,” she replied, struggling not to sound petulant. “They had guns, and… That thing. That animal.”
“None of which would have been necessary if you had not proven to be such a remarkably elusive quarry, young lady.”
“You didn’t have to…” she began, before he cut her off, coldly.
“Yes. We did. You should be thankful that I consider you so invaluable a resource, my dear. Had the Inquisition found you first, they might well have placed far greater importance on preventing you from ever reaching the Seed in the first place. Perhaps the bullet that found your shifter friend might have been aimed at you instead.”
A sick sensation roiling in her stomach, Rachael swallowed hard, trying not to let the queasiness show.
“Maybe it should have,” she said, quietly.
Manindra shook his head and looked down at his cup.
“Well, what’s done is done. What I want, my dear, is the Seed. Controlling it would stop the danger it poses, and would grant me a powerful bargaining tool. My own motives may be of no interest to you, but perhaps you might take this chance to undo the harm to the city that raised you. If you were to refuse Professor Chandra’s offer of adoption… If you willingly give yourself over my care… I have the resources and the knowledge to close the rift and safely contain the seed itself. All we need is you.”
“And what happens after that?”
“You remain in my care. You are too valuable, and too dangerous, to be granted freedom. But I can keep you from falling into the hands of the Inquisition, who will, I imagine, see you as little more than a curiosity to be studied. You will live here on my estate as my ward. I cannot imagine you will want for anything.”
“Yeah, no thanks mate. I’ll pass.”
“Tell me, do you really imagine you have much choice in this matter?”
Rachael said nothing, deciding it was better to hold her tongue as Manindra watched her with a pitying expression.
“Ah, but of course, you still imagine you have a third option. Rishi hasn’t told you.”
“Told me what?” Rachael said, eyes narrowing.
Manindra sighed, heavily.
“That was cruel of him, to let you hold on to a false hope.”
Still regarding him with a wary gaze, Rachael held her tongue, waiting to see what the old man had to say for himself.
“The young man who was with you in London… Doubtless he told you that you were connected to the Dreamwalkers in some fashion. To one, in particular I imagine.”
As Rachael tried to mask her surprise, Manindra turned to regard the tapestries again.
“The Lady of The Falling Leaves,” he said, casting a glance back in her direction. “You recognised her image. Tell me, did he offer to take you to her? Was the Seed perhaps to be your means of finding her realm?”
Rachael said nothing, but she had no doubt that Manindra had already found his answer in her silence.
“My dear child, you have been chasing a phantom,” he said. “The Dreamwalkers are all long dead. Every last one of them. Their deaths are recorded in every Ur ruin we have uncovered. Their history was written into their walls, crafted into the architecture of their cities. Every Guild scholar knows it.”
He gestured towards the books that lined the study walls.
“I will show you a hundred texts that all say the same. You will doubtless find the same books on Rishi’s shelves, if you care to look.”
Finally, she could not contain herself anymore.
“So what?” she snapped. “You honestly expect me to believe any of that? You gonna convince me that Justin was just lying to me this whole time?”
“Not lying. Merely mislead,” Manindra replied, calmly.
“You really expect me to buy that?”
“Tell me,” he said, leaning forward a little, eyes bright with curiosity, “your young friend. Did he claim to have met the Lady of The Falling Leaves in person. To have been to her realm?”
“He…” Rachael paused for a moment, skewered by the old man’s question. “He went there in his dreams,” she finished, with none of the fire she had felt surging through her only a moment before.
The old man regarded her sadly.
“Dreams, my dear, are the substance of all true magic. The same magic that would have granted him his particular abilities. Fatework, it is called.”
“He said it had been years,” Rachael said. She meant for the reply to sound forceful, but the words came out like a mumbled excuse.
“Time moves strangely in dreams. I’m sure you’ve experienced this for yourself. Even memories are just dreams of a different sort,” he said. “Did it not all seem just a touch too convenient? For someone like yourself to discover that she was secretly the heir to an ancient legacy? A lost princess, perhaps? Was the young man to be your knight? Your prince? Wasn’t it just a little too perfect, to learn that there was a new life waiting for you, just beyond the other side of the curtain?”
His voice was soft, almost kindly. In the silence after he spoke, Rachael heard the crackling of the fire in the grate, as the old man sipped his tea.
“So what am I then?” she said. “Cause you still went to a whole lot of trouble. And that Seed thing still did something.”
“There is a grain of truth in what you were told. You are an heir to the legacy of the Dreamwalkers, if distantly. Some tiny part of your lineage doubtless traces back to their kind. Enough to make a connection. Growing up in the vicinity of a buried Seed saw to the rest. The Seed was searching for someone to awaken it. It found you.”
He sighed, again.
“You are an echo, my dear. Nothing more. Your connection to the Seed is, indeed, quite valuable. But there is no one waiting for you beyond that gate. The Lady’s halls are abandoned and empty.”
Calmly, Manindra leaned forward in his chair, regarding her intently.
“You, and your young companion, have been manipulated from the very beginning, and as a result you now have the blood of an entire city on your hands,” he said. Uncomfortable with his icy gaze, she looked away.
“Like you care,” she snarled. “You think you’re any better?”
“Because I am selfish?” Manindra said, seeming entirely unsurprised. “Everyone is selfish. Anyone who pretends to act only for the good of others is a liar and a fool. I seek power and influence, and I offer a chance to wash your conscience clean. Both of us selfishly saving the lives of millions.”
Rachael turned to look at him again, her eyes cold and hard.
“Doesn’t sound like much of an offer to me,” she said.
“What else would you seek?” Manindra said, raising an eyebrow. “Freedom? The only freedom is power, and that is something you have never known. You were born powerless, and you will die powerless. You will always be caged, girl. It might as well be a gilded one.”
Rachael said nothing. Eyes narrowed, she met his gaze, and forced herself not to look away.
“Tell me,” Manindra said, softly, “is Rishi Chandra really any different? Has he offered you anything that I haven’t?”
She began to protest, and faltered. Now that she thought about it, it seemed hard to pin down just what the professor had promised her.
“I see,” Manindra said, with obvious disappointment. “Well, run to him, if you wish. He will fight for you, I have no doubt of that. As with all things, Rishi will fight to the bitter end. And I will destroy him, utterly, and without mercy. I will ruin him, and everyone he holds dear. His daughter, his friends, the crew of that charming little ship he rides about on. They will all suffer to protect you. And it will not make the slightest bit of difference.”
Manindra’s voice was cold and soft, like the sound of a blade being sharpened. His eyes, fixed on hers, were icy cold, and Rachael felt no doubt at all that the man believed every word.
“Why would I care for what happens to any of them?” she spat back at him. “I don’t owe them nothing.”
“Really?” Manindra leaned back in the chair and smiled. “Then tell me, if they have offered nothing that I cannot, why sacrifice yourself for them?”
Still smiling, Manindra nodded to her.
“Think on it, young miss. I thank you. This has been most enlightening.”
Rachael made no move, didn’t say a word as the old man touched a small crystal inset into the table, which made a gentle chiming sound. She sat in awkward silence while the old man sipped his tea, until the door opened and Dayaram stepped in. Looking up to see his son standing in the doorway, Manindra shook his head sadly.
“What on earth do I pay all these servants for, dear boy?”
Dayaram just smiled as he awaited his instructions. She couldn’t help but notice that when Dayaram smiled, it was only his lips that moved. His eyes remained as cold as ever. Especially when he smiled at his father.
“Well, if you will insist on being my personal adjutant, Darry, would you be so good as to see the young lady back to her companions,” Manindra said.
“As you wish father,” his son nodded and turned to her, holding the door open. She got to her feet, taking one last glance at the old man as he stared contentedly at the fire. Then she turned away and followed Dayaram out of the room.
They walked through the long corridor once more, as Rachael felt the figures on the tapestries staring down at them.
“He scares you, doesn’t he,” she said, softly. Dayaram made no sign that he had heard. “That’s why you want to be so close to everything. You’re trying to see just how bad he’s lost it. Just how dangerous he’s gotten.”
Still Dayaram walked, without a word. They crossed the entrance hall, and approached a large set of double doors. He stopped, with one hand on the door. Before he could turn the handle, Rachael looked him in the eye.
“Believe me,” she said, “it’s as bad as you think. It really is.”
When he spoke, his words were like steel scraping over ice. There was coldness in his eyes, but she also suspected just a hint of fear.
“So long as you remain a guest in our house… Young miss… You would do well to mind your words.”
Dayaram opened the door and ushered Rachael through into a spacious dining hall. As she entered she saw that everyone else was already seated. Only Manindra had yet to join them. However her attention turned quickly to the two figures she had not expected to see at the table. Even without their long red coats, Rakesh and Naveen were easy to recognise.
Naveen had his hair tied back, and was sat by Vaneeta’s side, chatting with the woman in a hushed tone. Closer to, Rakesh was sat back from the table with little Mohan and Jeevan sat on his knees, bright eyed and laughing as the young boys both did their best to shout over each other.
Rachael didn’t dare move. She watched them both, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She couldn’t seem to match Rakesh’s smiling face to the haggard look he had worn when she last saw him, standing on top of the Shard Building with a sword clutched in one hand. Then the man looked up at her as his nephews continued to bombard him with questions. His smile remained, but saw something dangerous behind those eyes. Something hard, like steel. Then the moment passed, as Rakesh returned to answering the torrent of questions that Mohan and Jeevan assaulted him with.
Dayaram lead her to the table, seating her by Arsha’s side before taking his place just to the right of the head seat. She noticed that the professor was seated to the left, and wondered if that was important. Then the doors swung open again, and a hush fell on the room. Manindra Bhandari entered, his steps slow and measured as he surveyed them all. A nervous Vaneeta swooped in to gather up her young boys as Rakesh and Naveen stood to their feet. Their expressions now quite serious, both men went to meet their father.
“My boys,” Manindra boomed, suddenly beaming as he clapped a hand on both of their shoulders. It was funny, Rachael thought, how the old man could be half a foot shorter than both the young men, and yet seem to tower over them. Watching closely, she saw the look in the old man’s eyes as he regarded both of his sons carefully. A look of deep disappointment. There was a brief conversation in hushed tones, that she could not make out. Then all three of them went to take their places at the table. Rachael felt a knot tightening in her stomach. She wondered if she would be able to eat anything at all.
As dinner began, all but the oldest of the boys were ushered away to the kitchen. Only Vasuki remained, seated between his uncles. Rachael couldn’t help but notice the sour glances he kept throwing in their direction. A strained but polite conversation filled the room. Rachael began to hope that she could stay quiet and be ignored, but it wasn’t long before Manindra turned his attention to her. Smiling delightedly, the old man bombarded her with questions about where she had come from. He seemed genuinely delighted by ideas like ‘the internet’ and ‘mobile phones’. She mumbled brief answers as best she could. It was difficult to endure the barrage of questions without wanting to grind her teeth and simply refuse to speak any more. Throughout it all, Manindra listened attentively, seeming for all the world like a kindly grandfather.
When dessert finally arrived, she felt too exhausted by the conversation to even lift a spoon. She was desperately thankful when other conversations began to overtake the old man’s questions. Finally Manindra excused himself, and this seemed to signal that they were free to go. She noticed that the old man’s sons followed close behind him as he left the room. Too tired to put much thought into what that might mean, Rachael slipped down from the table and made her way out onto the balcony.
She leaned out over the railing and found herself looking down over the town below them. There was a gentle breeze, but the air was still unpleasantly warm.
She heard the door, and looked across her shoulder to see Micah stroll out onto the balcony. He leaned against the stone railing and stared up at the sky. Rachael found herself uncomfortably aware of the shape of his face, the strong line of his jaw captured in the glow of the ghostlamps that swayed above them.
“Hey,” she said, turning to sit on the balcony. Her throat felt dry.
“What’s up?” he said, apparently unconcerned by her precarious perch.
“Nothing, I just,” she paused, trying to gather her thoughts, “you know… Needed some fresh air.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He nodded, and went to stand at the railing beside her. Reaching into his pocket, Micah produced a small cloth bag, from which he extracted a slightly crumpled looking roll-up.
“Here, give us one of those then,” Rachael said, as Micah put the cigarette to his lips and struck a match.
“Oh no, not a chance. Filthy habit,” he said, taking care to blow the smoke away from her.
“Mate, I grew up on the estate, yeah?” she said, doing her best to sound nonchalant. “I’ve smoked ciggies before.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll get to watch you cough your lungs out, and then you can watch as Milima murders me. ‘Lona will probably help too.”
“I won’t tell,” she said, pouting just a little.
“Not happening, kid. Nice try though.”
With a sigh, she slipped down off the railing and turned to look at the view. In the far distance she could make out the lights of Firecrest, and below the streets around the estate were lit by the orange glow of the furnaces.
“Fates, you see it like this, it’s almost beautiful,” Micah said, softly.
“It’s a bit like home,” she replied. Micah just nodded as he took another drag. For a moment she found herself staring down at the railing, trying to work her way around the lump that had formed in her throat.
“Hey, um, I wanted to say thanks, for today,” she said. “It was… It was really fun.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Micah said. “I was going stir crazy anyhow. I’ve never been good at being cooped up, you know?”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Well, maybe I’ll take you out again tomorrow, if the professor’s crazy enough to have us stick it out here.”
“I… I’d really like that.”
“Just, don’t get your hopes up, OK?” he said. She was surprised by his look of concern, though she couldn’t really say why.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “It’s just… I really was crazy about ’em, you know? Even when I started drawing, it was all just pages and pages of horses. Whole books of ’em. I mean, I knew it was stupid. Rich girls get horses, not dirt poor scabbers living on the estate.”
She looked up at the tall windows above them.
“Guess some things are the same wherever you go.”
“Seems like it,” Micah said, nodding.
“I suppose where you grew up must have been a lot like this.”
Micah turned to look back over the structure that loom over them.
“Yeah, yeah it was. I mean, different, but the same.”
“So why’d you ever want to leave for?”
“I guess I’ve never really gotten along all that well with most of my family,” Micah said. “They’re good people, but I just never really…”
He tailed off, staring out into the distance.
“I think getting away from that place was the best thing I could have ever done. Yeah, I had it easy there, but I felt… Trapped, you know? When Rishi came along, offered me this chance, I didn’t hesitate.”
Micah looked down at the stub of his cigarette, barely anything of it left, and made an amused sound.
“Go on then, let’s see you give it a try.”
As he held out the cigarette stub for her, Rachael hesitated a moment before taking it. Pinching the cigarette to her lips, she breathed in and felt a choking wave of hot smoke sear it’s way through her lungs. She could see him barely holding back his laughter as she spluttered and coughed. She could feel her ears burning.
“Fates, give me that back,” he said, still smiling bemusedly as he took the stub from her hand and flicked it into the darkness. Rachael watched the tiny ember sail down into the night, like a microscopic shooting star. Rachael watched it go, desperately trying not to meet his eyes. To her relief, Micah just carried on talking as if nothing had happened.
“Look, this stuff with my family… I’m not trying to say it’s anything like what you’ve been through. I know I’ve always had it easy. Even living on the Triskelion, even when I’m freezing to death or sweating my ass off on one of the professor’s expeditions, I still chose this, you know?”
He grinned, suddenly.
“Honestly, I only complain so much because it gets up Ilona’s nose.”
“Jesus,” she muttered, “what even is it with you two? Like, are you a thing or something?”
“Oh Fates, no. No, no, no, no. Ilona is…” He shook his head. “You know what, I’ll get back to you on that one when I figure it out, OK?”
Micah paused for a moment, looking off into the distance again.
“But I care about her a lot,” he said. “All of these people… I know it’s awful to say it, but they’ve been more family to me than anyone I was born with.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That… That kinda makes sense.”
“It’s not who you’re given, you know? It’s who you find. That’s what counts,” he said, his smile strangely subdued. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and turned away from the railing.
“Hey, Micah,” she called after him. He stopped, and looked back.
“Don’t mention it.”
He smiled and slipped through the door, leaving her standing in the warm night air. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the wind.
The Stolen Child by Peter Brunton is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. | English | NL | db8a5eca764baa10eca4d13b35027f08df303317b43c57dbcd6da5b8cbd153cc |
Everything comes to an end, but just because it has ended, does that really mean it has stopped? Does the thing simply cease to be because it has played its course? Or does its history, the very fact that it has existed, and the very fact that there are spoilers below, make that thing live on? If it doesn’t, that just doesn’t seem right.
From outer space, we zoom through the small spaces of Serenity until we see River, asleep, and hearing a strange man’s voice. She awakens suddenly and goes out to the lounge, where Simon is regailing Kaylee with a story of drunken shenanigans that took place just after he became a surgeon. In the middle of the story, they both look over and see River, who is smiling and watching them. River then sees a strange flash of Simon looking at her, regretting his life choice to save her. Instantly Kaylee and Simon are back to laughing over the story, and River goes upstairs, obviously confused.
She walks into the galley, trailing her hands along the bulkheads as if feeling to make sure the ship is real, and into a conversation between Book and Jayne. Jayne is questioning Book over his celibacy vows, and Book is taking it all with a joking demeanor. River then has two more flashs. Jayne admits to being stupid, that the money was too good, and Book bitterly says he doesn’t care if anyone is innocent, and wonders what that makes him. Like before, the two keep laughing, and River continues to walk, disoriented, into the crew cabin corridor.
There, she sees Wash and Zoe on the bridge kissing, and she is overcome by the passion of the moment and walks back towards the stairs to below. She comes across Inara and Mal, who are discussing Inara’s imminent departure. Again, the flashes.
INARA: I’m a big girl. Just tell me.
MAL: None of it means a damn thing.
River rushes down to the hold area, where she finds an oddly gun-like shaped twig, and a sudden field of leaves. She picks the twig up just like a gun, and looks at it whimsically.
RIVER: It’s just an object. It doesn’t mean what you think.
All of the sudden, everyone is panicking, telling River to just set the gun down, and that she knows she shouldn’t be touching it. The crew quickly, but cautiously, move in and take the gun, all except Kaylee, who is looking at River in abject horror. Mal checks the gun and finds it to be fully loaded with the safety off. Mal chews her out about touching the gun, and River says that she understands but does not comprehend then rushes away, saying that it is very, very crowded. Mal queries Simon, saying he thought River was getting better, but Simon says that none of the meds are working as her body keeps becoming resistant to them. Mal chastises Simon to take extra care with River, because they are very alone out where they are. Just then, outside the ship, another, smaller vessel pulls up in their blind spot. Aboard this ship, a man in tight red leather looks at the mug shots of River and Simon.
Back on Serenity’s bridge, Wash worries about River with Zoe. Zoe is a little more calm about the situation, saying in a nonchalant tone that River could either blow them up or rub soup in their hair next. Wash responds sarcastically but pauses as he notices an odd sensor reading from behind them. Before he can even fully suggest a cause and solution, Mal and Jayne walk onto the bridge, with Mal royally chewing Jayne out for leaving a gun laying around, while Jayne adamantly protests that he doesn’t just leave guns lying around. Jayne then turns the conversation towards it being crazy-River’s fault and mentions he didn’t even want her on the ship. Mal gives him a meaningful look and asks him if he really wants to go down that path, and he demurs but holds his ground that it isn’t his fault.
Mal then voices the suggestion they lock River in her room from now on, and Zoe tries to argue that she’s harmless, ignoring Jayne’s recounting of the butcher knife incident. Zoe says that River has probably never even picked up a gun before, and that is when Kaylee pokes her head in and says that isn’t the case. Everyone looks at her, and they all go down to the galley.
Outside, the red clad man makes his way down via spacesuit to the top of the ship and looks in at the others through the galley window and listens in.
In the galley, Kaylee recounts the assault on Niska’s skyplex, and how River picked up the gun, barely looked, shot the men dead, then laughed like it was a game. Simon is understandably confused and upset, especially as Kaylee starts to say that River isn’t human for what she did, trying to convince the skeptical crew. Below, River stands on the rails of the hold’s catwalks and listens in with a blank face. Simon and Book both try to defend River while Jayne is not too keen on the notion, then Mal brings up the largest issue, namely they have someone on the ship that might be a danger to them, regardless of intent.
He then brings up how River knows things that she shouldn’t or couldn’t. Jayne, perhaps remembering “Safe,” asks if Mal is calling her a witch, and Wash makes fun of him. Inara appears from the shadows and calls Wash out for joking, and Simon tries to say River is just intuitive. Mal, though, says that she is not intuitive: she’s a reader, as in a mind-reader. The crew wonder if psychics are even real, and Mal looks to Simon for confirmation. Simon tip-toes around the possibility, and Wash interjects.
WASH: Psychic though? That sounds like something out of science fiction.
ZOE: You live in a spaceship, dear.
Mal looks to the crew, and it is grudgingly accepted that she probably is psychic. Simon pleads, saying that she is just a kid and wouldn’t hurt any of them, but the argument falls somewhat flat. Mal says he isn’t going to make any decision on it yet, and suggests they all get some rest.
In the corridor, Kaylee catches up to Simon and begs him to understand why she had to say something. Simon says he isn’t mad at her, but worries over having to take River off the ship, which she thinks of as home. He then somewhat fesses up to his dark inner thoughts of “if only she hadn’t—” and starts talking about how he had thought the hospital was home. Kaylee lays it on pretty thick, poking him to admit there is something, anything about Serenity that he likes, and he smiles and starts to move closer, even daring to almost put a hand to her cheek. Book then storms through and kills the moment, wishing them a good night. Leave it to the holy man to break up the romance.
Mal sits alone and forlorn at the galley table for a while before he walks to his cabin and goes down to bed. As he does, the red clad man climbs down the nearby hatch and pulls out a gun. He checks the hall and then goes to stow his helmet. When he comes out, he bumps into Mal, who he beats the ever-loving gos se out of and dumps down into his berthing. He then locks the crew quarters shut and heads down to engineering.
Kaylee is working on the engine, and calls out to see if it is River when she hears a noise. When no one responds, she reaches for a wrench, and as she stands back up, she drops it in fright as the red clad man is standing there, kind of smiling at her. She asks how he got on the ship, and he alludes that he is Santa Claus, then goes off on a tangent. She asks what he wants, and he admires the engine. He then asks her if she has ever been raped. She tries to say that the captain is nearby, and the red clad man tells her that she is helpless and makes her say it. She does, with a tear streaming down her eye. He then tells her is going to tie her up and that if she so much as makes a noise, he’ll do all manner of unseemly things to her. As he ties her up, he asks where to find River.
In the lounge, Book is just finishing his toilette when he hears something from above. He looks up the stairs, only to be hit suddenly by a flying kick from the red clad man. The impact knocks Book out instantly. The noise wakes Simon, who comes out and checks on River. She isn’t there, and when he turns around he is literally dropped on by the red clad man, who doesn’t knock him out, but instead draws a gun on him and asks him to sit down. He reveals he is there on a warrant, which doesn’t specify if Simon needs to be alive or dead, then asks after River. Simon tries to get some information out of the red clad man, such as who he works for, but the man seems to mishear him and yet again go on tangents. Finally, the man admits he is a bounty hunter named Early, and says he’s been tracking them since Ariel. He then convinces Simon to help him find River through a combined hope of stopping Early by staying alive and a threat against Kaylee.
SIMON: You are out of your mind.
EARLY: That is between me and my mind.
They start the search, and Simon rushes down to Book’s side, sneering at Early for hitting a shepherd. Early replies that Book is no shepherd, and they move on to the infirmary. There, Simon tries to play to Early’s sympathy on what the Alliance did to River. Early cuts him off, saying that he ought to be shot or stabbed, since he is a surgeon, just so he knows what it is like. They then go to the hold, where Early continues to admire the Firefly design in a very existential way. Simon almost tries to jump Early, but Early just lifts his gun without looking and tells Simon it isn’t his moment. They check the shuttles, and leave Inara sealed in after she attempts to use feminine charm on Early, for which she only receives a bloody lip.
On the bridge, Early loses his patience with this game of hide-and-seek. He announces, waking Mal and Zoe, that if River doesn’t show herself he’s going to kill Simon, to who he then apologizes, saying he is on a schedule and is frustrated. River’s voice then comes over the P.A., saying he is wrong. He tries to say he isn’t lying, but she goes on, saying that he was wrong about River being on the ship. She says that she knew the crew didn’t want her around anymore, so she melted away and became one with the ship. River is no more. Early asks who they are talking to, and she says they are talking to Serenity, and Serenity is not happy. Early looks about with a near look of panic.
In Engineering, a trussed up Kaylee hears River, who gives her consoling words and absolves her for what she did. She then asks Kaylee to be brave and break herself free to help.
On the bridge, Early tries to regain control, saying that River is just somewhere with a com playing games, and she giggles, earning a “That’s somewhat unsettling” from Early. She then identifies him completely, Mr. Jubal Early, bounty hunter. He gets into an argument about morality, where she accuses him of being a sadist, and it gets under his skin. Early tries to force Simon to defend him, which Simon does sarcastically and River giggles. Early seems confounded that no one is taking him seriously, between River’s giggles and Simon’s snark.
River then contacts Mal and starts to conspire a plan with him, then switches back to Kaylee, who is now free. Kaylee slowly and quietly makes her way forward. On the bridge, Early tries to use a locator on the ship to find River, and relates a story of his only smaller mark than River, a deadly and unpredictable midget. Simon askes what the midget did.
EARLY: Arson. The little man loved fire.
Kaylee makes it to the crew corridor, where she unlocks the doors then runs for cover. River talks Zoe and Wash out of taking action and then tells Mal to go after assuring him that she knows exactly what Early is doing. The power on the ship is cut, and River keeps talking to Early while Mal dodges down towards the upper airlock. She relates about how Early’s mother knew him for a sadist and was relieved when he left, and a flash of Early shows him upset, but he outwardly stays calm. She continues to taunt him with his past, until he suddenly realizes from her words that she is not in his mind, but on his ship. She laughs out loud, and we see her sitting in his cockpit in a spacesuit.
Early panics, and River plays with him a bit, commenting about the buttons and then making him admit to his flaws. She then says it is alright, and that she will go with him, because she knows she is a burden to the crew and doesn’t want to be anymore. The crew listens guiltily. Early is relieved and starts to head out, but Simon jumps him. Early wrestles with him a bit then manages to get a shot off into Simon’s leg. Early calmly says “See? That’s what it feels like,” and keeps moving. Simon then jumps him again and they fight outside of Jayne’s cabin. Jayne wakes up, irritated, grabs the blanket that hides his guns, then rolls over with said blanket. Early again knocks Simon down and heads out. River tells Simon it will be okay as he sits and groans on the steps to the bridge.
Outside, Early makes his way towards his spaceship, but then has a surprise encounter with Mal, who pushes him hard and off into the black. River sends Early’s ship off, and floats down to Mal. She asks for permission to come aboard, and Mal gives it to her, and tells her to give Simon a trashing for messing up the plan. She bemoans how he takes so much looking after.
In the infirmary, Simon guides Zoe in removing the bullet, and Mal and Inara discuss Early’s low chance of survival. Mal attempts to look at Inara’s lip, but she pulls back, they have an awkward moment, and she leaves. In the hold, Book admits to feeling bad for not being able to stop Early, and Jayne laughs at the notion that Book has anything to feel bad about, but then regrets his own lack of any involvement in the ordeal. Kaylee and River are sitting nearby, playing jacks, and Kaylee is relating a story from her childhood that apparently ended with her daddy whoopin’ her good. She picks up four jacks and challenges River to do the same, and River has a strange moment of looking at the ball, which just looks like the planet they passed at the beginning, before she drops it and plays. Outside, the ship floats away, and somewhere else in the black, Early floats along and says, “Well, here I am.”
And here we are, my friends. What a wonderful and powerful episode to end on, and considering the week after this aired was when the pilot was finally shown, and then it was the next summer before the other three were ever “aired”, well, it is an amazing episode to end on with its deep existential themes and the bounty hunter that was there for River, but left with a whole television show.
And, I am just going to say, there is no way I can comment on everything there is to comment on this episode without just quoting the whole gorram thing. Seriously, if you only watch one episode of Firefly any time soon, watch this. Jubal Early demands it.
Ahem, so, in my normal fashion, let’s talk about the characters. There are really only three characters in this, and that is Jubal, Simon, and River. Kaylee to a lesser extent as she is the only other crew member to get a longish discussion with Jubal, and what a—wait for it—powerful scene that was. So let’s start there.
The “Have you ever been raped” scene goes to a dark place that makes a writer feel dirty (from personal experience and Joss’ admission in the commentary). To sit down and write out this truly vile person, and at the same time want to make them out to be a badass, well, it makes the writer wonder if they are really as good a person as they thought they were. And Kaylee’s reaction to the power and control that is forced on her just sells it all the more, both in having to verbally admit that she was helpless and from having to meekly be tied up and betray River. When we come back to her later, and she is sitting there, on the grating, looking blankly into the camera and just devoid of thought, one could think that she had been, at least emotionally, completely violated. Now mix in the romantic bits she had at the beginning of the episode, where her feet are across Simon’s lap and they are laughing and the almost-kiss. Seeing what Jubal did to her, coupled with my Kaylee-obsession, makes me want to jump into the screen and die screaming as Jubal cuts me from crotch to gizzard. At least I would have tried.
On to Simon. My first thought is how can that boy put two words together when Kaylee is going calf-eyed on him. She must be a veritable fountain of pheromones towards him, and it really makes you wonder if he’s the sly one, to steal Nandi’s word. Who knows, had the show gone on, Whedon might have explored that instead of giving them the happy ending of the movie.
Moving along to his interactions with Jubal, I am glad to see a new side to Simon. Here he is, with his life threatened, his friends incapacitated, and his sister in trouble, and he manages to keep his cool, at least once he gets his head around the fact that Jubal is crazy, and even puts some sass into it. His quick responses to Early as well as his nearly uncaring demeanor towards his own wellbeing show that steel under Simon that I think a lot of people discount. The boy has gumption, you cannot deny. He just needs the right cause to bring it out, which is most often than not his sister.
So, let’s slide over to the true star of this show: Jubal Early. First, some trivia. The name Jubal Early refers to an American Civil War general of the same name that Nathan Fillion claims to be descended from. I say “claims” not to cast my own doubt on it, but because all the other sources I see use the same term. I guess I can claim to be descended from Charlemagne (three times at that, boy was virile) and know that I am, but the most I can do is claim (short of stealing the huge tombs of genealogy my grandfather has compiled). But I digress. The next bit of trivia is that Early is not dead. I can’t remember where it was that Whedon said it, but he is on record, somewhere, as saying that Early is not dead. Perhaps he’ll be in a comic book. I hope so.
Anyway, another thing I should bring up is that Early is not psychic. He is just highly intuitive, and this comes straight from Joss’ mouth in the commentary. On the same token, Simon says the same thing about River—and yes Whedon did also say flat out she is psychic—and both River and Jubal have the ability to read people at a glance. Okay, maybe he isn’t feeding on their thought waves, but that is about as close to psychic as one is going to get. He knows that Book isn’t a shepherd, he knows that threatening Kaylee will coerce Simon, he knows to deal with Book and Mal quickly and directly, to not deal with Zoe, Jayne, or Wash at all, to threaten and scare Kaylee, to be blunt but safe with Inara, and to use logic on Simon. And all of this he gains, according to Joss, by his little eavesdropping session on them. Mmhmm, not psychic. Gotcha.
Another thing about Jubal is that he is, again from Joss’ mouth, a direct representation, at least in words and thoughts, of Joss’ own metaphysical belief, which is more or less a loose existentialism. The big thing in this episode, to the point that it is the title of the episode, is that an object in space is not any less real because we don’t understand it. Additionally, while a thing can be “imbued,” as Jubal actually says, with meaning, there is still a level of meaning that the thing has unto itself. Such as a ball. It is just a ball. But it can also be a planet, or a superball for playing jacks. I bring this up because this is about all Joss talks about in the commentary. Actually to the point that he is more or less ignoring the episode aside from commenting on the characters in the episode, but not waiting for actions to happen, or even characters to be on screen as he rambles on. It was all pretty interesting and somewhat enlightening, if almost more of listening to a podcast than watching a commentary.
Yet another big thing with Jubal was that, and I somewhat touched on this already, he was a paired foil to River. Both are intuitive, both are built to kill. Yet, while Jubal looks at a gun and only sees a gun, River can look at a gun and imbue—that gorram word again—it with some other meaning, such as a twig, which was more to say that it had lost meaning to her and she saw it as a harmless nothing.
And this gets into my discussion of River. Lawdy lawdy, our first fully River episode, and it is our last and punches you in the head. Where to begin with all the River-isms? Book’s shadowy past in his flash-line about not caring if anyone is innocent or not? Simon’s line of regret and his actual admission to it with Kaylee? The fact that she didn’t get any thoughts from Kaylee when she saw her? The whole Mal-Inara thing? And no, I’m not getting back into that. I stand by what I said, although I don’t know if I either did not convey it right or if most of ya’ll missed exactly what I was saying? Oh gorram it.
Fine, aside: Mal and Inara. My dislike of this relationship stems from two things. One: it wouldn’t work. They have too much baggage, put it off too long, and now they probably have put each other up on pedestals in their heads. The second, my call of passive-aggressive, is that I think it unfair that Inara nor Mal have forced an “us” conversation. Recall back in Jaynestown how I lauded on Kaylee and Simon for having one? That is why I like them. Perhaps some of the comments are right that they wouldn’t work out because it is more of a physical thing and they both of issues and the two-worlds thing, etc. But at least they are moving in a semi-healthy direction towards trying to find that out for themselves. But Mal and Inara? They let it fester and are too worried or proud or something to make a move. Nor is either willing to just sit the other down and blatantly be “truthy” with a heavy emphasis on “I know these feelings won’t disappear, but I also know that no good will come of them.” Yeah, perhaps that is a bit emo, but it is better, I think, than sitting silent, fighting with the feelings, and letting them develop and change without any real interaction but instead only hope. Long as they haven’t broken the seal on their relationship, there is still hope that it is fresh. Passive-Aggressive White-Knight FriendZone-but-wanting-more things like that are the Schrödinger’s Cat of relationships (or Tupperware). Don’t break the seal, and maybe it is still good and you don’t have to throw it away.
ANYWAY! River. I loved our first true, deep glance into River’s head. Our only deep glance into River’s head, I mean. It reminds me of a description of autism I once heard: the person is completely open to everything and has no clue how to deal with it. Of course, back in 2002, autism was still a bit of a fringe condition, only ever heard of in crazy movies about the NSA or gambling and by parents of children who were just starting to be diagnosed. As opposed to now where doctor’s diagnose it like ADHD was diagnosed when I was growing up, which is to say, as a default. Yes, that is personal experience with my children talking. Also, of course, River would at least be a high-functioning autistic, not quite but almost to Asperger’s.
So yeah, River’s little guilt-trip on the crew at the end proving that she does understand (even if she doesn’t always comprehend) is poignant. That it was a bit of a farse doesn’t lessen it, and that right at the end she has a moment of clarity again, much like in “War Stories,” and that she gets to be friends with Kaylee again, well, it’s simply heartwarming. The last camera pan around where we see the crew is together again and River is included seals that deal.
Now then, to a few odds and ends. I loved the Jayne banter. I glossed over most of it in the summary because it was really just garnish, but his fear of a psychic reading his thoughts and the lines that came off it were nice. Even Inara, who was trying to keep the discussion serious, had to snark on him. And speaking of Inara, it was only obliquely mentioned, but the whole “Inara is leaving” thing must have been confusing to the original air-order watchers. Not that it mattered much, I guess, since the show was cancelled, but still. That was established in “Heart of Gold,” which didn’t air until the following summer. Almost makes me glad I didn’t watch during the initial run. I would have been confused and angry, I tell you what.
Originally Aired: 13 December 2002
Original Position: Episode 10
Fun Goofs: When Kaylee is giving her speech about River being a killing-machine in the galley, right before it cuts down to River, you can see a white-haired man with thick black indie-hip glasses reading a binder over in the kitchen. THERE WERE TWO SHOOTERS! EARLY HAD AN INSIDE MAN! GAH!
Richard’s Favorite Line: Three way tie.
MAL: When I want a lot of medical jargon, I’ll talk to a doctor.
SIMON: You are talking to a doctor.
SIMON: Well, my sister’s a ship. We had a complicated childhood.
SIMON: I can’t keep track of her when she’s not incorporeally possessing a spaceship.
And that, my friends, is as they say that. But we are hardly done. Next week is going to be “Richard recovers his sanity with an ice-cream scoop” week, also called vacation, and then I’m going to do a series-in-reflection post about any final thoughts on Firefly, and after that I’m going to cover the graphic novel Serenity: Those Left Behind, as it was pointed out to me by one commentor that it bridges the gap between the series and the movie. Also because it was the only one of the graphic novels my local comic book shop had in stock. After I get through that (I don’t know yet how many posts it will be), I’ll do the movie, then I’ll move into the other comics. And yes, while it will be some time after I’m done with all this craziness, I will be coming back with The Shepherd’s Tale as well in November, which will finally give us Book’s backstory. Exciting times ahead, my friends. The ‘verse isn’t done with us yet.
Richard Fife is a blogger, writer, and sadly not based off of Boba Fett. You can read more of his rambling and some of his short stories at http://RichardFife.com. | English | NL | e6cbcf3b06076f2ea50492f6a84055f19b392e7ddc615f17fc8cab76adbaba9f |
Most Notorious Serial Killers
The Butcher Of Rostov
Andrei Chikatilo was born on October 16, 1936, in the Ukraine state of the USSR. Chikatilo had a difficult childhood and the only sexual experience as an adolescent ended quickly and led to much ridicule, leading to later sexually violent acts. When the police caught him, he confessed to the gruesome murder of 56 people and was found guilty in 1992 and executed in 1994.
Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo was born on October 16, 1936, in Yablochnoye, a village in the heart of rural Ukraine in the USSR. During the 1930s, Ukraine was known as the "Breadbasket" of the Soviet Union. Stalin's policies of agricultural collectivization caused widespread hardship and famine that decimated the population. At the time of Chikatilo's birth, the effects of the famine were still widely felt, and his early childhood was influenced by deprivation. The situation was made worse still when the USSR entered World War II against Germany, bringing sustained bombing raids on Ukraine.
In addition to the external hardships, Chikatilo is believed to have suffered from hydrocephalus (water on the brain) at birth, which caused him genital-urinary tract problems later in life, including bed-wetting into his late adolescence and, later, the inability to sustain an erection, although he was able to ejaculate. His home life was disrupted by his father's conscription into the war against Germany, where he was captured, held prisoner, and then vilified by his countrymen for allowing himself to be captured, when he finally returned home. Chikatilo suffered the consequences of his father's "cowardice", making him the focus of school bullying.
Painfully shy as a result of this, his only sexual experience during adolescence occurred, aged 15, when he is reported to have overpowered a young girl, ejaculating immediately during the brief struggle, for which he received even more ridicule. This humiliation colored all future sexual experiences, and cemented his association of sex with violence.
He failed his entrance exam to Moscow State University, and a spell of National Service was followed by a move to Rodionovo-Nesvetayevsky, a town near Rostov, in 1960, where he became a telephone engineer. His younger sister moved in with him and, concerned by his lack of success with the opposite sex, she engineered a meeting with a local girl, Fayina, whom he went on to marry in 1963. Despite his sexual problems, and lack of interest in conventional sex, they produced two children, and lived an outwardly normal family life. In 1971 Chikatilo changed careers to become a schoolteacher. A string of complaints about indecent assaults on young children forced him to move from school to school, before he finally settled at a mining school in Shakhty, near Rostov.
An eyewitness had seen Chikatilo with the victim, shortly before her disappearance, but his wife provided him with an iron-clad alibi that enabled him to evade any further police attention. Alexsandr Kravchenko, a 25-year-old with a previous rape conviction, was arrested and confessed to the crime under duress, probably as a result of extensive and brutal interrogation. He was tried for the killing of Lena Zakotnova, and executed in 1984.
Perhaps as a result of his close brush with the law, there were no more documented victims for the next three years. Still dogged by claims of child abuse, Chikatilo found it impossible to find another teaching post, when he was made redundant from his mining school post, in early 1981. He took a job as a clerk for a raw materials factory in Rostov, where the travel involved with the position gave him unlimited access to a wide range of young victims over the next nine years.
Larisa Tkachenko, 17, became his next victim. On September 3, 1981, Chikatilo strangled, stabbed and gagged her with earth and leaves to prevent her crying out. The brutal force afforded Chikatilo his sexual release, and he began to develop a pattern of attack that saw him focusing on young runaways of both sexes. He befriended them at train stations and bus stops, before luring them into nearby forest areas, where he would attack them, attempt rape and use his knife, to mutilate them. In a number of cases he ate the sexual organs, or removed other body parts such as the tips of their noses or tongues. In the earliest cases, the common pattern was to inflict damage to the eye area, slashing across the sockets and removing the eyeballs in many cases, an act which Chikatilo later attributed to a belief that his victims kept an imprint of his face in their eyes, even after death.
At this time serial killers were a virtually unknown phenomenon in the Soviet Union. Evidence of serial killing, or child abuse, was sometimes suppressed by state-controlled media, in the interests of public order. The eye mutilation was a modus operandi distinct enough to allow for other cases to be linked, when the Soviet authorities finally admitted that they had a serial killer to contend with. As the body count mounted, rumors of foreign inspired plots, and werewolf attacks, became more prevalent, and public fear and interest grew, despite the lack of any media coverage.
In 1983 Moscow detective Major Mikhail Fetisov assumed control of the investigation. He recognized that a serial killer might be on the loose, and assigned a specialist forensic analyst, Victor Burakov, to head the investigation in the Shakhty area. The investigation centered on known sex offenders, and the mentally ill, but such were the interrogation methods of the local police that they regularly solicited false confessions from prisoners, leaving Burakov skeptical of the majority of these "confessions". Progress was slow, especially as, at that stage, not all of the victim's bodies had been discovered, so the true body count was unknown to the police. With each body, the forensic evidence mounted, and police were convinced that the killer had the blood type AB, as evidenced by the semen samples collected from a number of crime scenes. Samples of identical grey hair were also retrieved.
When a further 15 victims were added during the course of 1984, police efforts were increased drastically, and they mounted massive surveillance operations that canvassed most local transport hubs. Chikatilo was arrested for behaving suspiciously at a bus station at this time, but again avoided suspicion on the murder charges, as his blood type did not match the suspect profile, but he was imprisoned for three months for a number of minor outstanding offenses.
What was not realized at the time was that Chikatilo's actual blood type, type A, was different to the type found in his other bodily fluids (type AB), as he was a member of a minority group known as "non-secretors", whose blood type cannot be inferred by anything other than a blood sample. As police only had a sample of semen, and not blood, from the crime scenes, Chikatilo was able to escape suspicion of murder. Today's sophisticated DNA techniques are not subject to the same fallibility.
Following his release, Chikatilo found work as a traveling buyer for a train company, based in Novocherkassk, and managed to keep a low profile until August 1985, when he murdered two women in separate incidents.
At around the same time as these murders, Burakov, frustrated at the lack of positive progress, engaged the help of psychiatrist, Alexandr Bukhanovsky, who refined the profile of the killer. Bukhanovsky described the killer as a "necro-sadist", or someone who achieves sexual gratification from the suffering and death of others. Bukhanovsky also placed the killer's age as between 45 and 50, significantly older than had been believed up to that point. Desperate to catch the killer, Burakov even interviewed a serial killer, Anatoly Slivko, shortly before his execution, in an attempt to gain some insight into his elusive serial killer.
Coinciding with this attempt to understand the mind of the killer, attacks seemed to dry up, and police suspected that their target might have stopped killing, been incarcerated for other crimes, or died. However, early in 1988, Chikatilo again resumed his killing, the majority occurring away from the Rostov area, and victims were no longer taken from local public transport outlets, as police surveillance of these areas continued. Over the next two years the body count increased by a further 19 victims, and it appeared that the killer was taking increasing risks, focusing primarily on young boys, and often killing in public places where the risk of detection was far higher.
Trial and Execution
The recently unfettered media of Gorbachev's glasnost society placed enormous public pressure on police forces to catch the killer, and general police patrols were stepped up, with Burakov targeting likely areas with undercover police in an attempt to flush out the killer. Chikatilo evaded capture narrowly, on a couple of occasions, but on November 6, 1990, fresh from killing his final victim, Sveta Korostik, his suspicious behavior was noted by patrolling policemen at the station nearby, and his details were taken. His name was linked to his previous arrest in 1984, and he was placed under surveillance.
Chikatilo was arrested on November 20, 1990, following more suspicious behavior, but he refused at first to confess to any of the killings. Burakov decided to allow the psychiatrist, Bukhanovski, who had prepared the original profile, to talk to Chikatilo, under the guise of trying to understand the mind of a killer from a scientific context. Chikatilo, clearly flattered by this approach, opened up to the psychiatrist, providing extensive details of all of his killings, and even leading police to the site of bodies previously undiscovered.
He claimed to have taken the lives of 56 victims, although only 53 of these could be independently verified. This figure was far in excess of the 36 cases that the police had initially attributed to their serial killer.
Having been declared sane and fit to stand trial, Chikatilo went to court on April 14, 1992, and throughout the trial he was held in an iron cage designed to keep him apart from the relatives of his many victims. Referred to in the media as "The Maniac", his behavior in court ranged from bored to manic, singing and talking gibberish; at one point he was even reported as having dropped his trousers, waving his genitals at the assembled crowd.
The judge appeared less than impartial, often overruling Chikatilo's defense lawyer, and it was clear that Chikatilo's guilt was a foregone conclusion. The trial lasted until August and, surprisingly, given the judge's bias, the verdict was not announced until two months later, on October 15, 1992, when Chikatilo was found guilty on 52 of the 53 murder charges, and sentenced to death for each of the murders.
Chikatilo's appeal centered around the claim that the psychiatric evaluation which had found him fit to stand trial was biased, but this process was unsuccessful and, 16 months later, he was executed by a shot to the back of the head, on February 14, 1994.
The psychiatrist who had been instrumental in his capture, Aleksandr Bukhanovski, went on to become a celebrated expert on sexual disorders and serial killers. | English | NL | 054124fd08e13e213fb64fc73672333688292d1941f37cf05818cb98befeabc2 |
Topic: Observe a child of under five years and comment on their attention levels in relation to the research carried out by Cooper, Moodey and Reynell (‘78). Is their attention at an age appropriate level? Child observed: Hamza
Age: 1 year 5 months
Attention level develops as a child grows, it develops with age, helping a child concentrate better on his surroundings and learn new things. It is also very important for language development. Hamza is a one and a half year old child who is very active and is seen getting into mischief at all times of the day. He has a single track of mind when it comes to doing things his way and he is seen playing with his toys for hardly a few minutes at a time. He is fonder of playing with electrical appliances and will cry and whine until he gets what he wants. Then one can see him playing and laughing for a long time. One of his favourite activities is playing with a torch light. He will sit on the floor and play with it, switching it on and off, until its batteries run out. Then he starts to whine and his attention has to be diverted with another activity. Hamza likes to open and close the drawers, causing frequent mishaps. At this time, he is not willing to listen to anyone who calls him and does not respond to his name being called out. At times, he screams if he is called over and over again while he is playing with the drawers, indicating that he did not like the interruption. He will rush back into the room and start opening them and exploring the contents of the drawer if someone carries him out and tries to divert his attention. Thus, he displays the rigid attention stage, as he is not easily distracted from his activities. The best way of distracting him is by getting him to play hide and seek. He will forget all about his mischievous activities and rush to search anyone who is hiding, peeping behind the curtains. Then one can see him playing for hours at an end, and frequently the adults get tired of his...
Please join StudyMode to read the full document | English | NL | 6e871eaeb955bd9b33071e47ee5c2e24c011a730c7e3fa9ae033193a3d789216 |
Something Bad happened here!
The Albert County Museum is excited to host our second of five "Opening Windows to Our Past" Diary Explorations, Thursday, June 30 at 7:30 pm. Taking place the last Thursday of every month, the "Opening Windows to Our Past" Series, is going to explore some of the many diaries in the museum's collection. It's a walk through the past as told by the very people who lived it!
Our next diary was written by Benjamin T. Carter (1844-1922). Here is a brief biography as written by Zachary A. Tingley, a student guide at the museum.
It was 1861 in Hopewell Cape Albert County, a young clerk was aiding patrons as they inquired about his father’s masonry work. This young man was Benjamin T. Carter (1844-1922), the son of Christopher and Barbra Carter. Benjamin was baptized at St. John’s Anglican Church in Rustico, Prince Edward Island on 16 March 1845. His family moved to Albert County between 1851 and 1861, the exact timing remains unclear. Nevertheless, in the 1850’s Christopher Carter moved his family to Hopewell Cape in search of work as a stone mason.
Benjamin’s experiences in Hopewell Cape helped shape him into a successful master mariner and community steward. His position in the community allowed him to form intimate relationships with the Bennett family in Hopewell Cape, and this only augmented his status within the community.
Benjamin was first married to a Julia A. Dickson (1850-1870), it was with his first wife that he had his first two, and only, children Charles and Lillian. After Julia died in 1870 Benjamin was left a widower with two children, this was not an ideal situation to be in during the mid-1800s. As a result, Benjamin married again in 1872, his second wife was Althea M. Bennett (1836-1906). Althea was the sister of Henry J. Bennett, R. B. Bennett’s father. The reasons for Althea’s death remain unclear; however, what is clear is that it took some time before Benjamin was ready to marry again. Yet in 1911, Benjamin was married again to his third and last wife Jessie McNaughton. She remained his wife until his death in 1922.
Not much is presently know about Capt. Benjamin Carter’s time as a sea captain; however, Benjamin did receive his captain’s certificate in 1895 in Saint John, New Brunswick. His diaries seem to reveal more about his life as a farmer and community leader in Hopewell Cape rather than as a Captain on the high seas. Capt. Benjamin T. Carter was a father, farmer, captain, husband, and even a sheriff. Capt. Benjamin Carter currently is resting in the Jonah Cemetery in Dawson Settlement, New Brunswick with his first wife Alice.
Come on out Thursday, June 30 @ 7:30pm and find out what he has to say!
The Next Opening Windows to Our Past Series is:
Thursday, July 28 @ 7:30pm
Thursday, August 25 @ 7:30pm
Thursday, September 29 @ 7:30pm
Last night we explored the 1882-1885 Diary of Emeline Stevens (b.Jan 9, 1861, d.April 5, 1935) who grew up in Memel, Albert County, New Brunswick. It was an amazing look at the life of a young lady in rural Albert County in the 1880's. From her longest trip away from home (60km) to her yearly trips to the dentist, it was a fascinating journey into her life.
In September 1882 she noted seeing the Great September Comet of 1882, an event which no one in the crowd had heard of. A quick trip to the internet informed us of the magnitude of this comet. It was so bright you could see it in the daytime. You can see an actual photo of it to the right.
Her diary also noted 2 important events in Albert County History, the launching of two of Gaius S. Turner's ships, the 1883 launch of the Vandalia (1432 net tonnage) it sunk in 1901, and the 1884 launch of the Constance (1591 net tonnage) it sunk in 1903. The ship launches were huge public events in the county, which people travelling from miles around to see it. She noted that she was 15 minutes late to see the launch of the Vandalia, but still had a good time.
Throughout the diary she listed the books she read, and how she spent her days, from spinning, to sewing, quilting and making socks and mittens to sell. It was an amazing walk through time and her life.
We're really excited about our next scheduled Diary Discovery, Thursday, June 30 @ 7:30 pm Stay tuned to find out whose diary we will be exploring then! | English | NL | f6f931f96b1cb8171a590e6755193c167a6797e7c546e3fe0f751411fb30c13c |
The building of new houses on green field sites near the centre of Sutton was a rare event in the first half of the nineteenth century. Large villa residences for rich industrialists wanting a Sutton address were being built, mostly along Birmingham Road, and in Boldmere there were houses for “clerks and small businessmen”. These developments were a minor irritation for Sarah Holbeche, a lady who lived in High Street and kept a notebook where she recorded events that interested her. But when new houses began to be developed nearer to the town she took more notice. Miss Holbeche noted, in November 1853, “The Ready Croft cut for building - new road made and Mr. Secker built the first house”.
The Reddicroft (between Station Street and Railway Road) is now a car park, but the next new street mentioned as being laid out, in 1860, “Duke Street alias Maney Field alias Bun Hill” is still there. Sarah Holbeche noted three new houses near the Cup Inn in 1863, and then 1864 seems to have been a boom year for builders. These were small developments by modern standards - five cottages begun by David Capel, two houses by Mr. Hicks, and single houses by Mr. Hobday, Mr. Snead and Mr. Norton.
As the year 1864 went on, Miss Holbeche began to express her disapproval: “Hateful block of houses begun”, “Brunswick Terrace - stuck up - what next?”, “Manor Hill so picturesque and pretty - cut up for villas! Disgusting.” She was particularly scornful of a new house in Tudor Hill, probably because it was built for a Birmingham man: “A square red house built by a Rev. P. Hill of St. Andrews Birmingham met my eyes! Milton House!! Absurd.”
Shortly after the Railway came to Sutton in 1862, a company was formed to build a luxury hotel. The new hotel (now the Council House) opened in May 1865, costing £9000, but it was an expensive failure, and the hotel was sold in December 1865 for only £4,000. Sarah Holbeche was not surprised, having watched its progress with astonishment at its pretension. Early in 1865 she noted the demolition of Genders’ shop to make way for an approach road (now King Edward Square) “new cut - hotel built without means of getting carriages to the door!”, but she admitted that the new approach was handsome.
All this new development had unfortunate consequences, as Sarah Holbeche noted: “1866 - sewerage question becoming very serious.” | English | NL | a670dd93b1bb1b7d246815fe777305b09b9ef35cab4e897fd5a0d3b57837c3ee |
| 03:20:06 4 December 2009
On forum: 07/30/2007
The Devil in the Darkscape|
(Thought it was dead, didn't you?)
“So tell me, what's up?” Nimble asked, waiting idly when Tiger arrived at the campfire.
“Just some questions.” Questions Tiger couldn't ask right then and there, of course. “Come over here, let's not bore the others.”
Nimble didn't suspect his secret was out, or else he had a great poker face. Either way, he followed Tiger to the derelict house at the far end of the right-hand row without comment. “That's better,” said the loner in the long coat, settling himself on a dilapidated mattress in the former living room. “First of all, I heard you had quite the adventure with the bandits.”
“Wasn't really my adventure,” the scout replied modestly. “I just got mixed up in it.”
“So you met the Marked One?”
“Just briefly... Nice guy, he was.” Nimble patted the front of his new chain-mail apparel. “He bailed me out, then he went and got this for me. I gave him a Stone Flower for it.”
“That was kind of him.” Tiger took Suslov's note out of his pocket and held it up for the other stalker to see. “Now, let's talk about your Clear Sky days.”
It wasn't a poker face after all. “...Where did you get that?”
“From the body of another bandit victim.”
Nimble's lean face seemed to retract into the hood of his jacket. “What do you know?”
“Enough to get you in trouble,” Tiger pronounced ominously, “though I'd rather not do that.”
“I... Why should I trust you?” Nimble swallowed. “You weren't one of us.”
“But I did work for you.” Tiger adopted a more imposing posture. “I know that during the faction wars Clear Sky was hunting a group of stalkers who reached the center of the Zone. I know Lebedev hired mercenaries to assassinate those stalkers, with partial success. I know some portion of Clear Sky's members tried to reach the center themselves... Your real problem is that I've only got part of what was in your stash: bandits took the rest, and you know perfectly well that Borov will exploit anything he can.” He folded his arms. “You can help me get a head start on him, or you can keep silent and let your comrades' work turn a profit for criminals. It's your call.”
Nimble glared at the floor. “What's in it for you if I talk?”
“I don't know,” Tiger admitted. “But if this information stays in the wrong hands, it could restart the faction wars or worse... I prefer the Zone we have now.”
Nimble weighed his choices for three or four minutes. “I can't tell you much,” the fake rookie said at last. “It's the truth, honest. Lebedev compartmentalized everything, 'cause he was paranoid about deserters.”
“I'll take what I can get,” Tiger responded gamely. “Why didn't you clean out the stash as you were ordered?”
“The courier got wasted before I could meet him. Where was the stuff?”
“In a buried pipe near the tracks, apparently.”
Nimble slouched against the wall. “Should have known.”
“This happened while Clear Sky was breaking up,” Tiger extrapolated. “How many actually went north?”
“Almost everybody, except a few guards and some of us scouts. When they didn't come back, Cold and Suslov tried to hold things together... Then people started dying.”
“In the fighting?”
“That's what we thought at first.” Nimble shook his head. “We were being hunted. Somebody knew all our meeting points, all our passwords, even most of our faces. One of our own guys must have sold us out... After that courier was killed, I figured I'd be next. Getting cozy with Sidorovich probably saved my butt, even if it emptied my pockets.” There was a rueful chuckle. “Right here with him and Wolf was the safest place I could find without joining one of the big factions.”
“I see.” Tiger stretched his legs out. “Do you think it's safe now?”
“I did until you came.” The fugitive smirked self-mockingly. “I haven't tried to find any of the others or checked any of the old places. I'd just be a target, right?”
“Maybe... Can you tell me anything more about the route Lebedev took?”
“I only knew it ran through Limansk and then some kind of buried hospital. I wasn't involved in any of that.”
“So what were you doing?”
“Trying to cover the other scouts' backs, finding safe paths, making sure nobody got killed by crossfire.” Nimble grimaced. “The worst part was right at the beginning, when renegades invaded the marshes... We were almost bottled up in the base before a couple of the fellas brought in a freelance merc they found out on the border.”
“Yeah. Never got his name, but he had this scar on his face... Anyway, Lebedev made a deal with him and he became our brute force in the field.”
That piqued Tiger's interest. “I was near the Army Warehouses when Freedom took over,” he mused, recalling those stressful days with great distaste. “A mercenary with a scar helped them clear out the military.”
“That was him,” Nimble confirmed. “After Limansk was opened up, he went in with Lebedev and the rest. Never heard anything else about him.”
“I would expect not,” said Tiger gravely. “The fallback point in Suslov's note, where was that?”
“In the Dead City. We didn't actually have anything there, but the other factions mostly ignored the place. The plan was that if our base were overrun, we'd retreat to the city and recover... I never tried to go, though, so I don't know who made it.”
The stripe-haired stalker frowned. “If the courier's load was meant to go to the Dead City, why pass it to you? Where was he going, if not north?”
“He was going to the Darkscape.” Nimble wiggled his fingers under his hood and scratched. “Suslov bought some guns from Chekhov, cash up front, but Freedom wouldn't deliver 'em to the marshes.”
“There aren't many good hiding places in the Darkscape, are there?”
“That's what I thought,” Nimble agreed. “We had one place where we would store rations when we went on long patrols – maybe they just put the goods in there.”
“Where was that?”
“In the village... We hid things under the junk in the cellars, but it's probably all gone by now.”
“Hm.” Tiger cocked his head. “I visited your old base and it's been gutted. Do you know of any other stashes or meeting points?”
“Nope... Some of the guys had personal stashes for spare weapons and stuff, but that was private info.”
“And you know nothing else?”
“Nothing useful. It's all out of date now.”
“All right.” Tiger pushed himself onto his feet. “I think that's enough.”
Nimble looked pretty relieved to hear it. “Hey, uh... If you do find any of the others, don't tell them about me, okay?”
Tiger shrugged. “If that's what you want.”
“Thanks... You can have whatever's in the stash, too. Just don't let it lead back to me.”
The loner nodded, and led the way back to the campfire. “All done,” he said to Wolf. “I'll be leaving now.”
Wolf blinked. “Just like that? You still look like shit.”
“I know,” Tiger replied with a shade of wry humor, “but I have urgent business and time doesn't owe me any favors.”
“Gotcha.” The camp leader nodded. “See you around.”
The sun was beginning to sink in the sky as Tiger departed, a raft of clouds massing to the north. He crossed the main road, passed through the garage – noticing as he went that Petruha still hadn't posted a proper sentry – and followed the eastbound dirt track until it vanished into the tunnel mouth at the top of the hill overlooking the recently occupied ruins.
The Darkscape's name was apt: it was a sinister place, unpopular among the free stalkers. Its sparse anomalies offered no better artifact hunting than the Cordon, and it lacked the convenience of that region's proximity to both the porous perimeter and the more lucrative prospecting grounds of the Garbage. If Tiger kept following the road as it passed due east through a shallow, wooded canyon, he would eventually come to a crossroads. The road past there had been blocked by avalanches during the early Zone's violent expansion, as had the southbound road. Were he to turn north at the junction, his path would take him near a derelict village and into a narrow ravine. The railroad track which ran along the north fringe of the marshes and bisected the Cordon also crossed through here, briefly emerging from long tunnels where the ravine was spanned by a badly damaged bridge. The road below curved back towards the west beyond the bridge, after which it ran straight up to the Dark Valley.
Tiger had been here not long ago, when he joined Fanatic and Clumsy in checking out the scene of a government helicopter crash. That trip brought him no great profit, but the knowledge update saved him time now. He left the road, weaving among the trees on its north side to conceal himself from whatever bandits were in the place now. Borov's ambition for the Darkscape was to use it as a base for raiders preying on the Cordon's residents. It was fortunate for Tiger that he didn't yet have enough thugs to pull that off.
Just a minute – where were the thugs? For that matter, where were the blind dogs, the misshapen pigs and the rest of the mutant fauna? Whatever its other features, the Darkscape was never short of animals. Tiger listened, but heard nothing save the wind in the trees. He sniffed, but smelled nothing save the same. His sixth sense detected only a couple of crows high above. This wasn't normal: he wondered if Borov was trying to improve his gang's discipline by organizing hunting trips, or perhaps the Ministry of Internal Affairs had sent out a gunship to strafe a few herds for the entertainment of some dignitary. It wasn't a good expenditure of hryvni by any stretch, but it did happen. The cause remaining undetermined, Tiger's wariness increased with every step as he traversed the woods.
A shotgun blast ahead sent the stalker diving behind the nearest rock. So it's Peculiarities of the Gangster Hunt after all? he thought, easing the Lee-Enfield's safety forwards with his thumb. A second report let him get a fix on the shooter.
Then he heard a panicked shout: “Eaaargh! Get away, you freak!” Tiger rolled out of cover, scrambled back onto his feet and hustled towards the village. That was no bandit, and he didn't sound like a military man either. The hustle became a sprint as the loner took a shortcut through a leafy thicket, exploding out of the far side in a shower of dislodged twigs.
In front of him was the village, with the only intact house directly ahead. There was a figure in a green stalker suit perched atop the roof, who turned at the noise of the other's arrival. It was his old friend Southpaw. “Tiger!?” he yelled. “Look out, there's a huge monster down there!”
Tiger could feel only one major source of vital energy beside Southpaw's own. It seemed to lie within a jumbled pile of rotted timbers which marked the former site of another cottage away on his left. “Are you alone?”
“Got it!” Tiger aimed, but the heap of flotsam flew asunder almost at the instant he pulled the trigger. He glimpsed a flash of bloodstained brown hide as he chambered another round, then the beast was gone. Running around the side of the house, the stalker caught a brief sight of the fleeing predator's haunches as it escaped up the path to the northward road. There was no chance of landing a shot, so he cautiously withdrew to the house.
“It got away.” The left-handed loner sounded relieved and disappointed at the same time.
“Yes,” Tiger agreed. “Are you all right?”
“Mostly... There's nothing else around, is there?”
“Nothing. We're alone.”
“I hope so.” Southpaw gingerly climbed down to the roof's edge, then dropped to the ground. “Aw shit,” he groaned, seeing the condition of his suit. “I just bought this thing...”
Tiger didn't think the damage was severe enough to merit such despair. “What were you doing here?” he asked, topping off his rifle's magazine in the meantime.
“I met a Duty team up in the Dark Valley, thought I could go prospecting while they kept the crooks busy... But then I found a bunch of dead bandits on the road coming down, all ripped apart. I was trying to figure out what happened and...” Southpaw shuddered. “That thing was behind me the whole time.”
“It chased you all the way here?”
“Yeah... I knew it was close, but I couldn't see it. Used up all my buckshot trying to keep it away.” He looked around nervously. “At first I thought it was a bloodsucker, but it didn't fit what I've heard of them.”
“I didn't get a clear view of it,” said Tiger. “Did you?”
“A little. It moved on four legs and had two heads... The faces on them – ugh!”
That was enough detail. “A chimera.” Tiger's voice was solemn. “This is bad.”
“You know about them?”
“I've never seen a live one before,” the stalker confessed, “or heard of one coming so close to the perimeter.”
Southpaw's mood wasn't improved by the elucidation. “What should we do?”
“Duty needs to know about this,” Tiger answered. “A chimera isn't like the mutants we normally see here: it's strong, fast and cunning. It has two brains and two hearts, so even a sniper can't easily kill it. Do you have a radio?”
“I did, but I dropped it while I was running.”
“Then we'll have to go back for it, or else warn Duty in person. How many of them are in the Valley?”
Southpaw thought for a moment. “I saw five or six, but none of them had big guns... There were some free stalkers at the pig farm, too.” His alarmed expression was renewed. “If that thing goes up there – ”
“They would be dead before we ever arrived,” Tiger finished bluntly.
“Or it might hide along the road and wait for us instead,” Southpaw went on. “But that's fine if you're here,” he declared brightly, “because you're a... I mean... You have a special power, right?”
“I don't know what you've heard,” Tiger sighed, “but I'm not a wizard. More importantly, I don't have the firepower to take out a chimera.”
Southpaw was plainly upset at his reluctance. “You wanna just let those guys fend for themselves, man?”
“Not if I can help it.” The more experienced stalker walked over to the skeleton of a half-fallen house, weighing his options. He didn't really want to get involved, not when he had his own quest to follow, but as usual his altruistic streak won out. “Do you remember where you lost your radio?”
“I think so.”
“All right, then listen – I heard an extinct faction had an arms cache somewhere in these ruins. I was coming to check it out when I found you... If it exists, we might find what we need in it.”
“A cache?” Southpaw looked around expectantly. “Where?”
“Under junk in the cellars, that's what I was told.” Tiger slung his rifle. “Let's search quickly. If the chimera returns, we won't stand a chance.”
| 13:14:54 21 December 2009
On forum: 11/27/2008
God damn... I haven't really read much of the stories here, but this is something totally different than most of the writings. Just make sure you finish this, so we can all praise it properly.|
There's surely lots of surprises to come, but care to tell, are you aiming to connect all the loose ends between (and in) CS and SoC your own way, or is it "just a minor coincidence" that you've been solving these mysteries along the story?
Your basic anonymous internet guy.
| 10:20:02 10 January 2010
On forum: 07/30/2007
There's surely lots of surprises to come, but care to tell, are you aiming to connect all the loose ends between (and in) CS and SoC your own way, or is it "just a minor coincidence" that you've been solving these mysteries along the story?
Hmm... I'd honestly have to say it's probably some of both.
A Debt to Duty
“Tiger, I've got something here.” There was a clatter as Southpaw pushed aside several pieces of decayed wood. “Plastic crates of some kind... Looks like they're sealed pretty tight.”
Tiger climbed out of the wreckage he had been investigating and crossed over to Southpaw's section. “I don't see any damage,” he remarked, looking over the dull green rectangles. “Can you get that open?”
“Doesn't seem to have a lock.” Southpaw bent over one of the containers, inspecting it closely. “I guess this just lifts up and then... Aha!” He drew the lid back with care, revealing a row of neatly packed rifles. “Huh.” Evidently Tiger wasn't alone in expecting the ordnance to be... newer. “What are these?”
“Some kind of Mauser.” Tiger lifted one of the weapons out of the crate. A cursory inspection revealed a model number and an apparent factory name stamped in Cyrillic, plus a prominent crest atop the receiver ring. “I think it's Yugoslavian.”
“Is it good?”
“No rust.” Tiger opened the bolt and inspected the magazine interior, sniffing curiously. “It's coated in some sort of synthetic preservative.” A few moments of fumbling led to the bolt's removal. “The bore looks new.”
“That's encouraging.” Southpaw went to the next crate. “Let's try this one.”
The two stalkers emerged from the derelict village perhaps eight minutes later, having improved their odds of survival as best they could. Everything in the cache had turned out to be products of Yugoslavia or one of its successor states, perfectly preserved despite lying forgotten all through the winter. Southpaw opted to take one of the Mausers from the first crate, plus a Kalashnikov with a folding rifle grenade sight. Tiger meanwhile chose a short-barreled, folding-stock version of the latter to back up his Lee-Enfield. The rest of the inventory was repacked and camouflaged as before, left to rest until someone came back for it.
“This is a little better,” Southpaw said optimistically, “but shouldn't we bring something for the others?”
“There was nothing that would give them a definite advantage,” Tiger replied, “and Duty might confiscate the extra weapons for use against Freedom. We'd best not say anything about it unless there's an urgent need.”
“You like Freedom better?”
“I like having a balance of powers.” Tiger started to walk faster as the pair came back onto the northbound road. “We've lost enough time here – come on.”
There wasn't much to say after that. Tiger took point as they worked their way into the ravine, following the dark splashes of blood left by the retreating mutant. The clouds overhead thickened, a lone crow appearing above the loners. It would probably be raining again by nightfall.
“There's the bridge,” said Southpaw as the mangled trestle came into view. “I'm pretty sure I dropped the radio somewhere between here and there.”
“Which side were you running on?”
“Uh... I kind of zigzagged.”
“Then you take the left and I'll take the right.” Tiger altered his own path accordingly. “By the way, Southpaw, was the radio powered on?”
“Yeah, it was – I figured I'd keep an ear open in case any trouble came up in the Valley. The battery was almost full when I started out, so it was probably around eighty percent when I lost it.” He looked at Tiger curiously. “Can you, you know... feel it?”
“Maybe,” the man in the long coat hedged. “I'm not a metal detector.”
“So how did you, um...”
“I can't explain how it happened.” The hooded stalker stopped for a second, then strode across the road. “This must be yours,” he said, bending to pick up a handset in a rubberized housing.
“Wow... That was fast.”
“It was in plain sight,” said Tiger modestly.
“Lucky for us.” Southpaw flicked stray bits of dirt off the radio and brought it closer to his face. “Let's see... Southpaw calling Vampire, come in Vampire. Over.”
There was a delay of several seconds, and then a crackling reply. “Vampire here, over.”
“Phew,” the left-handed man whispered to his companion. “Uh... Vampire, be advised that there is a, uh, chimera in the vicinity. It's wounded and might be heading your way, over.”
“Yeah, we know. We saw it run past the farm and up towards the north end of the Valley. We're still waiting to hear from the Duty guys, over.”
“They weren't with you? Over.”
“The men in black were spying on Borov's base... Say, you mind coming over here? We need all the backup we can get, over.”
“Uh...” Southpaw looked at Tiger, but he remained quiet. “My buddy and I will be there in a little while, over.”
“We'll keep an eye out for you... Vampire out.”
“So Vampire is in the Dark Valley today,” Tiger remarked as the duo resumed their trek. “How many are with him this time?”
“Six or seven, I think... Why, something wrong about that?”
“Vampire has a bad reputation,” the more experienced stalker explained. “He prefers to join small groups raiding the badlands, but he's often the only one who comes back.”
“You mean... what, that he skips out on his comrades if they get into trouble? That he murders them?”
Tiger shrugged. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Better be careful around him, just in case.”
“He seemed okay when I passed by,” Southpaw mused, “but if you say so.”
They reached the bodies a couple of minutes later. A sticky mess was all that remained of the bandits, and nothing of theirs could be salvaged. There wasn't much left to bury either, not that Tiger and Southpaw had the time or the inclination to do so. “It's weird,” the latter observed, picking his way between detached limbs. “If that thing could take out all these guys, why run away from one man?”
Tiger could think of only one explanation. “It must have realized it couldn't hide from me.”
“You weren't kidding when you said it was smart.” Southpaw shook his head. “Man... nobody on the outside told me there were monsters like that.”
“Would you still have become a stalker if you had known?”
“It's too quiet.” Southpaw peered nervously at the barricaded ruins of the pig farm. “They're inside, right?”
“Yes.” Advancing slowly, Tiger led the way through the gate and approached the closest door of the west building. “Hello..?”
The unfriendly end of a silenced MP5 appeared between the crates stacked inside the entrance, accompanied by a camouflage-painted face. “About time,” Vampire grunted. The submachine gun disappeared. “Sergeant Bullet, our reinforcements are here.”
Vampire was joined by a Duty man in a balaclava as he began to drag the crates aside. “You, stalker,” he demanded of Southpaw, “what happened?”
“The chimera, it... It killed all the bandits in the Darkscape. It would have gotten me too, but then he showed up.”
“We shot at it and it fled,” Tiger concluded. “Did you see it also?”
“All too well,” Bullet growled. “The damned thing plowed straight into us and alerted the criminals with its howling... There were bullets flying everywhere. Brome dropped his weapon and ran away, and then I was separated from the others and had to withdraw. The chimera kept going – I wouldn't be surprised if it reached Monolith territory.”
“Better there than here,” Southpaw declared. “So what do we do now?”
“Brome, get up.” Bullet disappeared briefly, reappearing with a firm grip on the collar of a second, thoroughly miserable Dutyer. “You two, take this fool back to Rostok. Tell Voronin that Sergei, Vasko and Krivoi are missing.” He hefted his Abakan. “I'm going to stay here and reconnoiter the criminals' territory.”
Tiger looked around, estimating the rate of dusk's approach. “Let's hope the bandits aren't doing the same.”
“I can escort you as far as the path to the Garbage,” Bullet offered brusquely. “You shouldn't have any trouble past there.”
These last few days, as some historian once wrote, had been one damned thing after another. Tiger wasn't getting very far in his quest and that fact was starting to annoy him. A supply of pristine ordnance was all very well, but it was information he wanted. His first lead on Clear Sky's secrets hadn't paid off, and now he was left with two options: find someone who could crack the encryption on Drifter's PDA and keep quiet about it, or go try his luck in the Dead City. Neither option was likely to be fish-in-a-barrel, but where could he look for an alternative?
He had more immediate concerns, too – this was the second time in a month that he'd found himself stuck with the unenviable task of delivering bad news to a faction leader, and there was no question that Voronin wouldn't take it as kindly as Lukash. With the lights of Rostok shining dead ahead and the pending rainstorm unwilling to hang back much longer, the stalker knew he might well be in for a rough night.
The Duty personnel guarding the south entrance to the factory complex hit the trio with a portable spotlight as they crossed the bridge over the stake-lined perimeter trench. It wasn't much of a defense, though it did restrict the larger mutants to one easily covered intrusion vector. “Brome!” a voice demanded from behind the blinding beam. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that you, Sergeant Kitsenko?” Tiger called in reply. “Bullet sent us to report to the general.”
“Bullet, you say? Come over here.” The NCO kept the spotlight trained on the arrivals until they were close enough to illuminate with his comrades' personal headlamps. “Brome, where's your shooter?”
Brome studied his boots intently. “...Lost it.”
“You lost it,” Kitsenko repeated incredulously. “Go straight to headquarters,” he commanded Tiger and Southpaw. “I'll call ahead and tell them you're coming.”
“Thanks,” said Southpaw, and the three marched on. “I've never been in the Duty base,” he remarked as they passed Arnie's Arena. “Have you?”
“A few times.” Only when they absolutely couldn't keep me out, Tiger didn't add. The guards at the entrance to Duty's exclusive piece of Rostok let the visitors pass without hassle, though not without a smattering of wary glances. Tiger led the way into an underground area where several more were sleeping, while a pair tended to the spit-roasting of a pig. The walls were decorated with the mounted heads or whole stuffed carcasses of various mutants.
Over all of this presided General Voronin. He was ex-military through and though: a demanding leader with a stern face and a receding hairline, and a far cry from his easygoing predecessor Krylov. “Are you dumb?” he snapped at those who intruded into his domain. “Speak up!”
Tiger and Southpaw looked at one another, then delivered their report as concisely as possible. It proved to be the winning strategy, as Voronin looked very, very unhappy by the time they had finished.
“I see,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Thank you for bringing Bullet's message... Are you two looking for work?”
“I am,” Southpaw volunteered gingerly.
Tiger tried not to wince. “...At the moment, yes.”
“Good.” The general's voice warmed ever so slightly. “We are hiring some stalkers for an important job,” he went on. “If you're interested, go to the Hundred Rads. One of my men will be over in a little while.”
“We'll do that,” Southpaw answered promptly, in an apparent maneuver of preemptive appeasement. “Um...”
The left-handed loner pointed to the chimera heads mounted on a plaque nearby. “How'd you kill that?”
“With a Simonov anti-tank rifle. Any other questions?”
“No, sir... C'mon, Tiger, let's go.”
Voronin barely waited for them to leave his sight before he began verbally tearing Brome a whole new plumbing system. The departing stalkers all but sprinted out of the base.
“Since you saved my butt, I'm buying.” Southpaw went to the bar and rested an elbow on it. “Evening, Barkeep.”
“Evening,” the tattooed man grunted. “What'll it be?”
“I'd like a fresh loaf, a Tourist's Delight and a can of the fizzy stuff.” Southpaw looked to Tiger for input. “And you?”
“The same but with a sausage, please.”
“Right.” Barkeep deftly exchanged edibles for spendables. “Enjoy.”
Southpaw rejoined Tiger at the corner table and attacked his food without more ado. “We did all right today, eh? Found some good stuff, got away from that mutant... What are you gonna do with the loot, anyway?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Hm... Hey look, it's the American president.”
Tiger glanced at the television behind the bar. “So it is.”
“What's he saying?”
The striped stalker listened for a few seconds. “I can't quite follow... Something about a Baltic trade agreement.”
Southpaw was poised to say something else when Brome stumbled into the bar. He looked as if he'd taken a heavy blow, though not necessarily a physical one. Ignoring the stalkers who'd escorted him back to base, he bought a large bottle of vodka, set himself up at the center table and set about drowning his sorrows.
“My ex went to the United States once.” Tiger wasn't sure what prompted him to bring that up – anything to distract himself from watching the despondent Dutyer, maybe. “Three months, under some sort of technical exchange.”
“Really?” There was a soft hiss as Southpaw popped the lid of his soda can. “What was it like?”
“She told me the food was inedible, the drivers were cowards, and half the people thought the Zone is in Russia.”
“Hope she straightened 'em out.” Taking out a pocket can opener, the sinistral stalker opened his portion of preserved meat-stuffs and began spreading it on his remaining bread. “Gotta defend our national pride, right?”
“Not her. She was Russian herself.”
“Oh.” Southpaw took a bite of his bread-and-spread and chewed it briefly. “Didn't think you were the type to go for Russians.”
“I don't see how it matters.” Tiger peeled back the wrapper on his sausage. “We speak their language and we do our business with their money.” He nodded towards the patrons gathered around the tables on the other side of the room. “How many of our comrades there have ever held a Ukrainian passport?”
“Yeah, that's true.” Another pause to bite, chew and swallow. “Sometimes my old man gets sentimental about the Soviet days, says people didn't have much back then, but they had each other... One big happy family and all that.”
“My father voted for independence,” Tiger recalled, “but it was never something he talked about when I was around.”
The conversation was punctuated by an impatient bark from Zhorik the doorman: “I said, come in! Don't stand there!”
As the stalkers continued to eat and drink, the latest entrant made his way into the Hundred Rads with quite a bit of wheezing, panting and stumbling. His next victim was Garik. “You can't go there!”
“Wow,” Southpaw muttered, looking over Tiger's shoulder. “What's up with that guy?”
Tiger turned his head as the intruder finally reached the bar. The man was thin to the point of being gaunt, with weary eyes and hair cut close to the scalp, and he wore a bulging backpack with a paratrooper AK slung on one side and a sawed-off shotgun on the other. He carried a second backpack and a bandit's knapsack – complete with a sloppily embroidered marijuana leaf – in his hands.
If Barkeep was surprised by this grotesquely overloaded figure, he didn't show it. “Hey, Marked One! You brought the documents from the Institute?”
| 18:48:41 10 January 2010
On forum: 10/11/2008
Bandit:Come here I have some information that might be of use to you stalker. |
Marked One: Tell me what you got.
Bandit: Nothing right now.
Marked One: ....
Bandit: Come he...
Marked One: ... Bang ...
In any case really good story keep it up! | English | NL | fa374d1ece9d24cd056830d6dd18fb8c9d50f17e6cd54eb75289bdc82220824b |
The New Yorker, October 4, 1958 P. 38
The writer recently took a personal loan from a bank. With this loan his bank balance came to $1492.16. Ignoring the 16 cents gave this figure significance as a date. He looked into the Encyclopedia of World History to see what famous events occurred that year. He had to write some checks to pay bills & the balance figure changed. He looked up events for that date. He continued to do this often as the balance changed. At dinner his wife & two older children were astonished at his knowledge of history. | English | NL | a284b64219dc4a6ec4e66a94cfc9a1bdbef5e59f0c6a321e93c124a8ed262c26 |
Javier Marías: Tu rostro mañana 3. Veneno y sombra y adios (Your Face Tomorrow 3: Poison, Shadow and Farewell)
The final book in Marías’ trilogy is the longest, weighing in at over 700 pages in the Spanish version. However, it is still more of the same. He muses extensively on language, with detailed comparisons between English and Spanish usage, on spies and spying, on male-female relationships, on history, particularly the history of his own country, on violence and on life in general. He is still working for the spy agency and still having long conversations with Tupra, his boss. Indeed, length is the key. Two examples will suffice. At one point, his colleague, Patricia Pérez Nuix (whom he refers to only as the young Pérez Nuix, almost never using her first name), comes to visit him. They chat a long time – she wants another favour from him, namely to help her father who is in trouble. As it is late and raining, he lets her stay in his flat. However, he does not have a spare bed. First, he will sleep on the sofa and then she will. Finally, they agree that they are adults and can share the bed without anything happening. Pages are spent in his musings about whether and how to have sex with her and wondering if she is wondering the same thing. The second occasion is when he visits his estranged wife in Madrid. She seems to have a black eye and, on discussion with her sister, he finds out that this is not the first time. He suspects her boyfriend, Estebán Custardoy, an artist or, rather, a copyist and possible forger. With a bit of sleuthing he tracks down Custardoy to the Prado and then follows him back to his flat. Pages are spent while Deza observes Custardoy at the Prado, much of it on musings about the paintings in the gallery (we are given black and white photos of some of them in the book) and then further pages are spent on his following Custardoy, with musings both on the numerous statues and historical plaques around Madrid as well as the sleuthing techniques he has learned in his job.
The book effectively starts with a musing on what Tupra calls the K-M issue, which Deza takes to mean killing-murdering but which Tupra uses to refer to Kennedy-Mansfield, i.e. the untimely and often violent death of celebrities, in this case, of course, President Kennedy and Jayne Mansfield. Tupra reveals himself to be even more sinister than we thought when he shows Deza a series of videos of various celebrities in compromising positions, both sexual and violence. He starts with a famous right-wing woman politician having sex with two men and then shows various men involved in committing violent acts. All these tapes are to be used for possible blackmail. We find that Pérez Nuix’ father has been involved, too, but she does not know. Sometimes, Tupra is involved in violent acts, as he has Rafael (Rafita) de la Garza, the Spanish Embassy official whom Deza has taken a dislike to, beaten up. Deza even goes to the Spanish Embassy to see the effect on de la Gaza, who flees in fear from him. Violence also extends to his wife’s boyfriend as, once he has found out his whereabouts, Deza contacts Tupra for advice. Tupra’s advice is, for a Spaniard, ambiguous though it seems clear that is telling Deza to take care of Custardoy. Deza visits a friend who was a former bullfighter, to ask for the loan of a sword to scare Custardoy but ends up with a gun. He does manage to frighten Custardoy off, but when Tupra asks if Custardoy has been permanently frightened off, Deza expresses his doubts and Tupra points out that if he has doubts, he hasn’t done it.
Back in London he learns that Dick Dearlove, a fellow spy, has apparently killed an underage Russian and Deza suspects that not only has Dearlove been set up but that he, Deza, may be implicated. Indeed, it is this as much as what is happening back home in Madrid that persuades him, at the end, to return to Madrid. Before he does, he has a long chat with Sir Peter Wheeler, his mentor and the man who advised him to join the agency. Wheeler, based on Sir Peter Russell, is long since retired but tells Deza a few tales, including how he, together with Ian Fleming, ushered the Duke and Duchess of Windsor out of Madrid to the Bahamas via Lisbon. Wheeler also brings home one of the key issues of this book, namely how the violence that the various agencies are involved in affects the individual. Deza has, of course, seen it in himself in his dealings with Custardoy. Wheeler tells the story of his late wife, Valerie. She had worked for a secret agency in the War, which conducted black operations, i.e. used dirty tricks to disrupt the Nazis, including sending out fake broadcasts and the like. Valerie, who was involved because she was a fluent German speaker, having spent considerable time in Austria as a child, knew of an SS officer, whom she had disliked as a child, who had a Jewish grandmother but had managed to have this fact concealed to join the SS. Valerie had proposed outing him and others (including some who did not actually have any Jewish ancestry). After the War, she learned that the man she wanted outing had indeed been caught and sent to a concentration camp where he presumably died. However, on Hitler’s orders, the relatives of SS officers who had concealed their Jewish ancestry were also arrested and sent to a concentration camp and some of the man’s relatives, including two children, ended up in the camps. The effect on her is so devastating that she kills herself. This is the basic theme of this book and Deza/Marías discusses it in detail. Can we escape this violence? Probably not, says Marías but he writes an excellent book telling us this.
First published in Spanish 2007 by Alfaguara
First English translation by New Directions in 2009 | English | NL | 23b852b2091899b039c784f9218181e405d0ef595d2510cbd2745d675455e286 |
Johnny Winter, a Texas-bred guitarist and singer who was a mainstay of the blues-rock world since the 1960s, died on Wednesday in his hotel room in Zurich. He was 70 and had been on tour in Europe.
Mr. Winter’s family was awaiting information about the cause, a spokeswoman, Carla Parisi, said on Thursday.
A virtuosic, high-energy blues guitarist, Mr. Winter was perhaps as well known for his appearance as he was for his playing. Tall and thin, with pinkish eyes and chalk-white skin and hair, he — like his brother and occasional collaborator, Edgar, a keyboardist and saxophonist — had albinism, a fact that commentators rarely failed to mention. “If you can imagine a 130-pound, cross-eyed albino with long fleecy hair playing some of the gutsiest, fluid blues guitar you ever heard, then enter Johnny Winter,” Rolling Stone wrote in a 1968 article that introduced Mr. Winter, then 24, to the wider public and the music business.
In less than a year he would sign a lucrative contract with Columbia Records, perform at Woodstock and be widely hailed and hyped as one of the most talented guitarists of his generation. Performing blues standards like “Good Morning Little School Girl” with a fiery touch, he became a fixture on the rock touring circuit and had solid record sales during his 1970s peak.
John Dawson Winter III was born on Feb. 23, 1944, in Beaumont, Tex., and took to music while still very young, playing clarinet, ukulele and eventually guitar.
When Mr. Winter was 11, he and Edgar, who is two years younger, performed Everly Brothers songs at local talent shows, and by 15 he had cut his first record: the Chuck Berry-esque “School Day Blues,” credited to Johnny and the Jammers, one of his many teenage bands. Around that time Mr. Winter also discovered the music of blues heroes like Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf, and their sound became his lifelong muse.
“I loved the blues,” Mr. Winter told Look magazine in 1969. “You can feel that nobody cares about you, and you sing, and it doesn’t make any difference and you don’t care. It’s not a happy feeling, it’s not sad. You can cry, and it’s good.”
His first album with Columbia, called simply “Johnny Winter,” arrived in mid-1969 on a wave of media attention. (An earlier LP, “The Progressive Blues Experiment,” released by a small Texas label, was hastily reissued to capitalize on the publicity.)
A second Columbia album, “Second Winter,” came out soon after, followed by “Johnny Winter And,” on which he introduced a new backing band featuring the guitarist Rick Derringer. That album included a Derringer song, “Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo,” that would become a Top 40 hit when rerecorded by Mr. Derringer as a solo artist a few years later.
Mr. Winter continued to record and tour prolifically in the ’70s, and he was also open about the drug problems that he developed along the way. In 1973, after taking a brief break, he released “Still Alive and Well,” one of his best-selling albums. In 1976 he released “Together,” a live album with his brother, Edgar, who survives him, as does Mr. Winter’s wife, Susan Warford Winter.
In 1977 Mr. Winter began a series of collaborations with Mr. Waters, producing his album “Hard Again.” That record, and two that followed in the late ’70s, won acclaim for their raw sound, and each won a Grammy Award. From there Mr. Winter’s own albums increasingly focused on the blues. His most recent, “Roots” (2011), features songs by Robert Johnson, Elmore James and Little Walter.
Mr. Winter has been ranked the 63rd greatest guitar player of all time by Rolling Stone, and throughout his career he and his musicianship have been particularly admired by other musicians.
“Roots” features guest appearances by the guitarists Warren Haynes and Derek Trucks of the Allman Brothers, the country star Vince Gill and many others, including Edgar Winter. His next release, “Step Back,” scheduled for September, features the guitarists Eric Clapton, Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top and Joe Perry of Aerosmith. | English | NL | 55711b206fa754434f54a91c0c3d6c850ee0fe18bd2199a22223e1693f805a6f |
I began making teaspoons in response to Norman Stevens’ landmark “teaspoon project” which has been documented in his new book, A Gathering of Spoons, released by Linden Publishing in December 2012.
Prior to this project I had rarely worked at such a small scale, though I have long studied contemporary flatware patterns as a source of design elements. I have continued to make teaspoons, some of which can be seen here. In contrast with most of my current work, some of the teaspoons are functional and can be used as small serving spoons. I also make slightly larger serving spoons that can be used at the table. I am glad to accept commissions for these two types of spoons. | English | NL | 73bdaadf7aba5897bb1e1d1f98639d393548ab272c28f908bd14abb0747f6abb |
Philippe Halsman was born in 1906 in Riga, Latvia. His father was a dentist and his mother a teacher. The family spent summer vacations in Europe and he was particularly taken by the great portraits. The influence of which remained constant throughout his life.
Halsman first became interested in photography at the age of 15, after discovering his father’s old view-camera in the attic. By 18 he had finished school and went to Dresden, Germany, where he studied engineering.
Around this time, while on a trip in the Austrian Tyrol, an area rife with anti-Semitism, Halsman was reportedly accused of his father's murder and sentenced to ten years hard labor/solitary confinement. Knowing that he had been falsely accused, his sister championed his release, getting support from important European intellectuals, Sigmund Freud and Alfred Einstein among others, who all endorsed his innocence. He was eventually pardoned and released in 1930.
Halsman then moved to Paris where he pursued his interest in art and literature. His approach to portraiture was influenced by his favorite writers, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, who had explored human nature, with psychological depth and honesty.
He gave up studying engineering and committed himself to photography. He designed his own camera and explored the effects of artificial light. He became well known for his portraits and actors and writers sought him out. Magazines asked him to work for them and he participated in photographic exhibits. He was soon regarded as one of Paris’ preeminent portraitists.
During WWII, as Paris was invaded, Halsman’s family fled to America. Halsman himself had difficulty – being Latvian there was an immigration quota that was filled for years to come. But once again, with the intervention of Einstein, Halsman’s name was added to a list of writers and artists in Europe who were given special visas.
With no reputation to speak of in America, Halsman had to begin again. He worked for a photo agency and started to look for clients for himself. He slowly rebuilt his career and reputation as one of the top portraitists, this time in America.
Shortly after his arrival in New York; Halsman met Salvador Dali. The two immediately hit it off. They had prolific collaboration that spanned 37 years.
Halsman’s long and renowned career included 101 LIFE magazine covers and a book titled, Philippe Halsman's Jump Book which was published in 1959. The book contained 178 photographs of celebrities jumping and a discussion of the concept in which he stated "When you ask a person to jump, his attention is mostly directed toward the act of jumping and the mask falls so that the real person appears." | English | NL | 855798e0c70a9bcf53077a3480abfb9b77a497e08488ef6a1834cebb6881dab7 |
Eddy Louiss (b. 12th May 1941) is a French jazz pianist and organist
Born in Paris, Louiss played in his father's band in the 1950s, going on to study at the Paris Conservatoire. After singing with Double Six from 1961 to 1963 he started playing piano, going on to organ in the late 1960s. Aside from leading his own big band, Multicolor Feeling, Louiss has played with, amongst others, Kenny Clarke, Johnny Griffin, and Stan Getz.
Your suggestion has been successfully submitted. | English | NL | 8d17ea0799a7d92849a22ff5faab3649bb97ac70f925134c9ae92b7adc34b1fa |
Hey, his character is the author of a book... so that counts, right?
Once when I was a kid, my school hosted a magician. I remember very little about the magic show, except that I was seated pretty far away from the stage. During the intermission, my dad went to get some snacks and came back giggling that he was going to be part of the act. Apparently, the magician approached him while he was waiting on line and asked him if he would be willing to come up on stage and act as his assistant. My dad handed over the snacks and then headed back up to the stage and disappeared behind the curtain. He thrust our clunky yellow camera at me and told me that I must capture his stage debut.
I sat anxiously throughout the second part of the show and was terrified when a guillotine was wheeled out on stage. My dad entered behind it. Though I was fairly certain that my dad would not be murdered in the middle of a crowded auditorium, when it came time for him to stick his head in the hole, I held the camera above my head and snapped without looking. The photos were blurry, but at least my father wasn’t decapitated in front of the entire school! He even got to keep a silk scarf that he had helped to retrieve from a hat.
In honor of Smoke and Mirrors Day (March 29th), we’d like to highlight some of our favorite magicians, especially the one who didn’t chop my dad’s head off in front of my entire elementary school. Add your favorite magicians -- real or fictional -- to the comments!
Vaclav from Vaclav & Lena: The young Vaclav in Haley Tanner’s 2011 debut novel, Vaclav & Lena, is obsessed with the magicians at the Coney Island Boardwalk. With the help of his lovely assistant, Lena, he longs to get their performance up to Coney Island caliber so they will be able to perform before the spellbound crowds. Tanner uses her own brand of magic to craft a charming tale of these two young Russian immigrants coming of age in Brighton Beach.
The Wizard from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz: All is not as it seems when it comes to the larger than life Wizard. When The Land of Oz is in need of a ruler, it is not someone imbued with natural magical abilities, but a man from Nebraska who uses a variety of tricks and stage props to live up to the reputation that he is indeed great and powerful.
The Weasley Twins from Harry Potter: While of course the Weasley Twins are wizards, they've also created some Muggle Magic Tricks that they sell in their shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Compared to their other tricks that used real magic, these card and rope tricks are not very big sellers.
Quentin Coldwater in The Magicians: Before Lev Grossman's Quentin Coldwater realizes that magic is real, he spent his childhood obsessed with magic tricks and a children's series set in a fantastical world. After his interview at Princeton takes an awful turn, he is accepted to Brakebills College, where he truly discovers his aptitude for magic. | English | NL | 694e40d64313171ab465c8f8491a89818212e6e34e9ff2924e206c5b10510f95 |
Chapter 208: Training Soldiers, Husband And Wife Are OneBai Xiangxiu had long since come up with an adequate answer to this question. She was fortunate that she had been born into a family of scholars and truly had a very large library. Thus, Long Heng didn’t find her explanation suspicious when she did answer him. Truth be told, his suspicions towards Bai Xiangxiu had gradually changed over time into trust. It was a deep trust that came from the bottom of his heart.
“Wear your clothes and rest. If you need anything, Shu’er will be here to wait on you. I have a couple of things to take care of.” Long Heng had quite the list of things he needed to deal with. And at the top of that list was a method to train his soldiers for breaking the chained horses formation, followed by forging that weapon Bai Xiangxiu had described in the letter.Bai Xiangxiu had to rest as well. Even though she felt that she should be helping Long Heng, it would have to wait until she was fully recovered. She wouldn’t able to think straight if she kept her body in its current state.Long Heng had his hands full with his duties as Bai Xiangxiu slept the day away. He started with the weapon forging. The sickles he had collected from the city were too small for him to use in battle. They simply didn’t have the reach to cut through the horses’ legs. One of the biggest issues plaguing him was the shape of the sickle. Each attempt by the blacksmith only worsened his dissatisfaction with the weapon. It was while he was examining the blacksmith’s most recent attempt when a voice piped up from behind him, “It’s too short. The sickle needs to be longer, with an edge on each side of the blade as well. One side can be used to cut when stabbing forward, while the other side can shear off the legs in a single pull.”Long Heng instantly recognized Bai Xiangxiu’s voice, though she’d tried to disguise it.Long Heng turned back with a frown, “Why have you come?”“I came over to take a look since I’ve gotten plenty of rest. I know a little bit about these sort of things,” Bai Xiangxiu advised after taking a closer look at the sickle. She was still dressed in men’s clothing, but that didn’t seem to deter her as she described the shape and size of the sickle in detail to the blacksmiths. At that moment, she was very grateful for the realistic descriptions from that television drama Water Margin. It was very useful in her current predicament. Long Heng also felt that her words were useful, so he asked the blacksmiths to forge according to her advice. “We will have to wait for a while before it's finished. Come with me. We will go back to the room.” A woman like her shouldn't be loitering around in an army camp. However, she didn't seem to be bothered by it. “But you still need to know how to train your troops right?”
“This… come with me then.” Resigned to this newfound courage of his concubine, Long Heng brought Bai Xiangxiu to the training grounds with him. There, they found the soldiers drilling on how to properly fall and leap to their feet quickly.This is a good plan. As expected of Long Heng.
“You should erect some wooden pillars here, and let them learn how to shear the pillars with the weapon. The training will be complete when they are able to shear a row of pillars in half with a single blow.”
“It’s that simple?”“Yes. Once the cavalry leading the charge have fallen, the cavalry behind them will not be able to get out of the way in time. They will continue to charge to the front and trample everything in their path, no matter human or horse. The chaos that follows will render a complete defeat to the linked horses formation.
“...I really want to read that book.”“It’s been such a long time since I’ve read it. I no longer remember where I can find that particular book. Haha…”Long Heng didn’t try to get to the bottom of this, instead changing the subject, “Is your body able to cope?”“Yes.” Bai Xiangxiu went over some more details of the strategy with Long Heng. She even came up with the idea of ambushing the enemy from behind by using the underground tunnel. An unexpected attack from behind would force the enemy to battle on two fronts, causing them to panic.It was at this moment when Long Heng realized that his wife was actually a warfare maniac! She didn’t even flinch when talking about gore and violence. In fact, she seemed extremely confident. “You…”“What’s wrong?”“You’re the strongest girl I’ve ever met,” Long Heng quietly said while caressing her head. He gathered some of his troops and began to train them according to her instructions. Yu Kuang and Song Jiaoyue didn't remain idle either. Hot-blooded men like them would never hide on the side, especially when it came to a matter of life or death for their nation. Particularly not when even a woman was putting her life on the line for the country.
Long Heng hadn’t wanted her to help, but there was nothing he could do about it. So, he decided to let her help with the details, such choosing the type of spear handles and overseeing the training method for shearing the pillars in half. He was worried at first, but decided to let her be in the end because he just had too much work on his hands. Everyone only thought of her as a strategist that Long Heng had hired, so they didn’t pay her too much heed. The only person who paid attention to her was Prince Rong. He recognized Bai Xiangxiu. In fact, he recognized her almost immediately when he saw her in the training fields.He had heard that the strategist was someone that Long Heng had saved from the battlefield, but never in his mind did he ever expect that the strategist would actually be Long Heng’s concubine. He soon realized exactly how capable she was when he heard her explain herself in a reasoned and well argued manner. He decided not to stick his head into the matter. At the very least, she didn’t seem to be here just for Long Heng’s enjoyment, despite her identity as a concubine.Long Heng saw the expression on Prince Rong’s face and realized that Prince Rong had realized her true identity as well. So, Long Heng decided to tell him why Bai Xiangxiu had come to Tranquil City and gave him the full story later that day. Prince Rong never expected that his general’s concubine would be so intelligent and talented. Long Heng quickly added, “Prince Rong, I implore you to help me with a favor.”“What favor?”“Please convey to the emperor her achievements in this war when we return. I wish to use both our contributions in the war effort to ask that she be granted the position of princess consort.”
“Well, this isn’t too difficult a task, but I’m afraid that others might criticize you.”“It doesn’t matter to me. It’s not as if I don’t already have a fair share of naysayers in the capital.” “Haha! It’s good that you’re not being hard on yourself.”
“Then, Long Heng thanks Prince Rong for fulfilling his wish.”Prince Rong wasn’t allowed to become involved in the preparation, as he was only there to supervise the war effort. However, he was still willing to help Long Heng with this small favor. After all, this woman had indeed saved them from a precarious situation. They only had half a month’s time to crack the formation before the food supply ran dry. Then their situation would go from precarious to dire.Long Heng heaved a sigh of relief and returned to his room after thanking Prince Rong. He noticed that his little woman was deeply engrossed in drawing something. Walking over to look over her shoulder, he immediately realized that she was drawing a topographic map of the surrounding area. She’d placed extra attention to the details of the enemy’s back lines. I can’t believe that she remembers so much just from going there once. “There’s no need for you to draw this. Almost every commanding officer here knows the terrain like the back of their hands.” “You’re saying that… everyone has already memorized it?”“Yes. We have a map of this area.”“Eh… Then why did I waste my energy on this useless thing?” Bai Xiangxiu tossed her drawings aside and walked the few steps to her bed to fall on it with a loud thump. Long Heng asked, “Have your injuries improved a little bit?”
“Mm. They have.”“Let me have a look.”“Umm… Wouldn't that be a little inappropriate?” It was indeed be very inappropriate to do that here when they were inside the city. However, Long Heng was definitely not taking no for an answer as he tossed her deeper onto the bed. In his defense, they hadn't done anything in the past two days, even though they’d slept on the same bed. That had been particularly difficult for him to accept. He would often think about her when he was alone during the night, but he hadn't really felt the urge to do anything. Now that she was here, he found it incredibly hard to stop himself from wanting to have her. He really, really wanted her.After a moment to think, Bai Xiangxiu didn't reject his advances either. After all, they hadn't been intimate ever since after she’d given birth. He’s kept himself in check for a long time now. So she didn't put up too much of a struggle. Just like that, the two began to tumble in the sheets. The next day, Bai Xiangxiu struggled for a long time before she was able to lift herself from the bed after an entire night of love and passion.
Long Heng felt incredibly invigorated. His energy felt almost bottomless. He didn’t even feel that much animosity when he saw his love rivals anymore. However, that definitely changed when Yu Kuang suddenly decided to barge into Long Heng’s room. Or more accurately, Bai Xiangxiu’s room. For better or worse, Long Heng was taking a bath when he barged in.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter | English | NL | 575ad626bacab3c32d29d0ff3a6eb86b2be3cfed46439abad0e1ec1de69e10a8 |
I, being the facilitator, have had the great joy of getting to watch the DVD twice! And both times I gleaned something new.
|My view from the back row ~ it thrills my heart when|
I am with women who are hungry for the Word of God!
I thank God for the 27 women
that He brought to Women Refreshed at the Well
for this Bible Study
|My Granddaughter was the youngest in attendance.|
Hardly ever made a peep!
My prayer is that she too, will one day give her life to Jesus
and follow Him with all her heart!
It was always my prayer for these women (27 in all) that they would leave here with something else that took root in their hearts, and go from here and continue to grow in their walk with the Lord Jesus Christ.
In the first lesson, one thing I wrote was these quotes:
"He doesn't just bring people OUT to bring them out! There is always a place He wants to takes us. Put some obedience to our walk! Faith that God is going to move mountains and part seas! We were never meant to stay!"
The key verse for the series was Deuteronomy 6:23 ESV "And He brought us out from there, that He might bring us in and give us the land that He swore to give to our fathers." The line in BOLD became our KEY for the series.
In the first session, Beth Moore talked about how an 11 day journey became a 40 year wandering in the wilderness! Deuteronomy was a book written - or the word for Deuteronomy in Hebrew is Devarim which is translated "words" . These are the WORD OF THE LORD described by the WORDS of the Lord!! (so have I confused you?)
This series - I would encourage you to do! You can even do it online in the comforts of your own home, by yourself if you wish. You can buy and download the sessions. Deuteronomy was brought to life, and I realized that I am exactly like the people that this book was written for!!
At the end of session one, she stated that there was only one kind of person who didn't get another chance (in Deuteronomy) and it was the dead ones. The ones who died there in the wilderness!
There is so much in this study!! I thank God for anointed Beth Moore with His words, so that she could bring the WORD of God alive in a new way through this study!! Lord, we praise you, and give YOU all the honor and the glory!!
He brought me out so that he would bring me in!
Every morning when I awake, I realize God has given me a fresh start - a new day - another chance at living for him. I will say that each day finds me in a challenge - and I thank God for that - as it is in these things, the challenges and always in the hardest times, that I know, I KNOW I grow the most.
May this be YOUR awareness today - that He has brought you out - or perhaps you are still caught in something that keeps you enslaved - HE CAN BRING YOU OUT ... but rest assured, it is not just to leave you, but to bring you IN to something way way WAY better - and for His glory!!
in His Grip, | English | NL | 1768b68438172fc0ae66c274c2efb78aa8ab63cc005be278ae4dce31acadeb38 |
IntroductionIn this biography, we will be covering the life of Bill Gates and what he had to go through in order to make Microsoft. Over the course of his life, he made billions, and today we will tell you how.Who is Bill Gates?William Henry Gates (Birth name) was born in October 28, 1955, at Seattle, Washington, USA. He is an American entrepreneur, business mogul, investor, philanthropist, and generally known as one of the richest and influential people in the world. Bill Gates married Melinda French in 1992. And now have three children Jennifer born in 1996, Rory who is born in 1999 and Phoebe who is born in 2002.Child HoodWhen Bill Gates was a child, he was very competitive, curious and a thinker. He studied at a private school called Lakeside school. In that school, Bill Gates excelled at many different subjects, ranging from Math, Science, English Literature and even becoming a good Drama student. At a young age, Bill Gates was surrounded by many historical events and he was inspired by them. For example, Apollo 11 was meant to send men to the moon, in that operation, a huge computer was involved which cost billions of research dollars in order to function and operate. Gates first encountered a computer when his school got one since computers in that era were very genuine. He taught himself to do basic programming. In 1973, Bill Gates went to Harvey, where he would study mathematics and computer science. However, he was more interested in following his own coding after finding out the opportunity to found his own company. So he dropped out of Harvard without finishing his course.Failure/ChallengesIn 1970, Bill Gates started a business called Traf-O-Data. The business was about traffic counting. Their idea was simple: cities and counties all over the world needed to conduct surveys about the traffic running on their highways. Reason being is that for many years, cities and countries used the old and inefficient way using a basic mechanical device to do their counting. He told the public that he would change all the manual to make life easier for the workers. Bill Gates and his friends would create a device that would revolutionize the world of traffic counting. However, on the of his first presentation, the device failed to work and his company had no market. He was forced to abandon all his contractors. With this failure, Bill Gates learned programming skills that would be critical for the making of Microsoft and the fact that success comes with failure.The building of Microsoft In 1976, Bill Gates formed a contract with a company called MITS (Micro Instrumentation Telemetry System) to establish a basic operating system for their new microcomputers. In the early days, Bill Gates would review every line of code and be also involved with several aspects of Microsoft’s business such as packing and sending off orders. Microsoft`s big break was in 1980 when IBM (International Business Machine Corporation) for a new basic operating system for their computers. In the early 1980’s, IBM was the leading PC manufacturer and was very advanced compared to its competitors. However, increasingly, there developed many IBM PC clones; Microsoft’s worked hard to sell its operating systems to these other companies. In this way, Microsoft was able to gain the dominant position in the software manufacture during the time where the personal computer started to boom. Since its early dominance, other computer companies found it hard to move Microsoft from the dominant spot because it was the dominant provider of computer operating the software. For example, programs like Microsoft Word and Excel have become the industry standard.WidowsIn 1990, Microsoft released its first version of windows. This was a development in the operating software because it replaced text interfaces with graphical interfaces. It soon became the best seller and was capable to capture the majority of the operating system market share. In 1995, Windows 95 was released, setting new standard features for operating systems. This version of Windows has been the backbone of all future releases from Windows 2000 to the latest XP and Vista. Throughout the time in his office, Bill Gates was eager to diversify the business of Microsoft. For instance, Microsoft’s Internet Explorer became the dominant web browser, although this was primarily because it came pre-installed on most new computers. In recent years, Internet Explorer has seen its market share slip. The area where Microsoft was never successful is in the area of search engines. MSN live search has struggled to gain more than 5% of market share. With this respect, Microsoft was diminished by Google. Nonetheless, the success of Microsoft in cornering different aspects of the software market has led to several antitrust cases. In 1998 US v Microsoft, Microsoft came close to being broken up into three smaller firms. However, on appeal, Microsoft was able to survive as a single firm. Although Microsoft was the dominant computer firm between the 1980s, and 1990s, they are now seen as an aging and declining company – compared to the more dynamic Google and Apple.What Inspires Bill GatesBill Gates inspiration was a 500-year-old manuscript penned by Italian genius Leonardo da Vinci. And at $30.8 million, it was probably a bargain to the Microsoft founder, who considers it a priceless symbol of knowledge. Gates won’t entertain comparisons of his life to that of da Vinci, who conceived of airplanes and helicopters hundreds of years before they were built, but says the great thinker was way ahead of his time.”He had an understanding of science that was more advanced than anybody else at the time,”Gates says, referring to da Vinci’s writings about how water displayed in his private office in Seattle. What makes the ancient text so valuable to Gates is what it stands for: a quest for knowledge he absolutely embraces and that continues to inspire him.”It’s an inspiration, that one person off on their own with no positive feedback…that he kept pushing himself…found knowledge in itself to be a beautiful thing”.AchievementsAs a Billionaire, Bill Gates has won many achievements. For example, in 2010, he won the Silver Buffalo award and the Bower Award of Leadership. In 1992 Bill Gates also won the National Medal of Technology and Innovation, and two years later he won the Distinguished Fellow of the British Computer Society award. Gates also won the Satellite Special Achievement Award for Outstanding Contribution to Entertainment New Media award.HobbiesWhen Bill Gates was in his 20′ and 30’s. He did not take any vacations or weekends off. He was always the first in the office and the last to leave. Today, he is better at balancing work the work that he loves to do with his foundation and taking a break to spend time with his family and his friends. One of Bill Gates hobbies likes to play a game called Bridge as he really enjoys playing it with his friend Warren Buffett. The game takes mix strategies and teamwork to do well. Another one of his hobbies is a board game called Settlers of Catan. This civilization-building board game that he and his family loves to play. Bill Gates favorite sport is tennis, he played this sport his whole life. This year, he got to play a match with Roger Federer to help raise money for his foundation. He said it was not the most relaxing tennis game, but it was a whole lot of fun. He also likes to read books because he says that it is one of his favorite ways of relaxing and keep learning. On average, he tries a read a book every week and he always brings a whole tote bag of them on vacation. Finally, his last hobby is to travel, so far, Bill Gates has visited Tanzania, Kenya, and Zaire. Since he knows it is not possible for everyone to travel halfway across the world, he decided VR videos on his Gates Notes Blog that shows what he is seeing and learning.Other WorkWith his wife, Bill Gates formed the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Gates says that this project was inspired by David Rockefeller. Like Rockefeller, he desired to focus on global issues that the government ignores; he also shows an interest in improving the standards of public school education in the US. He has appeared with Oprah Winfrey to promote this objective. In respect to charitable, philanthropic activities Gates has also received encouragement from investor Warren Buffet, who has given away 17$ billion, through the Gates Foundation. From 2008, Bill Gates has worked full time on his philanthropic interests. It is predicted that Bill and Melinda Gates has donated 28$ billion dollars to via their charitable foundation including the 8$ billion to improve global health issues.ConclusionOverall, Bill Gates had a childhood where he was fascinated by computers. Growing older, he had to suffer a massive setback where he loses his business. However, he did not give up, he decided to try again by making a new business called Microsoft. Later on, he improves Microsoft by creating Windows He was originally inspired by the work of a 500-year-old manuscript penned by Italian genius Leonardo da Vinci and he won quite a few achievements. We also found out that he has hobbies such as tennis, board games, traveling and reading books. Getting old, Bill Gates creates a foundation with his wife and did a couple of big donations in order to help the world. | English | NL | 321377f95c019812ec7865c39e896866b95e24360617ea81957e62a57591984f |
Ohinemuri Regional History Journal 28, September 1984
By Irene Hughes
On September 5th demolition started. Bit by bit, the windows, the doors, wall-boards, the roof - it seemed that like the old soldier, it was to slowly fade away.
But, No! The Fire Brigade arrived, and there before our eyes, the remains went up in smoke. A funereal pyre was a dignified end to the little house which has been in full view from our living room window for over 50 years. All former owners would be proud to know their old home was made use of to the end. Those "spare parts" went to repair another home, and the house was burnt during a controlled fire for the purpose of training young firemen in the use of equipment. The chimney bricks were collected for re-use, and the ashes and rubble were bulldozed flat, and there now arises a new home for another generation.
I am referring to "Black Rock" Cottage, formerly on Thames Road, two miles from Paeroa - the farm so named because it backs on to an outcrop of rock, a prominent feature of the landscape. The 20-acre farm was once part of the property of Mr Sam Craig, who then occupied the neighbouring farm, later bought by Mr Archie White and then by Mr Jack Morrison, grandfather of the present owner, Mr Ken Morrison.
The house was built of kauri and, typical of the era, four main rooms, passage down the centre, verandah across the front, lean-to across the back, gable roof, coal range and open fireplace, foot high and one-inch deep wooden skirting boards, and nine-inch wide door and window frames. These fittings, now much in demand by builders seeking to restore fine old houses to their former style.
In 1910, "Black Rock" farm was bought from a Mr Houlihan by Mr Joseph Nathan, a business man of Paeroa. He had established a Stationery and Tobacco Shop in 1895, next to the old Criterion Theatre in Normanby Road. One of the Nathan family, Mrs Winifred Hughes, wrote an article in the June 1974 issue of the "Ohinemuri Regional History Journal" [see Journal 18: Joseph Nathan's Paeroa Business - E] about the family's ownership of the farm and from which I have gleaned some of this information. The family planted about 800 fruit trees including an apple orchard of 150 trees of 50 varieties. This was planted and maintained under Government supervision as an experimental orchard.
Unfortunately Mr Nathan died suddenly in 1915 leaving Mrs Nathan and her young family to carry on as best they could. In 1926 the farm was sold to Mr and Mrs Jack Mitchell and it is to their occupancy to which my memory returns.
My earliest recollection was the sound of a powerful voice practising scales - a voice which even penetrated the milking shed. It competed with the slosh of milk in a bucket, the mooing of cows, the bleat of calves and the bark of a dog. A little boy, Gordon, used to come across the paddock to "help" and thus a friendship was nurtured.
Mrs Mitchell was a handsome woman with a beautiful voice, a member of the Methodist Church Choir who gave readily of her talents. She kept open house to all. As teenagers, my sister and I were frequent visitors to her door. She would so often be taking a tray full of scones from the oven, or coconut macaroons. How we enjoyed those macaroons! Ethel Mitchell always had time for young people. She would walk with us to the apricot trees, or the pear, plum or apple trees - or the mulberries or the lillies - climb up into the loft of the barn where there was a really good dance floor and an old gramophone with a large horn, let us have a practise on her piano or violin - many people would remember. During the Depression of the '30's, that little home was almost over-flowing as friends and relatives were given a roof over their heads.
The young family of Irene and Reg Hughes followed in their Mother's footsteps - for years it was a case of, "Can we go over to Mitchells?", Ethel even wrote poems about her little visitors. By now the first Television set along this stretch of road, and a typewriter were added attractions.
Jack, who had regular employment as a Dairy Factory worker, converted the orchard property to dairying - two fully grown Delicious apple trees were successfully transplanted into my Mother's orchard. He and his wife milked about 10 cows by hand, at first, and then with the aid of a one-cow milking plant.
Gordon, the only child, was killed in the Second World War; Jack died in 1970. Ethel sold the farm when she re-married in 1973, and left Black Rock forever. She, too, has now passed on.
The property is part of the Fairview Land Co. owned by the Kelly family and that new home is to welcome the bride of Peter Kelly.
His round blue eyes glowed bright with pride
His curly hair was fiery red,
His freckles brown, his sweet smile wide.
His fingers gripping tight, he said,
"My Mummy says I mustn't stay
We have to go to town today."
The gift which he so tightly holds?
A bunch of lovely marigolds.
Non-de-plume of Ethel Mitchell
Postscript concerning the Mitchell Family
Jack Mitchell, a Canadian by birth, served in the 1914-18 War as a member of the Australian Imperial Forces before taking up residence in New Zealand.
He married Ethel Mitchell, daughter of Thomas Mitchell. At that time he was employed by the New Zealand Co-op. Dairy Coy as Tally Clerk on the unloading stage.
Jack was well known for his diplomacy and tact, and his sheer ability as a peacemaker to his workmates, family and friends, as well as being a practical helper to those who suffered bereavement and to those who were in ill health. He was loved and respected by all those who were fortunate enough to know him.
His wife, Ethel, was the youngest member of the English-born Thomas Mitchell family, who lived at Tirohia for many years. Other members of the family were: Sarah (Mrs Frank Ryde), Joe, Ada (Mrs Frank Barratt), and Harold. Later, a cousin, Albert Morran, came from England and joined the family. His widow, Grace Morran, still lives at Mackaytown. There are many Mitchell descendants, those living in Paeroa being: Pearl Manktelow (nee Barratt), and Janice Snodgrass (nee Ryde).
Jack and Ethel Mitchell of "Black Rock", Thames Road, will always be remembered for their caring attitude, their kindness and their warm hospitality. | English | NL | 6924f829a5da6482907175f44f330cc793f2c046fec567850a15fa4a36b3c286 |
We were born for such a time as this!
Purpose, destiny, passion...they are all found within your God-given calling.
Discover your Lord and Savior, Jesus! Be authentic, and be loved. We're all in this together; as iron sharpens iron, and as the song of hope to a heavy heart - as the well-traveled guide to the lost, and as the lost soul blinded in a fog until His light of salvation pierced through. He changes everything, and makes the story sing! | English | NL | 503645596cdaf43b3c3677c296bb030bb3510850b668ba3eb623019131432a46 |
This ECG was obtained from a 24-year-old man who was seen in the Emergency Department for chest pain that was determined to be non-cardiac in origin. He had a fever and cough, with pain on inspiration. His vital signs were within normal range, and he appeared well-perfused. There was no complaint of dizziness or syncope.
So, what does his ECG show? The ECG should be interpreted in the context of the age and presentation of the patient. He is young, and has been healthy all his life. He is lean and reasonably fit.
The rhythm: the rate is 81 bpm, and the rhythm is regular. His P waves are upright in Leads I and II, and they are followed by QRS complexes. The rhythm is NORMAL SINUS RHYTHM.
Intervals: The PR interval is 137 ms (.137 seconds), and his QRS duration is 91 ms (0.9 seconds). His QTc is 404 ms. All are within normal range.
QRS frontal plane axis: Normal axis, at around 30 degrees. Lead II has the tallest QRS of the limb leads, which is an indication of axis in the normal range. When the electrical axis travels towards Lead II, we can expect Lead aVL to be small, or even biphasic. | English | NL | 1948335e37338110320913cbf4a742e5277a7fc765e4367be69b2e58c748c0cf |
The First Punic War began when both Rome and Carthage answered a call for assistance from different factions within the same Sicilian community. Throughout the resulting twentythree- year conflict the fighting was to focus overwhelmingly on Sicily as each side attacked the other's allies and strongholds on the island. Although there was much land fighting, this was overwhelmingly a naval war, and all the decisive moves occurred at sea. Rome's first military expedition outside the Italian peninsula was also to be her first large-scale experience of war at sea.
The great naval battles of Greek history had been fought principally by triremes, galleys with three banks of oars with a single rower to each oar. By the third century the trireme (a 'three') had been outclassed by the quinquereme (a 'five'), but the precise nature of this ship remains obscure. Clearly it had something, probably rowers, at a ratio of five to three compared to the trireme, but it is not clear how these were deployed. There were two basic tactical options for all sizes of ancient warships. Either they attempted to grapple with an enemy ship and board it, relying on the crew's numbers or fighting quality to capture the ship in melee, or they tried to ram the enemy and pierce his hull or shear off his oars. Although galleys were usually fitted with a mast and sail, the wind was too uncertain an agent of motion to allow them to fight when they did not possess missile weapons capable of inflicting serious harm on the enemy. Mobility depended on a ship's rowers, and galleys were effectively constructed around these. In proportion to their size, galleys carried far larger crews than later sailing ships and nearly all of these men were rowers. Space was highly limited, especially so on a quinquereme which, despite their 40 per cent increase in crew, do not seem to have been much larger than triremes. The weight of the rowers provided much of a galley's ballast, making it unwise for any great number of them to leave their seats at the same time. There was also very little space available on a ship to carry provisions of food and water. The result was that not only was travel by sea uncomfortable, but very long, continuous journeys were simply impossible. A voyage of more than a few days between friendly ports was risky: If possible the galley was beached each night and the crew allowed to rest, but this was only practical when the shore was not hostile. Most naval battles throughout history have tended to occur relatively close to the shore, largely as a result of the real difficulty fleets had in locating each other in the vast expanse of ocean. In the ancient world this was an absolute necessity, simply because the fleets could not risk moving too far from the shore. Sicily provided the ideal theatre for a naval conflict because its numerous anchorages were within practical range of the fleets operating from home bases in Italy and North Africa.
Geography and the might of the Carthaginian navy meant that the conflict was likely to be dominated by sea-power, but at the beginning of the war Rome was not a naval power, largely because she had never needed to be in the past. She may have possessed a small number of ships, and some of her Italian allies certainly had their own navies, but they could not have hoped to form a serious rival to the Punic fleet, especially since it is possible that no state in Italy at that time possessed any quinqueremes. When in 261-260 BC the Romans decided to build a hundred quinqueremes, Polybius claims that they copied the design of a Carthaginian ship which had run aground and been captured earlier in the war. The story is one example of the pride the Romans took in their ability to copy the best weapons and tactics of their enemies, but may still be genuine. Polybius states that they trained the ships' crews while the fleet was under construction, building tiered benches on land to practise rowing. Yet even with this training, the new Roman fleet lacked the experience and skill of the well-drilled Carthaginian crews and the naval war did not start well for the Romans. The fleet's commander was surprised in harbour and all the seventeen ships with him were captured by a Punic squadron.
The tactics of ramming required skilful handling of a ship and the Romans may have realized that they could not match their opponents in this, as from the beginning of the war they were to rely on boarding the enem~ With this in mind they designed the 'Crow' (corvus), a boarding ramp fitted with a spike which stuck fast in an opponent's deck, locking the two ships together. Once grappled in this way no amount of skill on the part of the Carthaginian crew could break their ship free and the Roman legionaries swarmed across the bridge and settled the affair with their ferocity in hand-to-hand combat. The new device was tested when the massed fleets clashed off Mylae in north-eastern Sicily, 130 Carthaginian ships facing a slightly smaller number of Roman ones. The Carthaginian admiral, commanding the fleet in a ship that had once belonged to Pyrrhus, was confident in his 'crews' superiority and attacked aggressively. The Carthaginians did not realize the purpose of the corvi until they began to drop, the beaks spearing into their decks and grappling them fast. Thirty ships, including the flagship, were captured by the Roman infantry, who flooded over the ramps. Attempts to swing round and outflank the Romans were foiled when the Romans turned to face or swung their corvi round to drop over either side of the ship. The battle was a total success for the Romans with between thirty and fifty ships captured by the end of the da~ The prows (rostrata) of these prizes were cut off and sent to decorate the Speaker's platform in Rome, which in time gave it a new name.
In 256 BC the Romans repeated their success at the battle of Ecnomus, at which each side probably mustered well over 200 ships (Polybius gives the Carthaginian strength as 350 and the Roman as 330 which, if correct, would make this one of the largest naval battles in history). The Carthaginians had found no counter to the corvi, but in the next years few years the weather dealt Rome a series of severe blows when three fleets were wrecked in storms. Hundreds of ships were lost and the drowned numbered tens of thousands. Poor Roman seamanship may have been to blame, but it is also possible that the corvi's weight made the ships less seaworthy. Then at Drepana in 249 BC the Romans suffered their only defeat in a fleet action, a disaster blamed on impiety when the consul, Publius Claudius Pulcher, ignored the unfavourable auspices. When the chickens refused to eat (and so signify divine favour), he is said to have hurled them over the side, proclaiming that if they would not eat, then they would drink. These Roman disasters and Carthaginian exhaustion brought a lull, but in 242 BC the war was decided at sea when the Romans, having risked the creation of another fleet, smashed the last Punic fleet near the Aegates Islands. In the resulting peace treaty Carthage gave up both her fleet and all her possessions in Sicily. | English | NL | a901bd58a854c338a74fa886684e5fb169c7595bf60b3cebf8a0328d5f48de56 |
(1888-1918) was the first fighter ace
in World War I
. In fact, he's the person who made the designation "ace". Garros had won fame as a pilot before the war. Garros was a piano
student until the airplane
captured his imagination. He convinced the Brazilian flyer Alberto Santos-Dumont
to teach him to fly. He learned quickly and in 1911 won major air races. In 1913 Garros became the first man to fly across the Mediterranean. When War was declared, he was giving exhibition
flights in Germany, but was able to fly out of Germany at night, where he joined the French Air Force
He entered combat in 1915. Air to air combat
had just begun, and with it the problems of aerial gunnery
. Machine guns were available, but could not be used for forward quarter fire because they would quickly saw through the wooden propellor
blades used by planes of that era. That made pursuing an enemy problematic. Sure you could chase
them, but unless you could overtake them there was no way to shoot at them. This grealy limited the utility of fighter aircraft.
Saulnier was the first to come up with a solution, a synchronizing gear that Garros was there to help debug. But early ammunition was poor, it fired at irregular velocities leading to problems. And the Morane gear had issues. Flyer Eugene Gilbert had tried attaching metal to the propellor, in effect armoring against the relatively low-velocity slugs used in machine guns of the day. But the early experiments reflected the shells back onto the firing plane. Killed two of Gibert's assistants. Not good. Garros figured that only 7% of the shells would hit the propellors, so they wouldn't be struck every shot. He and M/S engineers experimented with different shaped deflectors until they found one that turned the slugs away from plane and pilot.
Garros quickly went aloft to try the new device out. On April 1, 1915 he attacked two Albatros scouts and shot both down. By the 18th he had destroyed five German Aircraft, and Frenchmen began calling him an "ace", a trendy term of the era for anyone who had done something special. Only the term stuck for fighter pilots.
Garros reign as top ace did not last. He suffered engine trouble behind German lines, and both he and his Morane-Saulnier were captured. The Germans sent the plane to Anthony Fokker to be copied.
Fokker studied the device and saw right away it was a cobbled together solution. First, it increased propellor mass and drag, robbing the airplane of power. The deflector may have saved the propellor in the short run, but the propellor assembly still took a hammering, which may have contributed to Garros' engine trouble and capture. He devised the first real synchronizing gear. The plane's machine gun was set in semi automatic mode, and then a cam was attached to the propellor, with the lobes located precisely behind the propellor. Fokker designed the cams to trigger the gun, realizing that the mechanical delay meant that by the time the bullet left the gun, the propellor would have moved out of the way. The device didn't care about engine speed, and proved reliable. Fokker gave a synchronizer equipped Fokker Eindecker to Max Immelmann and the rest is history.
Garros remained in a German POW Camp until 1918 when he was able to escape. He returned to flying in an era where everyone had synchronizer gear. He was patrolling the front in October 1918 when he must have seen something. He sped away from his wingman, who could not keep up. The wingman saw an explosion in the distance. Roland Garros was dead, the cause of his death still a mystery.
http://www.airracinghistory.freeola.com/PILOTS/Roland%20Garros.htm http://www.fiddlersgreen.net/aircraft/WWI/bullet/bullet_info/bul_info.htm itself largely cribbed from Arch Whitehouse: Decisive Air Battles of the First World War, 1963 which I read about a dozen times during middle school, as it was in the school library | English | NL | 684a2fe04627e8ff4914e095991b2c0fda12e2214067fc4c88938981cb58c6ff |
the enemy. I now ordered them to close up to the left. Having formed, we joined Company B, of my squadron, and followed our regiment, who were pursuing the flying enemy toward Keetsville. Camped, after a run of 9 miles, with Sigel's division, near Keetsville.
Yours, with respect,
Captain Co. A (Cav.), Commanding Squadron Thirty-sixth Ill. Vols.
Colonel NICHOLAS GREUSEL.
Numbers 11. Report of Captain Henry A. Smith, Illinois Cavalry.
SIR: I have the honor to transmit to you an account of the proceedings of my command during the 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th instant, which please find below:
March 6 left Camp Cooper soon after daylight, reaching Bentonville at 9 a.m. with 47 men, Lieutenant Chapman, with 20 men, having gone on scout to Pineville the evening before. Three of my men, being on provost guard, were not relieved in time to join the company, and were in consequence taken prisoners by the enemy. After remaining at Bentonville about half an hour the enemy appeared in sight on both flanks and in the rear, their cavalry on the right moving rapidly forward, with the evident intention of cutting us off, which they succeeded in doing about 1 mile east of the town, where we were ordered to act as flankers on the left-hand side of the road. The artillery and infantry were here engaged with the enemy for fifteen minutes, and finally succeeded in driving them back, our company being under fire finally succeeded in driving them back, our company being under fire finally succeeded in driving them back, our company being under fire during the time, but unable to make a charge on account of the brush being so thick in which the enemy were concealed.
After passing forward for 2 miles farther (a continued fire being kept up by the enemy and our skirmishers on the left in our rear), we were again obliged to halt and remain in a very exposed situation in the road (the bluffs on each side being inaccessible to cavalry) for some twenty minutes, during which time the firing was incessant. As soon,however, as the artillery opened upon them in front the road was soon cleared, and we passed forward to camp without further trouble, Lieutenant Chapman and his party coming in about an hour after us by a different road.
At 8 a.m. on the 7th Lieutenant Chapman, with the second platoon, were sent into the valley on the Telegraph road to act as patrol, where they remained until 3 p.m., when they received an order to join Company A. I remained with the wagons until 3 p.m., when I received an order from General Sigel to proceed to the left wing of our division with 20 men and report what I could learn in that direction. After proceeding in this direction about 1 mile we fell in with and captured 33 privates and the following officers: Colonel Hebert, Major and Captain Vigilini, of the Louisiana regiment, of McIntosh's division, the first, Colonel Hebert, being an acting brigadier-general in said division; also Colonel Mitchell and a captain of the Fourteenth Arkansas were of the number taken, and had we been left there until night I believe we would have captured at least 200 of the enemy. The prisoners stated that they had become separated from their commands in a charge made in the morning and had been unable to rejoin them. At | English | NL | 7245bf0a83a9f573cf9b6743ae46628ac829dc2f30510f50453388485c12dfcf |
293. Questions on the Health.
24. " Can spirits give us advice for our health ?"
" Health is a condition necessary for the work one should accomplish in the world ; for this reason they willingly attend to it ; but as there are ignorant and learned among them, it is not proper for that, any more than for anything else, to address yourself to the first comer."
25. " In addressing one's self to the spirit of a med ical celebrity, is one more certain of obtaining good advice ? "
" Terrestrial celebrities are not infallible, and have, often, systematic ideas which are not always true, and from which death does not immediately deliver them. Terrestrial science is a very small thing compared with celestial science ; the superior spirits alone have this last science ; without having names known among you, they may know much more than your learned men about everything. Science alone does not make spirits superior, and you would be very much astonished at the rank certain learned men occupy among us. The spirit of a learned man may not know more than when he was in the world, if he has not progressed as a spirit."
26. " Cannot the learned, after becoming a spirit, recognize his scientific errors ? "
" If he have reached a sufficiently high degree to be rid of his vanity, and to understand that his develop ment is not complete, he recognizes and avows them without shame ; but .if he is not sufficiently dematerialized, he may preserve some of the prejudices with which he was imbued in the world."
27. " Could a doctor, by invoking those of his pa tients who are dead, obtain from them some enlight enment on the cause of their death, the faults he may have committed in the treatment, and thus acquire an addition to his knowledge ? "
" He can ; and that would be very useful should he have the assistance of enlightened spirits, who could supply the defects in the knowledge of some of the patients. But for that he must make this study in a serious and assiduous manner, with a humanitary design, and not as a means of easily acquiring knowl edge and fortune." | English | NL | 88b41594194c281ca051433d9c35636e0fa9abd6388491bc01d8b43441e3be5b |
"London, too, has its scars, and London is proud of them," a great morning paper declared the next morning. "The last and gigantic effort of German
'frightfulness' has come and passed. London was visited before dawn this morning by a fleet of sixteen Zeppelins and forty aeroplanes. Seven of these former monsters lie stranded and wrecked in various parts of the city, two are known to have collapsed in Essex, and another is reported to have come to grief in Norfolk. Of the aeroplanes, nineteen were shot down, and of the rest so far no news has been heard. The damage to life and property, great though it may seem, is much less than was expected. Such losses as we have sustained we shall bear with pride and fortitude. We stand now more closely than ever in touch with our gallant allies. We, too, bear the marks of battle in the heart of our country."
Thomson paused to finish his breakfast, and abandoning the leading article turned to a more particular account.
"The loss of life," the journal went on to say, "although regrettable, is, so far as accounts have reached us, not large. There are thirty-one civilians killed, a hundred and two have been admitted into hospitals, and, curiously enough, only one person bearing arms has suffered. We regret deeply to announce the death of a very distinguished young officer, Captain Ronald Granet, a nephew of Sir Alfred Anselman. A bomb passed through the roof of his house in Sackville Street, completely shattering the apartment in which he was sitting. His servant perished with him. The other occupants of the building were, fortunately for them, away for the night."
The paper slipped from Thomson's fingers. He looked through the windows of his room, across the Thames. Exactly opposite to him a fallen chimney and four blackened walls, still smouldering, were there to remind him of the great tragedy. He looked down at the paper again. There was no mistake. It was the judgment of a higher Court than his!
He made his way down to the War Office at a little before ten o'clock. The streets were crowded with people and there were throngs surrounding each of the places where bombs had been dropped. Towards the PallMall Arch the people were standing in thousands, trying to get near the wreck of the huge Zeppelin, which completely blocked all the traffic through St. James's Park. Thomson paused for a moment at the top of Trafalgar Square and looked around him. The words of the newspaper were indeed true. London had her scars, yet there was nothing in the faces of the people to show fear. If anything, there was an atmosphere all around of greater vitality, of greater intensity. The war had come a little nearer at last than the columns of the daily Press. It was the real thing with which even the every-day Londoner had rubbed shoulders. From Cockspur Street to Nelson's Monument the men were lined up in a long queue, making their way to the recruiting office.
Admiral Conyers paid his usual morning visit to the Admiralty, lunched at his club and returned home that evening in a state of suppressed excitement. He found his wife and Geraldine alone and at once took up his favourite position on the hearth-rug.
"Amongst the other surprises of the last twenty-four hours," he announced, "I received one to-day which almost took my breath away. It had reference to a person whom you both know."
"Not poor Captain Granet?" Lady Conyers asked. "You read about him, of course?"
"Nothing to do with Granet, poor fellow," the Admiral continued. "Listen, I was walking, if you please, for a few yards with the man who is practically responsible to-day for the conduct of the war. At the corner of Pall Mall we came face to face with Thomson. I nodded and we were passing on, when to my astonishment my companion stopped and held out both his hands. 'Thomson, my dear fellow,' he said, 'I came round to your rooms to-day but you were engaged three or four deep. Not another word save this--thanks! When we write our history, the country will know what it owes you. At present, thanks!'"
"Major Thomson?" Lady Conyers gasped.
"Hugh?" Geraldine echoed.
The Admiral smiled.
"We passed on," he continued, "and I said to his lordship--'Wasn't that Thomson, the Inspector of Field Hospitals?' He simply laughed at me. 'My dear Conyers,' he said, 'surely you knew that was only a blind? Thomson is head of the entire Military Intelligence Department. He has the rank of a Brigadier-General waiting for him when he likes to take it. He prefers to remain as far as possible unknown and unrecognised, because it helps him with his work.' Now listen! You've read in all the papers of course, that we had warning of what was coming last night, that the reason we were so successful was because every light in London had been extinguished and every gun-station was doubly manned? Well, the warning we received was due to Thomson and no one else!"
"And to think," Lady Conyers exclaimed "that we were half afraid to tell your father that Hugh was coming to dinner!"
Geraldine had slipped from the room. The Admiral blew his nose.
"I hope Geraldine's going to be sensible," he said. "I've always maintained that Thomson was a fine fellow, only Geraldine seemed rather carried away by that young Granet. Poor fellow! One can't say anything about him now, but he was just the ordinary type of showy young soldier, not fit to hold a candle to a man like Thomson."
Lady Conyers was a little startled.
"You have such sound judgement, Seymour," she murmured.
Thomson was a few minutes late for dinner but even the Admiral forgave him.
"Just ourselves, Thomson," he said, as they made their way into the dining-room. "What a shock the Chief gave me to-day! You've kept things pretty dark. Inspector of Hospitals, indeed!"
"That was my excuse," he explained, "for running backwards and forwards between France and England at the beginning of the war. There's no particular secret about my position now. I've had a very hard fight to keep it, a very hard fight to make it a useful one. Until last night, at any rate, it hasn't seemed to me that English people realised that we were at war. Now, I hope at last that we are going to take the gloves off. Do you know," he went on, a little later, "that in France they think we're mad. Honestly, in my position, if I had had the French laws at my back I believe that by to-day the war would have been over. As it is, when I started even my post was a farce. We had to knuckle under the whole of the time, to the civil authorities. They wanted to fine a spy ten shillings or to bind him over to keep the peace! I've never had to fight for anything so hard in my life as I've had to fight once or twice for my file of men at the Tower. At the beginning of the war we'd catch them absolutely red-handed. All they had to do was to surrender to the civil authorities, and we had a city magistrate looking up statutes to see how to deal with them."
"There are a good many things which will make strange reading after the war is over," the Admiral said grimly. "I fancy that my late department will provide a few sensations. Still, our very mistakes are our justification. We were about as ready for war as Lady Conyers there is to play Rugby football for Oxford."
"It has taken us the best part of a year to realise what war means," Thomson assented. "Even now there are people whom one meets every day who seem to be living in abstractions."
"Last night's raid ought to wake a few of them up," the Admiral grunted. "I should like to have shown those devils where to have dropped a few of their little toys. There are one or two men who were making laws not so long ago, who'd have had a hole in their roofs."
Geraldine laughed softly.
"I really think that dad feels more bloodthirsty when he talks about some of our politicians than he does about the Germans," she declared.
"Some of our worst enemies are at home, any way," Sir Seymour insisted, "and we shall never get on with the war till we've weeded them out."
"Where did the nearest bomb to you drop?" Thomson inquired.
"The corner of St. James's Street," Sir Seymour replied. "There were two houses in Berkeley Street alight, and a hole in the roof of a house in Hay Hill. The bomb there didn't explode, though. Sad thing about young Granet, wasn't it? He seems to be the only service man who suffered at all."
Lady Conyers shivered sympathetically.
"It was perfectly ghastly," she murmured.
"A very promising young officer, I should think," the Admiral continued, "and a very sad death. Brings things home to you when you remember that it was only yesterday he was here, poor fellow!"
Geraldine and her mother rose from their places, a few minutes later. The latter looked up at Thomson as he held open the door.
"You won't be long, will you?" she begged.
"You can take him with you, if you like," the Admiral declared, also rising to his feet. "He doesn't drink port and the cigarettes are in your room. I have to take the Chair at a recruiting meeting at Holborn in a quarter of an hour. The car's waiting now. You'll excuse me, won't you, Thomson?"
"Of course," the latter assented. "I must leave early myself. I have to go back to the War Office."
Geraldine took his arm and led him into the little morning-room.
"You see, I am carrying you off in the most bare-faced fashion," she began, motioning him to a seat by her side, "but really you are such an elusive person, and only this morning, in the midst of that awful thunder of bombs, when we stood on the roof and looked at London breaking out into flames, I couldn't help thinking--remembering, I mean--how short a time it is since you and I were face to face with the other horror and you saved my life. Do you know, I don't think that I have ever said 'thank you'--not properly?"
"I think the words may go," he answered, smiling. "It was a horrible time while it lasted but it was soon over. The worst part of it was seeing those others, whom we could not help, drifting by."
"I should have been with them but for you," she said quietly. "Don't think that I don't know it. Don't think that I don't regret sometimes, Hugh, that I didn't trust you a little more completely. You are right about so many things. But, Hugh, will you tell me something?"
"Why were you so almost obstinately silent when father spoke of poor Captain Granet's death?"
"Because I couldn't agree with what he said," Thomson replied. "I think that Granet's death in exactly that fashion was the best thing that could possibly have happened for him and for all of us."
She shivered as she looked at him.
"Aren't you a little cruel?" she murmured.
"I am not cruel at all," he assured her firmly. "Let me quote the words of a greater man--'I have no enemies but the enemies of my country, and for them I have no mercy.'"
"You still believe that Captain Granet--"
"There is no longer any doubt as to his complete guilt. As you know yourself, the cipher letter warning certain people in London of the coming raid, passed through his hands. He even came here to warn you. There were other charges against him which could have been proved up to the hilt. While we are upon this subject, Geraldine, let me finish with it absolutely. Only a short time ago I confronted him with his guilt, I gave him ten days during which it was my hope that he would embrace the only honourable course left to him. I took a risk leaving him free, but during the latter part of the time he was watched day and night. If he had lived until this morning, there isn't any power on earth could have kept him from the Tower, or any judge, however merciful, who could have saved him from being shot."
"It is too awful," she faltered, "and yet--it makes me so ashamed, Hugh, to think that I could not have trusted you more absolutely."
He opened his pocket-book and a little flush of colour came suddenly into her cheeks. He drew out the ring silently.
"Will you trust yourself now and finally, Geraldine?" he asked.
She held out her finger.
"I shall be so proud and so happy to have it again," she whispered. "I do really feel as though I had behaved like a foolish child, and I don't like the feeling at all, because in these days one should be more than ordinarily serious, shouldn't one? Shall I be able to make it up to you, Hugh, do you think?"
He stooped to meet her lips.
"There is an atonement you might make, dear," he ventured. "Do you remember a suggestion of mine at one of those historic luncheons of Lady Anselman's?"
She laughed into his eyes for a moment and then looked away.
"I was wondering whether you had forgotten that," she confessed. | English | NL | d487ed76c4197ce66a3de5c054f614b78b8e285dcffa39def67d10f42f0b6294 |
belonged is censurable. The conduct of Captain Walker throughout is worthy of all praise.
When at Oakland I was 15 miles from Coffeeville. From prisoners captured and from citizens I learned that the rebel army had fled from Abbeville and were falling back rapidly via Water Valley and Coffeeville. I also learned that the cavalry force which we encountered at Oakland were Texas troops and about 1,500 strong, and were part of a force which left Coffeeville that morning in pursuit of me; that it was divided into three different parties, each of about that number, and left on as many different routes. Concluding that they would all fall back on Coffeeville, and being satisfied that more or less force from Price's army was at Coffeeville, I deemed it highly imprudent to proceed farther, as my whole force of infantry and cavalry did not exceed 2,500 men. I bivouacked for the night on the public square at Oakland. Though near the enemy in large force, with the precautions I had taken I felt perfectly secure. I knew that the enemy was retreating on the road not 10 miles in an air line from me, but I felt confident that he was in too great a hurry to turn aside to fight me, particularly as they had received such exaggerated reports of the forces under General Hovey's command. I determined to remain here and send back for a portion of the remaining infantry to be sent up to my support, that I might proceed on to their line of retreat and harass them as they passed; but about 12 o'clock at night I received a dispatch from General Hovey transmitting a dispatch from General Steele stating that the object of the expedition had been fully accomplished and ordering the entire force to return to Helena immediately. I allowed my men to rest quietly at Oakland until morning, when I quietly and deliberately, but reluctantly, returned.
The day I returned from Oakland it rained hard all day, and with the previous rains was calculated to excite just apprehensions that we could not get back with our artillery to the Mississippi across the low alluvial bottom which we had passed over in going out. No person that has not passed over this road can have a just estimate of it in a wet time. For 50 miles from the Mississippi or 10 miles beyond the Tallahatchie the land is an alluvial formation filled with ponds, sloughs, and bayous, and subject to annual overflow, and the roads are impassable as soon as the fall rains begin.
In conclusion I beg to say that the result of the expedition has on the whole been eminently successful. Had I possessed in advance the knowledge I now have I could have done some things I left undone; but my main object, which was to stampede the rebel army, could not have been more effectually accomplished. At no time, except at Oakland, had I over 1,925 men, and then I had 600 infantry and two field pieces, which came up just at night. The impression prevailed wherever we went that we were the advance of a force of 30,000 that was to cut off Price. The infantry sent forward to my support at Mitchell's Cross Roads consisted of the Eleventh Indiana, Colonel Macauley, 400; Twenty-fourth Indiana, Lieutenant-Colonel Barter, 370; Twenty-eighth and Thirtieth Iowa, Lieutenant-Colonel Torrence, 600, and an Iowa battery, Captain Griffiths, all under the command of Colonel Spicely, of Indiana, an able and efficient officer.
Of the temper of both officers and men under my command I cannot speak in too high terms of praise. From the time of my landing at Delta to this time my command has marched over 200 miles. The weather for two days out of six has been most inclement, raining incessantly. | English | NL | 1e62764fefd22124a872e89ef28731b893d93587b644f6857b1ab9b29793329d |
“And G-d said, let us let us make Adam in our own form and image…” [1:26] “And Adam lived for 130 years, and he had a son in his image, like his form, and he gave him the name Shes [Seth].” [5:4]
There is an obvious parallel between the two verses, the idea that the “form and image” that was given to Adam was passed on to Shes. As the Ramban [Nachmanides] points out, “It is known that all descendents of living beings are in the image and form of their parents, but because Adam was uplifted in [G-d’s] image… the verse explains here that even his descendents were likewise.”
We must then ask why this is mentioned only concerning Shes, and not his older brothers Kayin and Hevel [Cain and Abel, of course]. The Ramban merely says that it is most relevant concerning Shes, because only his descendents survived the flood of Noach – thus indicating that we too share this image.
The Ohr HaChaim, however, a much later commentator and a Chassidic scholar, mentions an alternative explanation as well – that Shes was much further removed from the transgression of Adam and Chava in the garden of Eden. Thus he was born from parents who had time to cleanse themselves.
How do we reconcile these two apparently contradictory explanations? Is the Image of G-d granted to everyone, or only to those who are born holy and removed from transgression?
I would like to offer the following: we know that a person can make immoral choices that distance him or her from G-d. And as we “start off” with what our parents have given us and trained us to do, we all are distanced to a greater or lesser extent… because no one is totally free of transgression (yes, even our mothers!).
What does the verse tell us? That distancing ourselves from G-d clouds the image! While all of Adam’s children possessed it, it was most apparent in Shes, who was born and raised removed from sin. That is my attempt to resolve the contradiction.
And we can take this point still further, because Adam himself was first created in G-d’s image. Having that image – and showing it – is our natural state of being! Not only sexual immorality involves “unnatural acts” – thievery, murder, or any type of transgression is unnatural!
A holy person doesn’t go to sleep with guilt over his terrible deeds, he or she takes no notice of slights or insults… is it any wonder that his or her face should shine with a childlike radiance, reflecting [sic] a happy and innocent soul? Well, you can have it too – it’s inside you now.
Text Copyright © 1995 Rabbi Yaakov Menken and Project Genesis, Inc.
The author is the Director of Project Genesis. | English | NL | 8e01e78eb534368c00853e1f660c2cc72ba983991efa0912c125537e2e24bf56 |
That very day two [men] were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What is this conversation that you are holding with each other as you walk?” And they stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, named Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” And he said to them, “What things?” And they said to him, “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, a man who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.
This encounter took place after Jesus was publically seized, tried and crucified. These men were discussing the events that everyone was talking about. Jesus had stirred up the hopes and dreams of the people in the region, including these two men, but that all ended shockingly and abruptly just a couple of days ago.
Everything changed. Expectations were dashed. They experience of the death of Jesus was overwhelming. It’s all they could talk about. And then, Jesus came and began to walk with them, but they didn’t even recognize him.
The apostle, John, wrote, “Perfect love casts out fear.” (1 John 4:18) This was written by a man who, when the chips were down for Jesus, scattered in fear with the rest of the apostles. As Jesus tried to tell them of the need for him to die and be raised from the dead, something the apostles did not understand, he predicted they would all forsake him.
“You will all fall away because of Me this night…. (Matthew 26:31)
Peter might have pumped his chest with bravado as he protested that others might leave Jesus, but he would never leave. (Matthew 26:32-33) But, Jesus knew better than Peter knew himself. He predicted that Peter, though swearing allegiance at that very moment, would deny him not once, but three separate times. (Matthew 26:34)
So great was the fear that overtook the disciples that they scattered after Jesus was taken by the Roman soldiers. Even Peter, who didn’t scatter, but stayed back to witness the interrogation, beatings, mocking and humiliation to which Jesus was subjected, denied that he knew him… three times.
Fear is a powerful emotion. It can overwhelm us and cause us to stumble from the path that we know is right. How do we overcome fear?
“But to all who did receive Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God— children born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but born of God.” (John 1:12-13)
Johns packs a lot into these short verses, tucked into the first chapter of his Gospel that is profoundly full of other significant meaning:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…. All things were made through him….In him was life, and the life was the light of men…. The true light…. was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him… he gave the right to become children of God…. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us….”
These are some of the most profound and remarkable verses in all of Scripture. God became flesh, and He lived among the people He chose as His own, but they didn’t even recognize who He was. But those who received – who believed Him – He gave the right to become children of God.
I see two choices here: the choice of receiving Christ and the choice God gives us after receiving Christ – the right tobecome children of God. My Reformed friends might be tempted to overlook the import of this power-packed passage. I am little unnerved by it myself, truth be told. I don’t trust my own heart to make the right choices!
And when they came to Marah, they could not drink the waters of Marah, for they were bitter; therefore it was named Marah. So the people grumbled at Moses, saying, “What shall we drink?” Then he cried out to the LORD, and the LORD showed him a tree; and he threw it into the waters, and the waters became sweet. (Exodus 15:23-25)
Moses had just led the Israelites out of Egypt and across the Red Sea that God parted for them. All the women had taken up timbrels and followed Miriam dancing and celebrating, exalting God for rescuing them from the Army of the Pharaoh. From there, Moses began to lead the newly freed nation into the wilderness.
They had wandered only three days, but it was three days without water. They found water at Marah, but it was too bitter to drink. So, the people began to get restless and “grumbled” to Moses. This is only the beginning of the grumbling, a theme that would continue throughout the years wandering in the wilderness. Even after God did miraculous things, like part the Red Sea and rescue them from certain capture and calamity, the people were quick to fall back to the habit of complaining.
“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” (Matthew 7:13-14)
The tendencies of the self work within us and the forces of the world in which we live press upon us to move us along the broad and wide way. This way is easy and feels familiar. It is the milieu into which we are born and operates according to the customary and usual ways of our culture and society. Continue reading → | English | NL | 26acea6272775060c4df8c8df8bc4a1dd3910deb7417b017f367b7e563ac2433 |
Signs of Decadence: Food Ashlea Frampton (Victory Gin (nothing cheap…
Signs of Decadence: Food
It was important, he said, not to go out smelling of
: the lift attendants were very observant.
For some reason he had always thought of
as having an intensely sweet taste, like that of blackberry jam and an immediate intoxicating effect
was a thing he had read and dreamed about.
'It is called
,' said O'Brien with a faint smile. 'You will have read about it in books, no doubt. Not much of it gets to the Outer Party, I am afraid.'
-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother
that sank him into stupor every night, and
that revived him every morning.
Then, seeing that Winston's glass was empty, he brought the
bottle and filled it.
what was worst of all was that the smell of
, which dwelt with him night and day, was inextricably mixed up in his mind with the smell of those----
As always, the
made him shudder and even retch slightly. The stuff was horrible.
Unbidden, a waiter came and filled his glass up with
, shaking into it a few drops from another bottle with a quill through the cork.
The poorer quarters swarmed with women who were ready to sell themselves. Some could even be purchased for a bottle of
, which the proles were not supposed to drink
nothing cheap and plentiful except synthetic
Winston took up his mug of
, paused for an instant to collect his nerve, and gulped the oily-tasting stuff down
From the grille at the counter the steam of stew came pouring forth, with a sour metallic smell which did not quite overcome the fumes of
. On the far side of the room there was a small bar, a mere hole in the wall, where
could be bought at ten cents the large nip.
was wearing off, leaving a deflated feeling
He let out a belch. The
was rising from his stomach.
a slight booziness caused by the
He took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid
with a plain white label marked VICTORY
it did not produce more
, it did not avert the child's death or her own
When the last of the
was gone, his mother had clasped the child in her arms.
After he had devoured the
he felt somewhat ashamed of himself
He turned and fled down the stairs, with the
growing sticky in his hand
'Winston, Winston!' his mother called after him. 'Come back! Give your sister back her
with a sudden swift spring he had snatched the piece of
out of his sister's hand and was fleeing for the door
his mother broke off three-quarters of the
and gave it to Winston, giving the other quarter to his sister.
He remembered quite clearly that precious little morsel of
One day a
ration was issued
Poor, Party Chocolate
It appeared that there had even been demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising the
ration to twenty grammes a week
As short a time ago as February, the Ministry of Plenty had issued a promise (a 'categorical pledge' were the official words) that there would be no reduction of the
ration during 1984. Actually, as Winston was aware, the
ration was to be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty at the end of the present week.
perhaps to celebrate the victory, perhaps to drown the
memory of the lost
--crashed into 'Oceania, 'tis for thee'.
from next week, the
ration would be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty.
normally was dull-brown crumbly stuff that tasted, as nearly as one could describe it, like the smoke of a rubbish fire.
The first fragment of
had melted on Winston's tongue.
at some time or another he had tasted
like the piece she had given him
Even before he had taken it he knew by the smell that it was very unusual
she felt in the pocket of her overalls and produced a small slab of | English | NL | b6b71651b3ae7bca62a2ce3ac73b6991e1f50f2819bd92b120e2d660106eddf2 |
“And when Jesus had spoken these words, he went forth with his disciples over the brook Cedron (Kidron) where there was a garden, into which he entered, he and his disciples. And Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place: for Jesus ofttimes resorted thither (met there) with his disciples.” John 18:1,2
Picking this to tie in with my last post “Magic” button this scripture took place at the time of the arrest of Jesus, after he had given the disciples warning that they should watch and pray that they would not enter into temptation.
Now is a good time to point out that as Jesus went forth into this place, He was on His way to his arrest, torture, humiliation, and ultimate crucifixion.
ALL this laid just beyond the crossing over that brook BUT this was also the path of His divine purpose for coming to this earth, as He answered Pilate… To this end was I born, and for this cause I came into the world, and the enemy, just like Judas in this passage, always knows where we go for comfort and just where to find us in a crisis, and that is when he hits us with all he has and it’s like that button, he knows how and exactly where to do the most damage.
But FIRST I really want to point out that Jesus is an exception to all the rules. He is God and when He came here in human form as a sacrifice for all of us, He did so completely sinless.
He NEVER committed sin or even thought a wrong thought, so it was NEVER a question of falling with Him, as it is for us. BUT as He also told us that The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his lord. and we are to follow His lead in how He handled every situation and circumstance in life and even in the face of death.
And there is so much for us to learn in crossing over our own brook “Kidron” and if we are called, we are going to have to cross that brook.
We can a learn that from Davis’s story 2 Samuel chapters fifteen and sixteen, to give the background on it, this WAS due to David falling into temptation, because of his affair with Bathsheba and the essential “hit” he put on his own solider Uriah in an attempt to cover his tracks, he had been told that the sword would NEVER leave his house, so even though he had repented and reconciled to God he was still under that judgment and this story took place as he was fleeing from his son who WAS one of the evils that would arise from his own house against him.
If possible please read these chapters to get the jest of this story because I am just using a few verses to get to this point, but it is a story I have used many times to make many different points and so much can be learned on some many level from David’s ordeal.
I am starting scripture coming into the part of the story when most had turned against David and it actually says that Absalom “stole the hearts of the men of Israel” and as he prepared to overtake his father’s throne, David and those whose were faithful to him were forced to flee and this is where decisions were being made.
2 Samuel 15: 21-23 : “And Ittai answered the king, and said, As the Lord liveth, and as my lord the king liveth, surely in what place my lord the king shall be, whether in death or life, even there shall thy servant be.
And David said to Ittai, Go and pass over. And Ittai the Gittite passed over, and all his men, and all the little ones that was with him.
And ALL the country wept with a loud voice,and all the people passed over,the king himself passed over the brook Kidron (CALLED),and all the people passed over, toward the way of the wilderness.”
What really jumps out at me is the similarity between Ittai’s pledge of allegiance to David and Peter’s words to Jesus and one of the literal meanings given for Kidron is “CALLED” and as you go on with that story, David was hit so hard just in these few chapters, this ONE instance of a PERIOD in his life, he was chased, cursed, hated but he was learning something, and you got to remember WHO David was and what he had ALREADY learned from the Lord.
By this point in his life, he had been in battle after battle, fought Goliath, survived Saul’s hatred and had been anointed three times to be king and David knew what is was to be afraid and he knew what it was to desperately seek God, he knew what is was to trust and he knew what is was to encourage himself when he felt a million miles away. But by the point this all came into play against him he had gotten a little out of practice keeping those things he had learned fresh in his mind and most importantly fresh in his heart.
As he and all his people passed over the brook and they all went toward the WAY of the wilderness, his flesh began to die, when he just accepted the things being thrown at him without cursing back or flying into a rage and wanting to retaliate, when he just kept on crossing the brook of the called his enemies were defeated and his throne rightfully restored.
Not to say that there wasn’t PAIN, serious, serious pain, as all these crossings were made with tears and sorrow.
Over the past few weeks I have thought so much about what Jesus told Peter, when He said The Spirit truly is ready but the flesh is weak and I have come to believe of the many lessons we learn from that scripture that the biggest, hardest lesson to grasp is this, that our spirit, the part of us that loves God, longs for His presence and wants nothing more than to please Him and be in His will can BE completely given over to Him but our human side can still have a lot of catching up to do, it can be very weak and must be strengthened BEFORE we can enter into those places that He wants us to travel.
And when you think of it, imagine Peter and ALL the disciples, hanging out with Jesus day and night, being in the midst of Him and the miracles and Him giving them that authority over demons and diseases BUT He was right there with them or at least they knew He was close by and would come to the rescue just like He did when He rebuked their lack of faith and taught them the need for fasting and prayer when they could not cast the demon out of the young boy and the father had to bring him to Jesus Himself. (Matthew 17:14-21)
So how much harder would it be for them when they had to have the faith to believe for these and greater works in His name and believe for that power to come when they asked in His name when He would no longer be by their side on this earth?
He was not only their teacher, He was also their best friend and even though they knew who He was and is, and they saw with their own eyes miracles and resurrections of the dead, nothing could ever have prepared them for the transitions between heaven and earth that would take place.
Their spirits were ready, that is why He gave them the extra comfort of adding TRULY when He told them but the “flesh” part, the human side had to be strengthened or otherwise their minds could have never withstood the transition that they also would have to make on that journey with Him.
Think about that… ALL of this was new, it was new to EVERYONE and if you put yourself in their shoes at the time and ask how would they react when they would no longer see Him or touch Him in the physical realm but be aware of His invisible presence and would actually feel Him in their souls.
NOTHING could have ever prepared them for that, it is not a shock that they stood “gazing up” when He went back to heaven, they were trying to reason it all in their heads when it cannot be reasoned and they would have to learn how to navigate their lives and fulfilling His call on their lives in a way they could have never possibly imagined.
And when the pain, the sorrow and the persecution would come that flesh would have to be under submission to the spirit or else that flesh would cost callings and how that submission comes is in one word…acceptance… and I’ll leave that right there for now.
Thank you for reading and thanks for all your prayers!
God Bless you with a wonderful week!
Φλογιζω Σαλπιζω NBJ2018 | English | NL | 9d20b0e86741db96a4dfb0637c537d03bb4cbdfeab6110db67930723061dbad2 |
Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his own blood, suffered outside the gate. Therefore, let us go forth to him outside the camp, bearing his reproach. For we have no continuing city here, but we seek one to come.
Select a tract, month, or collection:
"If we say that we do not have sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.
If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins
and to cleanse us from every unrighteousness."
It may at first seem that it would not bring relief to confess it, but it does. We are so very helpless against the spirits of this age. Paul said that "when we were without strength, Christ died for the ungodly." He was right on both counts. We were completely without spiritual strength, and Christ suffered and died to help us. In the past, we all tried to live life as we wanted to live it, on the strength of our own understanding and desire, and doing that led all of us to one dead end or another, time after time.
The truth is far more than mortal man can take in unless he receives help from heaven. Without God, we are so blind that we actually think we can see. We know so little that we think we know a lot. We love ourselves so much that we think we love others. We are so ignorant of true righteousness that we think we are right without it.
When God gave Jeremiah a glimpse of the real, inner condition of the human race, the realization absolutely crushed the young prophet's heart. He cried out in despair, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked! Who can know it?" The answer is, "No one." And the principal reason that no one on earth can know how blind and perverse he is, is that everybody thinks they are neither blind nor perverse.
To live blind is to live under a heavy weight. I did not even know that weight existed until Jesus took it off my back and I felt the relief. When I fell on my knees along that mountain road long ago and cried out to God, it was only because (1) Jesus was opening my eyes to the burden I had been carrying and (2) he was offering to take it away and give me peace. I couldn't say "yes" fast enough. I had been proud, but now I could not humble myself too far down, and neither can the next man to whom God shows the same mercy. To see at last what a fool I had been, and to admit it, brought feelings of relief from the burden of sin, and I grasped at the opportunity. I had lived my life as a fool, and had been so foolish that I thought I was wise.
Because we are, in ourselves, so proud and blind, it may at first seem that it would not bring relief to confess it, but it does. I still can feel it. | English | NL | c09905848c04c4f190baa59c05adbd0a33b13ca40c57d8c5d5434627e9c04263 |
Authors: Laurann Dohner
Tags: #Mating Heat
want me on a long-term basis
. The problem was, she was too strongly attracted to him and
the idea of him settling down to have babies with some literal bitch made jealousy rear
its ugly head inside her.
Grady was a great guy and he was fantastic in bed. Mika rolled her hips again,
wiggling until she felt the head of his cock pressed right where she wanted him. “Pull
out and put on a condom in a few minutes…but right now I want to feel just you. It
“You don’t have to tell me the difference between a condom and skin, babe.”
“Just let me feel you.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Just a few minutes and then put on the condom.” She paused. “They irritate me
and make me a little sore. I’m usually in long-term relationships with men I have sex
with so I’m not used to using them since I’m on the Pill.”
He nodded. “I’m dying to know how it would feel with nothing between us.”
He pushed into her and Mika knew heaven as his cock slid home. Her lips parted to
release a moan of sheer rapture. Her nails raked his shoulders and she tightened her
legs around his hips so her heels dug into his ass. The sensation of Grady’s cock, with
nothing between them, was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced. He
was fuller, the sensation was different without latex, and as her vaginal walls gripped
him, Grady groaned softly. She met his intense gaze. He looked hungry and wild, if
eyes really were the windows into someone’s soul.
“We’re fucked,” he rasped.
She squeezed her muscles around his cock again. Grady’s eyes widened and then
he pulled back. She thought he was leaving her body, withdrawing from her totally,
and she had to halt the urge to cling to him to keep him there but she released her death
grip around his hips with her legs so he could move away from her. Grady almost
withdrew completely but then he drove his hips into hers, plunging his cock into her
deep and hard, pushing her body into the bed.
Mika cried out in pleasure and her legs wrapped tightly around him again. Their
gazes remained locked, Grady keeping eye contact with her as he drove in and out of
her again and again. Mika couldn’t look away from the pleasure that was easy to read
on his handsome features. She bucked her hips and she met him with an upward thrust.
Skin to skin felt unbearably good, too good, and her body tensed, muscles tightening as
a climax built inside her.
Her nails bit into his shoulders. Grady’s eyes narrowed, the shape changing just a
little, and when his lips parted, sharp, extended teeth were revealed. She screamed out
Grady’s name as she came hard, ecstasy tearing through her entire body and watched
as his eyes closed when his own release hit him. His mouth opened wider, his teeth
grew longer, and she threw up her hand over his mouth, right as he lowered his face
into her neck.
“No,” she moaned, still riding her pleasure.
She could feel the sharp points of his teeth against her palm but then his lips closed
over them. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, her hand trapped over his
mouth as he panted. She shivered in the aftermath. The sex had been amazing. The only
downside was that she’d seen him lose control and if she hadn’t been watching him he
would have bitten her. He turned his face away from her neck and away from her hand.
She wrapped her arms tighter around him, holding him, and loved the way his heavy
body pinned hers to the bed.
“Sorry,” he whispered. He lifted his head and stared down at her, their noses nearly
“Never apologize for making me come that hard. That was mind-blowing. You’re
He tensed on her and then relaxed. “If you hadn’t gripped my mouth I would have
bitten you. You feel too damn good and make me lose my head.”
She chuckled. “We’ll have to buy you a muzzle, honey.”
She saw amusement spark his dark eyes. “I think they make them. I know this sex
shop that carries all kinds of kinky shit.”
“Really?” She laughed. “I think tomorrow we should go there to buy one for you
because I don’t want to use condoms with you.”
His smile died. “You’re serious?”
She nodded. “Do you really want to use them when we don’t have to? Tell me that
wasn’t damn good, that you don’t want to do it again and I’ll call you a liar.”
The amusement left him. “It was too damn good. I could get addicted to you.”
She ran her tongue over her lips. “You don’t want me for a mate, remember? You
want a wolf.”
“Your life isn’t here anyway. Where do you live?”
“I have an apartment in Orange County, California.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I work for the phone company as an information operator.”
“Whose house is this? I didn’t know Omar owned it.”
“He doesn’t. It was my parents’ house when they still lived here. When I was two
we moved to Southern California but we’d always come here for a few weeks here and
there so they kept it. When they died it was left to me. My mom was a wolf and my
father was human but they were mated. They were childhood sweethearts.”
“It’s rare that a were-woman mates with a human guy. Most families wouldn’t
allow it. They’d demand he risk his life to change so he’d be strong enough to protect
Mika didn’t see any bias in his eyes. He just looked curious. “My mother never
wanted to risk his life to attempt to change him. Mom and Uncle Omar’s parents were
killed when they were in their teens and Uncle Omar grew up with my father too, so he
didn’t protest when she followed her heart to marry the man she loved. Uncle Omar
was just happy that my mom was happy.”
“Why did they leave here then?”
“The pack didn’t agree with their union and Mom was worried about Dad’s safety.
My dad had family in Orange County so it was logical to go there.”
“How did they die?”
She glanced away as pain lanced her heart for a moment but then looked back at
him. “When I was ten years old they went on a skiing trip and had rented a small cabin.
They left me with Dad’s aunt. There was an avalanche, it happened in the middle of the
night and they probably never knew what happened unless the sound woke them
before the snow hit the cabin. They were found in bed together when the rescue teams
dug them out. The cabin was totally destroyed.”
“So Omar raised you?” He frowned. “I’ve never met you and you’d think I would
know if a girl was in his house for all those years. I’ve been around long enough to have
seen or scented you when you were younger.”
“No. My father’s aunt kept me. My life was there and Uncle Omar thought it would
be safer for me to be with other humans. Every year I come for two weeks. It was
always that way before my parents died and that was the agreement he made with my
aunt. When I hit adulthood I kept coming every year. I have met some of the pack, of
course, but for the most part, he keeps me away from them. I always stay here so it’s not
like I live with him. The one time I stayed there since I turned eighteen was a nightmare
I never want to repeat.” She laughed. “He and Minnie are very sexually active and loud
so I barely got any sleep.”
He chuckled. “We’re very sexual creatures.”
She smiled. “Lucky me, for the next two weeks.”
He grinned. “Have you ever thought about moving here?”
She nodded. “The only time I considered it was when my ex and I broke up and I
found myself suddenly homeless. Uncle Omar kind of made it known it was a bad idea.
He’s visited me in California often and always scouts out my neighborhood before I
move into a place. I guess wolves don’t want to live in heavily populated areas. He said
it was werewolf-free so I was safer living there.”
Grady frowned. “You were married?”
She shook her head. “We lived together. He wanted to go do the quickie Vegas
marriage thing but I said no way because I wanted to live with him for a year first to
make sure we’d work out. It was a damn good thing I put my foot down because it’s a
hell of a lot easier to pack up shit and move out than it would have been hiring an
attorney to get a divorce.”
Grady withdrew from her body and rolled over, unpinning her, and totally not
touching her anymore. He stretched out on his side next to her and propped his head
on his hand so he could stare at her.
“Why did you break up?”
She winced. “Well, I got off work early one day and I walked into our apartment to
find him with someone else. He was literally nailing her in our bed. I was shocked. I
trusted him completely and never saw that coming. There were no signs.” She
shrugged. “I was hurt and really angry. Then he had the nerve to tell me it wasn’t what
it looked like.” She snorted. “He was inside her. How can you misconstrue that? Not
only did he betray me and hurt me but he insulted me by trying to treat me like a
Grady’s eyes twinkled and she could see he fought a smile. “What did he tell you it
really was? I’m dying to hear this.”
She turned onto her side facing him. The pain had mostly faded from her ex’s
betrayal but the anger remained. “She was his boss. He said he was trying to get a
promotion so he would make more money so we could afford a house.”
“What an asshole.”
She nodded. “I told him he was lucky she didn’t fire his ass for incompetence.” A
smile played at her lips. “When that sank in and he understood what I meant, he got
Grady laughed. He had a great laugh. “Not too good in bed, huh?”
She shrugged. “He was okay but it was nothing compared to this.” She glanced
down at his body. “Not even close. He made me laugh and I thought I was in love with
him. I was more pissed off than hurt when he cheated on me. We got along well and it
was comfortable living with him. We had the same interests.”
“You settled for him.”
She didn’t look away from Grady. “I guess I did. I probably should be happy he did
cheat on me. I told him if he ever did it that I’d never take him back and I wasn’t
“Did he try to get you back?”
She nodded. “He still tries. He calls my cell phone every few days and he’s sent
flowers to my work half a dozen times but he’s wasting his time. I delete his messages
without listening to them and every time he sends me flowers I give them away at
Grady reached out and rubbed her hip with his large hand. “He was stupid. If I
were a human guy, I’d do everything to keep hold of you.”
“But you’re not one. Not fully.”
“No. I’m not. Ready to get some sleep? It’s been a long day.”
She nodded. Grady released her and rolled away. He stood and walked around the
bed. Mika turned onto her back and tracked him as he reached down and picked up his
discarded underpants and jeans. He walked toward the door of her bedroom and then
paused but didn’t turn around.
“Good night, Mika.”
“You aren’t sleeping with me?” She was astonished at his actions. She saw his
muscles stiffen as he shook his head slowly.
“No. You’re leaving soon so it’s best if we keep some distance between us. Sweet
dreams.” He reached out and flipped off her light. He left the door open and walked
Mika frowned and rolled onto her stomach. She could see Grady picking up his
discarded shirt and his footwear. He had a really nice ass that she got a great view of as
he bent to retrieve his things from the floor. She lifted her head and let it fall, banging
her head over and over against her soft comforter.
I’m in trouble.
She was really
hurt and disappointed that he wasn’t going to sleep with her.
she told herself.
She bit back a curse when anger was her next emotion. She was good enough to
fuck but not to sleep with? Is that what he thought? He’d get close during sex but he
didn’t want to hold her in his arms all night. She climbed out of bed and walked to her
door. She slammed it closed, not caring how he took that little action of hers, her anger
growing. She flipped on her bedroom light and stormed to the shower. She smelled of
sex and Grady. If he wouldn’t sleep with her, she sure as hell wasn’t going to inhale
reminders of them together when she was alone.
She turned on the shower and stepped into the stall. She stood there letting water
pour down her body for a long time. She finally moved when she got her anger under
control, though it wasn’t anger as much as hurt, she realized. She liked Grady way too
much and she always tried to be completely honest about her feelings. She confronted
them. She was falling for a guy who didn’t want anything lasting with her. She wasn’t a
wolf and he was set on never hooking up with a human mate. It really hurt and when
something did that, she tended to turn that emotion into raw anger, something she
could deal with more easily than tears.
She took her time and even shaved her legs. She washed her hair and let her
conditioner set for a good five minutes, anything to stall until she got a grip on herself. | English | NL | 0c5f870521cc9aeaf1a1944dde367034900741c6d6a9d743795dcbe99e32b7f8 |
Several members of St. Andrew’s Choir, congregation and the Chaplain, the Revd Wendy Hough, met for lunch to bid farewell and to wish every blessing on Dr. Philip Ephraim who was returning to his native Nigeria after over four years in North Cyprus.
During his time here Philip studied for and gained a PhD in Communications and Media Management at Girne American University. Following the award of his PhD he was an Assistant Professor in Cyprus International University for one year.
Philip came to North Cyprus in February 2013 to begin his studies at GAU. He quickly found St. Andrew’s Church and became a regular worshipper there from his first days in his new home.
As well as a talented student Philip is also a gifted musician and became active in St. Andrew’s Music Ministry. He is an accomplished violinist, recorder player, trainee organist and has a fine tenor voice, which he used to the full in St. Andrew’s choir and the Kyrenia Chamber Choir. For a short time he served as St. Andrew’s Choirmaster in 2015.
Not only was Philip’s service to God shown in his music, he was active in bible study ministry and the Alpha course. He particularly helped and encouraged African students within and outside St. Andrew’s as a spiritual and intellectual mentor.
Philip hopes to pursue an international academic career wherever God leads: in Africa, Asia or Europe.
To wish Philip Godspeed and to say goodbye to a dear friend who will be sorely missed for his many and varied talents, a small luncheon party met in The Hut in Lapta.
May the Lord bless you and keep you;
may the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;
and may the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace,
now and for ever more. | English | NL | 3b60e7c783b183d0fdb286199882b0c8106879918590b94a2d913292af7040ee |
Heartbeat actor Peter Benson has died at the age of 75, his agent has confirmed.
The star, who played Bernie Scripps in the ITV series, died on Thursday after a short illness.
He was known for playing the Yorkshire-based drama's funeral director in all of the show's 18 series during its run from 1992 to 2010.
His character also ran a garage in the fictional town of Aidensfield and often got involved in disastrous money-making schemes with Claude Greengrass (Bill Maynard) and half-brother Vernon Scripps (Geoffrey Hughes).
Benson also made appearances in BBC comedy Blackadder as Henry VII, ITV 1980s soap opera Albion Market and more recently in two episodes of hospital drama Casualty.
Benson was a highly-skilled singer and dancer and an accomplished theatre actor. He and Maynard starred on stage together in a production of Trinity Tales in 1977.
He portrayed the title role in Shakespeare's Henry VI in a BBC television adaption of the play in 1983.
One of Benson's former Heartbeat co-stars Steven Blakeley, who played Pc Geoff Younger in the show, was among those to pay tribute to him.
Blakeley said: "Farewell Peter Benson. You made me laugh so much. There'll never be another like you - talented, kind and gentle in equal measure. Bless you and rest well sir."
Lisa Kay, who played the character of Emma Bryden, wrote on social media: "Such sad news that the wonderful Peter Benson has passed away.
"He was always a total gentleman and great fun to work with. He was dearly loved and shall be missed terribly by his Heartbeat family. RIP Peter."
Fiona Dolman, who played Pc Mike Bradley's (Jason Durr) solicitor wife Jackie, added: "What sad news. Peter Benson was one of the best.
"Kind, funny, brilliant, gentle and deliciously sarcastic. He was an absolute joy to work with and will be missed by so many." | English | NL | 9e43ad8506955beadc93b7317a5b077d0145dbb2c761120d823f6b43b3ae01f9 |
The New Yorker, February 26, 1955 P. 24
Beatrice Trueblood was visiting the Onslagers in Newport for a summer weekend, when she was suddenly stricken with deafness. Her host Jack Onslager suspected she had become deaf because she wanted to. be. Weeks later he visited Bea in her N.Y. apartment at the insistence of his wife and their friends. Then he heard Bea's story. It was true that she had wished herself deaf to escape quarrels with her fiance, Marten ten Brink. She had had a very sad childhood, listening to fights between her alcoholic mother and cruel father. Then she was married for 7 years to Tom True blood, who insisted on loud quarrels too. When Marten quarrelled she rejected him and brought on her afflication. She yielded to her friends and went to an analyst. After little more than a year she regained her hearing, and married a research chemist, Arthur Talbot. At another Newport weekend Jack Onslager watched her and found her face drained of joy. Her new husband was bad tempered and quarrelsome too. | English | NL | 70c9f85571e0a1c89b52b1e8bfd68593488173bb6372a6c13473709c839a5215 |
Elijah West born 1747 in Bozrah,
CT and moved with his family to Cornwallis. His father was Capt. Stephen West, whose name is on the first Cornwallis Town
Grant. Stephen was on the Cornwallis committee for land distribution... which suggests he was a man of some significance.
He apparently worked on the original organizing of the township grants in 1759 but only moved to Cornwallis in 1761. Brother
William went to Cornwallis as well. He is a descendant of Francis West, a house carpenter by trade,
left the town of Salisbury in Wiltshire, England and came to New England, settling in Duxbury, MA, at the invitation of Mr.
Thomas of Marshfield of MA. His son, Dr. Thomas West, born 1646, was a physician and also a lawyer, reported to have
prosecuted the first murder cases on Martha’s Vineyard. Thomas’s son Abner West, born 1683, was also a carpenter
in Massachusetts; and Captain Stephen West was his youngest son.
Elijah married Esther Loomer
in Cornwallis in 1777 and raised a family of 7 children. In 1800, he sold his lands in Cornwallis and came with his wife and
three of his children to Hopewell. Records show he was a sea captain and involved in coastal trading, making many trips back
and forth across the bay. He drowned at sea in 1799 and he and his wife are both buried in the Habitant Cemetery, Wolfville,
N.S. His sons Samuel and Enoch both married Brewster girls and raised their families in the Harvey and Hopewell areas and
his daughter Rebecca married Rufus Reid of Harvey. | English | NL | fdfa63149d195e524d5c7168c87663e5df83963256f1f16d88dffea79914466e |
- About Us
- Pricing and Packages
Clara Dolores Doty, 87, of Indianapolis, passed away on January 22, 2019.
Dolores was born in Indianapolis, IN on February 20, 1931 to the late Everett and Ruth (Cummings) Embry. She graduated from Southport High School in 1949, and went on to get her Bachelors in Elementary Education from Butler, as well as her Masters in School Leadership. She was an avid reader of anything she could get her hands on, but her favorite author was Janet Evanovich; she had every one of her books. Dolores was very passionate about education, after retiring she tutored adults in literacy for 22 years. She was an active member of two Professional Education Sororities: Delta Kappa Gamma and Alpha Delta Kappa. She taught at IPS for 32 years before retiring.
Dolores was a woman of Faith, she held a strong belief in God. She was a charter member of Fountain Square Church of Christ. She was very involved in the church community. She taught Sunday School and Benevolence.
Dolores was a proud Republican and took her duty to vote seriously. She voted in every poll she could, and strongly encouraged other people to as well. She was never one afraid to speak her mind.
Dolores was a sports fan. She loved Bobby Knight and IU, but her heart lay with the Colts. The Colts took precedent over everything. If there was a game on, it was well known to leave Dolores alone, by phone and don't even consider visiting. She collected newspaper articles and clippings of the team. They had her full attention.
Dolores loved her family and always strove to be as supportive as she could. She was adamant about attending every single event or activity her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were involved in. If she felt her granddaughters weren't getting enough field time, she was sure to let the coach know. Admittedly this could make things a little awkward, since the coach was often her son-in-law Mike. But she still went to bat for her grandbabies.
Dolores is survived by her husband, Lowell Doty; her daughters Jennifer (Dave) Blevins and Melinda (Mike) Armstrong; her grandchildren Katie (Dan), Allison (Dustin), Megan, Matt, and Molly; her great-grandchildren Mackenzie, Colton, Kendall, and Liam; her brother David (Charlotte) Embry; and 3 nieces and 2 nephews.
In addition to her parents, Dolores is preceded in passing by her sister Virginia Embry; and her brothers Charles Embry and Dan Embry.
Funeral services for Dolores will be 4 PM Sunday, January 27, 2019 at Fountain Square Church of Christ. Visitation will be from 1 PM until the hour of service at the church. | English | NL | f8419e3a34402775f1d0cb0cf42d40baec046b388b74230e958d6bcbeef81496 |
Marta’s legacy begins in Switzerland in the year 1901 as a young girl at the age of 12. With a father who was quick to anger and take his anger out on Marta, and a sickly mother, Marta learns quickly that life is difficult. Papa pulls her out of school at age 12, hires her out to tend bee hives, clean hotel rooms and babysit. He finally sends her back to school.. to become a servant. Marta meets a variety of people through her employment and continues to hold on to her dreams of running a hotel someday. She gets as far as running a boarding house when she meets her husband Niklaus. They end up living in Canada, then later Calif with their young children. Marta’s daughter Hilde is constantly pushed by Marta, and feels the same unloved feeling that Marta had from her father. Hilde leaves as soon as she can to pursue nursing.. always being a servant as her mom says.
The book is rich in historical facts, ranging different countries and decades. The first in a sage of two parts, I definitely recommend not stopping with part one. The relationships between the mothers and daughters in this novel are always strained. Following the sin of pride and stubbornness, though feeling that they are showing love, they continue to pass on those traits to the next generation. It had sad undertones throughout the whole book and made me want to go and love on my daughter. | English | NL | 3218601249e59205144bee4482a4f2ba406994ff1e0b9f506cbd10eec4f2fadc |
Welcome to Hell
When he died, Kelsey felt something tug at him. There was somewhere he was supposed to go, and that destination should have been his sole objective. He knew this. He could rest now, if he wanted. And yet, he was not sure that he did. The pull was gentle, but insistent, like an eager child at his sleeve. He recognized it, and knew its name. Her name. She needed him. Her work was not finished yet, and that meant his was not either. He turned his back on the place that was waiting for him. It would be there again. She needed him, and he followed.
Maera replayed the final moments in the palace again and again in her mind. Irenicus had killed them all, and somehow, in death, pulled her along after him. To Hell. Or rather, a hell of Bhaal's. She gazed up at the obsidian statue of the dead god. The place felt at once welcoming and hateful, like a long-lost relation that was glad to see her, but nonetheless nursing a grudge. But she wasn't afraid, she found, nor even terribly discomfited.
Why should she be? This was where she came from, after all.
The words, laced with despondent bitterness, brought forth a sigh, but beneath that ran a river of malicious, rejoicing glee. Finally! She was where she belonged! She was no longer bound by those petty, human concerns. This was the center of it all, the source of her strength, and she was home! She grinned darkly, and her right hand dropped, crossing her abdomen, falling on her sword hilt-
Even in death, she still bore Daystar. The disc of rose quartz on the hilt, Lathander's symbol, lay just beneath her fingers. And on the chain around her neck, there still hung the silver charm etched with Oghma's scroll. She was human, subject to beings greater than herself, and in turn, tasked with the defense of those she was greater than. Her strength had more than one source.
"I don't belong here," she murmured.
She sighed with relief as she recognized the voice. Just like always, Imoen had found her. "I'm here, Im." Her sister appeared from the gloom, eyes wide and posture edgy.
"I'd ask what the hell, but I'm afraid I've answered my own question," Imoen said sourly, rubbing her arms.
"So it would seem," Maera replied. "Why are you here, Im? Bhaalspawn or not, this can't possibly be where you're supposed to end up."
"I followed you," Imoen shrugged. "Figured wherever you were going had to be more interesting."
Maera shook her head, disbelieving but grateful. "That's always your excuse, and it never works out the way you plan."
Imoen spread her hands. "Glutton for punishment, I guess."
A voice echoed, hollow as a tomb, from the darkness beyond Bhaal's statue. "You. You are of the Master's blood." There was a hiss of disgust, as if the unseen speaker had just stepped in something unpleasant. "But you do not belong here. You traffic in mercy. And love." This last was pronounced like a slur. A balor slunk from the shadows, the sourceless, orange-red light of the plane catching on its curved horns and yellowed fangs. "I know you. You are the prodigal," it whispered. "You have turned from the gift. You have squandered your sire's power."
Without thinking, Maera rolled her eyes. Demon or not, she was getting tired of this particular song and dance. "You know, it's bad enough I have to be here without being given grief about my lifestyle choices." The balor growled low in its throat, but it did not move, its barbed tail lashing. Something kept it at bay; some force restrained it, against its obvious wishes. It was angry, but could do nothing against her. Maera suddenly laughed, unable to contain herself. "The black sheep of the Bhaalspawn clan comes home and you can't give me the thrashing you think I need. Isn't that a shame?" The demon did not answer. "Oh, come on. You have to admit, it's pretty funny." The only sound was the whip-like sound of its thrashing tail. Seeing it disinclined to play along, Maera shrugged and turned. "Not big on irony, I see. Oh well. Let's go, Im. Irenicus is waiting."
"Idiot whelp," the balor spat at her departing back. "No doubt you congratulate yourself for being so good." It dismissed the word with the same distaste it had accorded love.
Maera turned back, tilting her head. "You're not just angry, are you? You're afraid of me."
"And why should I, a loyal servant of the Lord of Murder, loyal even beyond death, fear of one my master's failures?"
She could feel the thing's fear, smell it, taste it. The whole of the hell that surrounded her reeked of it, and she understood. It was suddenly so clear. "Because that's what I am. His failure. He was so arrogant, so self-impressed, so shortsighted, he honestly never believed any of his Children would reject him. You are afraid of me, because I'm everything that went wrong with his plan. I'm the evidence of his weakness, not the other way around." She shook her head. "All this time I've wasted being afraid of him, when he was just as afraid of me. Like a snake." She turned her back on the balor, but it could not resist one last parting shot.
"The others, they have embraced your father's strength. They stand with his power behind them. They will rise up soon, and drown the mortal world in blood! How will you stand before their strength, lost one? What do you have?"
Imoen rounded on the beast, her blue eyes blazing. "She has ME. Now go away. We're busy."
When Jaheira died, it was not her life that flashed before her eyes, but a memory. She remembered sitting in the great common room of the Friendly Arm Inn, hastily finishing a letter. I fear we can wait no longer than a tenday, old friend. This business in the south will require intervention soon. As for your request, if it should come to that, you know we will give your fosterling any aid within our power. I confess I am interested to meet her after all these years. But then there had been no Gorion, only a lost girl whose jaw was set in terrified determination, Imoen trailing in her wake like a shadow. Even a promise lightly made must be kept, and the girl had needed her. She needed her still. Jaheira followed.
A tall, male figure in spiked armor blurred into being before them with a slow, deep chuckle. She would have known that laugh from a league away. "Never content to do things quietly, are you, sister?"
The voice gave her pause, and Maera felt herself grow very still. Once, he had been the stuff of nightmares. Once, he had lurked in the corners of her mind, the ogre, the demon, the source of every horror. Once, she had hated him so, she had feared she would burst apart from the rage. She searched within for the fear and anger and found none. The place in her emotions once inhabited by Sarevok Anchev was curiously empty. "Not that I'm surprised to see you in hell, Sarevok, but what are you doing here?"
"I sensed you coming. And I wanted to know what manner of creature you have become since you killed me."
Sarevok. Her opposite. Her antithesis. Her enemy. She pushed again at the place in her mind where he had once loomed, and found only the memory of pulling her blade from his body, lightheaded from blood loss and exhaustion, her hand so slick with blood that Varscona's hilt slipped from her grasp. She had been so sure then that it could not be over, but time and distance had done their work, as inexorably as water on rock. And rather than flooding back, it seemed as if she saw it all through a window. Killing him had not been the end, as she had thought it would be. It had simply been a passage, one she had experienced, and moved beyond. She shrugged.
"I am the creature you see."
A slow smile spread over Sarevok's ghostly face. "But I sense the taint that has touched you. You have become the Slayer. I long wished for such a union with our father's darkness, but I never could achieve it. Show it to me. Let me live vicariously…if you'll pardon the expression."
Maera folded her arms. "If you'd like a performance, there's a very nice playhouse in the Five Flagons Inn in Athkatla. But aside from dropping a few names, I can't help you."
His lips twitched. "What is this? Did your old mockery grow stale? Come now," he said, his voice growing smooth in that unctuous, all too familiar way, "you cannot tell me it was an experience not worth replicating."
He had a point. Nothing in her life could ever match the furious, blood-singing glory of becoming the Slayer. And in equal turn, nothing could match the horror of its aftermath. She found that she would much more happily accept the confines the mortal form placed on such sensations, rather than face such a precipitous rise and fall ever again. "I'm told jumping off a building is quite a high too, but some experiences really aren't worth the price you have to pay for them."
He leaned forward, eyes narrowed to hard slits. "What makes you so superior now? I knew you from the beginning. I killed your precious Gorion, and I sought your death. I saw murder in your eyes the night you slew me. Show me that I was murdered by Bhaal's true heir!"
Arrogance was the common theme, she thought. Irenicus thought his plans so grand he was elevated above her grasp, and Sarevok still thought himself her greatest enemy. And neither could conceive that she might disagree. "If you're looking for some sort of cosmic validation for your death, Sarevok, you've come to the wrong person. The books are balanced and the slate is clean. We're even now. And honestly, I feel a little sorry for you that you have nothing better to do with your afterlife than try to restart old fights."
"You pity me?" he snarled. "How insulting."
"If you'd like to feel insulted, go ahead. I won't stop you. But the truth is, I'm not here for you. I have business with someone else, and when that's concluded, I'm sort of hoping I'll be able to leave." She touched Imoen's shoulder and they began to walk past him. As she drew even with him, she paused to add, "Sorry to disappoint you, Sarevok, but we're finished."
Sarevok's form began to waver and fade, but as he melted into the darkness, he whispered, "You and I will never be finished, sister."
Boo had assured him that despite Dynaheir's death, a glorious warrior's afterlife was not out of the question, so Minsc was just the tiniest bit nonplussed to realize he was headed in quite the opposite direction when he died. But then it struck him (somewhat slowly, but with great force, as most of his thoughts did) who he was following, and then it was all right. For by her side was the best place to be if one desired to put the boot to villainy's various and sundry parts, and Minsc had never wanted more or less than just that. If she wasn't done buttkicking, neither was he.
The tingling had never really gone away. She had simply adapted to it, to the point she could almost ignore it now. But slowly, she became aware of another sensation; a feeling of reaching, of stretching, of holding out one's hand and knowing that at any moment, it would be taken. She stopped, and closed her eyes, concentrating on the faint impression, trying to pull it to the forefront of her mind. Imoen watched her, her eyes concerned. "Mae? What's wrong?"
It was close now. It reminded her of waking up when she was very small, when she still slept in Gorion's room, comforted by the knowledge of his presence, even if she could not see him. "Don't you feel it, Im?"
And they were there. Kelsey, and Jaheira, and Minsc, suddenly in front of her as though they had been all along. Maera gaped at them. "Well," Kelsey said, looking around with disquieted surprise, "this was not quite what I was expecting."
Maera's jaw continued to brush the rocky floor as Imoen threw herself joyfully into the nearest pair of arms she could find. "I am so glad to see you guys! How did you get here?"
Jaheira returned the Imoen's embrace gently, but her eyes were on Maera's stunned face. "It would appear our destinies are more closely entwined to Maera's than we knew. I, for one, am at peace with that."
Maera reached out slowly to touch Kelsey's cheek, swallowing hard as her gloved fingers made contact with his skin. "I don't understand," she whispered, then let out a breathless squeak of surprise as Minsc gathered her into a huge hug.
"We heard you calling, and we came," he said happily, squeezing her hard against a chest that would have been like steel plate even if he hadn't been wearing armor. "We had to! If we do not wear the boots of Justice often enough, we will get blisters."
Kelsey caught her arm, carefully extricating her from the big ranger's grip. He flashed her a half-smile, and shrugged. "Love's a funny thing." He wrinkled his nose, and Maera realized that while she had had time to be accustomed to the smell of the place, it was assaulting the others for the first time. She felt a sudden urge to apologize profusely, but she instead extended her arms in a small and sarcastic "ta da!".
"Welcome to hell," she said.
Jaheira clenched and loosened her fist about her staff, an absent, thoughtful gesture. "So Irenicus has come here. And carried you along in his wake." Maera nodded. "Then logic would dictate we must find him."
"How do we do that?" Imoen asked. "This place isn't exactly the most straightforward. We could probably walk around for hours and find ourselves right back here."
"Metaphysical place," Maera said slowly, tapping her temple. "Just have to think metaphysically." She closed her eyes.
She concentrated on the buzz. It was her soul she felt causing the cicada-like thrum, stretched between her and Irenicus like an impossibly fine cord. She realized it had been that line she had been following since Spellhold, feeling it tug her along as she stumbled through the Underdark, snapping her back to Suldenesellar. And when they had died, the tie remained, and there was only one way to break it. She reached out for the thread that connected them, and pulled.
The line went slack, and then she heard his voice in her mind. I cannot be rid of you even here!
No, you can't. She tightened her mental grip. We end this, Irenicus. Face me.
He stood before them, flanked by a pair of demons, a corona of shadows engulfing him that almost looked like the Slayer, like the imperfect tracing of a familiar image. He stretched one dark-limned hand, studying it. "Strange. I had not thought of the other, more extreme uses of the power in your soul, Maera. I was thinking only of its benefits for my immediate work, but there is so much more. I was rather shortsighted, I will admit." He lowered his hand, and his mouth curved in a caricature of a smile that made her gorge rise. "You may choose to hide away the very source of your strength, but I embrace it!"
"I like to think I'm greater than the sum of my parts," she retorted. "You said it yourself. You can't be rid of me. Haven't you figured out by now I will go anywhere to finish this?"
Pure contempt oozed through the air between them. "And when yet have you beaten me, girl? When have you even come close? You are persistent, yes, but I have taken from you, and I have killed you. Continuing on is folly and madness, and you know that."
Maera inhaled to make a hot reply, but Kelsey spoke first. "But the thing you're not saying," he said quietly, "is that you haven't beaten her yet either. Because if you had, she wouldn't be here right now. None of us would. And you know that."
"We have followed her here because we believe in her," Jaheira added. "But you stand alone, even with your toadies." She dismissed the demons with a scornful jerk of her chin. "Enough anger has been wasted on you. I believe I can kill you now as I would a rabid beast – to put you out of your misery."
A snarl of rage rose from Irenicus's throat, and Maera recognized that sound. The Slayer was working on him, stoking the fires of his anger past their natural boundaries. And as she knew all too well, anger was frequently stupid.
"They're right, you know. Your one mistake in this whole mess was thinking I was disposable. Well, you wouldn't be the first to underestimate me, and I doubt you'll be the last, but you won't be around to find out, because it's your part that's over now. Joneleth." He sucked in a quick, furious breath, and she glanced at her companions, the people who loved her enough to risk Hell for her. There was no need to verbalize a battle plan. They knew what she needed to do. So she charged.
Irenicus blocked her first swing with his shadowy forearm. "How dare you…" he growled. "You take a moment's suffering and think that it makes you my equal. You know nothing of what I have endured."
She mentally reached for the thread of her soul again, and timed her tug on it with her next stroke. He howled as Daystar's blade bit deep. "Here's the thing – I don't care," she said as she reeled in the line tighter. "There is nothing for you to justify or defend. You can't break me now." She swung again, and the almost-Slayer shadows fizzled.
To her left and right, her party had paired off and engaged the demons. Jaheira stood within a glowing shield of Imoen's creation, her staff a blur as she pummeled her target, and Minsc roared with fierce joy as a bolt of lightning left Kelsey's hands, scorching the air. Maera couldn't watch them for long, but she knew that with them by her side, she could afford to give her focus solely to Irenicus. She wasn't sure she would even know what it felt like to doubt them now.
Irenicus, having figured out the trick to their mental tug-of-war, pulled back, and she quickly brought Daystar up just in time to block a swipe of his arm, sheathed in Slayer-shadowed claws. His other arm moved, driving her back, scoring her armor deeply. She spared a quarter second to glance down - another strike would bring blood. She seized the thread again, unwilling to lose the rhythm. Pull and swing, pull and swing, pull and...
He had abandoned his magic, she noted, and she struggled not to laugh in his face for it. The Slayer was a poor crutch indeed, as she knew all too well. Certainly, it made one feel invincible, but feeling and being were rarely the same thing. She felt him pull again; where would he strike next? High? Low? To her left? He swung again, and she gambled, ducking low. The passage of his clawed hand over her head parted her hair, and she felt feel his anger stoked hotter. Pull. Pull back. Pull and swing.
"HA HA!" Minsc crowed in jubilation, giving his sword a final thrust into the heart of the demon before him, its black blood shining on his dented armor. The creature screamed and shuddered in its death throes, and Maera smiled grimly. Pull and swing...
Imoen's voice carried over the sound of combat as the demon's clawed forefoot caught Jaheira across the torso, knocking her to the rough floor. She hesitated as she tried to regain her feet; something had broken in her landing. But before Maera had time to falter, Imoen was moving. "Kelsey!" Without missing a beat, he turned, and raised his hands. A sheet of fire rose between the demon and the druid, and Imoen raced to her side to help her stand once more as Minsc roared towards his new target.
She should have known better than to worry about them.
She reached for the cord again, just as she could feel Irenicus do the same. And for an instant, weapons were meaningless, physical motion unnecessary. She met his eyes, and she could see to the his very core, burning away with his stolen fire. His mind was strong, hardened and honed by years of disciplined rage. But he was still a mortal being, and in her dreams, she had faced gods. Gorion had always told her that her most dangerous weapon was within, and it was not until after his death that she had come to understand what he meant. With a final jerk, she pulled again, and this time Irenicus physically lurched towards her, directly into the path of her blade. She brought Daystar up; her arms moved without conscious thought, the motion as natural and reflexive as breathing. She ran him through almost to the hilt, his face inches from her own. He stared at her, eyes clouded with pain and some strange mix of wounded disappointment. "I…was so close…" he rasped.
"Believe that if it gives you comfort," she said softly. She placed her left hand on his chest, and the last remaining vestiges of her soul within him flowed back into her. Irenicus slumped over her sword, and she dropped to her knees, unable to support the weight. The surviving demon, grievously wounded, fled as Irenicus fell, and Maera was suddenly so tired she could barely lift her head.
"Maera?" She heard Jaheira's voice. "Maera…you are glowing."
She looked down at her hands, turning them over, and chuckled tiredly. "So I am." Something with her stretched and pushed, and her body suddenly did not seem big enough for the forces it contained. It's almost time, the voice of her Slayer-self hissed. Alaundo was talking about you, you know. What will you do when the time comes? What will you become?
"I really don't like it here," she mumbled. Then blessed darkness claimed her. | English | NL | 77bb729e38f01de763721389d8df05b96e82bc391fab46458ac7c6929e9d980c |
David Sligh has worked with perseverance and enthusiasm for more than 35 years to protect streams and water quality and to make government regulators responsive to the public. He is a strong advocate and is always ready to give citizens advice and encouragement in fighting battles for clean water. He is devoted to pushing for ever stronger and more creative use of the Clean Water Act. David has worked as a government regulator and for non-profits on every level: as a volunteer leading local grassroots citizen groups, executive director of a watershed group, a Riverkeeper, and a representative of national and state advocacy groups. David currently serves as Conservation Director for Wild Virginia and has a consulting business, through which he has worked for numerous non-profits as a lawyer, a technical analyst, and an expert witness, and has contributed hundreds of hours of his time each year for the last 6 years. He has worked on water quality issues in 10 states and the District of Columbia. | English | NL | c3a2c778db44002a0ba7657093de986778b042e4812690cf67f3f462c6981bc2 |
He was the eldest son of the Ottoman Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent and his consort, Mahidevran Sultan.
He was the prince-governor of Manisa from 1533-1541 A.D. of Masya from 1541-49 A.D. and of Konya 1549 to 1553 A.D.
Sehzade Mustafa was the apparent heir to the Ottoman throne and a popular prince among the army, prior to his execution by order of his father, which later he regretted. Mustafa had problems with his father at an early point in his life.
He was the first born son, so it was apparent that he would ascend to the throne, but according to some historians, there was more interest in Mustafa’s younger half-brother known as Sehzade Mehmed eldest son of Hurrem sultan the most prominent of Suleiman consort and legal wife.
Suleiman created more support for the younger one and appeared to prepare him for the throne. This displeased Mustafa even the whole people support him and the many sisters of Suleiman’s support prince Mustafa.
Mustafa was very close with his brother Mehmed and Selim II, which this shows by Selim II treated Mahidevran like own mother during her last years and build Mustafa’s tombs at Bursa.
Another shocking fact to mention that Mustafa was sent to Amasya from the more prominent Manisa.
The rue was given to his younger half-brother Mehmed.
However when mustafa was sent to Amasya, Suleiman had sent him a letter explaining he sent him to Amasya to learn how to order the east coast o the ottoman empire and manage a large Empire. This edict and relieved the ottoman army because Sehzade Mustafa was the popular successor to the throne.
Sometime later his younger half-brother had died known as Mehmed which upset him deeply.
Rustem Pasha told Prince Mustafa to join them at the camp but later Rustem manage to persuade Suleiman he son was coming to kill him
When Mustafa enter his father tent went to meet his father, but Suleimans guards attacked Mustafa after a long struggle they killed him using a bow-string. | English | NL | 8f7e45514c555f7cc4aeb096c628168e7a93e431e0ed6d9bbafae5b26acc9602 |
Xuan Tian Hua Is a Special Existence in This World
The ice zither was made using thousand-year-old ice, thus it would not melt even if placed under the bright sun on a Summer day. The strings were made of silk from an ice silkworm. Every time the strings vibrated, a cold fog would arise, and the people listening to the instrument would be covered in a layer of frost, causing them to step back.
Xuan Tian Ming told Feng Yu Heng: “Seventh brother’s ice zither was made five years ago. The structure of that zither is not of the same level of Qian Zhou’s thousand-year ice. instead, it is an ice essence from the center of the North Pole. There is only one piece like this in the world, and seventh brother got it.” While speaking, he looked toward Xuan Tian Hua, shrugging and smiling, “But he has never been willing to say how he managed to retrieve such a piece of ice.”
Feng Yu Heng became interested and looked up at Xuan Tian Hua, pleading for Xuan Tian Hua to tell about how he had come across the piece of ice. Xuan Tian Hua, however, just shook his head, only saying: “The origin is difficult. It’s fine if it isn’t mentioned.”
Xuan Tian Ming had guessed that this would be the outcome and did not seem to be particularly disappointed, saying: “Ever since this zither was brought back, seventh brother has only played it in front of others once. That one time it was played, everyone that was listening ended up covered in frost. After the song ended, a palace servant brought a brazier to warm the people up.”
Feng Yu Heng clicked her tongue upon hearing this, “How is that a zither. That’s clearly a weapon. The rumor of ancient people being able to kill people with a single sound, but it seems that seventh brother has this ability?”
Xuan Tian Hua only smiled faintly but did not reply. She, however, saw a look of acknowledgment in his smile. The admiration and curiosity in her heart could not help but be increased by a bit.
While they spoke, there were servants that brought a long wooden box into the yard. Feng Yu Heng noticed that they were not normal servants. Instead, they were experts from the Chun Palace. But even if they were experts like these, when they brought up the box covered in a layer of frost, their bodies still trembled.
It was not that they could not carry it. It was because it was cold. Although the icy aura coming from the ice zither would not spread, for a layer of frost to cover things in a small radius was normal. With the wooden box being frozen in ice, those people were effectively carrying a block of ice. The difficulty could be imagined.
Finally, the wooden box was placed on the wooden table, and Xuan Tian Ming took the initiative to splash it with wine. Feng Yu Heng leaned forward to bring her face closer to the wooden box. A strong cold force rushed over, causing her to shiver.
“Be careful.” Xuan Tian Hua reminded, “This ice essence is cold. If you’re caught off guard, you’ll be shocked.”
Feng Yu Heng, however, did not feel too cold. She even reached out to touch the box. Feeling it, she felt a cold enter her body, but it was very comfortable. “Very good.” She said, “It’s very comfortable.”
The two revealed a shocked expression with Xuan Tian Hua saying: “To be able to say that the cold coming from this ice zither is comfortable, you’re the first person aside from me.”
“Really?” Feng Yu Heng rejoiced. She then looked toward Xuan Tian Ming with a look of provocation.
Xuan Tian Ming smiled bitterly, “This girl will show off as soon as she is given any benefits. She has never known the word modesty.” While speaking, he went forward and pulled the little girl back a few steps then simply sat cross-legged on the ground.
Xuan Tian Hua also used inner strength to melt the frost on the box and open it. He then retrieved the ice zither from the box. No longer sitting at the table, he carried the zither and also sat on the ground. Placing the instrument on his knees, he looked at the two and faintly smiled. Moving his hands to the strings, a crisp sound rose, and a cold air filled the courtyard.
Xuan Tian Ming looked at Feng Yu Heng with a bit of concern to see if she could endure it or not. He, however, saw that the girl was staring straight at the zither. Not only did she not look uncomfortable, but she also moved a bit closer. She then reached out and took a deep breath, saying without concealing anything: “The cold is really comfortable.”
The two princes laughed loudly, saying that A-Heng was more astonishing than this ice zither.
For someone that had no knowledge of ancient songs, Feng Yu heng could not tell what sort of song Xuan Tian Hua was playing, but melodies were still the same. She could still tell whether something sounded good or not. Xuan Tian Hua’s zither was the best in the world. She had heard it before; however, listening to it on the ice zither brought it to a new height.
The ice zither’s reputation was well-deserved. Even Xuan Tian Ming and Feng Yu Heng had their hair covered in a layer of frost after a single song was completed. Even their eyelashes were frozen; however, this did not affect the actions of the two. There was also no sense of the cold penetrating their bodies. It was the ground covered in Autumn leaves that gradually became white. Autumn had become Winter, causing a mysterious change in seasons.
Xuan Tian Hua played the zither while Xuan Tian Ming and Feng Yu Heng drank wine. Gradually, Feng Yu Heng’s tipsiness surged forth. Without caring for Xuan Tian Hua’s melody she began to sing a song. This song caused the two princes to feel astonished, as they had never heard it before. Feng Yu Heng’s free and natural singing was not something that existed in this world. It could not be grasped or felt. Even for an expert at the zither like Xuan Tian Hua, it still required a large amount of time to barely manage to harmonize with her melody; however, without knowing it, this harmony created the most beautiful sound in the world.
“When will the moon be clear and bright, asking the dark sky with a cup of wine in my hand. In the heavens on this night, I wonder what season it would be…” She continued to sing until: “May all be blessed with longevity, so we may share the moon’s beauty though we are a thousand miles apart.”* The little girl’s voice became quieter and quieter. Xuan Tian Ming looked over. Very well, this girl had gotten drunk and was about to fall asleep.
Xuan Tian Hua wanted for her to remain awake, asking: “What lyrics are those? It’s really beautiful.”
Feng Yu Heng, however, was not foolish. Smiling, she said to them: “It was taught by my Persian master! I’m the only one that knows them.” After saying this, she tilted her head and fell asleep.
The sound of the zither stopped, and Xuan Tian Ming hugged the person that had fallen asleep in his lap; however, he heard Xuan Tian Hua say: “That Persian master that she speaks of will cause trouble sooner or later. I’ve gone to Persia. Where was there anything of that nature?”
Xuan Tian Ming sighed and said: “I’ve also considered this matter before. It’s just that there is no better way to resolve this for the time being. She has never talked about what happened to her. Although I am very clear that she is different from other people, I can only do my best to try and hide it from others.”
“I just fear that it will be used by someone with ulterior motives.” Xuan Tian Hua had a concerned look on his face, but there was nothing that he could do. He could only smile bitterly toward the person that had passed out from being drunk, saying sincerely: “I just hope that everything goes well.”
That night, the two remained in the Chun Palace. When Xuan Tian Ming carried her to a bed, he heard the little person in his embrace drowsily wake up and say: “I heard everything that you two said. Thank you.” Her eyes then drooped, and she fell asleep.
He really wanted to wake the person up and talk for awhile, but this girl had drunk the most wine. How could she possibly wake up so easily. He also could not fall asleep, thus he simply put her down then went to the wander around in the yard.
When he wandered over to the small bamboo forest in the palace, he found that Xuan Tian Hua was still there. The white moonlight shone on the green bamboo and upon the figure in white. Even Xuan Tian Ming had to admit that this scene was no different from a paradise.
The person in the forest saw him walk over and said with a smile: “It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten any exercise. Ming’er, accompany seventh brother for a few rounds.”
Of course, Xuan Tian Ming was happy to do so and immediately pulled out a flexible sword to face off against Xuan Tian Hua’s fan. Like this, they began to weave through the bamboo forest.
Xuan Tian Hua was most proficient in music, and he never used martial arts against others; however, there was nobody that suspected that he did not know martial arts at all. There was also nobody that believed that his martial arts would be weak. On the contrary, he was recognized in the world as a deity. There existed a feeling in their hearts that everything the seventh prince, Xuan Tian Hua, did was right. Everything that he did, he would be like a deity. If a deity said that he knew martial arts, how could this be fake despite it never being used.
And in this world, there was nobody that knew Xuan Tian Hua better than the ninth prince Xuan Tian Ming.
When experts exchanged blows, there would be times when they would not be physical blows. Instead, they would be with energy. The sword would not strike the fan, instead hitting an aura coming from the fan. A god of war in purple robes and a deity in white robes moved about. Even the moonlight lost a bit of its original luster.
Finally, the fight came to an end in a draw. Xuan Tian Ming sighed: “In this world, who would know that your Highness the seventh prince, Xuan Tian Hua, would actually be so proficient.”
Xuan Tian Hua replied: “In this world, who would know that your Highness the ninth prince, Xuan Tian Ming, would not be inferior to me.”
The two laughed loudly then gradually got closer to each other before standing together.
“Seventh brother, were there any happy encounters on your trip to the East?” Xuan Tian Ming leaned against some bamboo and asked him.
Xuan Tian Hua smiled bitterly, “There was no shortage of adventures. First, mother suddenly appeared from under my seat in my carriage. Then, Zi Rui and that little girl appeared in Fu Zhou. Say, don’t you think these are considered happy encounters?”
Xuan Tian Ming shook his head, “You know that I’m not asking about that.”
A silence suddenly came between the two. In the end, it was Xuan Tian Ming that spoke up, “Aside from her, I can give you anything else in this world, seventh brother.”
The person across from him frowned but said: “Ming’er, aside from her, I can ask for anything from you in this world. Only she is off-limits.” While speaking, he waved his hand with a look of a banished deity, “You know that normal matters will have a hard time slowing me down. Seventh brother will speak truthfully tonight. Even if it’s A-Heng, this balance cannot be disrupted. As for me, whether it’s you or A-Heng, or even if it’s father Emperor and imperial concubine mother, don’t make any requests of me. I will help you protect this country for half of my life. Once it’s stable, I will leave. The world is large. Without settling down in any one place, that is my fate.”
Xuan Tian Ming was naturally able to understand, and he was also able to understand what Xuan Tian Hua was asking for. This person should never be looked at from a normal perspective. His thoughts did not just encompass himself. Even for Xuan Tian Ming, there were times when he could not understand him.
“Go back and sleep.” Xuan Tian Hua quickly urged him, “Seventh brother will stay here alone for a while.”
The war god in purple robes left, leaving the deity in white robes to remain in the forest on his own. Just like when he had not yet come, there was one person, one forest and one moon. Who knew if the moon was illuminating the forest or if the person’s heart was yearning for the moon, but it felt as if it was all one entity. At the same time, they were also separate.
Xuan Tian Hua was destined to be a very unique existence.
At around noon the next day, a certain person finally woke up from their drunken sleep. They just felt a piercing headache, and they could not help but let out a yelp.
Her memory was foggy from drinking, and she called for Huang Quan to get some water to drink. Reaching out to the side with her hand, she bumped into a person.
She felt the eyes, nose and mouth then sniffed. Un, it was a familiar scent. Thus lifted the sheets and shouted: “Little Ming, go and fetch some tea for this imperial daughter.”
*TN: The song FYH sang is based on a poem from the Song dynasty. | English | NL | 4d4423ba933106d96fc7b190ed51b777b4bf89e63e7992b08e54120b8a87a545 |
Today I would like to offer you a small extract from my, hopefully, soon to be published short story, A Walk in the Park. It’s a very short paranormal tale of a man who dreams his own destiny.
Rick heard the whining as he reached his front door after a day at work that had dragged until time slowed to almost stop. He’d named the dog, Heathcliffe, just so he could call the name out in the park. He’d toyed with other names, not so savoury nor as polite, but just as funny. But the shaggy mongrel with the mostly black coat had suited the name, Heathcliffe. So that had stuck. He’d rescued Heathcliffe from the local animal shelter, a skinny, scruffy mutt with adorable eyes, and since then the dog had filled out into a delightful companion who followed Rick everywhere and pined when left alone.
Today it was raining and Rick wished he could stay at home, curled on his large, blue sofa in front of the television on a quiet road on one of the new estates springing up around Wingate. Instead, the dog had been sitting by the door as he arrived home from work. Heathcliffe had his leash clamped firmly in his mouth and seemed to be grinning, teeth bared and panting with his tongue lolling. His huge brown eyes wide and ears perked up. Well, one perked, the other never quite made it, the one with just a sprinkle of white on the tip.
Rick reached down and the leash was placed carefully into his hand. He hung it back on the hook. “Let me get changed first? I suppose a drink and something to eat is out of the question?”
The dog barked, just once. Rick shrugged. “I thought not.” Heathcliffe followed him to the bedroom, waiting expectantly in the doorway while Rick got changed. The dog’s nose brushed the side of his leg as he went into his kitchen to grab a chocolate bar and his trainers. A glance out of the window made Rick reach for his coat but he thought the sky was brightening a little. He laced his trainers up tightly, and Heathcliffe was waiting by the door with his favourite, chewed, slobber soaked, tennis ball in his mouth. “Come on then.” Rick fastened the leash and took the dog out.
Thank you for taking the time to read, and to spend with Rick and Heathcliffe.
Views – 1012 | English | NL | daf05d6b84d163eee6064e5f0e9008faf321862f0f4d0f2352a8bb9b08078be4 |
RABENBURG, Carl 1834-1924
Posted By: Tammy (email)
Date: 3/13/2015 at 18:23:23
Carl Rabenburg Passed Away After Short Sickness
Carl Rabenburg died at his home in Woden Monday forenoon. He was confined to his bed but two weeks before the end came. A slight stroke which he suffered two weeks ago together with his old age was the cause of his death.
Funeral services were held at Woden yesterday afternoon. Rev. Sinning from Grundy Center went up to officiate at this service. The remains are being sent to Grundy county and they will reach Holland on the afternoon train today. They will be taken from there to Drake's church in Colfax township where services will be held. The remains will be laid by the side of his first wife in the cemetery at Drake's church.
Mr. Rabenburg was one of Grundy county's pioneers. He came to this county fifty-five yeas ago and located on a farm in German township. Four years later he bought a small farm in Lincoln township and moved there and made that his home until he retired from the farm 23 years ago. He moved to Grundy Center at that time and remained here until four years ago when he moved to Woden.
Mr. Rabenburg was born in Noordmore, Germany on Sept. 18th, 1834 and would have been 90 years old on his next birthday. He was married in the old country and shortly after he and his wife and his younger brother John came to this country. They located at Stephenson county, Ill. where they remained two years when they came to Grundy county.
Mr. Rabenburg's first wife died forty-two years ago. He married a second time and the wife from this union survives. Aside from the wife his son Tom who lives in Canada and who is the only living child from the first union survives. There are four children living from the second union. They are Mrs. Henry Kruse, Mrs. Grace Sparenborg and John all of who live a Woden. The other son Carl lives in Washington state. John the surviving brother lives in this county.
--The Grundy Register (Grundy Center, Iowa), 7 August 1924, pg 1
Grundy Obituaries maintained by Tammy D. Mount.
WebBBS 4.33 Genealogy Modification Package by WebJourneymen | English | NL | edf3a7c243d520c851bdfb4e7fab607c89084ed9d564ab986dae6ddc0f8ef3e0 |
Marion's Mid-ocean Secret
MARION'S MID-OCEAN SECRET.
The Pacific liner Southern Cross was steaming out of the harbor of Honolulu, westward bound, after one day's break in her long voyage to the Orient. As the tropical city and its palm-gardens vanished behind Diamond Head, a girl in her early teens walked forward along the promenade deck and said laughingly:
"You must be worn out, admiral. You did give me such a good time ashore, and I never let you rest, did I?"
The grizzled old sailor, who was for once a passenger, freed of sea cares, caressed the rumpled brown head and said:
"Well, when a young lady, not quite sixteen, is going all the way to Manila by herself to cheer up a lonely daddy, we old folks ought to take good care of her. Your grandfather and I were midshipmen together at the Naval Academy, Marion, and—and if my boy had lived—well, he died when he was just your age. But you did give my rheumatics a pretty stiff program yesterday. Winding up with that swim in the surf was the last straw."
Marion Coxe courtesied her thanks and pretended to be busily counting on her fingers.
"Goodness!" she rippled. "And I'm not half through thanking people. There's dear old Mrs. Walters. Why, she chaperoned me to the band concert last night, and she was up at six o'clock this morning to get me started down to Waikiki Beach; and there's the young man who's so near-sighted that I had to keep him from getting run over while he thought he was taking care of me. And, let me see; there's Captain Holt of the Southern Cross! He sent to my room an armful of Hawaiian flowers, and—I'm a very lucky girl, admiral."
The admiral smiled at her enthusiasm and said to himself as she ran away to seek her other lavish friends:
"People are nice to her because she's as—good and sweet as she is pretty. And now she's all her father has left. She's been a little trump to stay in boarding-school these two years, and then sail off alone across the Pacific when her daddy couldn't do without her a minute longer."
Marion had dreaded this voyage. It seemed so long to be at sea—a whole month—among strangers, all bound for the other side of the world. But with a brave heart she had boarded the Southern Cross at San Francisco to find that all her fears were foolish. Her fellow passengers soon learned her story, and were anxious to be her friends, guardians, and playmates. But, alas! many of them had left the ship at Honolulu, and her jolly company was partly disbanded. The little pilgrim was feeling somewhat sad and forlorn under her gay manner.
And on the next day out she had her first fit of the "blues." She stole up in the bow to be by herself. Three weeks more at sea, she thought; and, oh! the Pacific was so endless, and the ship seemed such a speck in this rolling waste of blue water and dazzle of cloudless sky. While she brooded there, a sudden thought made her jump to her feet, and dimpling smiles chased the frowns away. It was such a big thought that she wondered how she could have forgotten it for a whole week. She started to run aft, then checked the impulse, put a finger to her lips, and whispered to herself:
"I won't say a word to anybody. It will be a surprise—and such a stunner, too! I must have been awfully busy to let it slide clear out of my mind. And only three days more—isn't that splendid?"
That evening, while the admiral was strolling thirteen times around the deck in his routine daily exercise, Marion joined him, and tucking her hand under his arm, confided:
"Admiral, can you keep a secret? Well, you're not going to have a chance. But I have a surprise, and don't you wish you could guess? If I was a poor little navy lieutenant, you'd growl at me, 'Produce your secret or consider yourself under arrest,' wouldn't you? But I can mutiny all I please."
Before the admiral could clear his throat and make reply, she was flitting aft to find Mrs. Walters. That elderly lady became much excited at the dark hints of mystery, and called to her aid Captain Holt, who was enjoying the twilight hour away from his duties in the chart-room and on the bridge.
These two caught Marion in a corner and threatened to put her in irons if she did not explain her awful secret. But she slipped away and fled to play backgammon with the near-sighted young man who needed companionship.
Next day a score of passengers shared the interest in Marion's surprise, and all sorts of guesses were made, with no light from that perplexing young will-o'-the-wisp. The ship was four days out from Honolulu when the company met at breakfast with Marion so rosily elated that Mrs. Walters looked over her glasses with an air of: "What's that child up to now?"
The young girl's merriment coaxed the admiral into rumbling laughter which threatened to split the seams of his white blouse. He was trying to tell Captain Holt a whaling yarn, and got only as far as this:
"I told the skipper, when he came aboard my gunboat, that he was sure to be nipped in the ice if he went after that whale. You know, captain, how the current sets along that part of the Bering coast?"
But bright-eyed Marion could no longer keep her precious secret to herself, and called out:
"Please excuse me, admiral. It's cruel to leave your poor whaler out there in the ice, but I simply must give you, one and all, a piece of news of the greatest importance to me. This is the twenty-ninth of February by my calendar, which has been torn to tatters counting the months and weeks. And this is my birthday, and I haven't had a single birthday in eight years. Isn't that awful? Nineteen hundred was not a leap-year, and I was passed rudely by with no twenty-ninth of February. So I've been waiting for this year of Nineteen hundred and four ever since I was a wee little tot, eight years old. I don't believe I slept a wink last night. Wasn't it worth keeping—a secret like that—to surprise you with?"
All hands were as much surprised as she could have hoped. But upon the captain and the admiral the news made a fairly stunning impression. Captain Holt's deep-tanned face seemed to bleach, his jaw dropped, and he stared at the happy girl as if his ship were on fire and sinking. As for the admiral, he looked as sheepish as if he had been caught pilfering an orchard fifty years before. Marion looked at them with wondering eyes. They did not seem as delighted as she had a right to expect of two such stanch friends. Then Captain Holt stammered feebly:
"Many happy returns of the day, Miss Marion. I'm delighted. I never heard anything like it. But—but—you haven't got any birthday. You have lost it. I mean I lost it for you. I dropped it overboard at midnight. You see, we have just crossed the Hundred and eightieth meridian of longitude. Going west, we gain a whole day on the sun crossing the Pacific, and to keep the calendar from getting mixed up, why, we have to drop a day right out. Yesterday was the twenty-eighth of February, and to-day is the first of March. And there isn't any twenty-ninth of February at all. I never meant to do it, honestly. I'd have dropped myself overboard first."
Poor Marion's eyes filled with tears that could not be held back, as she sobbed:
"Oh! oh! and I won't have a birthday in t-w-e-l-v-e years! I must go all the way from eight years old to twenty without a birthday! It's cruel of you. You lost my birthday on purpose. How could you be so careless?"
She fled to the deck without looking behind her, and the admiral was so disturbed that he left his poor whaler nipped in the ice and forgot all about him. Mrs. Walters looked at him with stern reproof in her gaze.
"Don't blame me, madam," exclaimed the admiral. "There's the guilty man. I noticed this morning that we had skipped from Sunday to Tuesday, but I had nothing to do with it."
"Then you ought to have known better, Captain Holt," said Mrs. Walters, with great severity. "You've gone and broken that poor child's heart with your foolish navigation folderols. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
The captain dodged any more explanation, and sought the bridge. Mrs. Walters went to the door of Marion's state-room, and found it locked. After persistent knocking, there came from within a tearful wail:
"Please let me alone. I've lost my beautiful birthday, after waiting eight years for it; and I'll be an old lady before the next one comes round. I'm not coming out again to-day."
These sad tidings were carried to the admiral, and he passed them along to Captain Holt, who was fairly wrapped in gloom. Later in the day these two veteran mariners held a long council in the chart-room, after which the admiral bustled aft, as if he had important business in hand. Through the afternoon Mrs. Walters became very busy among the passengers, the admiral puffed to and fro as an errand-boy, and the near-sighted young man tried to help and got in everybody's way.
Poor little Marion had come out of her retreat as far as the library, and was curled up on a sofa picking out the saddest pages of "A Tale of Two Cities," to fit her reading to her mood.
She was finally persuaded to go down to dinner, where much sympathy was showered upon her. But she remained quite crushed and silent. When the coffee had been finished, Captain Holt arose with much dignity and offered his arm to the pensive girl. She drew back indignantly, but just then the admiral winked at her from across the table, and she accepted the escort. The captain led the way up the main staircase, while the other passengers trailed behind them. On the cabin wall at the head of the stairs was posted the chart on which was traced the day's run of the ship, and beneath this was the date. But some one had pasted a slip of paper over the captain's figures, and in bold handwriting Marion now read:
"February 29, 1904."
"It's just for to-night," explained the captain. "That's the admiral's work. At sea we commanders can drop days and pick them up again if they're badly needed for an emergency. Our word is law."
Marion smiled for the first time since breakfast. Something was in the wind, and she obediently followed her escort's lead to the after promenade deck. Then she uttered a little cry of astonished joy. Willing hands had worked wonders. The whole space was inclosed with gay bunting, like a fairy bower. Captain Holt had ransacked his lockers for signal-flags, and these curtained in the deck, while stars and stripes, union jacks, and trailing pennants made a new ceiling beneath the awnings.
Signal-lamps and strings of Chinese lanterns, in fantastic dragon shapes, glowed against the beams and stanchions. Sailors had even hoisted the piano from the deck below. Grandest of all, there flamed in incandescent-light bulbs from the rear of this beautiful out-door room the welcoming motto:
"Oh!" gasped Marion. "My two birthdays at last! Will you ever forgive me?"
"We did the best we could to make up for carelessness," said the captain, with a twinkle in his eye. "Here comes the admiral. He outranks me. He'll take care of you now."
The admiral led the bewildered girl to a flag-draped chair in the middle of this little fairyland of hers. Then six Chinese sailors shuffled in, bearing on their shoulders a huge cake, blazing with sixteen candles. After them came a file of stewards with violins, a cornet, two guitars, and a clarinet. They assembled themselves around the piano, Mrs. Walters bravely advanced to the keyboard, and the musicians merrily struck up, "Nancy Lee."
Then the admiral made a speech, and the captain made a speech, and the second mate did some wonderful tricks with cards, a sailor's sheath-knife, three oranges, and two empty bottles.
The fourth officer, who was also off duty, danced a sailors' hornpipe with the most finished grace, and a quartet of young men bound on a round-the-world tour sang old Yale and Harvard songs with long-drawn and melodious chords.
Presto! and the deck was cleared of chairs by the agile Chinese sailors, and the orchestra swung into a "two-step." The admiral whirled away with Marion, Captain Holt grasped stout Mrs. Walters, and the other passengers found partners in no time.
When the mellow notes of the ship's bell forward told them that eleven o'clock had passed, Marion rose at the head of the table on which supper was served, and tried to tell her thanks.
Her closing sentiment was:
"And the very next time I lose a birthday, or somebody else loses one for me, I am going to send for you all—every one of you. There never was such a birthday, nor such a double birthday, afloat or ashore." | English | NL | 494463179a3a1a4d24177160cb9bb6f6208caba3d74bf38c530c2af8334a2dfd |
Rev. Donald Watson was born and raised in New Haven, CT on March 6th, 1956. He is the oldest of five children. He graduated from James Hillhouse High School in 1976 and served in the Army Reserves for six years. Rev. Watson started attending Shiloh Baptist Church (Middletown, CT) in 1982 after he met Shervie in New Haven where she was attending school. Rev. Watson married Shervie on June 18th, 1983. He has two daughters Lashanta Sims, Middiree Jones, and one son, Tirrell Watson. In November of 1999, it was God’s plan that Rev. Watson, and his wife, take in Crystal Parker to live with them and be a part of their family. He also has four grandchildren and three godchildren.
Rev. Watson received a bachelor’s degree in theology from the Christian Leadership Bible College, Inc. in June 1997. He then completed one year of Clinical Pastoral Education in April 1998, which he plans to continue in the near future to become a certified Chaplain. Rev. Watson was a senior operations manager of the Burger King Corporation of which he had been employed for twenty-two years.
Rev. Watson gave his life to the Lord in October of 1987 under the leadership of the late Pastor Rev. L. L. Woods. He was called into the ministry in January of 1990. On December 18th, 1990, Rev. Watson gave his first sermon. He was ordained June 7th, 1998.
Under the leadership and guidance of Pastor W. Vance Cotten at Shiloh, he served as assistant to the pastor and was the focal of the Ministers Cabinet. Some of the areas in which he ministered included the start of the praise team of which he served on for about six years. He worked two years at the Eddy Center where he did bible studies and ran short worship services. Rev. Watson also became active in the prison, convalescent home, and Long Lane (in Middletown, CT) children ministries. While he managed Burger King in New Haven, Rev. Watson would hold bible study classes after his shift. He also served as pastor of the Shiloh Extension Church held at the soup kitchen on Main Street in Middletown, for three years.
Rev. Watson was called by God to pastor and start Grace & Mercy Baptist Church in December 2004. With God’s help the doors opened May 22nd, 2005.
Rev. Donald Watson is a very caring, loving, and hard working man. He has a very humble spirit and loves the Lord with all his heart. He is not satisfied with just being in God’s hands but strives to be in God’s face. | English | NL | 1bb08361cc46cc03ee6b322cf3a83a0a870c97032ed449bbd0243be63380e320 |
This morning I meditated on Psalm 119:94.
I am yours; save me,
for I have sought your precepts.
It has been following me around all day long. Here are some of my reflections:
We so often bristle when our autonomy is challenged. Our culture praises those who “pull themselves up by their bootstraps” and who owe nothing to no one. But God says to his people: “You are not your own, for you were bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).
God will certainly take care of those who were purchased with the precious blood of his Son.
Seeking God’s precepts – that is, searching out the truth of God in his Word – is what the psalmist points to as evidence of being one of God’s people. God’s people seek out God’s truth in God’s Word.
I can’t think of a more wonderful thing to be able to say to God than, “I am yours.” | English | NL | 12b180732ee7e220417c0924b422d799661117c6e4dc90282ca7ebf9e0b5295a |
HOSTETTER, Luther 1879-1925
Posted By: Tammy (email)
Date: 3/20/2015 at 23:24:59
Luther Hostetter Dies Suddenly at Miami, Florida
Death Was A Shock To Relatives And Friends who Are Many Hereabouts
Was Not Known to be Sick
Remains Will In All Probability Be Brought Here for Funeral and Burial
A message was received here by relatives this (Thursday) morning from Miami, Florida, stating that Luther Hostetter had passed away at that place. The message was signed by Walter Miller, who, with Mr. Hostetter and their families were sojourning in Florida.
No particulars of his sudden death were contained in the message and the relatives here are at a loss to know what was the trouble for he was not known to be sick in any way.
Mr. and Mrs. Hostetter, who lived for many years on a farm a mile south of Morrison until moving to Waterloo a few years ago, are widely known in Grundy county, where they have a large number of relatives and friends.
For the past few winters the family, together with Mr. and Mrs. Walter Miller, of this place, have been sojourning in Miami, Florida. Last spring Mr. and Mrs. Hostetter did not return north as usual, Luther getting into the real estate business down there and remaining over.
The message of his death came as a great shock to relatives and friends hereabouts, and more particulars will be anxiously awaited.
It is presumed that the remains will be brought north for the last rites.
--The Grundy Register (Grundy Center, Iowa), 12 March 1925, pg 1
Last Sad Rites Of Luther Hostetter
Final Services Held at Reinbeck and Morrison on Tuesday
Our community was saddened with the announcement in last week's Register of the death of Luther Hostetter, so well known in Grundy county where his home had been for many years. It was during a temporary residence at Miami, Florida, and after a very brief illness that he passed away on March 12th, 1925, aged 45 years, 7 months and 10 days.
M. Luther Hostetter, son of Mr. and Mrs. Abram Hostetter, was born at Blaine, Penna., August 2nd, 1879, where he lived until as a young man of twenty he came west to Iowa and settled in Grundy county. He was united in marriage with Sadie Miller on March th, 1903, and into their happy life was born a daughter, Helen Marlys. The home has always been in Grundy county until five years ago when the family moved to Waterloo, where they have resided with the exception of the last year and a half which was spent in Miami, Florida.
Mr. Hostetter's life has been an active one, being engaged in farming until his recent home was established in Waterloo. He had made a success of his work, formed a wide circle of friends in both business and social relationships, was highly respected by everyone who knew him and was anticipating a less strenuous life ahead for himself and loved ones when the call came to leave them and come up higher. He will long be remembered as one whose ambition was to secure and help by kindly word and deed. He was an outstanding Christian man in his life, wherever it was lived. As a youth, he united with the Lutheran church in Blaine, Penna., and when he settled in Grundy county became a member of the Presbyterian church in Morrison. There his light shone in witness of his faith in Jesus Christ. For a time he was Superintendent of the Sunday School and for years an elder in that church. While living in Waterloo, Mr. Hostetter was elected to membership of the session of the Westminster Presbyterian church of that city, became a member of the Men's Brotherhood there and his life counted there for the things that are eternal. While in Florida these religious relationships were ever a delight to him.
Mr. Hostetter is survived by his wife and daughter, Helen Marlys, who will make their home in Grundy Center; also by his loving mother, Mrs. Sarah Hostetter, and the following brothers, William H., Lawrence, Lau, Lyle and Ralph, all of Grundy Center; a sister, Mrs. B. J. Stum, of Reinbeck; and Nellie and John of Chicago.
Mr. and Mrs. Walter Miller, the later a sister of Mrs. Hostetter, were with the Hostetters in Florida during the last winter, attended Mr. Hostetter during his illness and accompanied his bereaved wife and daughter to Reinbeck, where the body was taken to the home of Mr. and Mrs. T. W. Mooty on Monday of this week. Funeral services were held at Miami, Florida, conducted by Dr. John Harris, of the Presbyterian church of that city, and the Rev. Dr. Brundage, a close friend and associate of Mr. Hostetter and pastor of the Christian and Missionary Alliance.
At Reinbeck, Tuesday, March 17th, brief services were held at the home of Mr. Mooty conducted by Rev. Earl William Benbow, of the Presbyterian church of Grundy Center, assisted by the Rev. Mr. Pollock, of the United Presbyterian church Reinbeck. The body was then taken to the Presbyterian church at Morrison where the service was conducted by the Rev. Mr. Benbow, assisted by Rev. L. R. Smith pastor of the Morrison Presbyterian church. Beautiful music was rendered by Mrs. Jack Souers, assisted by Miss Irene Petersen. The interment was made in the cemetery at Morrison.
The following expressing of sympathy from the session of the Westminster Presbyterian church of Waterloo was read at the service in the church and indicates the esteem in which Luther Hostetter was held by men who came to know him intimately:
Waterloo, Iowa, March 17, 1925
To all those who today are bereaved by the departure from our midst of the spirit of Luther Hostetter:
The members of the session of the Westminster Presbyterian church of Waterloo, Iowa, desire to express the sense of our common loss with you in the calling to his eternal home of our brother in Christ and fellow laborer in the church and session. Words can never express the grief which we know is felt by the devoted wife and daughter and by those with who he moved so closely in his well-ordered Christian life. Nor can words express the sympathy of the members of the session towards the bereaved for we have come to know Luther Hostetter as a splendid Christian spirit who sought to walk in the ways of his Lord by precept and example. He has gone home to be with God where his life is consummated with that reward of faithfulness and obedience which is the final and glorious inheritance of the saints of light. We commend you to God, the loving Father of us all, whose power to comfort and bless those that sorrow is best expressed for us thru our Divine Friend who once for all bore our griefs and carried our sorrows upon the Cross that we may with hope look forward to the day when God shall unite the severed ties of our earthly loves in that glorious realm about His throne.
By order of the Moderator and session of the Westminster Presbyterian church of Waterloo, Iowa, March 17th, 1925.
--The Grundy Register (Grundy Center, Iowa), 19 March 1925, pg 6
Grundy Obituaries maintained by Tammy D. Mount.
WebBBS 4.33 Genealogy Modification Package by WebJourneymen | English | NL | 244f677cfa1634886ec25c33fb5c4f04e7cb574ad6bed2ac0c2cbf497c399184 |
N O W A V A I L A B L E O N A M A Z O N
A N D A U D I B L E
For as long as Prudence can remember, it has been understood that her sister will one day wed the eldest son of their nearest neighbor. Such an alliance will benefit both families and bring a great deal of joy to all parents involved.
Unfortunately, Prudence has never been able to feel as joyful. She believes her sister is mad to consider marrying a man she hardly knows, even if he will one day make her a countess. Titles and wealth shouldn't factor into matters of the heart, and as an aspiring romance novelist, Prudence cannot fathom how anyone could even think of settling for less than love. She certainly wouldn’t, and she doesn't want her sister to either.
Unable to stand by and do nothing, Prudence sets out to help the awkward couple discover the best in each other with the hope that they will eventually find love. What she neglected to foresee, however, was the possibility that she might fall in love with Lord Knave herself.
P U R C H A S E Y O U R E B O O K , P A P E R B A C K ,
O R A U D I O B O O K H E R E | English | NL | 34c4577cf2c02c0c74e4163f09b35ef8011cc79dd4da772cb911296fbcccda89 |
My last week at the Nels Nelson North American Archaeology Lab at the American Museum of Natural History was last Friday! It’s sad to be leaving the museum, but I’m glad I got to work with great people and learn a huge amount about this particular lab as well as a great deal about the future and current state of archaeology in North America. I’m really glad I was able to do several different projects each day as well. I would say I had to tweak my expectations slightly as I wasn’t quite sure what the majority of the work I would be doing this summer would be, but that is hardly a bad thing! With several smaller projects, I was able to learn about many different aspects of the lab. This included working in photography, ArcGIS, consolidating, rehousing, cleaning artifacts, data entry. It seems like I was able to do a bit of everything, down to scanning field forms.
I would say I met my goals for the internship this summer, including being able to put the work we are doing in the lab into context with the people of St. Catherine’s Island through the generations of inhabitants and their technologies. I am certainly more comfortable working in the lab in the last week than the first week, and I have also learned a great deal from my fellow interns who are all at different stages in figuring out their futures in archaeology, whether that includes graduate school, contract archaeology, or museum work. And it has been a great experience living in New York this summer.
I’m not sure yet whether I am more clear about my career interests, but I am definitely more clear on the options in Archaeology and Anthropology that are available to me, and I am in the process of narrowing down the fields I am particularly interested in; including Human Osteology, Conservation. I certainly have a better sense of how to proceed to continue a career doing archaeology, and that includes a lot of new technologies in the field including GIS and various forms of 3D scanning, including photogrammetry. At the end of the internship we were able to discuss how to move forward and the different options available. If I had to give advice about internships in this field I would certainly recommend applying to the NAARCH Lab and definitely to ask questions not only about the work but about the field in general and talk to the people you are working with. Throughout this summer, I am most proud of just keeping a journal of everything I did each day, and taking notes during our discussions. Since I did so many different small projects, it makes it a lot easier to remember what I enjoyed the most and what I had more trouble with and need to work on, and that will definitely help me in the future. All in all it was a fantastic experience! I think it has had a great effect on my perceptions of the field and lab environments, and it’s a great jumping off point moving beyond Brandeis! | English | NL | cce4d60943b94f6ea781ea584919747e7f8cce1866074ce3380c95373cbdc88e |
Mr. Narvey has the reputation of being a skilled and tough litigator, he also has the respect of his peers and the reputation of being fair-minded, which allows him more often than not, to amicably resolve matters in the best interest of his clients, by negotiation rather than by litigation, resulting in a substantial saving of legal fees and costs.
Mr. Narvey and his staff take a personal interest in their clients, with whom they take the time to develop a personal relationship. In essence, legal counsel is provided objectively, professionally, and compassionately.
For all your Legal needs...
Mr. Narvey is an experienced and aggressive trial lawyer, who has counseled and represented clients in corporate, civil, probate (estate), real estate and family matters, before the Courts of First Instance and the Appellate level.Irving Narvey has been a member of the Bar of the Province of Quebec since 1967. | English | NL | 2595efc2642132c0cb4dc59e013c734cd1ec4144c27ad8ab1dd341b91c2333d4 |
I was talking to a friend who was brought up in a very catholic community. He was telling me that many of his school friends suffered from depression and/or addiction of some kind (particularly to alcohol). Which got me thinking about why that should be.
What would it be like to go to church every week to confess?
What if you were at primary school and had to go and tell a strange voice behind a grille that you had been naughty today or had bad thoughts. And what if you had to do that every week of your life?
Would you even know what ‘sin’ was when you were that young? How would you feel to know that pushing your brother over when he stole your lego was a sin? How would you feel to find out that the flashing feeling of hatred when you mum was cross with you was a sin?
How would that make you feel about yourself?
How would it feel to find out the your burgeoning sexuality was a sin, that your desires were a sin?
Would you give up your desires, your hopes, your dreams?
Would you deny or repress your sexuality?
Would that make you happy?
How would it feel if week in, week out you were looking for bad things in yourself; things to tell the confessional so that you could be forgiven for the bad things you didn’t know were bad?
What if you were told you were born of sin and that happiness is when you are dead?
How would you feel?
How would you know joy and fun and lust and excitement? How would you know love, play, anger? How would you feel about your body if you were told to touch it were a sin?
Would you grow up feeling like a sinner? Feeling nothing, desiring nothing, expecting nothing? Would you grown up to hate yourself? Would you grow up feeling sad?
What if alcoholism, depression, pedophilia were created in confession through repression, denial and pressing down parts of who we are in order to conform?
What if confession created what it set out to destroy?
Would we still do it? Would we still make our children go?
Because you know that cognitive therapy is highly effective for depression. Beck and Ellis said that depression is caused by negative thoughts. Beck’s identified a set of thinking patterns which could lead to depression. His Negative Triad were negative thoughts about yourself, about others and the world and about the future.
Try it. Imagine if your thinking was so conditioned that you thought you were awful, sinful, bad, useless. Imagine if you thought the world was full of sinners, that it was bad, that people can not be trusted and then imagine that you thought that you could never be happy in this life, but would have to die and go to heaven to be happy. Wouldn’t that make you depressed?
- How do you think about yourself? Others and the world? The future?
- How does that make you feel?
Beck also talked about ‘Negative Automatic Thoughts’ (NATs), these are the repetitive thoughts that pop into our head, which we believe without question. We all have them (my favourites have been ‘it’s all my fault’ and ‘I’m not good enough’) and until we notice them and challenge them, they are just like the soundtrack to our lives that we didn’t know could be any different.
- What are your negative automatic thoughts?
Now the biologists among you will know that there is a link between depression and serotonin levels; low serotonin can lead to depression. But what we don’t know is whether low serotonin levels cause negative thinking and depression or whether negative thinking causes the drop in serotonin.
So what if the confessional was the perfect place to train people in negative thinking, to programme their negative triad and their Negative Automatic Thoughts for life? If we thought about it, what would we do differently? How would we think differently? What would we change?
Just a thought.
If you’d like help reprogramming your negative thinking the Love Being Me course in Greece will help you do just that. The audio course will also be available in November so check that out. | English | NL | f4ee09943ff77c916605019822cea66520fe5ad919e1b8eca3f61d9ad38739c9 |
The farms history
Trøjsel is one of the old farms in the area southeast of Kolding known as “the eight parishes”. The name originates from 1864, when the border between Denmark and Germany was moved north after the Danish defeat in Dybbøl. The border was placed just south of the scenic and from older times wealthy parishes.
The name of our farm originates from a medieval castle, which was situated a few hundred metres south of the farm. The present buildings are from the mid 19th century – a time when most of the area’s bigger farms where build.
It was at this time the Juhl-family came to Trøjsel. Today the fifth generation lives on the farm. | English | NL | a5a452d29a38337e93303407087013770bf75762ec670579035a85e65846ccb8 |
In 1988 I was invited to sit in a closed circle which took place at the medium’s home. In my first visit at this home circle I was taken aback by a large oil painting that greeted me as I entered. The painting was of a man in an orange gown with a large afro hair style. At first glance I thought this to be a painting of an islander only because at the time I never heard of Sai Baba and he surely didn’t look Indian. As soon as I entered I noticed immediately how drawn I was to this painting, and how his eye’s seemed to follow me no matter where I roamed.
The eye’s in the painting seemed to take on a life of their own, because at times I would even see the eye’s blink and also see him smile which caused quite a stir in me, and with excitement I would abruptly blurt out this fact which made me very embarrassed because I would startle all present. Finally the medium who had a big smile in seeing my reactions began telling me who this was in the painting. I guess I could now write a large book on all that has taken place since my very first meeting with Sai Baba, and this first meeting was only through a painting. There is no way I could ever describe in full detail of the magnitude and effect that capture me on that first night, it was absolutely incredible and amazing. After that first meeting many more followed and still they do to this day.
Yes I am definitely a devotee of Sai Baba, he has not only made me a better person but has opened many doors where I am able to serve others with love and compassion and in so doing, feel and experience Baba in all that I do. It still leaves me breathless to know that God Himself walked with us in physical form on earth today, how greatly fortunate and blessed we are to not only know Him but to experience Him. My brother and I have been to India five times where we both have been granted interviews along with wonderful experiences. And yes I have even witnessed miracles by Baba in close proximity.
I, and many millions the world over know exactly who Sai Baba is, not by what we were told or what we read but by actual experiences given by Him. Baba says if you want to know the truth of who I am then investigate me. Come closer, because as you come closer to investigate, I then come closer to you by providing you the proof of what you need.
Every time I think of Him, contemplate on Him and meditate on Him, I constantly wipe the tears of joy and love that roll down my face, this is what Swami is to me - Love, Pure Love. Some might sneer at what I write but be assured, one day you too will see and experience things of a much higher nature whether it be in this life, or some other.
Author: Rev. Wayne E Farquhar, www.illawarraceremonies.com | English | NL | 4939f719ccf2bfb09d238fc0e843bc4cc07b7f3e71e94aa0a2cd48d797b1ed6e |
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)
I don’t know about you, but I go to great lengths to try and hide my weaknesses. I even go so far as to try and never operate outside my areas of strength. I do this, I suppose, because my goal in life is for everyone to think the best of me. The problem is that when I live my life trying to make everyone think the best of me, I leave one significant thing out—God! I forget that this life is not about me at all, but about him.
Paul got that. I guess that’s why he could make this outlandish statement about gladly boasting about his weaknesses. I mean, who does that? Someone who cares more about God’s glory that his own, that’s who. Someone who realizes that God’s power is on full display when we are completely out of the way. Someone who understands that we actually block people’s view of God when we are trying to get them to look at us. Someone who realizes that when he is operating out of his own strength, he is actually keeping God’s power from being made perfect.
O Lord, help me to be more like Paul. Help me to embrace and celebrate my weaknesses, because they are opportunities for you to show your power. For when I try to hide my weaknesses, I am actually hiding—or denying—the sufficiency of your grace. Lord Jesus, give me the power to be weak. | English | NL | 4d9d66c9705d435902176e90b101c153dea7e10be117f9542bcdc9f439d5153d |
ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE WITH THE BIKER
by Teri Ann Stanley
Publication Date: February 8, 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
ON SALE FOR ONLY 99c!
Synopsis: Aspiring writer Kelli Dalton needs a man, and fast. When she’s rear-ended by a sexy-as-sin biker on the way to a Vegas romance readers convention, she sees her chance. If he’ll pose as her fake boyfriend long enough to impress a bestselling author, Kelli has a shot at saving the bookstore for underprivileged kids she runs back home.
Quinn Anderson doesn’t know what to make of the cute little writer who stirs his heart and his libido, but he does know he wants to get better acquainted. And if that means keeping up their sexy ruse all week, he’s game.
Quinn knows girl like Kelli deserves someone with a secure future to help with her store, not a guy struggling to turn a profit on his chopper shop. But if his motorcycle designs win the big Vegas competition, he’ll have enough prize money to fund his dreams…and hers.
Kellie was trying to figure out how to politely excuse Quinn for the night without sinking to the floor, wrapping herself around his knees, and begging him to stay and hang out with her when the first sex sounds came through the hotel walls.
They were not soft, gentle gasps of pleasure. No, these were groans and moans worthy of the Haunted Mansion at Disney World.
She was mortified. Here was this nice guy—a complete stranger who had sacrificed his entire evening to do her a favor—and he was trapped in a hotel room listening to people have sex. The fact that it was people she knew made it so much more horrifying.
So, this was weird. What now? “I guess they’re busy enough—you could probably escape, if you want.”
But then he gave that grin—a grin she bet had gotten Quinn into, and out of, an awful lot of trouble in his youth—and said, “No way. I bet we can have louder, better sex.”
Her whole body flushed at the thought, completely on board with the idea, but her brain was still engaged enough to recognize that she barely knew this man.
Looking right into her eyes, he let out a bellow like a wounded bull. This was followed by a deep, rumbling, “Oh, Kellie, baby. I have been waiting for this forever.”
She nearly choked on the giggles that erupted.
“Yeah? You like that, don’t you?” he said—loudly—motioning her toward the bed. He sat down, hard, onto the mattress, bouncing the box springs enough to creak.
She jumped on next to him and they alternated bounces, making sounds that she prayed she never really made during sex. Although if sex with Quinn was even half as good as it seemed like it might be, she didn’t care what she sounded like or who would hear her.
“Are you ready for me, baby? Are you ready for this? Do you want this?”
“Oh, yes, Quinn. Give it to me. Let me see that big—” She stopped and stared at him. And looked at his crotch—a totally involuntary action. From what she could tell, he wasn’t completely unaffected by their little game.
And he’d seen her look. Well, the hell with it. What happened in Vegas…
“Give me that big porn star cock, you stud,” she yelled.“Oh my God, yes. Oh, I need lube! You’re bigger than my vibrator.”
Quinn cracked up, rolling over on the mattress, covering his face with the pillow to stifle his laughter.
But then he was back in the game. He turned and grabbed the headboard and began slamming it into the wall at a rate of about a million thrusts per second.
Watching the muscles of his arm work, she couldn’t help but imagine the muscles of his ass and thighs straining to pump into her and figured she probably wouldn’t need lube if the real thing was coming at her even a quarter that hard and fast. Just the idea was making her feel a little slippery.
But as impressive as Quinn was, Kellie wasn’t going to let him be the master of her domain just yet. She stood on the bed and began to bounce, letting out vigorous “unh, unh, unhhhhhs.”
Quinn turned to watch her and said, “Faster, baby, faster.” Then he leaned back against the headboard with his arms crossed behind his head, legs stretched out on his side of the bed.
So she jumped faster. And higher. And realized that she had on a skirt, and was jumping up and down right above a hot guy that she barely knew, and he was—yes, he was looking up her skirt. When he wasn’t watching her boobs bounce.
And from the looks of things below his belt, he was enjoying the show.
Recognition caused her to lose her footing. One foot slipped off the bed, and with a cry she flew forward—toward Quinn’s reclining self, landing on him—and coming to rest with her face inches from his.
“Hi,” he said, after he caught his breath.
There was silence next door.
“Think we impressed your friends with our virility?”
“Oh, yeah.” Kellie was impressed with the hot, hard body beneath hers. Her legs were intertwined with his and his leg pressed against the hem of her skirt. His thigh wasn’t quite all the way between hers, but with a wiggle or two—She froze. The air-conditioning wafted over her slightly sweaty skin, cooling everything that wasn’t touching Quinn.
Her hands rested on his solid shoulders, and he had one palm on her waist and one on the back of her thigh, where her knee was bent outward in that almost-straddle position. She was in a hotel room staring into the mesmerizing eyes of a stranger in a very compromising position. If he wasn’t honorable…or if she wasn’t— And she was beginning to doubt her good-girl status.
He let her go just as she squirmed off him and to her side.
Could you say awkward?
“So. In your romance-land fake boyfriend world, do I roll over and go to sleep now that my caveman requirements have been met or do I pretend to want to cuddle, or what?”
ABOUT TERI ANNE STANLEY
Teri Anne Stanley began her writing career with scientific articles—followed by a three-ingredient recipe column, but wasn’t allowed to write sex scenes for them—so now she writes fun, sexy romance filled love, angst and nekkid parts.
She’s also worked as a fashion designer for female body builders and a sex therapist for rats. In her spare time, she is a neuroscience research assistant. Along with a variety of teenagers and dogs, she and Mr. Stanley live just outside of Sugartit, which is—honest to God—between Beaverlick, and Rabbit Hash, Kentucky. | English | NL | a3e1da3805a5378a023e2507cc29242a5c60145597a8dea88ee33b58d5970223 |
One of my newest students came to me with a lefty violin...yes, you read that correctly, a lefty violin. For those that don't know, a lefty violin has the same body as a standard violin, but is strung in the opposite way and has a chin rest that is either center lined, or on the left side. I wasn't sure how at all to approach teaching this student...he had already been turned down. I explained to him that it was a new experience for me as well, and that we would do this together.
I've searched and searched around the web, but there isn't too much on teaching lefty violin. The only thing I have seen so far is generally a negative attitude towards it. Which is understandable, it's different, and for those of us who play our violins and violas right handed, it seems sacrilegious. Of course, one would consider that it is by all intents and purposes the same as teaching a student with a standard violin. So far, I can say that it is...with a few exceptions.
The best part about teaching a lefty violin player is that you can do a lot of mirroring with each other. Mirroring with a beginner on a standard stringed violin can be difficult, especially for the little ones. My lefty student has great posture while holding this instrument and can get around it pretty quickly when it comes to plucking scales and reading music. We've slowly begun to integrate the bow, the hold was not an issue for this student at all. He's very good at following directions and making adjustments. The issue for us now comes down to keeping the bow straight, and understanding the string levels (working with the elbow.)
As for my pee-wees (ages 5-8), my New Year's resolution was to really crack down on their bad habits and be more strict. A lot of these students came to me from other teachers, and besides their bad habits, the big trouble has been making sure that they are improving with their music literacy and understanding.
Here are the habits that I've been combatting with my kids:
- Squished left palms/wrists (everyone's favorite problem!)
- Drooping violins and violas
- Poor posture: Slouched backs, crunching necks.
Some of these problems are easier than others to fix, I usually dog my students about their drooping instruments. But the squished wrists and poor posture are always a bit more challenging. I will adjust my students' wrists or verbally remind them. I saw one good tip on Pinterest about using a velcro monkey to aid the wrist, which worked pretty well for my viola student. But, I don't know many who have these types of toys. I've seen the Wrist Assistant on Etsy, which looks fantastic, but like the Bow Right, may be a wild card with some children. Some of my kids HATE the Bow Right so much, and it is so difficult to explain the reason why they need to keep using it. The other question about these types of learning aides, will they help the student develop the proper muscle memory, or will the student use them as a crutch and not be able to perform properly without them? I've seen it work both ways with the Bow Right, and I'm looking forward to see where the Wrist Assistant takes some of my students.
I have one student who is a particularly difficult case, he's a brilliant child but suffers from some motor delay issues (particularly in his arms and fingers.) He has been playing for 2 years previously with his former teacher, who let him get away with certain posture habits and didn't teach him how to read. I've been so focused on getting his reading up to speed and helping him properly work his bow arm that his habits took the back burner (which was my blunder.) For the last 3 months, I've been dogging him about his habits and adjusting him, but he insists on being stubborn. He tends to extreme center-line his violin, and hold it so low that he crunches his head and neck forward. (It hurts my neck just to look at him!) We've been working on holding the violin more to the side, which has been an ordeal. It's hard when the habits are so far ingrained. The best thing about this situation is that his mother has been extremely supportive and helpful with the process. She's been working so hard with him, and while he has been improving, it's time to keep rebuilding. | English | NL | baf0d8cb6df5151e91b919591f0bc85e52eab3cb885067410bc8cd948e02d440 |
In response to the perceived need of the Catholic community of Cessnock, the first Catholic school commenced in January 1887 by the Sisters of St Joseph’s. St Patrick’s Church at Nulkaba was used for this purpose.
A new church was built in 1893 and the Church-School was now fitted with permanent fixtures and the building converted to St Patrick’s school. On 15 July 1906, a hall measuring 50ft by 20ft was moved to the High Street site and furnished as a school. It also served as a temporary Church. It was known as St Joseph’s Church-School.
In 1936, a new brick Mt St Joseph’s School on Bridge’s Hill replaced the old hall. This served as a primary school and later as a junior secondary school for girls. There was also a Catholic school at Bellbird from 1937 to 1958.
In 1937, St Patrick’s school was relocated from Nulkaba to Wollombi Road. The 1970’s saw the completion of a new brick complex at St Patrick’s.
In 1996, the new administration building was opened with a much larger library. The staff room was also refurbished.
In 2008, new administration, canteen and meeting facilities were opened. The pioneers of the school were the Sisters of St Joseph’s. We recall with gratitude the faith and dedication of the pioneer priests, sisters, teachers and parents of the Catholic community who laboured tirelessly to establish the faith and Christian traditions we espouse and value today.
2012 saw the opening of new facilities funded by Building the Education Revolution grant. On completion of the works, the school was delivered a new school library, computer room equipped with 30 computers, three classrooms, a multi-purpose room, office and storage space.
Fortunately, in the last five years, we have also had our toilet block renovated, a lift put in connecting the ground floor to the first storey and the old St Joseph’s Convent that was located right next to our school was demolished freeing up a large parcel of land to become an extension of our playground. We are grateful to the Catholic Schools Office for purchasing this land for us as the extra playground space was very much needed. | English | NL | c61544569268a994a78209cb1a5b00ab57840d82a0b81c7e6ed1436b2ff05f7f |
Henry Anderson born in Kurrajong on 8 November 1860. He was married in 1883 in Sydney to Elizabeth Ann White. They had three sons and three daughters. He died on 30 July 1934 at Moss Vale.
Local government service
Henry Anderson was an alderman on the Kingston Ward of Camperdown Council. He complained about the prevalence of smoking in Camperdown Council chambers in 1906. He retired to Moss Vale where he was a member of its council 1917 to 1931, and its mayor in 1926.
Evening News 28 March 1906 p. 5
Sydney Morning Herald 15 November 1941 p. 15 | English | NL | ac4db7ad841503e4ac35c4cf1d32e87b6a10118280bd8862ed492fc5f3ce6691 |
The 2nd Battalion of the Duke of Wellington's Regiment (West Riding) was a regular battalion in the British Army.
The 2nd Battalion fought in the war as part of the Burma Mounted Infantry.
At the outbreak of hostilities, the 2nd Battalion formed part of the British Expeditionary Force and was deployed into France in August 1914 as part of the 13th Brigade in the 5th Division. They took part in the first major battle of the war at Mons, followed by the rearguard action at the Battle of Le Cateau during the retreat from Mons. They subsequently took part in battles at Marne, Aisne, La Bassée, the first Battle of Ypres and also the Battle of Hill 60, during which they suffered 421 casualties.
The battalion was transferred to the 4th Division in January 1916 and saw action on the Somme as well as taking part in battles at Arras, Ypres, Lys, and Canal du Nord.
For details of individuals who served in the 2nd Battalion, see: | English | NL | 2275f1e6e59d4fbb1c5711b3239bc6e1ec368a72ea7ce34a07e52d94ed3c5fc9 |
An enormous cloaked figure greets incoming visitors. It sits, as it has for thousands of years a silent sentinel to the wonders of ancient Egypt. This block statue is only the first item of many at Joslyns art exhibition.
The overall effect of seeing so much history in a relatively small space is awe-inspiring. I cannot help but wonder if the display would have had such a profound effect on me if I wasnt in the class. Probably so. I felt I could have stayed there forever if not for my one oclock class.
Seeing photographs in a textbook gives me an idea of what life was like for the ancient Egyptians, but being surrounded by things from their lives creates a whole new feeling. The giant wall paintings depicting everyday life are incredible. The actual artifacts on display are amazing, to think that they have survived as well as they have for so long. The beaded shroud was so finely made, it was surprising it would have lasted a day back then, let alone be in tact today.
The mummy case was interesting. I know people were smaller back then, but to see the case put size into a new perspective. How did the get the body through the slit up the back? Canopic jars were usually topped by the gods that protected the parts inside, but there was one top on display that was the head of a youth made from calcite. There were other canopic jars, with the gods heads as lids.
Hearing how they attended the bodies and what had to be done was fascinating, even as it was disgusting. The limestone coffin for the high official had writing on it to rejoin spirit and body. The broad collar was beautiful, with the flowers made from different stones and falcon head ends. The Nubian Ba statue holding the pine cone shaped symbol and the staff to represent the body for the spirit is different from the Egyptian ka statue that would have been holding an ankh.
The statue of the great commander of the arm looked female, even though the writing said it was male. Could it have been a female dressing as a male in order to gain power? The figure was entirely to feminine to be a guy. The spells from the Book of the Dead contain the answers for the soul to go to the afterlife. It has the names of all deities and the questions they would ask the soul, as well as the answers.
Shabtis were little figures of people put in the tomb or buried with them to do work for the people in the afterlife. The memorial tablet for the purification priest was a stele meant to be read from all four sides, instead of two like the Palette of Narmer, which means it was probably put in the center of some room.
Overall, the effect of the show was incredible. It was almost as good as going to Egypt to see things up close and personal, as they were found and, in my opinion, meant to be seen.
The Egyptians lives had to be balanced, in every aspect of their lives. The feather hieroglyphic, a simple symbol, represented the order of maat. I thoroughly enjoyed the show, the next day I saw the IMAX movie of Egypts mysteries, which gives you the feeling of being in Egypt. I hope to see the Joslyn exhibition again before it leaves, to become immersed in so much history. | English | NL | b6c1116c53670add44824cf6fcfdfb29ce4cd81deaf30e9796191df481a5646e |
What was the impact of the defeat of the Sicilian Expedition on Athens?
The Peloponnesian War was one of the greatest conflicts in the Classical World. It was a conflict that involved the Athenian Empire and its allies in a brutal struggle with Sparta and the Peloponnesian League. The war lasted almost three decades (431-404 BCE) and was to change the Greek world. Perhaps one of the most important events in this was Athens Sicilian Expedition (413-415 BCE). The Athenians sought to conquer the island of Sicily. This expedition resulted in a disastrous Athenian defeat that is seen as a turning point in the Peloponnesian war. Prior to the expedition, Athens held its own against Sparta and maintained its Empire. However, the disastrous Sicilian expedition severely weakened Athens and exacerbated existing domestic tensions in its society. The combination of a military disaster and internal dissent ultimately led to the defeat of the City and the loss of its Empire.
In the aftermath of the Second Persian Invasion (480-479 BCE), Athens emerged as a great power in Greece. The city-state and Sparta had led the Greek world against the Persians. In the aftermath of the Persian defeat, Sparta for internal reasons ended its participation in the war against the Persians. Athens continued the struggle against Persia and established the League of Delos. The Athenians eventually turned the League of Delos into an Empire which was possible because Athens possessed the largest navy and most powerful navy in the region.
When Athens issued the Megarian Decree, Sparta responded by invading Attica. This led to total war between Athens and Sparta. Athens followed the strategy of Pericles. The Periclean strategy urged Athens to avoid a land war with Sparta and to concentrate on its navy and to avoid other entanglements. Despite the death of Pericles early in the war, during a plague, his strategy was followed for many years. Sparta and its allies were unable to defeat Athens and indeed the Athenians inflicted a humiliating defeat on Sparta on the island of Pylos. This led to a truce between the two most powerful Greek city-states and this eventually to the so-called Peace of Nicias. Athens was as powerful as ever and it seemed that if it followed Pericles strategy that it was invincible. This was all to change with the Sicilian Expedition.
The Sicilian Expedition
Athens was a radical democracy and every male citizen could vote on matters such as the declaration of peace and war. Its political system energized the Athenians and made them very formidable. However, Thucydides, a former Athenian general believed that Athenian democracy was flawed and lead to aggressive and dangerous policies. Thucydides argued that Athenian democracy encouraged the Sicilian Expedition. When Sparta and Athens agreed to the Peace of Nicias in 421, the Athenians were at peace for first time in years. Instead of using the peace to re-build their strength the Athenian popular assembly voted to send an expedition to Sicily, to conquer the island.
Thucydides believed that this was an example of Athenian arrogance and was a failure of the radical democracy in the city, which gave power to those with no education or experience. Alcibiades had been one of the main promoters of the invasion of Sicily. He was popular in the city because of his charisma and his success at the Olympics. He was a consummate politician and utterly amoral. He was initially voted to be one of the generals in charge of the expedition. The Athenian general Nicias was given command of the huge Athenian armada. He was a competent but over-cautious general.
Many believe that the expedition was doomed from the start as the Athenians failed to consider the sheer scale of the challenges involved in conquering Sicily. When the Athenian navy arrived in Sicily they had some success. This large and rich island was divided among several Greek city states in the center and east of the island. In the west of the island, the Carthaginians had established several large settlements. At first, the expedition went well. Several cities allied themselves with the Athenians. However, soon the Athenian generals quarreled among themselves. Eventually, they agreed that they would attack and seize Syracuse which was the greatest Greek city-state in Sicily. Alcibiades urged caution and wanted the Athenians to find more allies before it attacked the great city of Syracuse.
Syracuse was led by a very capable politician and general Hermocrates. He acted swiftly and established an anti-Athenians coalition among many Sicilian city-states and allied Syracuse with Sparta and the Peloponnesian League. Despite this, the Athenians secured much of the east of the island of Sicily after defeating a Syracuse army. Hermocrates, whom Thucydides likened to Pericles, then prepared his city for a siege and persuaded several Athenian allies to remain neutral. Now, there was a scandal in Athens and Alcibiades was implicated in it. He was charged with impiety and was summoned back to Athens, he refused because he feared for his life and fled.
This was a blow to the expedition because he was arguably the competent Athenians general. Nicias was then put in control of the expedition and decided to besiege the city of Syracuse. He had the Athenian army build a string of fortification around the city and used the large Athenian armada to blockade the city by sea. The Athenians tried many times to take the city but each time they were beaten back. They could receive reinforcements under the general Demosthenes. Hermocrates could secure support from Sparta and their allies. Despite this, the Athenians could continue to besiege the city.
In 413 BC, the Spartans suspected that the Athenians had overextended themselves declared war on Athens and ended the Peace of Nicias. This meant that the Athenians could no longer send reinforcements to Sicily. One by one Athens allies in Sicily abandoned her. The army and the navy under Nicias continued the siege but with Spartan support, the Syracuse’s launched a counter-attack and their ships defeated the Athenian navy. The Athenian army raised the siege after the Syracuse Navy defeated the Athenian fleet. Nicias ordered a retreat and in a subsequent battle at the River Anapus, the retreating Athenians were almost annihilated. Thucydides describes the defeat graphically ‘At last, when many dead now lay piled one upon another in the stream, and part of the army had been destroyed at the river, and the few that escaped from thence cut off by the cavalry.’ Those Athenians who were not killed in the battle were enslaved and many worked to death in the quarries near Syracuse.
According to Thucydides ‘this was the greatest Greek achievement of any in this war, or, in my opinion, in Greek history; at once most glorious to the victors, and most calamitous to the conquered.’ The entire Athenian army and navy was destroyed. The expedition that had sought to conquer the island of Sicily was a complete disaster. It is impossible to know the extent of the Athenian losses. It is thought that the Athenians lost some one hundred ships. These were expensive to build and would take the Athenians years to replace them. As significant as the loss of the ships were the deaths or capture of the many trained oarsmen. The Athenians navy was reliant on these men to power their triremes and again it took years to replace these men. The entire army was annihilated by the Syracuse and their allies. One again exact figures are impossible to determine but the Athenians certainly lost several thousand soldiers and cavalrymen. Per one historian ‘The total number of prisoners taken would be difficult to state exactly, but it could not have been less than 7,000.’
This was an utter disaster for the Athenians and they were now practically defenseless before the Spartans and their allies. Plutarch stated that when news of the disaster reached the city, the citizens at first were incredulous and then began to panic. The Spartan’s had once again invaded Attica and were camped within miles of the city. The Syracuse Navy was sent east to help the Spartans to defeat Athens. It seemed that the Athenians were on the verge of defeat. News of the Sicilian disaster encouraged many of the cities and islands in the Athenian Empire to revolt. However, by a superhuman effort, the Athenians continued with the war against Sparta. Private citizens donated their wealth to the city and the funds were used to build new ships. The citizens also enlisted in the army. Despite the odds, the city survived. It did this by once again returning to the cautious strategy of Pericles. The Athenians to the amazement of all Greece survived.
The Athenians survival was made possible by conservative and cautious approach of the Spartans. In addition to Sparta's caution, the Syracuse navy was also recalled to deal with an invasion by the Carthaginians of Sicily. This helped perserve what was left of the Athenian Empire. However, after the Sicilian disaster, the Athenians were significantly weakened and could no longer go on the offensive. The Athenians war with Sparta continued for another nine years but they were badly weakened by the Sicilian expedition. Survival became more important than victory.
Athens was hobbled by the Sicily Expedition. Instead of keeping Sparta at bay, the City struggled to defend itself foreign powers. The Navy was permanently damaged by the loss of its fleet outside of Syracuse. The Athenian army and navy never returned to their previous numbers and in future conflicts they were almost always outnumbered. If the city had not suffered such heavy losses in Sicily, it seems unlikely that Sparta could have ever defeated it. The economy was crippled by the Sicilian expedition and the Athenians were forced raise special taxes to defend itself. Gradually, over time, the ability of the Athenians to finance their war with Sparta was greatly curtailed. The Athenian Empire was not doomed by the defeat outside Syracuse but it made it more likely. Athens did secure some victories but by 404 BCE the city was left at the mercy of its enemies after the Spartans, with the help of the Persians, shattered the Athenian navy at the Battle of Aegospotami. Sparta and its allies besieged Athens and it was forced to surrender. The heyday of Athens came to an end.
The Oligarchy in Athens
The Athenian defeat in Sicily not only weakened the city militarily but also politically. Many of the traditional elite and aristocracy of Athens were never thrilled democracy. They wanted a return to the previous oligarchy which would return control of the city to their hands. They attributed the defeat to democracy and they believed that the city could only be saved if Athens changed its form of government. These elites were angered by the fiscal strain caused by Sicilian expedition. In order to defend the City, the Athenian government began to tax the wealthy to such an extent that some people were left penniless. This caused great resentment among the old aristocracy. However, the democracy was still supported by the mass of citizens, especially the hoplites and the oarsmen.
Alcibiades and others became involved in a plot to oust the democracy. During a difficult time for the Athenians, the plotters took their chance and seized power from the democrats. The oligarchy was known as the 400 and it ended the radical democracy in the city. They did continue the war, even though many of them were secretly pro-Spartan. The oligarchy was divided and it was succeeded by a more moderate form of oligarchy government the 5000. The Athenians all the while continued their war and after a victory at the Battle of Cyzicus took place in 410 BC, when an Athenian fleet destroyed a Spartan navy. This led to a backlash against the oligarchy and it soon fell and was replace, once more by democracy. The disaster in Sicily was to exacerbate political divisions in Athens and led to great political instability. This was to undermine the Athenian efforts in the war. For example, it failed to capitalize on its great victory at Cyzicus. The aftermath of the Sicilian Expedition was politically divided Athens that struggled to unite to defeat its enemies.
The Peloponnesian War was a terrible defeat for Athens. It was never again to be a great political force in the Greek world and beyond. The war had for many years gone well for the Athenians and by the time of the Peace of Nicias, it could even be said to have won a strategic victory. However, this was all to change after the Sicilian Expedition. It was a foolhardy and poorly planned invasion. It probably never had a chance of succeeding. The expedition was an unmitigated disaster for the Athenians and it weakened their army and navy. They were never as militarily powerful again. They did manage to continue the war but it was clear that they were always going to be on the defensive after Sicily. The expedition left the city militarily weakened it also weakened it financially. This led to heavy taxes that provoked a coup and government by an oligarchy. Athens was destabilized by the disaster in Sicily and this was a factor in its defeat. The Sicilian Expedition was the beginning of the end for Athens and her Empire and ensured that she would ultimately be defeated by her enemies.
Related DailyHistory.org Articles
- Thucydides, 4, 7
- Thucydides, 7. 2
- Plutarch,The Rise and Fall of Athens (Penguin, London, 1978), p. 67
- Plutarch. p. 89
- Donald Kagan, The Peace of Nicias and the Sicilian Expedition (Cornell, Cornell University Press, 1981), p. 67
- Kagan, p 78
- Thucydides. 7. 2
- Kagan, p 145
- Plutarch. p. 145
- Plutarch, p. 179
- Kagan, Donald, The Fall of the Athenian Empire (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987), p. 215
- Thucydides, 7-85
- Bagnall, Nigel. The Peloponnesian War: Athens, Sparta, And The Struggle For Greece (New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2006), p. 213
- Bagnall, p 289
- Thucydides, [7-85]
- Kagan, p. 215
- Kallet, Lisa. Money and the Corrosion of Power in Thucydides: The Sicilian Expedition and its Aftermath (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), p 198
- Kallet, p. 213
- Kallet, p. 234
- Kallet, p. 235
- Kagan, p. 313
- Kagan, p. 323 | English | NL | 31d1a3951e58950c40bbf3c4bc6748ab85cbba76f398773cd2443db4e4ff6934 |
“I would have love to read that book with you, babe.”
My wife made that comment after a recent conversation about books. I told her I had read Stephen King’s Bag of Bones recently and her interest in that book surprised me. She was more of the movie watcher than book reader in our family.
Since she is a fitness aficionado, I decided to create a husband/wife challenge around our interests. For the month of October, I would exercise and go to the gym with her if she would read one novel with me. She agreed to the challenge and The Husband by Dean Koontz was chosen as the novel we would read together.
The Husband is the story about Mitch Rafferty, a self-employed gardener, whose wife has been kidnapped and the ransom for her return is two million dollars and he has sixty hours in order to come up with the cash. Mitch loves his wife, Holly, more than anything in this fictional world but Koontz asks a basic question in this story, how far will you go for love?
While, the plot is simple but a writer of Koontz’s skill creates several surprising twists and turns on the way to its resolution. Also, he deals with family relations and asks another question in this novel, how well do you really know someone that came from the same parents as you do?
I know some of the more perceptive types might think they have already figured out the basic plot from those last two paragraphs. So I will not go into any more detail about the story. However, I can assure you it is not quite what you are thinking on who the kidnapper was in relation to Mitch and Holly. Moreover, I will never the view the state of New Mexico in the same way after reading this novel. (I lived in both Albuquerque and Santa Fe for a total of nine years.)
I must admit that The Husband was not my favorite Dean Koontz novel. I’ve read at least a dozen of his books and I would rank it in the middle of the pack. (I would consider Cold Fire, Strangers, Watchers, and the Odd Thomas series as the best Koontz novels.) But it was a solid page-turning story and good entertainment.
In closing, my wife liked the novel and it created some good discussion about the characters and plot. I always thought reading could bring a couple closer together and maybe I should have tried this challenge a long time ago. I know, we men always think of things much later than our wives would have. 🙂 | English | NL | 0d11b0da092c0f1e3f4930bac3b4a09919e49f2bbdd3cfe91730feb4f05288d9 |
Jane has to write a public health pamphlet about alcoholism. She knows very little about this disease, since no one she knows personally is an alcoholic. Jane needs to find an introduction to alcoholism so she can decide what aspect of the disease is most interesting to her.
Rob has some serious allergies, and has taken a variety of anti-allergy medicines over the last few years. He wants to know more about allergies in general, and in the different medicines he's taken in specific. So far Rob knows only what he's picked up in the doctor's office, including to what he's probably allergic and the names of the drugs he's taken for his symptoms.
Cheryl is working on a research paper on exercise therapies and management plans for teenagers with diabetes. She's been working on this paper for a few weeks now and feels pretty confident that she knows the basic information about diabetes management with exercise. She now needs peer-reviewed articles that discuss this topic. | English | NL | 58316105290ad650f501d7e63133ec78793f962cc81d8289446a5151cd3b590d |
This timeline provides an overview of key events related to the content, to help them sequence and relate events that occurred from 1192 CE to 1868 CE.
Japan is a nation of islands. The earliest people living on the Japanese islands were organized by family clans. The Yamato clan rose to power and became ruling emperors who were honored on Earth as living gods. Over time, through exposure to the neighboring people in China and Korea, a distinctive Japanese culture developed.
Japanese feudalism was a system of social stratification in which the emperor was obeyed by landowners, who in turn were served by a warrior class known as samurai. In 1192, Yoritomo was named shogun of Japan; the era of shogun rule continued into the late 1800s. In the 1200s, Kublai Khan attempted unsuccessfully to conquer Japan. Only after Portuguese explorers landed in Japan in the 1500s did Europeans make inroads into this isolated society. Most Westerners were unwelcome in Japan until the mid-1800s, when Commodore Perry forced Japan to sign a trade treaty with the United States. | English | NL | 3a5cdd8ca25d5cbe98a1711c9b6a63b0596c45e6b3516224c54573a88cce7208 |
Gambit(VXMM004) was first seen roving at the Quetzals on May 16, 2010. His perants were wild meerkats thought be from the Abba group. His mother was either the dominant female or a subordinate female. His father was either the dominant male or a rover from another group maybe monitored group. One of his litter-mates might have been Bing of the Underdog. Gambit is the smallest of the males. He is also the most handsomest with no scares or anything other defects. He lived in the wild group for around two years then he went roving with Cyclops(VXMM001), Wolverine(VXMM002) and Beast(VXMM003). The males roved at the Quetzals but they were chased away by the males. The four then were seen by the Kung Fu but the same thing happen. They males then headed towards the Van Helsing. They soon came across three evicted Van Helsing females. They formed the X-Men Mob. Cyclops took male dominace over the other males. Adhuil took female dominance. She gave birth to five pups in August. Gambit is still in the X-Men today. | English | NL | 19ab78b252e68eb1e0d565d1c728cf08bf2ca4e9fd2f9e6a933328c336153782 |
- Latest News
Yu-Gi-Oh! is a multimedia franchise that started with a manga series serialized between 1996 to 2004. It was written and illustrated by Kazuki Takahashi. The popularity of the series led it to become a franchise that has spawned into several anime adaptations, movies, novels, trading card games, video games and retail items such as shirts.
The main protagonist of the series is a boy named Yugi Mutou who loves games but was often bullied because of his physical build. He successfully solves the Millenium Puzzle, which unlocks a spirit that takes over his body whenever Yugi and the people he cares about are threatened. The spirit who takes over his body then challenges the dark spirits to card game duels.
Yugi and friends find out that the spirit is an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh who lost all memory of his past life. They go through an adventure filled with Duel Monster battles as Yugi and his friends decide to help the Pharaoh remember who he is.
Takahashi originally wanted to create horror manga series because he wanted to produce a battle story that does not involve physical encounters. He ended up with a story that still revolves around battles but done through trading card games.
A spin-off manga series titled Yu-Gi-Oh! R was published between 2004 and 2007 with Akira Ito as the Illustrator with Takahashi working closely with him.
There are two anime adaptations of the series to date titled Yu-Gi-Oh! and Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters respectively. The former first aired in 1998 with 27 episodes and the latter in 2000 with 224 episodes. A 12-episode miniseries spinoff titled Yu-Gi-Oh! Capsule Monsters also aired between September and November 2006.
A novel adaptation written by Katsuhiko Chiba was published in September 1999. Other book adaptations also followed along with four movies, various video games and card games. The franchise also includes items such as clothes, bags, school supplies, caps, eating utensils and the likes. | English | NL | bce13c59e60c8053dc77f4704afa6a0e88e7600ad42d332996b9e5d265bed5cf |
Isla was born to Scottish parents working for the UN in Oman in February 1976. As a child she moved back to Scotland before relocating to Perth, Australia at the age of six. She began appearing in Australian TV commercials and small roles as young as age nine. She wrote two teen novels by the time she was 18 but soon dedicated her life to acting.
Her first big break was being cast in the Australian soap opera Home and Away, appearing in 345 episodes over 4 years in the mid-'90s. Her first big Hollywood role was as Mary Jane in 2002's live action adaptation of Scooby-Doo. Since then she has appeared in dozens of films including Wedding Crashers, Rango, Now You See Me, Hot Rod, and The Great Gatsby.
Isla Fisher married Sacha Baron Cohen in 2010.
- Season Four
- → See 8 pictures of Isla Fisher at Images of Isla Fisher. | English | NL | 882579f7913dccb55325817b23763922fe26b7af0789eccda9551bf8a7adb633 |
The Sanctuary is a water tower on the NeddehCraft 2.0 server. It was founded on July 8, and construction was completed the next day. The tower was created in response to the increasing level of threat New Tempus faced, as their coordinates had been discovered.
Beastdudez and Cannonwalker both lived in New Tempus together, which itself was built in reponse to attacks on a prior town, before the tower was created. However, after the town was discovered by a man named Arcifex, Beastdudez and Cannonwalker no longer felt safe in New Tempus.
Cannonwalker began digging a hole a few hundred blocks away from spawn, and, on July 7, him and Beastdudez moved all of their goods into an obsidian bunker. After they had acquired a few double chests worth of Cobble, they began construction on the tower in the evening of July 8, managing to finish the next day. They built a farm on the first floor of the tower that day. | English | NL | c917a210f1c0ca1a212b3e132aed05e2f43f1ef3bcdd93695e4fcde276b1f956 |
HOME! They are finally out of the hospital. Snow looks down at the bed full of babies and honestly wonders how she is going to do this. For the first time she wonders if she should get a nanny to help.
She is grateful for the support of her beloved husband and Mother-in-law. Caring for the triplets is a daunting around the clock ordeal!
Prince is working from home so that he can be near by to help. He even has a crib set up in his office to have his baby daughters close by.
He has also been very sensitive to other ways he can be a help in running the household too. AHH Prince knows that there is very little as attractive as a man who says, “you sit here dear and I will do the dishes.”
Queen is exceptional as a doting grandma. She always seems to have a little in her arms. The babies already know her quiet voice and settle easily for her.
Rose White take her role as BIG sister very seriously. Her greatest joy is in making the babies laugh. She just adores them.
Soon they find their rhythm. Caring for the babies becomes less laborious and they even find a bit of free time for themselves.
Snow notices that Prince seems anxious in these past days. A specter seems to hang over him. Is it the babies she wonders. “What has you so worried,” she whispers to him as they walk on the beach. Prince took her hands and admitted, “Beloved Snow, I could never live without you. Should anything happen to you I could not go on! I never lived until I started loving you.” The sight of tears in his blue eyes melted her heart. Wistfully she assures him, “My dear husband, I will be yours ’til the moon and the stars fall from the sky and this ocean runs dry. You need not worry over such things.” A dark thought seemed to cross his face but was gone in a twinkling as he held her close.
That very night a dark and sinister shadow crept in to the house. It was there for Queen. The anxiety of meeting up with Evella had finally taken its toll. Prince heard the fall and came rushing in. He pleased with the grim stranger but it was not no avail. Snow was crushed. Queen was not only her loving mother in law but Snow’s dearest friend!
As he stands alone Prince in his grief he weight of the Kingdom comes crashing down upon him. It is not a burden he is ready to assume. | English | NL | 64649f86b2cb47c50174c47a31b3322c6c6659e245df4fb1a27b6a7fa695ba71 |
Nebimysh – Demon of Revenge
As I keep working with my Patron, King Paimon, as I grow spiritually and gain experience and knowledge, recently I had an interesting experience.
A few weeks ago, he introduced me to one of his Dukes. This is not the first time he has done this, as he was also the one who introduced me to Lucifer, which was the most important working I have done so far with another Demon other than King Paimon.
I have been working with this Demon the past few weeks and I can say she is very helpful. Before I tell you my experiences with her, I want to tell you her basic characteristics, so you have an idea of who she is, her likes and dislikes, her power, and how you can work with her if she accepts you. Her accepting you is the key because not everyone can work with this Demon.
Nebimysh – Duke
- Color: Blue/Red
- Incense: Sandalwood
- Metal: Copper
- Planet: Saturn
- Element: Fire – Water
- Direction: Southwest
- Demonic Enn: Sou latesa me te nahtou se teme
Nebimysh appeared to me as female Demon wrapped in a long, hooded cloak of iridescent darkness. She is one of King Paimon’s Dukes and she governs 10 Legions of Spirits. She has long brown hair and very pale skin, with light green eyes commanding my attention. He who gazes at her eyes shall see sparks as of the embers of a fire, for she lights the Darkness and Black Flame within the Abyss of one’s soul, causing growth, increasing power, and magickal powers.
She is an excellent Demon to work with for protection and revenge and is unparalleled in destroying and getting rid of your enemies. The first characteristic you will notice about her is that when you call her forth, a mist begins to appear. Slowly this mist begins to take form, taking on her visage and appearance. When she attacks your enemies, she uses the same tactic of mist to surround him, causing confusion and disorientation before attacking. Be forewarned – if you suddenly find yourself surrounded by a mysterious vapor out of the blue, you know you’re fucked! She is really into making your enemies suffer, but that probably means she could fuck you up if you mess things up. She is also great for keeping you safe.
Nebimysh is also very useful with issues associated with protection. You can draw her sigil everywhere you want, your house, your car even on a piece of paper and carry it with you. Very helpful for beginners who seek ways to be protected. When you engage with her growth, she will take you into complete darkness to test your mettle, after which times she will teach offer you power, and increasing magickal ability and strength to annihilate your enemies.
The first time that I worked alone with her and I called her forth, I noticed her energy. It’s not aggressive, but not very comfortable either. I will say it’s more of a “warrior” energy if this makes sense. I want to clarify that I did not feel uncomfortable with her energy to the point of stopping, but I guess it takes a little time to get used to her energy. I have worked with her enough that now I am perfectly fine working with her, but it does take time. Also, when she came to me, I started seeing a mist on my scrying mirror, and after a while, this mist started to take form.
Nebimysh likes blood and wine for offerings, and sandalwood either as incense and anointing oil. Roses with thorns are another of her favorites, blood red, of course. She likes when you use a thorn to pierce your skin for a blood offering, which I put on her sigil, into the glass of wine, and onto the deep red candle which I burnt for her as a fire offering as well.
She was very willing to explain things about defense magick to me, and it is stronger than nearly any other I have experienced so far. She will also protect you against your enemies – I checked that as well.
I suggested her to some very close friends of mine, so they could work with her to see how she worked with them, and to verify what I am writing here. Their feedback was excellent, so I highly recommend her. I would be very glad to hear your feedback as well! | English | NL | 1babad1120975bb8818ddd2394b1c6ff63594eac976d2312fa3d9ef99bc0dc42 |
Since WMSCOG Have the Words of Life
We work in a small clothing store together, and we also preach the Word to our customers together. One day, an elderly woman came into our store. While talking to her, we learned that she was attending church, and we asked her why she went to church.
“I am only a pilgrim on this earth. So I want to go to heaven, my spiritual home. That’s why I go to church.”
We taught her the truth of the Passover, saying we must keep it to enter the kingdom of heaven. After a few days, she visited our store again, and studied the Bible with her eyes twinkling enough to make us forget about her age. Then she asked us to write down the Bible verses which she studied that day, saying that she wanted to read them again at her home. She studied the Bible several more times like that, and a week before the Feast of Pentecost, she was reborn as a child of the true God, saying, “I have no doubt that this is absolutely the truth.”
When she first heard the truth, she felt confused because she had been very devout and active in a Protestant church; she had served as a Sunday school teacher and also as a mission leader for a long time. However, since she believed that nothing is more important than the word of God, she was finally able to discern the truth.
She said that she was persuaded to get a higher position in the Protestant church many times, but she refused the proposal every time. It was because she thought that the position had nothing to do with her salvation. On the other hand, she was so eager to learn the word of God that when she had a question about the Bible, she did not hesitate to ask the person with a higher position or the pastoral staff about it. Then they just said, “You just need to believe.” Their answer could never satisfy her. As she moved to another place a few months before, she started going to a new church. However, the church did not quench her spiritual thirst, either.
It was around that time that she met us. When she asked the pastor of that church about the Passover, he said things that were different from the Bible, so she did not ask him anymore. She said, “I only believe in God’s word”; she was truly a child of God.
While she was keeping the Prayer Week of the Pentecost with delight, she was faced with a difficult situation. Some people from the church, which she had attended for a long time before, visited her and troubled her heart with many words. It gave her a hard time, but she thought that she should fear God, not people, and she flat out said to them, “I’ve found the truth. So do not visit me again.”
She received the Holy Spirit of the latter rain in abundance through the Feast of Pentecost. Now she says, “Since I’ve received the true God, I have no regrets even if I die today.” Although there are still many things that trouble her, she is joyfully fostering the hope for heaven in Zion. It is very touching to see her doing so. She eagerly wants to preach the truth to her acquaintances. We believe that God, knowing her earnest heart, will surely allow her to bear fruit sooner or later.
Once again, we realize this: There are many souls who are longing for God’s word and looking for the truth so eagerly, and we, who have understood the truth earlier, must preach the gospel to them. So today, like every other day, we blow the trumpet of the gospel loud here at our workplace—the gospel field granted by God to us, in order to find our heavenly family members who will come back to Zion when they hear the voice of God saying,
“Come out of her, my people (Rev 18:4).” | English | NL | 42367c21c635d739aac3753f2e906bd18f3c3a79213701932f99fc17680cd3b5 |
When our edition was published it was my intention to reread it, but career demands, other literary works, including all of Yates’ later novels and short stories, encroached on my reading time, so on various bookshelves in the homes we’ve lived, this edition nestled in waiting. The catalyst for recently rereading Revolutionary Road was the film of it, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. Reportedly, the book was “discovered” as a major American literary work by Kate Winslet and her husband, the film’s director, Sam Mendes. The film seemed faithful to the novel so I finally read the reprint edition to see for myself. In the process I was reminded why I was so taken with Yates’ work in the first place.
Since I am an “old” production guy, I have to describe the edition, republished without a jacket but in a library binding, 88 point binder’s boards, Arrestox "C" weight cloth with gold foil stamping on the spine, 5–1 /2 x 8–1/2 trim size, headbands and footbands, printed on acid free, cream colored high-opacity 50 lb paper. It was probably printed in Ann Arbor, Michigan where we printed the majority of our books. It looked as new as the day it was republished. So, I have come full circle with the book, reading it soon after it was first published, reprinting it when it went out of print, seeing the movie, and now finally rereading my reprint edition of the novel, with more than 40 years intervening.
As I said I thought the movie closely followed the book but after rereading Revolutionary Road, I am struck by its extreme faithfulness. Maybe this is because Yates’ elegantly developed plot moves chronologically and with an inevitability that drives the novel to its conclusion, making it so adaptable to the screen. But mostly, it is Yates’ living dialogue and although I do not have the screenplay to compare, I am certain much of it was wisely lifted from the novel itself.
When I first read the novel I was going through a divorce, having been married at the end of my junior year in college. My ex-wife and I were two kids, not unlike Frank and April in Revolutionary Road. I take literature very personally and the novel spoke directly to me as my own marriage was disintegrating and I was looking for answers.
The relationship of Yates’ men and women can be summed up by the titles of Yates’ two terrific short story collections: Eleven Kinds of Loneliness and Liars in Love. I was struck by these two themes, loneliness and self deception, as depicted in Revolutionary Road, relating those to my own experience, not only in my first marriage but the failed marriage of my parents (although they continued the pretense of a marriage to their deaths). Yates’ characters are perpetually struggling with one another, the men unsure of their masculinity, having to prove it in their work, their “need” to be loved by their wives, and to dominate women outside their marriages, while the women are highly neurotic and dependent but oddly headstrong and impulsive at the same time.
Towards the novel’s dénouement, April, exhausted from her struggles with her husband Frank, determined to follow through on aborting their third child, sends Frank off to work with a little kiss. Frank is confused, astounded, but grateful as he goes off to catch his train. April thinks it was “…a perfectly fair, friendly kiss, a kiss for a boy you’d just met at a party. The only real mistake, the only wrong and dishonest thing, was ever to have seen him as anything more than that. Oh, for a month or two, just for fun, it might be all right to play a game like that with a boy; but all these years! And all because, in a sentimentally lonely time long ago, she had found it easy and agreeable to believe whatever this one particular boy felt like saying, and to repay him for that pleasure by telling easy, agreeable lies of her own, until each was saying what the other most wanted to hear – until he was saying ‘I love you’ and she was saying ‘really, I mean it; you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.’” Indeed, liars in love. It perfectly described my own experience and I’ve been hooked on Yates ever since.
Yates characters wear different personas, playacting their way through their lives, with a natural capacity for self deception and disingenuousness. The book begins with a play in which April acts in a community theatre production. For a month after April finds she is pregnant with this third child, she and Frank go through their own elaborate play, she wanting an abortion (supposedly for Frank’s sake) and Frank wanting the child (supposedly for moral reasons). Subliminally he realizes that the pregnancy will put to rest April’s impetuous desire to move to Paris and thus leave them with a “comfortable” suburban life: “And so the way was clear for the quiet, controlled, dead serious debate with which they began to fill one after another of the calendar’s days, a debate that kept them both in a finely drawn state of nerves that was not at all unpleasant. It was very like a courtship….His main tactical problem, in this initial phase of the campaign, was to find ways of making his position attractive, as well as commendable. The visits to town and country restaurants were helpful in this connection; she had only to glance around her in such places to discover a world of handsome, graceful, unquestionably worthwhile men and women, who had somehow managed to transcend their environment – people who had turned dull jobs to their own advantage, who had exploited the system without knuckling under it, who would certainly tend, if they knew the facts of the Wheelers’ case, to agree with him.”
Yates tackles the suburban landscape, reminiscent of Cheever and Updike, something that did not resonate particularly with me when I first read the book, but after having lived in the Westport, Connecticut area for some thirty years, now has a special meaning. Yates’ portrayal is more scathing, depicting a desolate place where desperate people, lonely and unsure of themselves, toiling away in an era of placidity on the surface with deep anxiety running beneath. He describes the neighborhood as “invincibly cheerful, a toyland of white and pastel houses whose bright, uncurtained windows winked blandly through a dappling of green and yellow leaves.” The women raise the kids in their manicured homes and the men do battle in the city, snaking their way on the commuter railroad with their hats and their newspapers. Yates describes Frank, “…riding to work, one of the youngest and healthiest passengers on the train, he sat with the look of a man condemned to a very slow, painless death. He felt middle-aged.” This is as sad a depiction of the American dream’s corruption as could have been conjured up by Fitzgerald.
Frank works at his father’s old firm, a veneration of cynicism on his part. He gets a job in the Sales Promotion Department at Knox Business Machines, deciding “it would be more fun not to mention his father in the interview at all.” “The sales what? [April inquired]….What does that mean you’re supposed to do?” “Who the hell knows? They explained it to me for half an hour and I still don’t know, and I don’t think they do either. No, but it’s pretty funny, isn’t it? Old Knox Business Machines. Wait’ll I tell the old man. Wait’ll he hears I didn’t even use his name.” “And so it started as a kind of joke. Others might fail to see the humor of it, but it filled Frank Wheeler with a secret, astringent delight as he discharged his lazy duties, walking around the office in a way that had lately become almost habitual with him, if not quite truly characteristic, since having been described by his wife as ‘terrifically sexy’ -- a slow catlike stride, proudly muscular but expressing a sleepy disdain of tension or hurry.” Work too, is nothing more than a performance, something without intrinsic meaning, like other aspects of their lives.
Paradoxically, the one character in the novel who does not suffer from self deception, is their real estate agent’s son, John, who is an inmate in a mental institution, one who occasionally visits the Wheelers when he is released to his parents. When he learns that the Wheelers are not going to move to France and that April is pregnant, he says to them, first referring to Frank, “Big man you got here, April…Big family man, solid citizen. I feel sorry for you. Still, maybe you deserve each other. Matter of fact, the way you look right now, I’m beginning to feel sorry for him too. I mean come to think of it, you must give him a pretty bad time, if making babies is the only way he can prove he’s got a pair of balls….Hey, I’m glad of one thing, though? You know what I’m glad of? I’m glad I’m not gonna be that kid.”
Yates wrote six novels after Revolutionary Road. Among my favorites was Easter Parade, but Revolutionary Road stands on its own. He also had his short stories published in the two collections mentioned earlier, and, finally, he became more widely recognized with the publication of the Collected Stories of Richard Yates a few years ago. The wonderful introduction to this edition was written by Richard Russo who is yet another contemporary author influenced by Yates.
A must read article on Yates “The Lost World of Richard Yates; How the great writer of the Age of Anxiety disappeared from print” was published in the October/November 1999 issue of the Boston Review by Stewart O’Nan. He thoroughly covers Yates’ history and writing, but I was disappointed O’Nan failed to mention the edition of Revolutionary Road we kept in print for those ten years. Nonetheless, I would like to think our edition did its small part in keeping Yates’ extraordinary novel alive. | English | NL | 867f0cf09f67cb27d996211c98be4a23589aeeeb1f1d65423b3eaffddabf9b52 |
A rare blend of brains and beauty, a Capricorn woman is dominated by the Saturn, which make it clear that the woman’s every single action and decision is effected by the Saturn.
She can be found as another dancing diva as well as the curator of a museum, with the bold glasses. In what so ever field she stays, she stays affected by Saturn.
A typical career girl, for her, the job is first, and after that all the rest of the things in her life. No matter, whether that be the marriage or the parent’s support.
A combination of being flirty, charming and adorable, she has the capability of making any man feel like the terminator, who is there for her help always beside her. Or more like a grizzly bear too, who is there always for her protection.
Security, respect, authority and the position matters to her before anything in her life. She has been the one, who has been some kind of an enigma for so many people, but she has also been one kind of a bold diva, who knows well, what stands important in her life.
The Capricorns of both the sexes are blessed with some unusual talent and they have been known all across the borders for the skills, which have given them well recognition and fame.
A typical goat by her nature, she always prefers to climb. As a lamb keep on jumping up, a Capricorn woman will always want to get associated with a person of a higher reputation and status, in comparison to any other average guy.
She will marry a fair handsome and extremely rich guy instead of the medium earning fellow, who just has a lame way of living.
Natural grace and the art of breeding is something, which is considered to be the most remarkable and distinguished thing about this woman.
If ever she feel least preferred and have not been the loved one, she will always be there, with some of the rudest comments, which will surely last in your brain for ever.
The famous term, Capricious or He is capricious, been invented majorly due to the people who are Capricorn, and because of their trait of being too grumpy at times. | English | NL | d7f0e39ac7b9df76d598fc12531fe3d61d182599edc3c29fe4e1151cebfb72ff |
My love affair with the guitar started the summer of my 10th year at an arts camp on Cape Cod. Having already taken lessons on the piano and violin, and although at the time my current instrument of ‘study’ was the cello, I quickly developed a love of the guitar, watching the camp counselors accompany themselves and others on appealing popular folk songs of the time.
It was at this camp that one of the counselors taught me the three chords necessary to play “The MTA” and “The Titanic”, probably G, C and D7. I learned them well enough to host the end of the year talent show, at the end of which, when my time came, I sank the Titanic a second time, embarrasingly unable to find the correct starting note of the song.
This didn’t stop me; I was bitten by guitar bug, which has been biting me ever since, and hasn’t let up over more than a half-century of studying and playing this wonderful instrument.
The instrument has taken me from folk to blues to classical, and eventually in my teenage years to jazz. Being endowed with a good musical ear, I plundered my records for guitar chords, patterns and licks, and when I started to become fascinated with guitar players like Kenny Burrell, Jim Hall, Joe Pass and B.B. King, I learned to steal their licks, all the while trying to get their sound. At school I made friends with other guitarists, who turned me onto more chords and licks, as I did to them.
The guitar started out as my guide to the world of music and in time became a connection to other peers, both guitarists as well as players of other instruments. There was a mutual feeling of respect for each other, and one thing we had in common was a love and hunger for music.
In high school, I was fortunate to have a mentor, who was the music teacher at the school. He would sit me down in his study and play me recordings of the great jazz musicians, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Duke Ellington, among many others. David recognized my talent and eventually connected me to Jim Hall, who agreed to take me on as a student. So the summer before my freshman year in college I would make the weekly trip to New York City for guitar lessons with this guitar master, lessons which inspired me enormously. Jim had an unorthodox teaching method, teaching by concept rather than method. Being an extremely motivated student, this approach suited me, and I took whatever information he gave me and used it to expand my playing. Eventually, my lessons with Jim Hall affected me not only as a player, but as a teacher, where I would learn to combine his conceptual style with a methodical approach, in order to give my students a well-rounded musical training.
This study and preparation laid the groundwork for my musical experiences in college. On the more formal side were my academic musical studies, Theory and Harmony, Orchestration, Renaissance Musical Performance, contemporary musical ensemble playing: I enjoyed it all. But on the other side were the fellow jazz musicians I made in New Haven, and the budding jazz scene that I became part of. Being young musicians cutting their improvisational teeth like me, we shared the same hunger to play and found and created opportunities for ourselves to perform. This continued through and after my years at Yale; these same musicians have mostly all continued playing professionally, and many have established their niche in the pantheon of great improvisational players.
After college eventually I ended up in New York City, where I started to find work playing ‘club dates’ (weddings and bar mitzvahs) and a Broadway show here and there. I met lots of guitar players, and we would often get together in groups of three or four and play jazz tunes. Finally, I got my first tour with an English folk-rock artist signed with Capitol Records, and suddenly I found myself thrust on stage opening for groups as varied at Peter Frampton, Joe Walsh, Blue Oyster Cult and Pure Prairie League.
Upon returning to New York, I reunited with my old New Haven friends, many of whom had moved to the Big Apple like myself. Even though the gigs were scarce, I was playing all the time, mostly in the living rooms of musicians who were living in lower Manhattan. It was the period of ‘loft jazz’: the dearth of paying jazz clubs forced musicians to create their own spaces, often in the lofts they lived in, and this scene sparked a new level of creativity in the contemporary jazz world.
However, the opportunity for making money at music was pretty meager at that time, and several friends of mine and myself decided to put together a band dedicated to playing dance music, albeit with a creative edge, a sort of avant-funk. The five of us formed Slickaphonics, a band that eventually got a record deal with a small jazz label and started touring on the European festival scene. The reviews on our first gigs in France were good and soon our territory expanded to all of western Europe. During our 10 year existence the Slicks made 5 albums and toured Europe fairly extensively, all the while creating a cult following. During this period I was also playing with other jazz musicians both in Europe and New York. After a while, my funk guitar chops got me a gig with Maceo Parker and the J.B. Horns, three illustrious veterans of the James Brown band. I even got to play with the King of Soul himself!
All during this time I was writing music: pieces for my own ensembles, music and words for Slickaphonic songs. Towards the end of the eighties I decided to join forces with my old friend and writer Deborah Atherton, with the goal of writing a musical based on the old vampire story “Carmilla”. This first project led to our next, much bigger project, an opera based on the life of Mary Shelley. “Mary Shelley” became a large part of my musical life for ten years, culmination in a full concert version at the Society for Ethical Culture auditorium in 2002. It was eventually presented by New York City Opera as part of their VOX series in 2011.
Over the years I have written short pieces for the guitar which I call my “rags”. These rags are solo guitar pieces which I perform finger style using plastic finger picks. In 2003 I was asked to do a book for Hal Leonard Publications called “Ragtime Guitar” which included 11 of my arrangements of classic piano rags for the guitar and three of my own rags. In writing these pieces I was seduced by the idea of creating solo pieces for the guitar that incorporated many of the rhythmic, harmonic and melodic elements of jazz and blues. I continue to pursue this direction on the instrument to this day.
Finally, for the last 15 years I have concentrated on teaching, which has become a great source of satisfaction to me. I have been fortunate to have a steady stream of beginning, intermediate and advanced students study with me in my studio on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Through my teaching, I have been able to pass on my love of music to my students, and it has been wonderful to experience their delight as the great world of music and the guitar opens up to them. | English | NL | d1b588749fed4c46318c4df9e65179943a9fa3f8e57940b28837dd2c2601a6bc |
“Why seek ye the living among the dead?” – Luke 24:5
The scene of the crucifixion was over. The Lord’s life in the flesh had come to its end, and His body had been placed in the tomb. This took place on a Friday. Early Sunday morning Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and other women came to the sepulchre bringing spices for the final preparation of the body. They could not do this on Saturday because of Jewish customs. When they came to the sepulchre, they found the stone which had closed the tomb rolled away. The body of Jesus was not there. It was then that the two angels in shining garments greeted them with the words of the text, “Why seek ye the living among the dead?”
Easter stands for the reality of spiritual things. The life that the Lord lived on earth as the Word made flesh is the symbol of the life which He now lives in the mind which opens itself to receive Him. To His disciples the Lord said, “Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory?” Life is a development, and in its orderly course it is the process of regeneration. The Lord’s apostles and followers thought that the Lord’s life had ended in defeat, but after the Resurrection all this was changed. The story of the Lord’s life is the story of what He wants to do for us – to enter into our souls and cast out all that stands in the way of our fullest happiness. He lived out the life that is in the Word, and as we learn and keep the precepts of the Word, He dwells in us and, as it were, lives His life over again in us.
The Divine life is a life of service to others. He who lives only for himself can have no conception of the happiness and blessing that comes from living for others. Every step that the Lord took from the manger to the cross He takes over again in those who follow Him in the regeneration. Conceived in us through His truth, He goes forth to conquer our evils and redeem us from wrong, that He may little by little gift us with a new and higher life.
Easter stands for the realty of spiritual things, of the spiritual world, and of the Lord’s own presence in the soul. In the Lord all men live, move, and have their being, whether they know it or not. But they do not always live consciously in and from Him. “Know ye that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.” The stone that sealed the tomb represents the false ideas and thoughts that shut up the Lord in our souls as in a tomb. There is still much disbelief in the world, which lies like a great stone upon the spirits of men, shutting out the out the most real and most vital things of life, its highest hopes and joys.
When Joseph of Arimathaea had taken the body of Jesus and placed it in the tomb, the chief priests and Pharisees came to Pilate saying, “Sir, we remember that that deceiver said, while he was yet alive, After three days I will rise again. Command therefore that the sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead: so the last error shall be worse than the first. Pilate said unto them, Ye have a watch: go your way, make it as sure as you can. So they went, and made the sepulchre sure, sealing the stone, and setting a watch.”
The stone which closed the sepulchre in which the Lord was laid represents the literal meaning of the Word, which covers and protects it. It is recorded that Joseph of Arimathaea rolled this stone in place, but that it was the priests and Pharisees who, with Pilate’s leave, sealed it.
To the pure in heart the letter of Scripture is a rock of defense. The Lord’s life in them is protected by it. Though they may not be able to understand and to explain, yet they know “Thy word is true from the beginning: and every one of thy righteous judgments endureth forever.”
It is recorded that near the tomb was a garden. It was but a step from the sepulchre to the garden. Near everyone’s grave is a garden. That garden is the spiritual world and it is a very short journey to it. Death is the gate to life, yet to some people spiritual things seem not only far removed but undesirable. The treasures of heaven seem of little worth. Some deny even the existence of God and heaven.
In the opposite meaning, the stone that was sealed so that none could move it is a symbol of disbelief in the Word, in the reality of spiritual life, of life beyond the grave. And it is even more than this. It is the symbol of disbelief that the Lord still lives, that He is with men forever, with all power in heaven and in earth to go forward in the work which He began while visibly present among men – the work of saving men and establishing His kingdom.
The great stone as Joseph rolled it to the door represented no willful disbelief. He mourned his Master’s death. Gladly would he have believed that He still lived, but it seemed impossible. A spiritual presence and a spiritual kingdom were not real to him. So it is with all of us at first. Only slowly do we come to know the Lord and to realize the worth of true riches. How great the stone of disbelief that weighs us all down! Truly the Gospel says, “The stone was very great.”
But those who sealed the stone, making the sepulchre as sure as they could, were they who had brought about the crucifixion; and not only did they think that the Lord would not live, that His mission had failed, and that the kingdom He came to establish would speedily come to an end, but they were determined that He should not live.
The stone was not moved from the tomb by men. No man can move it for us. The angel of the Lord rolled away the stone from the door of the sepulchre. It is only in heaven’s light that we can see spiritual things.
This light comes from the Lord through His Word. If we go to the Word, read it, and obey it, doubt and denial must give way in our hearts. The Lord rose from the dead and appeared to His disciples and followers, but He did not appear to those whose minds were closed to Him. Even among those who witnessed some of the phenomena of the Resurrection there were some who were unconvinced and were willing to report that the disciples stole Him away. And so it is commonly reported unto this day. There are those who deny the Resurrection.
Materialism, worldliness, disbelief in spiritual things lie for many like a stone sealing up the living message of the Word of God. So today some think of the Lord as a figure of the past, of history, or tradition, and not as a present and living Lord.
When the two Marys came to the sepulchre and found the stone rolled away, they were filled with fear, for they did not comprehend what had taken place. They had come expecting to find a body in the sepulchre, but they were challenged by the question, “Why seek ye the living among the dead?” Then their fear was removed by the angels’ assurance, “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said.” If the affections of the heart are pure, they will never be disappointed. The heart may not find just what it expected, but it will find that which is infinitely better. “He is risen, as he said.” To the understanding the light of faith will be given. So the truth is always rising in the hearts of those who seek the Lord. Out of the grave of past states He rises into the region of higher and better states.
After the Resurrection the angel told the women to go and tell His disciples “that he is risen from the dead, and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him.” Galilee is the symbol of our natural life in the world with its duties and uses, and into these the truth descends to guide and mould us. So should we hasten into the Galilee of faithful and devoted service to meet Him and rejoice in His presence.
“Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.” | English | NL | 541b881ea6465e4ead16ff91bc1f0a3e030187576dd58a8eab800aeca5f0c791 |
By B. J. Daniels
Release Date: February 28, 2017
It's been nine years since Trask Beaumont left Gilt Edge, Montana, with an unsolved crime in his wake, and Lillian Cahill has convinced herself she's finally over him. But when the rugged cowboy with the easy smile suddenly shows up at her bar, there's a pang in her heart arguing the attraction never faded. And that's dangerous, because Trask has returned on a mission to clear his name and win Lillie back.
Tired of running, Trask knows he must uncover the truth of the past before he can hope for a future with the woman he's never forgotten. But if Lillie's older brother, the sheriff, learns that Trask is back in town, he'll arrest him for murder. Now Trask is looking for a showdown, and he won't leave town again without one—or without Lillie.
When she turned back, Trask was gone. Lillie blinked. It was as if he hadn’t been there at all. And yet her heart still thundered in her chest. If she dialed 9-1-1, Flint would come running.
She stood, the gun in her hand growing heavy, the phone just one keystroke away from the sheriff’s department dispatcher. Trask. He’d come back.
And now he was gone. Again. Had she not been sane, she might have believed that she’d conjured up his image from a desire she’d spent years trying hard to bury. But she hadn’t dreamed him. He’d left behind his boot prints in the dirt, and even if her eyes had deceived her, her heart had not.
Trask was back. Conflicting emotions warred inside her. Trask, after all these years. She pocketed her phone and slowly lowered the gun as she began to shake all over. Tears burned her eyes. Why would he come back now? How could he come back, knowing how dangerous it was for him?
Tucking the gun into the waistband of her jeans and covering it with her shirt again, she turned to find her brother standing a few yards away. Had he seen Trask?
“Have you lost your mind?” Darby demanded, making her fear she had. Before she could respond, he continued, “You leave Dad alone in the bar? Alone in a bar stocked with bright shiny bottles of booze? Didn’t you just get him out of jail?” He stopped his rant to frown. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”
She said the first thing that came to mind that might make sense. “Thought I saw a bear. Didn’t want it getting in the trash again.”
“We have worse problems in the bar. Come take care of your father,” he said only half-jokingly.
“He’s your father too,” she pretended to remind him as she followed him. Inside, she found Ely behind the bar with a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand and a big grin on his face.
“I’ll be in the back,” Darby said with a disgusted shake of his head. “Apparently, you promised him a Johnson breakfast.” It had been their mother’s specialty named after her family.
The moment Darby disappeared in the back, her father asked, “Find what you was lookin’ for out there?” He was no longer grinning. Nor it seemed had he indulged in the whiskey. Darby’d had no reason to worry. Their father had only been pretending to start the day with whiskey.
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NYT and USA Today Bestselling author B.J. Daniels was born in Texas but moved with her family to Montana at the age of five. Her first home was a cabin in the Gallatin Canyon and later a lake house on Hebgen Lake outside of West Yellowstone. Most of her books are set in Montana, a place she loves. She lives now in a unique part of the state with her husband and three Springer Spaniels.When she isn’t writing, she loves to play tennis, boat, camp, quilt and snowboard. There is nothing she enjoys more than curling up with a good book.
Connect with B. J. Daniels
Check out the other tour stops for Renegade's Pride. | English | NL | 843c26a6379bd6beaf0ff4d11b79b7888f34f31056387b08dea6835c5be5cfea |
Royal Copenhagen issued mother's day plates in the period between 1971 and 1989. What is special about the Royal Copenhagen mother's day plates is that they actually consisted of a number of differing series and one that falls outside the rest.
The first series, which was individual in its style, was issued between 1971 and 1977, in this series the depiction on the plates were first stylished mother's with children from different countries and later mermaids etc.
From 1978 to 1982 the series had classic mother and child depictions with a change in the drawing style between 1980 and 1982.
1982 was a special year as Royal Copenhagen issued two mother's day plates this year. One was the last in the series of mother and child depictions and the other the first in the series of animals based on the Royal Copenhagen figurines. This series lasted from 1982 to 1987.
No mother's day plate was issued by Royal Copenhagen in 1988, but a final one was issued in 1989. It was markedly different from the other mother's day plates and depicts a fisherman's wife and children stand near the sea looking for the fisherman returning home. | English | NL | 5de9aed57220b541b7e5d7ff38def809083d2b3ae761f007f45c33eea3d2f625 |
Andrei Kanchelskis – professional football player
Andrei Kanchelskis is a Soviet and Russian football player, coach. You know, he is a master of sports of international class, Honored Master of Sports of Russia (2011). By the way, he is one of the most successful and award-winning Russian players. Since 1999, he has been a British citizen.
The boy was born on January 23, 1969 in Kirovograd, USSR.
At the highest level his football career began in 1988. The boy played for Dynamo Kiev under the direction of Valery Lobanovsky. 19-year-old football player scored his first goal at the USSR championship on November 4, 1988. A year later he has played 15 matches at the national championship for Dynamo Kiev. Also he won the bronze medal, his first football award.
After the military service Kanchelskis joined another Ukrainian club Shakhter. Later he was invited to participate at the 1992 European Championship.
On February 6, 1991, during a game in Glasgow, Andrei was noticed by Sir Alex Ferguson, coach of Manchester United. As a result, he debuted in his new team on May 11, 1991. Kanchelskis spent four full seasons in the United States – from 1991 to 1995. Moreover, he was one of the leaders of the club. Kanchelskis won the FA Cup, English League Cup, European Super Cup and two FA Community Shields. In total for the MU Kanchelskis played 162 matches and scored 36 goals.
The football player was transferred to Everton for 5.5 million pounds in the 1994/95 season. In April 1996, Andrei was named the best player of the month in the Premier League. Actually, he became the second of four Everton players (for now) achieved such success.
Kanchelskis announced the end of his career on February 11, 2007. At that time, he was 38 years old.
For a year, from December 2009 to December 2010, he was the head coach of Torpedo-ZIL. Later he became the head coach of football club Ufa.
On June 20, 2012 Kanchelskis became the head coach of Volga club. However, at the end of the season 2012/2013 he left Volga.
On August 31, 2014 Andrei was appointed head coach of the Latvian Jurmala.
From January 20 to April 26, 2016 he was a coach of Solaris Moscow.
In May 2017 he became a head coach of the Russian national student team.
By the way, Andrei is an author of the books Kanchelskis (1995) and My Geography (2002).
In 1999 Kanchelskis became the United Kingdom citizen.
In the summer of 1990 Kanchelskis met pretty Inna in Kirovograd. The girl was a winner of Miss Kirovograd beauty pageant. On June 22, 1991 they got married. Their son Andrei was born in Manchester on December 21, 1993 and their daughter Eva was born in Glasgow on March 23, 1999. In 2006, Inna and Andrei officially divorced. Now Inna is the wife of Russian singer Stas Mikhailov. | English | NL | ffaad6c34b6ff1ee39b302f5a864f7f26c65e1ba7eab15b2db2ceaa4fc4c107c |
This picture reminds me of a period in my life about three years ago.
God told me to prepare my music, assemble a band and practice. That meant a lot of practicing in the "hallway" until he opened the door. At times it got frustrating, at times it caused others to not want to hang in for the long haul.
Yet, God told me to continue to practice, to continue to prepare. I didn't understand it. As I talked with a good friend, she asked me, "What if God never opens the door, will you continue to prepare?"
My answer and what kept me going was my reply of "yes."
Maybe what God wanted from me was to worship him in my "hallway", maybe He wanted to use the hallway as my final destination or maybe He wanted me to be still until things were prepared for me to exit.
Regardless, my answer was to remain in the hallway...in my living room until He told me to wait no more.
What I didn't see, what I could not have imagined was what was on the other side of that door. He did open the door, I did walk through and God blew my mind.
Even if he never opens another door for me, I will remain in this hallway worshiping Him, praising Him and thanking Him for who He is regardless.
A collection of writings from a life based on the truth that about midnight anything can happen.
As an imperfect servant of the Lord, I often feel I am fumbling my way through life, looking upward for guidance and outward to love. So, I write about it, to break up the noise in my head. | English | NL | f22c8c435258b4a43091358af6fe5b885d7e48ee7fe03a5b94b04248d6e93902 |
Castlelaw Unto Themselves
Alex Frizzell interviewed in 1990. With his wife Marion, he ran a bookselling business and the Castlelaw Press from their home in West Linton. They were close friends of Chris (Hugh McDiarmid) and Valda Grieve.
I was brought up with my grandparents near Howgate, Penicuik. My grandmother had a wee shop that sold everything – mineral water, cigarettes, Duncan’s penny bars of hazelnut chocolate – and inside the counter, which was really one of these old-fashioned Scottish kists, were hundreds of paperback romances. These were the only books in the house. My grandfather was a keen reader. He used to drink a bit, but on the Sunday after the Saturday he would get a book out and before I could read myself I noticed how he would shut himself off from the rest of the world by this reading. I can’t remember exactly when and how I learned to read, but Ethel M. Dell and the rest had taught me all about romance by the time I was nine! I went to Howgate village school. The teacher had at least five classes to teach at once. She began in the morning with a chapter from the Bible and everyone who could read, read a verse each, while the rest listened. At the end of the day she always read us a story, maybe Ruskin’s King of the Golden River or one of Andrew Lang’s fairy tales. That was a great incentive for me. I was a young child on my own with a lot of older people at home, and my imagination was nurtured by this teacher: I very quickly began reading and being interested in books.
My grandmother kept hens, and when I was twelve my job on a Saturday was to deliver maybe two basket of eggs down to various customers in Penicuik. I used to get threepence here and twopence there. That allowed me to take a sixpenny return on the train to Edinburgh after I had done my deliveries and still have about one and six over. I used to go around all the bookshops looking for books, buying for quantity, not for the contents. In those days, the 1930s, there was a very reasonable bookshop opposite the Dental College in Chambers Street. There was a shop down Leith Walk, Williamson’s, at Haddington Place, which had a hut out at the front where the very cheap books were sold, and there were more in the dark recesses behind. Then I went to Willis’s in a basement in St Andrew’s Square. That was a great shop for me, a lot of books for a penny, twopence and threepence. I went to Thin’s very occasionally, usually to get a new book.
I left school when I was about fifteen, and my first job was spreading manure on a farm. I didn’t like it, I had to put the harness on the horse and I was frightened of it. After about three months, somebody got me a job in a paper mill in Penicuik. I didn’t like that at all. Terrible noise in a factory. Deafening. But at least I was getting more money and that allowed me to buy more books. Then the war came. My friends and I decided we were all going to join up, and on the second of September, it was a Saturday, I tried to get into the Air Force. They told me to come back on Monday. By Monday my enthusiasm had waned a bit. However, I did join up about a year later, and went into the Air Force. I did my training here and then I was posted overseas to Egypt, where I was ill for about three months with dysentery. Then I was sent to Jerusalem. I had to go to headquarters to have a decision made as to where I would be going in the Middle East. I was very apprehensive. I was really just a wee boy from the country, I wasn’t brave or anything. But as it turned out, the fellow who was to make this decision knew me from the Howgate days. When he was a student he had worked as a roadmender during his holidays alongside my grandfather who was a roadman. As a wee boy I had played around and watched them. He arranged for me to stay in Jerusalem. I had a very lucky war in the sense I was away from most of the fighting. Jerusalem was what you might call a ‘Cushy number’. I worked about eight hours every day and the rest of the time I was fairly free. There was a most wonderful YMCA library where I spent a lot of my off-duty time; often I was the only person in the place. This was my education. There was nothing structured about it. I just read and read and read.
I bought lots of books during my three years in Jerusalem, and when I came back at the end of the war I had one kit-bag for my Army stuff, and one kit-bag full of books, including Drinkwater’s Outline of Literature, which I liked to refer to, and a lovely set of the works of William Morris. I had the idea that I would try and get a job in a bookshop, and wrote to people like Kitty Foyle. I had an interview, but with no experience and a Penicuik accent I must have looked an absolute rookie. Noting came of that. However, I got a job with Martin Dunlop, who had a shop at 52 George IV Bridge in Edinburgh, just along from the National Library of Scotland. I said to him I wasn’t too concerned about the money I earned. I began at £3 a week and he gave me a trial for a fortnight. After that he kept me on and I worked with him till 1952, and every single quarter he gave me a rise. It was a very just way of treating an employee.
Dunlop’s was a one-man shop, he did catalogues, bought at auction, watched the shop. The Cliquewas a very great thing on a Thursday. Immediately after it arrived he went through the Books Wanted section and marked off the books that he had, and I wrote off the details. I gradually came to do all the different things in the shop. Of course when you are being trained, you are always dependent on the interest of the person who is training you. Martin Dunlop’s uncle, who had worked in Grants for many years, had started the business, and, as often happens, when someone comes into a family business it’s never the same. Marty wasn’t interested in reading or books as such, but he was quite keen on buying and selling them. He taught me a lot, but I feel I was taught much more by customers. Their enthusiasm is very infectious. I have a magpie mind and can change my enthusiasm from one thing to another. I used to scour the town to find things that I thought particular collectors might not have.
Marty tended to throw out books because they were dirty and torn. I was always wanting to take things out of the wastepaper, but I very seldom asked him if I could. The way Marty had the shop arranged, all the catalogue books were inside; at the door he had a stall of shilling books and on the opposite side a stall of sixpenny books, and at the corner facing onto the street he had threepenny books on another two little shelves; and he had a special row of books at eye-level which he changed every Saturday for fresh stock that was a terrible temptation for me. I felt too scared to buy more than one book when the morning started, but by the time afternoon came and people had been in I felt I could buy the rest I wanted.
In 1948 I met Marion, and after a spell we got married. At first I kept working with Marty. Marion thought it would be a good idea if I became a bookseller in my own right. I was thirty-two at the time. I had imagined that I’d never be able to afford to be a bookseller until I had a white beard. Then one day we saw advertised in the newspaper a shop for sale at 41 Bruntsfield Place, Edinburgh. In fact it was two shops which had been made into one, going for something like £1,100. We went ahead and bought it, though we could barely scrape together the deposit. But we hit upon the brilliant idea of making it back into two shops again, and we managed to sell the smaller one for almost as much as we had paid for the two together.
We worked for a fortnight trying to get the shop painted, the shelves up and the linoleum down, the last three days and nights without sleeping, to be ready to open one Saturday lunchtime. Marion alone had the pleasure of our first customer. I was fast asleep. It was Mr Riddell, a bank inspector by profession and an avid collector whose particular interest was literature. He became an excellent customer. Somehow he always walked through the door just when I was putting a new collection on the shelves.
Our life in the bookshop began quite simply. We lived in the back shop. We sawed the legs off Marion’s family table and got a mattress for the top and a stool along the back. At lunchtime we could have a wee lie down if there were no customers. I had already accumulated quite a lot of stock, and whenever we went on a jaunt we’d go somewhere there was a bookshop or a Jumble Sale.
At the outset I followed Marty’s ideas, though later I developed my own way of doing things. We changed the window displays every fortnight to attract passers by. People loved to come in and browse. On the walls the books were arranged in different categories, but in the middle of the shop I had a table with the new stock, always changing. There were a lot of bargains. I still believe that booksellers do well to provide bargains for their clients, because that really is what makes your business. Word gets round about these bargains, and people going round the shops on a Saturday certainly come and visit you. I always liked to move the books, make space, have change and get more books. The great thing about the buying of books is having something new to look at. In almost every lot of books there is something you want to keep for yourself, maybe not forever, but certainly for a while.
From the very beginning I kept a stock book into which I entered every book that I bought for over £1. If I sold something that was too cheap, that was something to learn from. I never worried about it. Once I had a first edition of Johnson’s Lives of Poets, in the original wrappers, and the bookseller who bought it told me, ‘You’ll regret selling this.’ I didn’t. I was much more concerned about the next lot of books that I was going to buy. I found that more exciting in a way. For some reason a lot of ministers’ widows stayed in Leamington Terrace, near the shop, and they often used to come in with a couple of books for sale, probably by Annie S Swan. They loved to talk. Most of my interesting buys were in other bookshops, I have to say. In an Aberdeen bookshop, for example, I bought for £22 a collection of Thomas Otway’s plays which had belonged to William Congreve and had his signature on the first title-page. I discovered it was one of fourteen known missing books from his library.
I carried on with the bookshop until about 1960. At that point we decided we would try working from the country, and managed to get the gardener’s cottage on a small estate at Paxton in Berwickshire. It was quite idyllic, lovely and quiet. I began to do more cataloguing. I like reading through the catalogues I get from other booksellers, some are very erudite and scholarly and full of information. I used to go through all the catalogues that were sent to me and work out how many books were at £500 or £200 or £100, right down to £5; the make up of the catalogue showed how different people tried to make bookselling viable. I got a catalogue this morning in which all the books are priced between £10 and £20. My own approach was always to have several really good things in every catalogue. Most people can’t stretch to buying books for hundreds of pounds, though someone might, but everyone likes to see these things, to know they are around. Over the years I got to know what my own customers were likely to want. I went through the names and addresses of my buyers after every catalogue, marking off on a card index whether they had bought or not. If somebody didn’t buy in say, seven or eight catalogues, well I wasn’t their bookseller. Now that we were working from home, Marion and I were still both involved in the bookselling. Marion did the typing, I did the buying, and we usually discussed the books as they came in. We still enjoyed the life, because we were always meeting people, people came to see us no matter where we were. Yet it wasn’t quite the same as the bookshop. Having a bookshop is something quite by itself.
© Alex Frizzell 1990 | English | NL | b782983d5a8473f533c84b1676a865a4b3479bf7353b0f2b0aa153f75977d2d8 |
I was the communication chief for the Idaho Department of Parks and Recreation, and part of that job was to serve as photographer of the parks. I had my favorite vantage point in each park where I could catch a sunrise, or the certain shadow of a dune. At Priest Lake the cedar groves were difficult to capture; their enormity and the cathedral-like nature of the forest they formed did not easily fit into an eyepiece.
That day I found a newly downed cedar, roots pointing into the air, still clinging to chunks of earth that had served the tree for at least a century. I walked the trunk toward those roots and looked through them, down to the shallow hole they had left behind and to the grassy area just beyond. There was a familiar formation of rocks, 13 stones in the shape of a cross, placed years before at the foot of a much younger tree.
I knew at once what it was. This was a part of the park known as Shipman Point, named after Nell Shipman, silent movie star who had her own movie studio in these woods. She had likely placed those stones there herself, in memory of Tresore, her great Dane.
Tresore was a movie star himself. He had played a feature role in one of Shipman’s movies, Back to God’s Country, filmed in 1919 in Canada. Shipman adored animals and was an early advocate for their humane treatment in films. She had a menagerie with her at Priest Lake, including Brownie the Bear, Barney the Elk, cougar, deer, sled dogs, and others.
In July, 1923, someone poisoned many of those animals, including Tresore. Shipman always suspected her landlord, to whom she owed money, had been the culprit. She mourned the loss of her Dane and memorialized him with these words: “Here lies Champion Great Dane Tresore, an artist, a soldier, and a gentleman. Killed July 17 by the cowardly hand of a human cur. He died as he lived, protecting his mistress and her property.”
What Shipman could not have known was that Tresore, in his death, played a huge part in the revival of interest in Shipman’s movies some 60 years later. A BSU professor named Tom Trusky ran across an essay she had written about the poisoning of Tresore in the Idaho State Historical Society Archives. He decided to find out more about Shipman. That led him down a path on which he discovered and restored every movie she ever made, and oversaw the publication of Shipman’s autobiography. Interest in her work as a pioneer woman in films remains high today because of Tom’s efforts.
Park rangers at Priest Lake, and some locals, knew where Tresore’s grave was long before I stumbled across it, of course. For me, my personal discovery came just a few months after my friend Tom’s death. It was a quirk he would have appreciated. He would have called it “a little treat.” | English | NL | 721e4422f4b444a6902dac70babaa0fffeb243a886bd8d34dbe08d1ab735dba5 |
Their Da was going away again, that’s all it was. Both boys had said nothing about it, but were awake at five and thumping downstairs and straight out to the garden, Jimbo still wearing pajamas and Shawn in yesterday’s clothes, probably no underpants—some objection he had at the moment to them, as if they were practically nappies and grownups never wore them. The first fight began as soon as they left the house: she has a memory of dozing through whole cycles of shouts and squealing and that odd, flat roar Shawn has started to produce whenever he truly loses himself and just rages. No tantrums for Shawn, not anymore. He is seven now. He has the real thing. He has rage.
And the day had been out of kilter already, insistent. Orange-pink light was creeping forward and threatening by four; summer pushing everything earlier and earlier whether you wanted it to or not, and the bed too hot, and what might be called a real gale had been rising outside until her sleep was full of its pressure against the corner of the house, air leaning so hard at the window that she felt breathless and unsettled, searched by a hunger that needed, that pried.
The house had grown disturbed—doors pestering at their frames whenever the weather drew breath, clatters on the roof, something twisting, searching overhead, and meanwhile she dreamed a little of being underwater, swimming the length of an obstacle course, both a game and an obstacle course, in some kind of terrible amusement park. She was fully dressed, heavy, but doing her best to thread a way along flooded passages, over ramps, gasping up into sudden pockets of lovely air and then driving herself back down to find this or that opening into caves, or water-filled dining rooms, church halls, or a place like a fishmonger’s shop, except all the fish in it were still alive—tethered by hooks through the bodies and heads, fluttering by the white tiled walls and hanging in strings of blood, staring at her while she kicked and wallowed past.
All the time, she’d kept thinking, I shan’t bring the children here, it seems unsafe. There must surely be someone I could inform, a procedure to follow for complaints. What I need is a higher authority—then I’d ask them to have this set right.
The sense of it faded as she woke, but she had been left with a definite shame, the embarrassed anticipation that she might drown, be lost somewhere in the game when nobody else had a problem with it, because it was in fact so simple and undemanding, like a tunnel of love, or a ghost train; a stroll round the fun-house mirrors and then back home.
By the time she looked at the alarm, it was getting on for half past seven, and the boys were still noisy, loud against the weather. Which was how they dealt with it—the leaving—by giving each other reasons to cry and reasons to be angry. Their father was curled on his side, hands under his chin, and offering her that look—the one that always made her think he wasn’t sleeping, was only waiting until she had gone, or until something interesting happened, a surprise. Although as a couple they weren’t much prone to surprises. Predictable, was Ray.
She dressed in a T-shirt and jogging bottoms—as if she were someone who took exercise and cared about her health—and then she went to the windowsill so that she could check on the wasps. There always were wasps. Always dead—or else weak and sleepy, crawling off to a permanent halt behind the chest of drawers. Five today. All goners. As if the house drew them and then destroyed them. Ridiculously fragile wings, perfect stripes and tapered bodies, altogether finely worked—they were like very tiny toys. Of course, you quite naturally worried that somebody would step barefoot on top of one by mistake. The boys were not really at risk, though, because they were not allowed into Mummy and Daddy’s bedroom. None of that letting the kids cuddle in between their parents for the night—could ruin a marriage, nonsense like that. And the bed wasn’t big enough for four. Not even for three.
She cupped the wasps in her hand, the window frame shuddering beside her, as the storm sneaked in a draft to stir the dead wings, their stiffened weightlessness. She patted the glass, smiled, and left the room and let the corridor draw her along, then the stairs, another corridor, until she arrived in the kitchen, because she would forever and ever arrive in the kitchen—no will or effort necessary. There she would be in unironed clothes, nothing to show what was left of her shape: as scruffy as her children, an inadequate bloodline no doubt apparent in every fault the three of them displayed.
But there was no time for morbid reflection. She walked to the back door, opened it and called her sons; opened it and opened her palm, let a pounce of clean breeze take the wasps and make them gone.
Sunday today, so she made a proper breakfast: a nice hearty sendoff for Ray. He’d be gone before lunch, and who knew what he’d be eating while he was away.
Sausage, fried eggs, bacon, black pudding, toast and potato scones, ketchup, peanut butter, marmalade—enough finally to lure the boys into the kitchen on smell alone. As she could have guessed, they were not speaking: Jimbo was tearful and Shawn brooding, each of them, she knew, on the verge of telling her how badly he’d been treated by the other and how wrong everything was.
She decided to get in first, to impose order. “Wash your hands, they’re horrible.”
“I can’t.” Jimbo displaying a pretty much unscathed hand. “Shawn hit my thumb with a stone and made it bleed.” She settled her fingers on his forehead, felt the race of the storm still caught there: its lightness and its cold.
“He hit me all morning. He always hits me. And you always let him.” Shawn washed his own hands very thoroughly, theatrically, with the air of a weary surgeon. As she watched, the weight of an older brother’s responsibilities and trials hardened his jaw enough for him to look very much like his father. “My foot is bleeding. But I never said.”
She offered him a plateful of everything, but failed to catch his eye, Shawn having developed a habit of speaking to the floor. “I never said anything.”
“Yes, well, you have said now.” It occurred to her that he’d be an appalling teen-ager. Quite possibly Ray had been, too. “He’s much smaller than you and you mustn’t hit him.” Maybe they had bad genes on both sides, then, her poor boys.
“See!” Jimbo crowed, grasping a piece of toast in his wounded, filthy hand.
“And you, little man, mustn’t annoy him until he hits you. Shawn is your brother and you have to take care of each other.”
“I hate him.”
“No, you don’t. Wash your hands. Now. Don’t put that toast back on the plate. We don’t want it. Come and sit down and join us, Shawn. Jimbo, you do go and wash. I mean it. And both of you behave. Da will be very upset if the last thing he sees of you is two dirty boys who can’t be at peace. Let’s have a good morning. Before your mother starts to scream and doesn’t stop and has to be taken away to the hospital for screaming people. Who would make your breakfasts then?”
Her sons showed no sign of having heard her, and she wondered again which of her threats they would remember, which would be useful and which would scar. It never was easy to tell, she supposed, if your parenting was mostly beneficial or bound to harm.
Ray. There was something in Ray that was almost dangerous. She had found him with Jimbo last night—the child with his hair curled and damp from the bath, clean pajamas, the face she strokes without thinking, cups with her palm while she stands behind him and he leans his shoulders back on her knees and she finds the tiny, narrow jolts of his vertebrae, rubs them up and down for luck, reassurance, delight. (She does the same with Shawn when he’ll let her, has no favorite. They are her two boys. Inescapable. Irreplaceable. Inescapable.) His father was sitting beside him on the bed, Jimbo snuffling, showing every sign of wanting to run up into a crying bout, a full-blown, wailing fit.
But Ray had stalled him. Caught him. “You wouldn’t want to have no food, would you? Or no house? And none of your things. Juggy the bear over there . . .”
“He’s not a bear.” Jimbo was using his smallest voice, the one to make you think he was still much younger.
“Well, Juggy, anyway—there would be no money to buy him if I didn’t go off and work. Your mother doesn’t earn any money, she just works here. So I give her money and she spends some of that on you and I spend money on you and . . .” He’d smiled as if he’d just worked out something clever and now he could show it off. “Your brother and you are both very expensive.” Ray lifted Jimbo’s chin with his finger so that he could concentrate on the boy’s eyes: the soft, large target they made. “Would you want to be a homeless boy with nothing?”
Jimbo with no answer to this.
“Would you want to be cold and hungry?”
Again there was no possible reply.
And she wanted to feel that this kind of bullying might simply be what males did with each other—men with men, men with boys, boys amongst themselves. She aimed for the hope that it was natural, normal, a minor way of hardening the heart against later shocks.
“That’s why I go away, Jimbo. For you.”
Something in Jimbo, she could tell, decided then that his father left him because of his needing toys and wanting to play with Juggy. Jimbo’s hurt was gently becoming Jimbo’s fault while she watched, there it went, slipping, seeping in. Another year or so and he’d have noticed what Shawn has already figured out—that love and pain are names for the same thing. Give one, mean the other. Get one, want the other. Mean one, get the other back for it. Want one, want the other, want both.
“Don’t tell them that.” She’d had to mention it in the evening. Although she was all for a quiet life, it wasn’t right to fortify the heart by killing it. “I said don’t tell them that—don’t make it seem like their fault that you go away.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Then particularly don’t say it to them.”
Ray looked out of the bedroom window, tilted his chin, opened his mouth just a touch, and tapped his fingernail against his bottom teeth. This meant he wouldn’t answer.
She changed direction. “What are you going to do about the wasps?” And that sounded like nagging, when she absolutely didn’t want to nag—this their last night, last night together before he’s off, the two of them making the memory he’ll take away. “I mean, they’re still coming in. It’s odd.”
“Mm.” He rubbed hard at his hair, made it stay lifted, disordered, so that when his hand fell he seemed younger, soft. He turned to her. “I’m sorry. What?” His expression was polite. Yes, that was the word for it: polite. “Wasps . . .”
“Well, I did check. You saw me. I checked. And there wasn’t a nest, a colony, something like that. Not anywhere near. There was nothing.”
“I wondered where they come from, that’s all.”
“They’re getting in through a closed window—that’s what I don’t understand. All shut up tight, but still they get in at me. It shouldn’t be possible.”
“But it is.”
And this the point where it had happened again—still they get in at me—a safe conversation becoming unwieldy, changing its face. She’d tried not to consider if he thought this when he met the women, when he first saw in them whatever it was that he needed, wanted, and began the process, the arrangements, the exchanges found necessary. Did he look at them and decide, was there hesitation, wonderment—still they get in at me.
Ray had grinned at her, winked. “Never mind the wasps, though. Let’s say goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” It was his right to make this mean hardly anything or everything—goodbyegoodbyegoodbye—and her right to not know.
“You know what I mean.”
When she does not.
His grin wider. “You do know.” It touches her, cold on her forehead and in her hair, lifting up.
He’d extended his arms, very tender, happy, warm—the husband who wants to hug his wife and then take her to bed and croon damp words in her ear, small encouragements, as if she were an animal in need of guidance, liable to shy away at the more demanding drops and slopes and jumps. “Come on, love. It’ll all be O.K.”
And she did almost fall toward him—it undoubtedly felt like falling—his long arms wrapping round her, friendly.
“Hello.” Cheery, he’d sounded.
She hadn’t answered, not being especially cheery herself.
Now she waited for him in the kitchen as the boys hacked at their food and took too much ketchup because they could tell when she wasn’t paying enough attention to make them stop. In the garden, wind was clawing at the flowers, breaking things; the trees wild with it beyond the fence.
“All right, then.” Behind her, Ray was standing, very neat. She shifted her chair round and saw the business suit, which she’d expected, and the coat, which wasn’t entirely unanticipated. He was already wearing his coat. He never did like hanging around. Shawn understood the situation as quickly as she did, shoving his chair back and rushing to hug his father’s legs. Jimbo followed, but was more hesitant—as if he might have the power to carelessly make something worse.
“You’re not going yet.” Shawn muffled, his face pressed hard to the overcoat. “Too soon.”
She found herself having to ask, “Yes, couldn’t you eat something? With us?”
“Sorry.” He took hold of his children’s collars and began to tug them back and forth, play fighting, with easy strength in the thin forearms, wiry cunning. The boys squealed and he shook them more, going slightly too hard at it, the way that he usually did, until their faces were still pleased but their eyes were very mildly afraid.
Ray shrugged. “Slept in. You should have woken me. I’ll be racing all the way now.” He glanced down at Shawn and Jimbo. “Racing . . . yes, I will be.” His own eyes comfortable, ready to see other faces, other people.
She could not say, because they had already discussed this issue, “You should have let them be with you longer. You know how they’ll get once you’ve left. Actually, no, you don’t—you’re not here.”
She could not say, because they had already discussed this issue, “I do believe that you still love me and I would have thought that would be the most important thing, but in fact you no longer respect me and that is the worst, is the very worst. You love me but I do not matter.”
She could not say, because they had already discussed this issue, “This doesn’t work. You can’t keep telling me about the women, because this doesn’t work. You can’t say that I’m happy with your money and the house and that it’s easier for me this way and I get to stay with the children and everything is familiar and stable and fine and you’ll always come home and you’ll never stay, but you’ll always come home, but you’ll never stay, and I am here doing many, many things for which I do not respect myself. And you want impossible things and I can’t do them.”
She did say, “Well, if you have to go.” The rising cold against her arms.
He nodded, agreeing. “Come on, then.” He hustled the boys along with him up the passage and half turned so that he could see her face, reassure her. “I’ll call you.” She stood, followed.
The door lunged open against him when he unlocked it, banging Jimbo on the head so that he started crying, howling. The hall full of weather.
“No damage done, brave lad. Gotta go. Bye, now.” Ray kissed Shawn’s forehead and reached down for Jimbo, but the boy pulled away, ran to her and grabbed her T-shirt.
She had to fight her son’s weight to reach the door, set a hand on Shawn’s shoulder, accept the brief squeeze of her arm that her husband left her.
Ray stood clear of them all on the path for a moment and waved, then, spinning, leaned forward into the storm. It buffeted him, punched his tie against his face, slapped under his coat, and she watched him struggle and thought, This is how it should start: the timely intervention of some higher authority; the real force of everything; the rage. The coming rain should swing down like a blade while the storm takes him high and sets him right by shaking him apart.
She stood on the doorstep preparing herself. This was a way to be happy when he finally didn’t come back. ♦ | English | NL | 74b68a441cc5e4ca4a880f832ffa28fdf6ebe9056eb342d99ba12be9d9581a58 |
The countdown continues to the big opening
AS we continue the countdown to the opening of the new - and first-ever - Albion Fanzone, we take a quick look at the centre-piece of the site: the former Hawthorns public house.
Special guests will officially open the Fanzone this Saturday lunchtime, before our Barclays Premier League clash against Southampton (3pm).
Here are some facts about the site on which the Hawthorns public house is situated:
* The first building to be built on the site was called Street House, which dated back to 1616.
* In 1818 it was the home of Joseph Halford. Between 1833 and 1846 the house was occupied by iron merchant Henry Halford (whose surname was later used in the naming of the road that runs along the length of The Hawthorns stadium). It was rebuilt and became known as Hawthorns House, as part of the Earl of Dartmouth's estate. It was built as a commercial nurseryman's house, the business specialising in supplying hawthorn hedging plans.
* The central portion of the house was built in 1845, with the wings added in 1903 when the property became a licensed premises.
* The final resident was Henry Sutcliffe, who was appointed honorary surgeon at West Bromwich Hospital and held this office for 27 years.
* In 1903, following the relocation of West Bromwich Albion from Stoney Lane to its current location, the Hawthorns House became the Hawthorns Hotel - serving patrons of the football club.
* Internal features of note include cornicing to ceilings on the ground floor, a stained glass window (refurbished as part of the project) featuring a throstle and a cast iron fire surround.
* Horse hair was found in the plaster work during the renovation of the building. Although this was common practice in plaster-bonding process of that time, the samples, as per usual procedure, needed to be sent away to be tested for anthrax...but were deemed as safe.
* Ray Barlow is a previous resident of the hotel, following his move to the Club during the 1940s. Derek Kevan also briefly stayed at the hotel.
* The building (and the site on which it is stood) took on a Grade II listed status in 1987.
* The Fanzone site will house catering/drink facilities, an eating area, live music, former players, special Albion-centric guests and entertainment for all ages. The Hawthorns building, which will not be open in time for Saturday's game, will host Greggs.
Further details on the Fanzone will follow in the build-up to this weekend's game against Southampton. | English | NL | cd1a688ca226d76de321855fe9bee3fc27d35d8a955c738ddbff98e922bcc296 |
Margaret "Peggy" Ashton, 78, of Girard, died on Wednesday morning, July 17, 2019 in the comfort of her home with family, following an extended illness.
She was born on July 17, 1941 to the late Paul and Mary (Senyo) Winne in Erie, PA. She graduated from Rice Avenue Union High School in 1959 and upon graduation started working at Great Lakes Freezer Plant in Lake City as a secretary and later as a cost clerk. Peggy later worked at PHB Die Cast and most recently at Copes-Vulcan until her retirement.
She was a member of New Life Community Church in Fairview where she volunteered with community and social functions. Peggy had many friends. She always had a smile. Kindness was her trademark.
Peggy is survived by her husband, Jack E. Ashton, whom she married on April 22, 1961 in East Springfield; two sons, Jack E. Ashton, II and Michael S. Ashton; grandchildren, Maggy, Clara, Noah, Wolfgang, Spencer and Ethan.
Friends may call on Sunday from 2 to 4 p.m. and 6 to 8 p.m. at Edder Funeral Home Inc., 309 Main St. East, Girard and are invited to attend services there on Monday at 10 a.m.
Burial will take place in Hope Cemetery .
In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to New Life Community Church, 1755 Lord Road, Fairview, PA 16415.
To send condolences visit edderfuneralhome.com. | English | NL | 5df2fd39d720e4593244b11a888b529ec8f90695869b1331e110f7411a968d91 |
This is an amazing thing to think about for teaching. Sometimes as teachers, we become so involved in what we need to teach the students and what worksheets/lessons we want them to do. Maybe, if we allow the students to be the teachers, or allow them to choose the assignments they work on, they will have more passion for it. The teacher needs to be a facilitator, and an observer, but maybe the students will do better if they are working on something they want to and are self motivating. This is an interesting concept that I will try to work in to my curriculum for self motivation and autonomy of the students.
There are so many amazing things I got out of this video. I had never thought of the education system as a factory line. Now that I have, I see how inappropriate the way we teach our students today is. We should reform the schooling. More and more kids are being medicated for ADHD. This video explained that this could be because we live in such a stimulating, exciting world. There is so much technology and exciting ideas floating around, then the students are penalized for being interested in the world. Learning needs to be as engaging as the world to interest and engage the students. The schools need to have the students work together as well. Collaboration is a huge part of the real world, and students need to share ideas and thoughts throughout their learning to really get excited about it. In my classroom, I need to allow the students to be engaged with exciting information given to them in a variety of different ways. | English | NL | 604e93f0a49cec86a39ea44a7b1ea0ad264e1515fa5a86ad921d3afc416c3708 |
I'd already walked many miles today, but when I returned home the sun was doing its faraway thing. From my desk, it seemed to be glittering behind the college's trees; when I walked out to catch it, it turned out to be very far away indeed, and paler than it had seemed from inside. I heard birds and saw women rugby players. I had spent the afternoon browsing through a guildhall full of rare and antiquarian books, all of them beyond my means. For most of the afternoon, things were relatively unawkward--and then, just as we reached home, there was a quiet altercation over whether or not anyone could possibly enjoy collating books. (I have made my feelings about this matter amply clear for you in the past.) "It's just depressing," he said, speaking of a bookseller to whom we spoke for a little while. "He spent all that time collating that book, trying to figure out which printing it came from." "He might have enjoyed it," I replied, not even trying to be contradictory--just thinking back to all those hours I spent picking through the pages of rare books that summer in Charlottesville, and thinking that it would have been even more fun, probably, had we gone on beyond collation and started comparing our copies to other copies of our books. Within two more conversational rounds, he had asserted that he loves books, but that everyone goes to books for what's inside them, and I did have to counter that one: that's how you learn the anatomy of a book, I said. I'm telling you that I love collating. That's just depressing, he replied. Well, there's nowhere to go from there, I thought, especially if you're going to abuse a clinical term.
It was good that the afternoon was over, and good that the sunset was there to be seen out at the end of the footpath, is what I'm saying.
My piano lesson was utterly brilliant. It's not that I was utterly brilliant. It's that, once again, I received the true and enormous gift of having found myself a teacher who knows how to engage with my abilities and my mind at exactly the right levels, challenging my intellect and my technique and my emotions all at the same time. I was shy and proud when I finished playing her the Bach and she praised it; I was fierce and proud as we worked through sticky measures two notes at a time. I know--or else I wouldn't teach--that there's no real, lasting glory in getting things right the first time. The glory comes from working through toward rightness. Today's lesson felt like a glory, and not even just a small one. | English | NL | 3725bf3b8cbe8fc4280ce7be95f78f3404100cf349f5e926d2ff6b513509798e |
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