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Gerald Whisler, 94, formerly of Webster City, died August 25 at Bickford Assisted Living in Marshalltown.
Gerald Whisler, son of Forrest and Matilda Schultz Whisler, was born April 7, 1924 in Fenton, Iowa. In 1929, Gerald and his family moved to Hamilton County. He attended country schools until 8th grade, then transferred to Webster City Schools and graduated from Webster City High School.
He married Elvera Johnson on March 23, 1946. Gerald and Elvera started farming northwest of Webster City with a 1945 Ford Ferguson tractor. Gerald had a real talent for fixing things and did most all of his household, farm and machinery repairs. Gerald and Elvera retired in 1985 and moved to Webster City. He had many interests and hobbies such as restoring older tractors and gas engines, collecting and refinishing antique oak furniture, biking and gardening.
Gerald was preceded in death by his parents, his wife Elvera in 1993, and daughter Lois in 2013. He is survived by daughter Marilyn (Michael) Marrone of Marshalltown, grandson Nick Holtzmaster of Twin Falls, Idaho, sister Lorraine (Harold) Fielder, brother Leonard (Betty) Whisler, both of Webster City, and brother-in-law LeRoy Schwendemann of Lehigh.
Gerald was a member of the Washington Lutheran Church in Duncombe. A memorial service will be held at a later date. | English | NL | 166993174546fb57bace796465556245a4d0cec4fb6e0ca2ce7cb3b970f5d9f0 |
The Haunted Trailers
3/12/15 By Lenee Cobb
This is an excerpt from Moonwalks and Unknowns featuring The Trespassers
1962 (I think.)
Unbeknownst to me, my mom was pregnant with my first brother, Gerald. He was born in February, but he was the first baby born that year and because of that, he was the New Year Baby. My folks won some free gasoline for his birth. It was snowing the night he was born.
I was at the hospital in the lobby where there was a TV and a couch and some chairs. Alice and Wonderland was on and it was in color. That was the first time I’d watched color TV.
A few months before my brother was born, my parents did something they’d never done before, they purchased a turquoise house in a brand new government housing development as high as one could live in the Chugach Mountains above Eagle River. For the first time I could remember, we lived off base.
Spring came and the sap ran and that is a scent I’ll always remember. To me, this place in these mountains was paradise. Mom was pretty busy with my little brother and not paying any attention to my whereabouts. I did pretty much as I pleased.
Summer days were lovely there and I was constantly wandering through the yards and woodlands of this new neighborhood. Front yards, backyards, and inside people’s homes, whether they knew I was there or not . . . I had no conception of private property that summer. I was the youngest of the neighborhood kids, now five. The neighborhood kids would usually gather in the woods at our end of our block and it was with them that I first trespassed, officially–that is.
I knew it was wrong only because the older kids were so hesitant and I realized some of their hesitancy had to do with fear, but there were words one of them uttered that clued me in that what we were doing was, in some sort of way, wrong.
“What if we get caught?”
The challenge was this: two blocks behind the one I lived on was a lot with a group of three trailers. The oldest boy, he might have been ten or twelve, was bouncing on top of a thin sapling we termed a monkey tree because it would bend and you could bounce on it, said, “They are too haunted. Someone killed the old man and hid his body somewhere and now everything is just like it was when he was alive—unchanged—I bet we find his body inside if we just go and look.”
“No way,” said another boy, “We’d get in trouble.”
“No we wouldn’t.”
“Yes we would. We’d be trespassing.”
“Who cares? The old man is dead, I tell you. No one has seen him since Christmas. Someone should go inside to find him and tell somebody.”
“Then why don’t you do it.”
“Oh no, I ain’t going inside those haunted trailers all by myself.”
“My dad said that the man down the road that races sled dogs killed his wife and fed her to his dogs.”
“Mine said that too. No one has seen her since Christmas either.”
“Maybe he killed the old man who lived in the trailers?”
“Maybe he did.”
“Okay, let’s go check it out.”
“All of us?”
They all turned and looked at me. “You won’t tell, will you?”
I shook my head no. The oldest boy looked up at the other kids and said, “All of us.”
Through the woods we crept, crossing one dirt road, sneaking through another bunch of woods and then through another. This block frightened me, and the haunted trailers weren’t the only reason. At the end of this road, there was a family who raised fighting dogs. The owner kept the dogs tied with chains around tires and those dogs were the meanest things I’d ever seen, frightening to walk past. I would have never come here if I were not with the older kids. But we never had to walk out on that road because the trail through the woods ended sooner than I’d thought and we came right out into the clearing of the old man’s lot and there before my eyes were the three haunted trailers.
They were silver trailers; long, but small enough to haul behind a truck. Red curtains in the cracked-open window above the hitch quivered in the slight breeze. The oldest boy whispered to those of us standing behind him, “See? He wouldn’t have left his windows open if he were alive, would he?”
We all shook our heads.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
We nodded and tiptoed right behind him as he rounded the first trailer, the one on the south side of the U they formed. He strode right up to the door and we all filed close behind him. Me, I was on the end, being the smallest. Our leader reached for the knob. The boy directly behind him whispered, “Are you just going to walk right in there?”
“Sh—shouldn’t ya knock first?”
Our leader looked back over his shoulder and made a big to-do rolling his eyes. He rapped the metal door a couple of times real quick and so quiet I could hardly hear it and then his hand shot back to the door handle and before anyone else could protest, it creaked open. I seem to recall a few of us letting out a gasp but our leader stuck his head inside and then called back to us, “All’s clear. Follow me.”
The kid in front of me helped me up the steps but I could have handled it. Inside, it smelled stale. The first thing we saw standing directly in front of us was a dining table. The strange thing about it was that it was set, not for just any meal, but it had place settings for four people. However, these weren’t regular settings.Each setting consisted of a bright green placemat, a red-rimmed white plate with painted holly berries at its center, red napkins rolled inside of wooden napkin holders with tiny poinsettias painted on them, and a mug in the shape of Santa’s head. In the center of the table was a statue of Santa and some evergreen boughs.
“But it’s summer,” someone whispered.
We looked around the rest of the small trailer. There were candle Santa’s on the shelves, some half-burnt, some never yet lit. Everything here was Christmassy—but it was all wrong. It was creepy.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” someone said.
I might not have been the first one out the door but I was not the last. Our leader shut the door softly behind him and we all fled into the woods from whence we’d come a good little ways before we stopped.
“See, I told you he was dead.”
A boy who was eight and a little chubby said, “He’s gotta be. Ain’t nobody going to just up and leave their Christmas stuff all like that. Nobody.”
“He must be lying around, maybe in one of the other trailers or out in his woodshed, murdered.”
“I wonder who killed him?”
“Maybe that mean man with those fighting dogs down the road did it.”
“Don’t want to go near those trailers after dark.”
“Don’t want to go near those dogs, neither.”
“Maybe he murdered him and then fed him to his dogs?”
And so the conversation went. To my knowledge, the gang never did investigate the other two trailers. Maybe they did and just never invited me to come, but I think I would have heard them talk about it. They included me in pretty much everything they did and I do owe those older kids my life, but that’s another story, which has nothing to do with trespassing or moonlight or unknowns . . . well, maybe unknowns, but to the best of my knowledge, the whole time I lived in the Chugach Mountains up from Eagle River no one ever saw the old man, and those three silver trailers with their red curtains remained haunted. | English | NL | 516db46c2322e7131013fcf0ea82e75f79e110f6f4be531bf5cfece495c1ea1a |
Not many fledgling scriptwriters can upset the masses enough to make the front page of the New York Times the following day, but that's what happened when Orson Welles handpicked Blake Edwards to work on his notorious 1938 radio play War Of The Worlds.
However, it was television where Edwards began to carve out his own distinctive style. Created as a response to Mike Hammer, Sam Spade and countless other noir private dicks of the time, the late 50s NBC series Peter Gunn would prove to be the birthplace of much of Blake Edwards's style.
Slick where his counterparts were abrasive, dapper where they were downbeat, Gunn – propelled by Henry Mancini's timeless theme music – was cooler than anyone could have imagined.
Edwards wasn't responsible for the screenplay for 1961's Breakfast at Tiffany's, but the film's airy, lightfooted feel was down to him, and Audrey Hepburn wouldn't be half the icon she is today without his direction.
A year later and Edwards had moved onto Days Of Wine And Roses, a shameless tearjerker about alcoholism that won Oscar nominations for Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick. Once again aided by a peerless soundtrack by Henry Mancini, the film is still one of the most powerful anti-alcohol arguments around – enough even to convince Edwards himself to stop drinking.
Another year on and Edwards had co-written and directed the first film in a series that will prove to be his legacy. 1963's The Pink Panther was created as an ensemble caper piece, utilising the skills of David Niven and Peter Wagner as much as anyone else. But it was Peter Sellers's freewheeling performance as Inspector Clouseau that would come to define the film and its many, many sequels.
The first of these sequels, A Shot In The Dark, marked the moment where Blake Edwards would realise the potential of the Clouseau character. He seemed to know exactly how much space to leave Sellers before his pratfalls became self-indulgent, while introducing a perfect foil in the uptight and eventually insane Charles Dreyfus. This was a moment that Edwards would never better.
The 1970s were relatively quiet for Edwards, consisting of a few minor pieces and three separate Pink Panther sequels. However, he managed to close the decade in epic fashion with 10, the riotous sex comedy that somehow managed to turn Dudley Moore into a megastar and pin-up. With 10 Edward had found his second wind.
1982's Victor Victoria – a remake of a 1933 German film – consolidated on this second wind to great effect. Combining labyrinthine farce, ambivalent sexuality, the music of Henry Mancini and a show-stopping turn by his wife Julie Andrews, it was such an Oscar-winning tour de force that it eventually developed a second life as a Tony-winning musical.
From thereon in, there was a noticeable and unstoppable decline in quality. One brief highlight, however, was 1987's Blind Date, starring a pre-action hero Bruce Willis. His frantic breakdown here gave him the perfect opportunity to chew more scenery than anyone could have thought possible.
In 2004, Blake Edwards finally won his Oscar. It was only an honorary Oscar, and he had to endure a borderline-nauseating introduction from Jim Carrey, but the octogenarian still managed to steal the entire show with an inimitable display of lethal-looking slapstick. | English | NL | 71bd92d8781338bcad31d67b9e3a3add614b688d424c291d7ab50d8b5b26a7c1 |
That a Prince Should Seek to Escape Contempt and Hatred
HAVING NOW SPOKEN of the chief of the qualities above referred to, the rest I shall dispose of briefly with these general remarks, that a Prince, as has already in part been said, should consider how he may avoid such courses as would make him hated or despised; and that whenever he succeeds in keeping clear of these, he has performed his part, and runs no risk though he incur other infamies.
A Prince, as I have said before, sooner becomes hated by being rapacious and by interfering with the property and with the women of his subjects, than in any other way. From these, therefore, he should abstain. For so long as neither their property nor their honour is touched, the mass of mankind live contentedly, and the Prince has only to cope with the ambition of a few, which can in many ways and easily be kept within bounds.
A Prince is despised when he is seen to be fickle, frivolous, effeminate, pusillanimous, or irresolute, against which defects he ought therefore most carefully to guard, striving so to bear himself that greatness, courage, wisdom, and strength may appear in all his actions. In his private dealings with his subjects his decisions should be irrevocable, and his reputation such that no one would dream of overreaching or cajoling him.
The Prince who inspires such an opinion of himself is greatly esteemed, and against one who is greatly esteemed conspiracy is difficult; nor, when he is known to be an excellent Prince and held in reverence by his subjects, will it be easy to attack him. For a Prince is exposed to two dangers, from within in respect of his subjects, from without in respect of foreign powers. Against the latter he will defend himself with good arms and good allies, and if he have good arms he will always have good allies; and when things are settled abroad, they will always be settled at home, unless disturbed by conspiracies; and even should there be hostility from without, if he has taken those measures, and has lived in the way I have recommended, and if he never abandons hope, he will withstand every attack; as I have said was done by Nabis the Spartan.
As regards his own subjects, when affairs are quiet abroad, he has to fear they may engage in secret plots; against which a Prince best secures himself when he escapes being hated or despised, and keeps on good terms with his people; and this, as I have already shown at length, it is essential he should do. Not to be hated or despised by the body of his subjects, is one of the surest safeguards that a Prince can have against conspiracy. For he who conspires always reckons on pleasing the people by putting the Prince to death; but when he sees that instead of pleasing he will offend them, he cannot summon courage to carry out his design. For the difficulties that attend conspirators are infinite, and we know from experience that while there have been many conspiracies, few of them have succeeded.
He who conspires cannot do so alone, nor can he assume as his companions any save those whom he believes to be discontented; but so soon as you impart your design to a discontented man, you supply him with the means of removing his discontent, since by betraying you he can procure for himself every advantage; so that seeing on the one hand certain gain, and on the other a doubtful and dangerous risk, he must either be a rare friend to you, or the mortal enemy of his Prince, if he keep your secret.
To put the matter shortly, I say that on the side of the conspirator there are distrust, jealousy, and dread of punishment to deter him, while on the side of the Prince there are the laws, the majesty of the throne, the protection of friends and of the government to defend him; to which if the general good-will of the people be added, it is hardly possible that any should be rash enough to conspire. For while in ordinary cases, the conspirator has ground for fear only before the execution of his villainy, in this case he has also cause to fear after the crime has been perpetrated, since he has the people for his enemy, and is thus cut off from every hope of shelter.
Of this, endless instances might be given, but I shall content myself with one that happened within the recollection of our fathers. Messer Annibale Bentivoglio, Lord of Bologna and grandfather of the present Messer Annibale, was conspired against and murdered by the Canneschi, leaving behind none belonging to him save Messer Giovanni, then an infant in arms. Immediately upon the murder, the people rose and put all the Canneschi to death. This resulted from the general goodwill with which the house of the Bentivogli was then regarded in Bologna; which feeling was so strong, that when upon the death of Messer Annibale no one was left who could govern the State, there being reason to believe that a descendant of the family (who up to that time had been thought to be the son of a smith), was living in Florence, the citizens of Bologna came there for him, and entrusted him with the government of their city; which he retained until Messer Giovanni was old enough to govern.
To be brief, a Prince has little to fear from conspiracies when his subjects are well disposed towards him; but when they are hostile and hold him in detestation, he has then reason to fear everything and every one. And well ordered States and wise Princes have provided with extreme care that the nobility shall not be driven to desperation, and that the commons shall be kept satisfied and contented; for this is one of the most important matters that a Prince has to look to.
Among the well ordered and governed Kingdoms of our day is that of France, wherein we find an infinite number of wise institutions, upon which depend the freedom and the security of the King, and of which the most important are the Parliament and its authority. For he who gave its constitution to this Realm, knowing the ambition and arrogance of the nobles, and judging it necessary to bridle and restrain them, and on the other hand knowing the hatred, originating in fear, entertained against them by the commons, and desiring that they should be safe, was unwilling that the responsibility for this should rest on the King; and to relieve him of the ill-will which he might incur with the nobles by favouring the commons, or with the commons by favouring the nobles, appointed a third party to be arbitrator, who without committing the King, might depress the nobles and uphold the commons. Nor could there be any better, wiser, or surer safeguard for the King and the Kingdom. And hence we may draw another notable lesson, namely, that Princes should devolve on others those matters that entail responsibility, and reserve to themselves those that relate to grace and favour. And again I say that a Prince should esteem the great, but must not make himself odious to the people.
To some it may perhaps appear, that if the lives and deaths of many of the Roman emperors be considered, they offer examples opposed to the views expressed by me; since we find that some among them who had always lived good lives, and shown themselves possessed of great qualities, were nevertheless deposed and even put to death by their subjects who had conspired against them.
In answer to such objections, I shall examine the characters of several Emperors, and show that the causes of their downfall were in no way different from those which I have indicated. In doing this I shall submit for consideration such matters only as must strike every one who reads the history of these times; and it will be enough for my purpose to take those Emperors who reigned from the time of Marcus the Philosopher
to the time of Maximinus, who were, inclusively, Marcus, Commodus his son, Pertinax, Julianus, Severus, Caracalla his son, Macrinus, Heliogabalus, Alexander, and Maximinus.
In the first place, then, we have to note that while in other Princedoms the Prince has only to contend with the ambition of the nobles and the insubordination of the people, the Roman Emperors had a further difficulty to encounter in the cruelty and rapacity of their soldiers, which were so distracting as to cause the ruin of many of these Princes. For it was hardly possible for them to satisfy both the soldiers and the people; the latter loving peace and therefore preferring sober Princes, while the former preferred a Prince of a warlike spirit, however harsh, haughty, or rapacious; being willing that he should exercise these qualities against the people, as the means of procuring for themselves double pay, and indulging their greed and cruelty.
Whence it followed that those Emperors who had not inherited or won for themselves such authority as enabled them to keep both people and soldiers in check, were always ruined. The most of them, and those especially who came to the Empire new and without experience, seeing the difficulty of dealing with these conflicting humours, set themselves to satisfy the soldiers, and made little account of offending the people. And for them this was a necessary course to take; for as Princes cannot escape being hated by some, they should, in the first place, endeavour not to be hated by a class; failing in which, they must do all they can to escape the hatred of that class which is the stronger. Wherefore those Emperors who, by reason of their newness, stood in need of extraordinary support, sided with the soldiery rather than with the people; a course which turned out advantageous or otherwise, according as the Prince knew, or did not know, how to maintain his authority over them.
From the causes indicated it resulted that Marcus, Pertinax, and Alexander, being Princes of a temperate disposition, lovers of justice, enemies of cruelty, gentle, and kindly, had all, save Marcus, an unhappy end. Marcus alone lived and died honoured in the highest degree; and this because he had succeeded to the Empire by right of inheritance, and not through the favour either of the soldiery or of the people; and also because, being endowed with many virtues which made him revered, he kept, while he lived, both factions within bounds, and was never either hated or despised.
But Pertinax was chosen Emperor against the will of the soldiery, who being accustomed to a licentious life under Commodus, could not tolerate the stricter discipline to which his successor sought to bring them back. And having thus made himself hated, and being at the same time despised by reason of his advanced age, he was ruined at the very outset of his reign.
And here it is to be noted that hatred is incurred as well on account of good actions as of bad; for which reason, as I have already said, a Prince who would maintain his authority is often compelled to be other than good. For when the class, be it the people, the soldiers, or the nobles, on whom you judge it necessary to rely for your support, is corrupt, you must needs adapt yourself to its humours, and satisfy these, in which case virtuous conduct will only prejudice you.
Let us now come to Alexander, who was so just a ruler that among the praises ascribed to him it is recorded, that, during the fourteen years he held the Empire, no man was ever put to death by him without trial. Nevertheless, being accounted effeminate, and thought to be governed by his mother, he fell into contempt, and the army conspiring against him, slew him.
When we turn to consider the characters of Commodus, Severus, and Caracalla, we find them all to have been most cruel and rapacious Princes, who to satisfy the soldiery, scrupled not to inflict every kind of wrong upon the people. And all of them, except Severus, came to a bad end. But in Severus there was such strength of character, that, keeping the soldiers his friends, he was able, although he oppressed the people, to reign on prosperously to the last; because his great qualities made him so admirable in the eyes both of the people and the soldiers, that the former remained in a manner amazed and awestruck, while the latter were respectful and contented.
And because his actions, for one who was a new Prince, were thus remarkable, I will point out shortly how well he understood to play the part both of the lion and of the fox, each of which natures, as I have observed before, a Prince should know how to assume.
Knowing the indolent disposition of the Emperor Julianus, Severus persuaded the army which he commanded in Illyria that it was their duty to go to Rome to avenge the death of Pertinax, who had been slain by the Pretorian guards. Under this pretext, and without disclosing his design on the Empire, he put his army in march, and reached Italy before it was known that he had set out. On his arrival in Rome, the Senate, through fear, elected him Emperor and put Julianus to death. After taking this first step, two obstacles still remained to his becoming sole master of the Empire; one in Asia, where Niger who commanded the armies of the East had caused himself to be proclaimed Emperor; the other in the West, where Albinus, who also aspired to the Empire, was in command. And as Severus judged it dangerous to declare open war against both, he resolved to proceed against Niger by arms, and against Albinus by artifice. To the latter, accordingly, he wrote, that having been chosen Emperor by the Senate, he desired to share the dignity with him; that he therefore sent him the title of Caesar, and in accordance with a resolution of the Senate assumed him as his colleague. All which statements Albinus accepted as true. But so soon as Severus had defeated and slain Niger, and restored tranquillity in the East, returning to Rome he complained in the Senate that Albinus, all unmindful of the favours he had received from him, had treacherously sought to destroy him; for which cause he was compelled to go and punish his ingratitude. Whereupon he set forth to seek Albinus in Gaul, where he at once deprived him of his dignities and his life.
Whoever, therefore, examines carefully the actions of this Emperor, will find in him all the fierceness of the lion and all the craft of the fox, and will note how he was feared and respected by the people, yet not hated by the army, and will not be surprised that though a new man, he was able to maintain his hold of so great an Empire. For the splendour of his reputation always shielded him from the odium which the people might otherwise have conceived against him by reason of his cruelty and rapacity.
Caracalla, his son, was likewise a man of great parts, endowed with qualities that made him admirable in the sight of the people, and endeared him to the army, being of a warlike spirit, most patient of fatigue, and contemning all luxury in food and every other effeminacy. Nevertheless, his ferocity and cruelty were so extravagant and unheard of (he having put to death a vast number of the inhabitants of Rome at different times, and the whole of those of Alexandria at a stroke), that he came to be detested by all the world, and so feared even by those whom he had about him, that at the last he was slain by a centurion in the midst of his army.
And here let it be noted that deaths like this which are the result of a deliberate and fixed resolve, cannot be escaped by Princes, since any one who disregards his own life can effect them. A Prince, however, needs the less to fear them as they are seldom attempted. The only precaution he can take is to avoid doing grave wrong to any of those who serve him, or whom he has near him as officers of his Court, a precaution which Caracalla neglected in putting to a shameful death the brother of this centurion, and in using daily threats against the man himself, whom he nevertheless retained as one of his bodyguard. This, as the event showed, was a rash and fatal course.
We come next to Commodus, who, as he took the Empire by hereditary right, ought to have held it with much ease. For being the son of Marcus, he had only to follow in his father's footsteps to content both the people and the soldiery. But being of a cruel and brutal nature, to sate his rapacity at the expense of the people, he sought support from the army, and indulged it in every kind of excess. On the other hand, by an utter disregard of his dignity, in frequently descending into the arena to fight with gladiators, and by other base acts wholly unworthy of the Imperial station, he became contemptible in the eyes of the soldiery; and being on the one hand hated, on the other despised, was at last conspired against and murdered.
The character of Maximinus remains to be touched upon. He was of a very warlike disposition, and on the death of Alexander, of whom we have already spoken, was chosen Emperor by the army who had been displeased with the effeminacy of that Prince. But this dignity he did not long enjoy, since two causes concurred to render him at once odious and contemptible; the one the baseness of his origin, he having at one time herded sheep in Thrace, a fact well known to all, and which led all to look on him with disdain; the other that on being proclaimed Emperor, delaying to repair to Rome and enter on possession of the Imperial throne, he incurred the reputation of excessive cruelty by reason of the many atrocities perpetrated by his prefects in Rome and other parts of the Empire. The result was that the whole world, stirred at once with scorn of his mean birth and with the hatred which the dread of his ferocity inspired, combined against him, Africa leading the way, the Senate and people of Rome and the whole of Italy following. In which conspiracy his own army joined. For they, being engaged in the siege of Aquileja and finding difficulty in reducing it, disgusted with his cruelty, and less afraid of him when they saw so many against him, put him to death.
I need say nothing of Heliogabalus, Macrinus, or Julianus, all of whom being utterly despicable, came to a speedy downfall, but shall conclude these remarks by observing, that the Princes of our own days are less troubled with the difficulty of having to make constant efforts to keep their soldiers in good humour. For though they must treat them with some indulgence, the need for doing so is soon over, since none of these Princes possesses a standing army which, like the armies of the Roman Empire, has strengthened with the growth of his government and the administration of his State. And if it was then necessary to satisfy the soldiers rather than the people, because the soldiers were more powerful than the people, now it is more necessary for all Princes, except the Turk and the Soldan, to satisfy the people rather than the soldiery, since the former are more powerful than the latter.
I except the Turk because he has always about him some twelve thousand foot soldiers and fifteen thousand horse, on whom depend the security and strength of his kingdom, and with whom he must needs keep on good terms, all regard for the people being subordinate. The government of the Soldan is similar, so that he too being wholly in the hands of his soldiers, must keep well with them without regard to the people.
And here you are to note that the State of the Soldan, while it is unlike all other Princedoms, resembles the Christian Pontificate in this, that it can neither be classed as new, nor as hereditary. For the sons of a Soldan who dies do not succeed to the kingdom as his heirs, but he who is elected to the post by those who have authority to make such elections. And this being the ancient and established order of things, the Princedoms cannot be accounted new, since none of the difficulties that attend new Princedoms are found in it. For although the Prince be new, the institutions of the State are old, and are so contrived that the elected Prince is accepted as though he were an hereditary Sovereign.
But returning to the matter in hand, I say that whoever reflects on the above reasoning will see that either hatred or contempt was the ruin of the Emperors whom I have named; and will also understand how it happened that some taking one way and some the opposite, one only by each of these roads came to a happy, and all the rest to an unhappy end. Because for Pertinax and Alexander, they being new Princes, it was useless and hurtful to try to imitate Marcus, who was an hereditary Prince; and similarly for Caracalla, Commodus, and Maximinus it was a fatal error to imitate Severus, since they lacked the qualities that would have enabled them to tread in his footsteps.
In short, a Prince new to the Princedom cannot imitate the actions of Marcus, nor is it necessary that he should imitate all those of Severus; but he should borrow from Severus those parts of his conduct which are needed to serve as a foundation for his government, and from Marcus those suited to maintain it, and render it glorious when once established. | English | NL | 61c8d66ce1acdef11888f9e43682e8192b57368b88c16ed244c3e2bfc4f6d79b |
Ancient Greek Food
Ancient Greeks would eat three times a day. Breakfast consisted of barley bread dipped in wine, along with figs or olives. Lunch was either at noon or in the early afternoon, while dinner, which was considered the most important meal of the day, took place after night had fallen, or occasionally late in the afternoon. Social gatherings called symposia also occurred; the word actually means “drinking together” and consisted of two main stages: during the first, people would eat frugally, and during the second, they would drink wine. Wine was always accompanied with meze platters. The drinking stage always started with an offering to God Dionysus and participants would later play board games, while dancers and musicians would also contribute to the entertainment.
Depending on the location of the household, meat or fish was also eaten. Farmers were able to set traps and eat birds and rabbits, while they also had chickens and geese. In the cities, meat was very expensive and was used in celebrations only. However, sausages were eaten both by rich and poor people. The main food in Sparta was a pork broth called “melas zomos” (black broth), consisting of very little pork, salt, vinegar and blood, and accompanied with figs, cheese and occasionally fish. The other Greeks did not understand why Spartans were so frugal; in fact, a Greek from Syvaris said that any sane person would prefer to die rather than live such a frugal life. Greeks also raised ducks, geese, chickens and quails to eat the eggs, which were eaten soft– or hard– boiled.
A number of sources have been used to draw information about the eating habits of Ancient Greeks, depending on the era. Archaeology has particularly contributed for information around the first millennia, as many tablets from Pylos and Knossos have informed us about the culinary habits of Myceneans and Minoans. Information on the Geometric Period (1100 – 800 BC) has been drawn by Homer’s epics, Iliad and Odyssey. Finally, information on the Classical Period is drawn by Ancient Greek literature, such as Aristophanes’ comedies and Atheneus’ works, as well as pottery and figurines. | English | NL | 3900c2cbceb6a49659405b48c0c079259bdba9fc15967c6e467ee1d11c6bcc3d |
Received 82 gill samples in RNA Later in 3 microfuge tube racks from MBL (Scott Lindell). Samples were catalogued, boxed (1 box) and stored at -80C.
The live clams were received in two bags one containing ~12 labelled MA4 and one containing ~12 labelled BX1. Clams were NOT counted and the quantity may be different. Clams were temporarily stored @ 4C. | English | NL | e330b0cdb9f50008f7ca0c4a1e59f0551b44e7e06874cdb900a98dc9d643cc68 |
Today’s adventure started and ended at the Chancery Lane tube station. First on the agenda was the London silver vaults.
Felicity was about to take a photo of me in front of the huge security doors when a passing guy told her that the security guards would see her on the CCTV and confiscate her camera. We wandered past dozens of shops in the basement, each behind its own vault door, and admired what must have been millions of dollars worth of silver objects. I saw a price tag on a watch: £35,000. We saw some nice silver plates that looked very similar to the stainless steel plates we use at home for Indian meals. Our credit cards remained in our wallets. As we were leaving, Felicity looked for a “no photograph” sign, and failing to see one, took the risk. The guards at the door who had carefully inspected our backpacks on the way in barely looked up as we left.
The next stop was the Huntarian Museum in the Royal College of Surgeons building. This is one of the world’s most comprehensive collections of body parts and surgical equipment, and historical displays ranging from the early grave robbers who supplied bodies for dissection to modern keyhole surgery. It was interesting to learn about Joseph Lister and how controversial his ideas about infection were just 150 years ago. I found a collection of diseased penises in jars a bit disturbing; hope I don’t have bad dreams tonight. You will be relieved that Felicity respected the photography ban.
It wasn’t part of our plan, but as we passed through Lincoln’s Inn Fields we were so struck by the beautiful buildings that we snooped around a bit. This is one of the areas where lawyers have their chambers because it is near to the courts. We poked our nose into a chapel where a guy was practicing the organ, creating a nice atmosphere while we admired the stained glass windows. I spotted a panel which belonged to Felicity’s great, great, great uncle; Sir John Campbell.
We were walking down Fleet St when we noticed a clock with a couple of figures with clubs next to a bell. Another tourist told us to wait a couple of minutes because it was nearly 4.30, and sure enough, the two figures burst into action, turning their heads and donging the bell. Apparently they are London’s protectors Gog and Magog, who we first met at the Guildhall a few weeks back.
Last on the agenda was St Bride’s Church designed by Sir Christopher Wren after the original was destroyed in the great fire of 1666. The tiered spire which inspired the modern wedding cake was unfortunately covered in scaffolding, so we didn’t get a photo. In any case, we were there to visit the crypt, which was only discovered after WW2 when the church was almost destroyed by Nazi bombs. We saw the remains of sixth century Saxon foundations, and in a mirror(above Felicity’s head in the photo), the remains of a Roman tiled floor. There were also Roman coins and medieval artifacts including pottery and stained glass melted by the great fire.
It was fortunate that we were near the exit when I heard a woman’s voice say “I’ll just lock up”. When I hastily stepped into view she shouted up the stairs “Hey I thought you said nobody was down there”. A very red-faced guard appologised profusely as we hurried to leave. It was very interesting, but not enough to spend a whole night! | English | NL | e5d53dd5c80551766571962537310c664d7ad4ef35b2276fce09c24735ad7176 |
I love reading the lives of the saints, but often don't have time to sit down and read an entire book on the lives of individual saints. If you're like me and have been looking for the perfect saint book to read over morning coffee, or as a quick reflection before going to bed at night, you'll love The Franciscan Saints by Robert Ellsburg. Each entry contains a short biography (we're talking two or three pages), as well as a short reflection written by the saint.
Little known peasants, queens and kings, married couples, and single lay people fill the pages of The Franciscan Saints with their inspiring love for God. Their passionate stories span centuries. Some are well known- think Saint Francis. Others are obscure - ever heard of Blessed Odoric of Pordenone? Neither did I 'til I read this book! Here are three of my favorites from the book:
1. Saint Agnes of Assissi
You've probably heard of Saint Clare of Assisi, but have you ever heard of her younger sister, Agnes? After Saint Clare left her family and exchanged her fine robes for the habit of a Franciscan, she ultimately became the foundress of the female branch of the Franciscan order. One of the first women to join her was her little sister, Agnes.
Agnes later went on to be the abbess of a new convent in Florence, where she missed Clare's presence greatly. In a letter to Clare, Agnes wrote, "Oh sweetest mother and lady, what shall I do, what shall I say, since I do not hope to see you and my sisters again in body. Oh, if I could express the thought in my mind as I might wish! Oh, if I could open to you on this page the long sorrow I expect, which is always before me! My mind burns within me and is tortured by infinite tribulations and fires. My heart moans within and my eyes do not stop pouring out rivers of tears. I am filled with sadness and without spirit I am altogether wasted away."
2. Saint Birgitta of Sweden
Saint Birgitta was married to a nobleman for twenty-eight years and became the mother of eight children. After getting fed up with life at the court, the couple left on a pilgrimage and walked to Compostela in Spain. When they returned, her husband died and Birgitta joined the Third Order of Saint Francis.
Later in life, she became a religious sister, founded monasteries, crossed continents through pilgrimages and filled books with her visions of Christ. When she traveled, Birgitta spoke to others about injustice. She once wrote, "The people of earth have need of a triple mercy: sorrow for their sins, penance to atone for them, and strength to do good."
3. Saint Roch
Saint Roch appears on the calendar of Franciscan saints, but little is actually known about his life. We do know that he was born to a rich family in France. By the time he was twenty, his parents had both died. He left behind his inheritance and committed his life to pilgrimage. While traveling to Rome, he came across many people suffering from the plague, and stopped to nurse them back to health. Unfortunately, Roch was struck by the plague, too.
Roch dragged himself into the woods to die, but a dog found him. The dog brought Roch food and licked his wounds. During his recovery, Roch wrote the prayer, "O Jesus, my Savior, I thank thee that thou puttest me to affliction to thine other servants, by this odious ardour of pestilence, and most meek Lord, I beseech thee to this desert place, give the comfort of thy grace." Roch made a full recovery and went back to help others who were battling the plague. | English | NL | 334725ea21536bae4ee7eb3a07a2984697f27e2ba93467d1639bef842b3893ee |
I exited the back door and immediately wished I hadn’t. It was frigid, and there stood the perfect imitation of a 1930s college student complete with raccoon coat, a hat with the front pinned up, and the type shoes that we used to call “saddle oxfords.” He was holding a pennant that simply read “State U” and was obviously excited.
“Come look,” he said. He motioned toward the houses along the street adjacent to our building. “Look at all the lights. Gee willikers. Look at all them lights.”
He was referring to the Christmas decorations adorning the homes and yards along the street. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s walk.
“I can’t go walking with you looking like that,” I said.
“Why not?” he said, waiving the pennant. “This is neaty Pete.”
“C.W.” I said. “They are just Christmas lights. People put them up every year.” He had grabbed me by the hand and was pulling me along the sidewalk.
“”Why”? he said.
“I don’t know. It’s just for Christmas.”
We stopped in front of an old, old house of the type so prevalent in this part of town. The structure itself was decorated with all the architectural features that the Victorians could imagine. In addition to that, the owners had attached lights outlining each of the features and had included lawn ornaments lighted with flashing illumination.
“Is that not something?” he said.
“It’s something all right,” I said. “It’s a big waste of money and time.” I don’t know what made me say it. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the getup he was wearing, or maybe it was that stupid smile he had on his face. Did I mention that it was freezing? Well, as if to emphasis it, snow began to fall, drifting through the bare limbs of the massive oak trees that adorned downtown Little Rock.
“Oh my goodness,” C.W. said. He stood motionless as he watched the flakes fall between us and the lights.
“C.W., I said. “Did you have something you wanted to tell me?”
“Shush,” he said. “Be quiet,” He was enthralled at the quiet beauty of the scene.
I stomped my feet with impatience.
“Yes,” he said. “I have something important to tell you.”
“Well?” I said.
“You’re missing something.” He said. “Something that even an alien to your planet can notice.”
|Best Holiday wishes to all. - C.W.|
“And just what is that?” I said.
He reached into the pocket of his massive coat and retrieved a scrap of paper.
“This man named Ron Wild put it best,” he said. He moved toward me to use the light of a street lamp and read.
“Seek the wisdom of the ages, but look at the world through the eyes of a child.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Couldn’t you just try? Just once, at this time of the year?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.” | English | NL | 3df686e23e1191a85e737149e6eb85d370d62b17144f9d64546734ce00f437ed |
"History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce. "
Karl Heinrich Marx was born into a middle class family in Germany on 5 May 1818 and was the son of a successful lawyer. He would go on to become the most influential socialist thinker of the nineteenth century, and although he did not live to see his ideas carried out in his own lifetime his writings formed the basis for modern communism.
At the age of seventeen Marx began studying law at the University of Bonn, and while there he met, and became engaged to, Jenny von Westphalen. Due to his poor grades, the following year Marx’s father sent him to the University of Berlin where he continued to study law for four years. Even at a young age, Marx engaged in political activities, and became a member of the Young Hegelian Movement, which included the theologians Bruno Bauer and David Friedrich Strauss. The group produced a radical critique of Christianity and opposed the Prussian political system. While at the University of Berlin he wrote his doctoral thesis, The Difference Between the Democritean and Epicurean Philosophy of Nature, which he finished in 1841. It was too controversial for the conservative professors at Berlin, so it was submitted to the more liberal University of Jena, who awarded him a PhD based on it.
Marx moved into journalism, and in October 1842 became editor of the liberal newspaper Rheinische Zeitung until the Prussian Government forced its closure due to Marx’s articles, the final nail in the coffin for the newspaper being an article Marx wrote in which he strongly criticised the Russian Monarchy, who were then an ally of the Prussian Monarchy. Marx was never someone to let the thoughts of society stop him, even in his social life. He went on to marry Jenny in 1843, which broke three social taboos. Firstly it was a marriage of a daughter from noble background to a man of Jewish origin. Secondly, Marx was from a middle class family and Jenny was upper class, and finally, Marx was a younger man marrying an older woman.
After moving to Paris in 1843, he began writing for other radical newspapers, and continued pursuing the socialist agenda, by editing the short lived Deutsch-Franzosische Jahrbucher. This was intended to bridge French socialism and the German Hegelians which Marx had been involved with. Whilst in Paris, Marx also set down his communist views in a series of writings known as the Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts, written in 1844 but not published until the 1930s. He also befriended his life-long collaborator, Friedrich Engels (1820-1895). Engels’ book, The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844 convinced Marx that the working class would be the agent and instrument of the final revolution in history. Marx’s political views soon drew attention to himself again, when began writing for the only uncensored German language radical newspaper in Europe, Vorwarts!. After a request from the Prussian King, the French government agreed to shut down the newspaper and expel Marx.
Expelled from France in 1845, Marx spent two years in Brussels, where his partnership with Engels intensified. Marx was convinced that the current mode of industrial capitalism would collapse and be replaced by communism. He joined, and became a leading figure of, the Communist League, and with Engels, co-authored the pamphlet The Communist Manifesto which was published in 1848.
After the Revolutions in various countries in 1848, Marx temporarily moved back to Paris and again attempted to re-publish his Rheinische Zeitung, renamed, Neue Rheinische Zeitung. He was again expelled from Paris as the authorities considered him a political threat. Unwelcome in France, Belgium and Germany, in 1849 Marx moved to London where he was to spend the remainder of his life.
Marx remained optimistic of revolution in Europe, and dedicated himself to studying political economy in order to determine what causes and conditions would result in a crisis necessary to lead to revolution. For a number of years, his family lived in poverty in a flat in Soho Square. Marx and Jenny had four children by the 1850s, and two more were to follow. Only three survived however. The wealthier Engels was able to support them to an increasing extent as profits from his cotton spinning business in Manchester improved. Gradually, Marx emerged from his political and spiritual isolation and produced the first volume of his most important body of work, Das Kapital (1867). The first volume was published in his lifetime, while the remaining volumes were edited by Engels after his friend's death.
In his final years, Marx was in creative and physical decline. He spent time at European health spas in search of recuperation, and was deeply distressed by the death of his wife, in 1881. He died on 14 March 1883 and was buried at Highgate Cemetery in North London. Engels’ eulogy at his friends funeral finished with “His name will endure through the ages, and so also will his work”.
TITLES BY KARL MARX | English | NL | 3ada13f6997c302c73bda3f25fdfa31d5d6ff98fedb52cd5c31085ab0f8cb6c2 |
Supposing that you find you have a noxious guru, what do you do?
How might you discover it?
You may have encountered unpalatable aspects of his personality, but assumed that he was a high-functioning narcissist who lived his spiritual life as best a narcissist could. People in the satsang might have seemed to be thriving on his achievements and loving towards him. Thus lulled, you might learn one day that he, by his own admission, had been having sex with women in the community. You might excuse him at first, saying, oh well, those of a certain age grew up in the hippy era with more relaxed attitudes to sex than the current conventions.
But then you discover differently. There was secrecy and suppression surrounding the sexual activity – nothing like the relaxed and uninhibited joyfulness of another era. From the testimonies of those courageous enough to tell of their experience you discover that what has been described is pernicious coercion – psychological, emotional, and worst of all, the pressure from claiming that the spiritual well-being of the female partner depended on her compliance to her god-master, and secrecy to maintain it. About 40 such female partners.
Discovery of the secret liaisons soon reveals that the guru has complete indifference to the actual emotional well-being of his partners. This might suggest a range of other cruel behaviours.
- “the woman” was not ever seen as a partner, but rather as a commodity for his use;
- The encounters were not reciprocal but were about giving him physical pleasure;
- The encounters were about giving him misogynistic pleasure. The woman was there to learn submission, to be debased and dominated;
- And that he gained narcissistic pleasure in dominating also their men-folk. Instead of accepting his karma as a diminutive man, now he was more powerful than all those other men whose wives and girlfriends he dominated right under their noses.
Even a disciple of good will towards the guru could not tolerate sitting idly by giving tacit approval. It is a complete nonsense that all the behaviours of a guru should be put down to sadhana or the shakti or to tantric sex, in effect attributed to God’s grace, ignoring the nastiness of the man.
A narcissist’s toolkit
Part of a narcissist toolkit is lying to get what the narcissist wants, and manipulating people’s responses to him by getting them to suppose the narcissist thinks the same way they do. At the same time, he goes about his narcissistic program in complete violation of what he has led people to suppose he holds sacred. In addition, he can never admit wrong-doing and dismisses any responsibility for any hurt he causes – in this case, any responsibility on his part for the hurt to his sexual partners, their own partners, and any hurt that his duplicity caused the whole community. Simply non-cognisant of what they are feeling.
How would you respond?
What would you feel then? Wouldn’t you feel mortified because you did not see deeply enough into him? Would you not be so ashamed of him that you could scarcely look at a picture of him?
Would you not also be ashamed of those women you might have sat with in good faith at the satsangs who must have been complicit in it? Those who knew what was happening, and did nothing about it.. Knowing, keeping it secret, protecting the behaviour, is that not corrupt? Would you not be ashamed of the company you kept? And would you not be aghast to find that their response is image management, and damage control?
What would you say to others who feel nothing for “the women”?
And of people who stay, claiming that the hurting women and men are “negative, and unloving”, what would you want to say to them?
I know what I would say to them: The unloving behaviour is yours, the negativity is yours – no compassion, no empathy, no kindness, no truthfulness… negative in all of those. But you’d score high on callousness, cruelty and incomprehension of spiritual life.
That’s what I would say to them. | English | NL | aec4c903a45155da05ca4ae0713add455ff446fc69f4101c886d7e651499335a |
Philanthropist who was a leading figure in the Azerbaijani Women's Rights Movement.
As a child, she was homeschooled in European and Islamic Literature along with French, and Russian.
She founded the first co-ed school in her hometown of Kahrizili in 1908.
She married her second husband, journalist
She was married to Jalil Mammadguluzadeh until her death in 1955. | English | NL | 8d5845edf81cabd68dac99ed7420ced03bab7bee59aa60328f7b357cb56b01a8 |
There is such a thing as a time line of our lives. There are markers of births and deaths, triumphs and failures, soaring high and crawling low. Adventures and journeys that make us who we are. You knew the depth of the joy and of the pain each of us would experience in this life and you still call us to be thankful in everything.
As my dear friend Mike said today, you just can’t stop in the middle of the journey. No matter how hard or painful the walk. You are not perfected until you reach the finish line. Mike shares with me that he doesn’t stop because he wants to be strengthened through his pain and suffering. He doesn’t stop because he desires to be complete in every way Jesus would have him be complete. He surrenders his thoughts of giving up to his savior and walks for another day. Mike is thankful. I can tell by both the light and tears that flow from his eyes when I talk with my friend.
My dear friend Megan and I, over a year ago, sat on a bench. Her tears fell as she reached deep to understand where God had her and why. She took a certain amount of responsibility for the valley and pressed on. Megan said to me just the other day, AbbyA, isn’t true that our darkest moments are really our blessings? We agreed that it is in the blinded darkness that you know the true love of your God. And because of that knowledge, Megan is thankful. I can tell by both the light and tears that flow from her eyes when I talk with my friend.
My daddy, who I will miss until the day I jump into his arms in heaven, ran the race in pain and suffering for more than six years. While he must have had many questions for his God, he wrapped his inner hope around a promise that God would never leave or forsake him. And as I watched him walk home to heaven, I believe that his strong faith grew in leaps and bounds as he saw and tasted that His promises were true. I know my dad was thankful in his life because I could see the spiritual peace that flowed from his inner being.
Lord, I want to thank you because you knew the depth of the joy and of the pain each of us would experience in this life. You knew that there was only one remedy for both the valleys and mountain tops. The remedy is thankfulness. Your remedy is not without substance. The substance of thankfulness is your love. Love that never ends; always grows deeper; and always gives hope.
AbbyA, Bindu and JMathis | English | NL | c8279d1abb9a8c9f3c49790bf09369f4fc2301c3b9b8afc7c5104eb29ca1a7e3 |
I saw this one-man show at The Goodman Theatre in Chicago. Can not get it out of my head. Nothing flashy. Just...just...
Subtly, cunningly totally seduced me, and submerged me into "a willing suspension of disbelief." (Doesn't happen that often.) The writer, Jim McGrath, and Keach take Hemingway into a deep search for a word and his own soul. Deceptively adventurous script. Beautifully acted by Keach and directed by Robert Falls. Set and Staging were superb. One maybe would have thought it might have been a performance filled with flashy bombast, being about Hemingway.
Uh Uh. Nothing flashy. But stunning. Just a man on a desperate search for the "right word"...which...despite all the things Hemingway did/accomplished -or didn't -was his raison d'etre.
A marvelous script by Jim McGrath. Incredulous how magically and seamlessly he could distill Ernest Hemingway into an hour and a half! But he did.
Beautiful set, lighting, sound design.
Interestingly, the show opened at this time LAST year at the Goodman. However, early in the opening night perfromance, Keach had had a heart attack on stage!!! So glad he came back to do it. And I can not help but think it made his performance even richer.
Lucky man. Lucky audience. Lucky me.
Once in a rare, rare while, the Theatre can still do a number on me!
It also motivated me to go back to diaries/notes I have kept stored for years as an actor in NYC. Fascinating. (Only to me, of course.) I also have sort a sort "reverse" diary, as I have kept every letter and card written to me since I was in grammar school. Arranged by year. (Hand written or typed letters with signatures sadly have died out, as the internet has taken over.) Now, all is on the computer.
But it is wonderful to see LETTERS...HAND-WRITTEN LETTERS. TYPED LETTERS. NOTECARDS.
Letters received are a reverse diary of one's own life. Keep them if you can.
I'll never forget a play I saw in NYC Off-OFF-OFFBroadway. It was of two lovers reading their letters. Set in the mid-1800's, when it took days or weeks for the mail to arrive. At one point, the female character has received a letter, after a period of time of receiving none. She opens the letter, and with all the thrill and love and lust she softly cries out to her lover..."YOUR HAND! YOUR HAND!" and clutches it to her breast. It was an exhilirating moment, and one I will never forget.
I've always wondered if A.R. Gurney had seen that very small production, as years later her wrote "LOVE LETTERS." | English | NL | 8f6bdaa446c824195342ea216b0ff5731aafea466a27fcd302c8e3d53c26b9e0 |
Mathew 15:24 for this my son was dead and is alive again.
Greetings to all readers in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Man was created to have fellowship with god but the serpent(devil) was cunning and wanted to destroy this bond between god and man. God wanted a true fellowship with man so he visited to him every evening not to behold the beauties of the things he made but to have a fellowship with man who was made in his own image and likeness. The journey with god started from Eden garden but by seeing an opportunity Devil came to Eve when she was alone. The serpent came before god’s visiting time and saw the best opportunity to deceive Eve because she was alone. It means she was idle. An idle mind is devil’s workshop. Devil knew that she can be attacked easily when she is alone.
The greatest trick of Devil today is to give you the feeling that you are alone and that makes his job easy. Because of sin the bond between the relationships was marred. There was a great gulf between the fellowship of God and man but still many walked with god even though in that cursed situation…Enoch, Abraham, Noah, Isaac, Joseph and many more their journey on that cursed generation was with god that’s the reason why they were blessed among the cursed. God wants to speak to the reader through this blog. No matter you may be surrounded by the darkness and curses but if you take a decision to journey with god….he will bless you among all. Let our life’s journey be with Jesus, let us learn from him and seize all opportunities of our life.
Once, we planned to visit a castle in Germany but since we don’t the know the place we were in trouble but when we found one guide who knows about that place very well. Now we don’t have to bother where we should go and what we should do…because we have a guide. Like wise if we do not have god with us in our life’s Journey it will lead to a life full of troubles with no hopes.
The message for today is about the Son who was in a journey without his father.
We all know this incident it is about Prodigal son. Now Luke Chapter 15 is the chapter of repentance.
The chapter starts with about some Tax collectors and sinners drew near to Jesus to hear the word of god but the Pharisees and Scribes drew near to complain and find faults of Jesus. Two groups, they both drew near with two different ideas. One group came to hear the word of god so that they should bear the fruits of repentance but another came near by complaining and to find faults. How do you come to the presence of god? Do you go church to find faults of the preacher or to give thanks to the lord? Ask yourself
We are into a race(journey) and the one who is in this race must run with endurance without doubting. An athletic will not dress up with suit to run but he will remove all that and wear his tracksuits. He cannot run with burden on his head. He must free himself with all burden and train himself fit for running. He must quit some diet and must give time for daily exercise. Likewise every believer is on a race and our finishing point is house of the lord. A believer must not run with burden on his head he must cast his entire burden unto Jesus. He must quit something in his life, he must come out of his comfort zone, and he must crucify all his worldly desires and lust of the flesh, a daily reading of bible to know how fit he is. This chapter is also speaking about one Journey of a younger son who left the house and his father to a far country. There are 3 different kind of example illustrated in this chapter one is about A lost Sheep , A Lost Coin and The Lost son. The sheep find his shepherd by the voice; the woman found her coin when she lit the lamp but the love of father bought the lost son back home. Which is so true in our life … the voice of the lord came searching us, the light of this world step down to find us and his love bought us back from the place where we were totally lost. All glory to Lord Jesus.
Luke chapter 15:24 says for this my son was dead and is alive again. Now my question to the reader is the son was really dead? No he was not dead practically but since he is not having any relationship with his father he his dead and lost for him. Now I want to go little deeper of this text , I am purely talking about spiritual death rather than body…One day the younger son asked his father for his portion. He did not ask this to leave him initially. But he was more blessed; his relationship must be stronger than before because he received his portion from his father who shows that he is mature to handle the blessing but unfortunately it happened other way around. Now the verses 13″Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild.
What was the thing that made him to take stupid decision like this? Did he not loving his father? How can he leave his father like that…if you read it says not long after that he received the portion. It means it took him less days to take his decision to leave his father…I believe he use to visit his father daily and they both use to spent lot of times together but after receiving his portion(blessing) he visits seldom, now he is spending less time with his father, there is nothing much to discuss between them. After some more days he started visiting his father once in a week just for name sake. And not long after that he stopped visiting his father; this made a great barrier between these two. Now his journey for a distant country is without his father. I don’t know how many of them understood the spiritual side. We are sons of god, an heir who has an authority, we have received our portion from our father like prodigal son and tasted his glory in every way of our life but do you hold the same relationship with him now? We just go once in a week to church just for the name sake, before we use to cry, we use to pray constantly, we use to trust him only, we use to keep his words. After receiving all the blessing from above, received all promises and portions which we asked for. What is the situation now? Are you on a Journey without the Father? You are praying, you are giving tithes, you may be the elder of the church but ask yourself sincerely that if you have Jesus in your journey. Remember, we are blessed because the father is with us; we can cast all our burdens when our father is close to us. I never carry money in my wallet when I am with my father because I know whatever I he need have it. Dear reader, you have a father who cares you but are you still taking your pain by yourself and are you still on a journey knowingly or unknowingly without father?
This son squandered his wealth in wild living. The devil was not jealous about the wealth but he jealous about the relationship. He knew if this Journey of both father and son continues he will be in problem so the only thing to destroy this bond is to separate both of them gradually. My fellow brothers and sister this is what the liar devil does in our spiritual life… he will never destroy the bond between you and god altogether but he will try his tactics gradually step by step. Always remember Devil has more patience than you and me…he will wait for an opportune time and alas we will not know that we are travelling all alone…Mary and Joseph walked three days thinking that they have Jesus with them but while they waited and looked themselves they dint found him…..what was the reason they lost Jesus on their way…I think both of them were so much into the crowds and different voices from all around distracted them.
Are you a person who is distracted by something of this world? Dear Reader Holy Spirit guided me to write this because of you …Wait for a moment and check yourself that if you are walking with god?
Devil wants that you should walk alone. A Journey without our father in heaven brings both spiritually and mentally dead situation. What did the father do to his lost son…he did not give him wealth but he gave exactly what he have lost…the relationship…he hugged his son and gave him Best Robe, the ring and sandal…old clothes were removed it mean old sin was washed away and gave him a best robe, he gave him a ring which shows authority and a sandal because the journey is tough.
Tomorrow is not for you; even you don’t know what will happen at next hour. Jesus is waiting for you to receive you as his son. Seize this opportunity and have a personal relationship with Jesus. I urge all believers, non- believers, pastors, brothers and sisters and all whoever read this….Start a personal relationship with Jesus today because his coming is near, walk with him, seek him and wait patiently for him. If a journey without father leads to death then what will be the Journey with the father …it will lead us to everlasting life.
May God bless you all. | English | NL | 50e3b15de505c6af927e00db506f9a4cd49b608d923d9a6528f53a329730a26c |
Ms. Palmer ready to relax with family, travel
Sharon Palmer’s path to high school teaching has been paved with adventure. She was born in Pennsylvania but moved to rural San Francisco when she was young.
Palmer never thought she would be a teacher but after working as a TA while in graduate school, she realized that she loved interacting with students. She decided to keep teaching for a little while after graduating, but it quickly became a full-time, permanent job.
Soon, she began working as a professor at Smith College, but when she and other women were denied tenure based on their gender (despite the support of the entire chemistry department at the time) she left Smith and spent a year at Williams College learning how to teach high school students.
Soon after, she got a job at ARHS and has been here since then.
Palmer usually teaches five chemistry classes a year at ARHS and said that she does not have much free time as a result. She pointed to her mug that is emblazoned with the words “I can’t, I’m grading papers.”
During her rare chances to relax, she likes to read and cook, “since there is chemistry involved.” She also teaches online chemistry classes to other teachers.
This can be a challenge because most chemistry experiments are “hard to show and explain online.”
Ms. Palmer is someone who cares a lot about both science and education. She has been part of the American Chemical Society since she joined as a student researcher during her junior year of college. Today, she is on the executive local board for teachers, where she is able to “share research and network with other educators.”
One of Ms. Palmer’s favorite parts of teaching is that she gets “to share chemistry with people and get them excited about it.”
“Students have a fresh perspective on things. They look at things you already know through different eyes,” she said.
Although she enjoys teaching high school she also misses teaching college students. She believes that there is a “pipeline problem” with students going into college to study in the sciences; many do not end up not going through with it. She believes that a reason for that is the “lack of training for college professors.”
Ms. Palmer did not always plan on retiring now. She thought she might teach for longer, but her husband, who also teaches chemistry, is retiring this year, so she decided to retire at the same time as him.
A factor that also impacted her decision to retire was that she feels that education has changed significantly over the years. “Since I have started teaching the amount of work you can expect students to do has changed, and technology has changed the way people learn. Maybe I’m a bit old-fashioned,” she said.
In retirement, Ms. Palmer plans to fill many days reading; her daughter jokes that she only likes books that are either “murder mysteries or stories about Asian-Americans in California,” she said.
When not reading, Ms. Palmer also wants to travel as much as she can. She especially hopes to visit Japan so she catch up with her relatives there. | English | NL | 621c78cb8446377d4d4062e0dcf4601100ff7fc25d29f5cfa1e79dcc0736bcae |
|Game 3||Game 3 Outline|
15:05:54 left until timer runs out.
It is morning, and the door to the laundry room is closed again, trapping you in. You don't want to start yapping again to alert them you're awake, since that made Maria mad at you yesterday. Eventually someone opens the door, you look to see it's the mother, holding a basket of clothes. You walk out and see Maria sitting on a chair in the living room, holding her phone in one hand and a black jacket in the other. You walk over to Maria and she says "At least you'll never betray me Spot" and then she strokes your back. You don't know how to feel about the stroke. On the other 2 days she was getting her backpack around this time, you wonder why she isn't today and it doesn't take you long to get to the conclusion that it's now the weekend.
You hear the mother in the kitchen doing something, you hear her make a strange high-pitched whistling noise. You approach where the whistle came from and see a full bowl of dog food and a full bowl of milk, you assume the whistle must be her alerting you to come eat. You eat the dog food, which still tastes as gross as it did the first time, you thought it would slowly get better but that didn't seem to be the case. You start drinking the milk, not because you are thirsty, but to wash out the taste of the dog food.
The mother says to Maria "You'll need to walk Spot soon, when is Nathaniel coming over to get his jacket?" Maria responds with "He is coming at 2:00, do I really have to walk Spot again?" Her mother simply glares at Maria and Maria then runs to her room and soon comes back with the itchy leash. After a while you finish the dog food and she immediately puts the leash around your neck and nudges you to go outside for (hopefully) the final walk.
Written by TurnedIntoDragon
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(This page has not yet been checked by the maintainers of this site.) | English | NL | d1b26d99da38141578aad95fff9bf83096b8f45a4657a0540c2b148e32a96aaf |
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A Closed Heart: Night Terrors
|Sunday, 11:46 PM
Chris awoke with a start. He gave out a muffled cry and struggled to free himself from his bed sheets as he falls out of bed. His breathing is difficult and hard, and beads of sweat glistened all over his body. His hands shot up, pressing against the bandages he had placed on his wounds that Kou- no, the monster had given him. The moment he had reached home, dressed in nothing but a towel, he had went straight into a bathroom and washed himself so hard, his entire body was red and sore from his excess scrubbing. He almost poured on the alcohol by the bottle, washing and disinfecting the wounds over and over again before covering them with bandages to heal.
Chris shuddered violently as images of the creature’s massive body and red eyes flashed through his mind. He remembered how it had battered him with it’s relentless thrusts and rubbing, how it had burned his skin when vast amounts of sexual juices flowed out of the massive mushroom head, and finally how aroused he had been to have been smothered by those vast inhuman muscles, devoid of any trace of fat, each fiber visible and rippling with-
“No!” Chris cried out, shutting his eyes and pounding his head. He tried desperately to shut out those images, but to no avail; the blood flowed into his 5 inch pride and swelled with excitement. However, he did not climax. He did not even touch his member. He just sat there, alone in his darkened room. He didn’t notice the tears flowing from his eyes, nor did he care. He just sat there, staring at his hands as if they were drenched in blood.
Monday, 6:55 AM
Chris felt drained and listless. Despite the fact that his body was so exhausted, Chris did not sleep at all the previous night. His nights were haunted by reoccurring nightmares of that monster, and each time he awoke screaming like a child. He had turned on all of the lights in the apartment, fearing everything that may lurk under the cover of the shadows. He spent the entire night in a corner, clutching a frying pan with an unrelenting grip, staring vacantly at the ground.
When the sun finally came up, it illuminated the room through the dingy windows, casting shadows everywhere. When Chris looked up, he saw moving shadows everywhere. Without even thinking, Chris leapt up and began attacking everything in sight with a blind panic. He pounded on the table and chair. He smashed the walls, revealing the insulation. He broke plates, cups, and knocked over the trash can and dented the refrigerator. It took him several minutes before he realized that the shadow he was busily pounding into the ground was in fact his own. Slowly, he fell to his knees, dropped the frying pan, then he broke down and cried like a baby.
Monday, 8:03 AM
Chris didn’t want to go to school. He had no intention of leaving his apartment so soon after what happened to him on Saturday. However, common sense overcame his fear. If he didn’t go to school, then it would raise suspicion. Also, there was no way that Ko…the demon would do anything at school around so many people. So, when first period came around, he was sitting in his desk in Mr. Benson’s English class, nervously awaiting Kou’s arrival. He sat there, half asleep and half widely alert for any indication that the monster was coming. The minutes dragged by and still he didn’t come. Before Chris knew it, first period had ended.
Monday, 12:15 PM
Chris nearly had a heart attack from the sudden exclamation. As he watched, a girl with mousy brown hair stomped right past him and towards where Hunter and Lucas were standing somewhat nervously as she approached them with a fury. Something about the girl seemed vaguely familiar.
“Warrens, you- you- YOU!” She walked right up to Lucas and pressed up against him, causing Lucas to shrink back.
“Listen P- uh,” He stuttered, backing up into the wall. “I m-mean, Matthews, I-”
“Shut up!” She screeched. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done!? Do you know what happened to him!? For Christ’s sake, do you know have the slightest bid of sense in you to think of what could have HAPPENED!? Answer me!” The more Chris listened, the more he felt like he should know the girl. Her features were hauntingly familiar and her attitude almost screamed in the back of his mind, yet he still couldn’t put his finger on it just yet.
“SHUT UP!” She cut him off. “You stupid muscle head!” He punched one of Lucas’ beefy arms. “What the hell were you thinking when you decided to sleep on the job!?”
“I’m sorry!” Lucas cowered, though he didn’t seem to have noticed the punch. “I had a very tough workout that day, and just watching was making me all sleepy, so I closed my eyes for one second and-”
“You closed your eyes for three hours you idiot!” She screamed. People were starting to give frequent stares as they passed by. Chris felt almost embarrassed just by standing there, watching. Suddenly, the image of a small girl with brown hair came to mind.
“Paige?” Chris said, finally remembering. “Paige Mathews?” Paige had been one of his few good friends from elementary school. He had lost track of her, however, along with all his other friends after he had lost his parents so he barely recognized her.
Mathews jumped up in surprise. She whirled around and faced Chris, her eyes wide. “C-Chris!” She said in a surprisingly small voice. “I-I-I di-didn’t s-see you.” Her looks were pretty much the same as Chris remembered her, only more mature and full. She even acted the same as before, sometimes being very timid and sometimes being extremely aggressive. In a way, she reminded him of Kou. At that thought, Chris felt a sharp pang in chest as his heart sank.
“I didn’t know we were in the same school.” Chris said, forgetting his nerves for a moment. “Why didn’t you let me know?”
“I-I-I…” She blinked several times fast. Chris could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “I d-didn’t know either.” Chris saw Lucas and Hunter exchanged a glance but they all said nothing.
“Um…” Chris tried to think of something to say, but his mind was off elsewhere. “It…it was nice seeing you again Paige. Maybe we can hang out sometime.”
“Y-yeah, sure.” she agreed, her eyes cast shyly towards the ground and her cheeks slightly rosy.
“Well…bye.” Chris said, then headed off to PE class.
“I had almost forgotten about that.” Hunter remarked, rubbing his chin in amusement. Mathews blushed.
“You do remember that he’s gay, right Mathews?” Lucas reminded her. A split second later his left cheek came into contact with Mathew’s palm with a resounding smack.
Monday, 10:11 PM
Chris downed another cup of coffee, not bothering to sweeten it with cream or sugar. On his way home from school, he had stopped by the store and bought anything with high amounts of sugar and caffeine. When he reached his shabby apartment, he began to eat and drink non stop. He was afraid to sleep. Or, more specifically, he was afraid of his dreams. So he stuffed himself with so much caffeine and sugar that he would be able to stay up all night without any nightmare haunted sleep. A little discomfort was far better then reliving the horror he went through, so he gladly ate his twentieth chocolate bar.
Tuesday. 4:00 PM
Chris felt exhausted beyond belief the next day. Throughout the school hours, it took everything he had to keep himself from collapsing from exhaustion. Luckily, he didn’t have to do much that day, so he was able to sail on through without any complaints from the teachers and was able to drag himself back to his home.
Although he was more or less awake, the visions of massive muscled monsters with horns and fangs flashed through his mind often. He would cry out suddenly and cower back. He went to his computer and played music on full volume, much to the disproval of his neighbors. He would dunk himself in both cold and hot water with equal eagerness. None of them worked. The images still haunted his mind.
Wednesday, 11:24 AM
Chris didn’t know when he fell asleep. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the corner of his room, shutting his eyes to rest it a bit. The moment his eyes closed, three days without any form of rest caught up to him and pulled him into a deep sleep. At first, he didn’t have any dreams, just a calm, peaceful rest. Then, abruptly, the nightmares began again. He was once again on the bed, stripped naked. Standing before him was Kou, in all his muscular glory. Then, without any sign or warning, he began to change. He grew taller and taller, passing the ten foot mark and still growing. His muscles followed in the growth, bunching up and flexing until they surpassed the largest bodybuilder in the world, and then swelled some more, reaching inhuman proportions. Kou’s hair turned deadly white, breaking free of the tie that bound it together and growing down his ever expanding back. His erection, already at three feet hard, grew bigger and bigger until it was over 5 feet and impossibly thick, with his balls swelling just behind it to match. His forearms bulked up and his hands became huge, each finger ending in a long, wicked claw.
And finally, and most frightening of all, Kou’s face began to change. First, the skin color darkened into a deep bronze more perfect then anything tanning had ever achieved. His teeth grew pointed until they could only be called fangs. Two black horns sprouted from the top of his head, growing longer and longer until they were two feet long and curved back. And last, his eyes shifted from the deep innocent black to a wild crimson.
Chris tried screaming, but his voice was gone. Slowly the monster descended onto him. It’s claws slashed his chest, drawing blood. It bent down and began licking the blood from his wounds, slowly rubbing it’s giant cock head against Chris’ legs. It slowly pressed it’s chest into Chris, and it’s arms enveloped him with it’s great embrace. Fearfully, Chris looked up into the monster’s face, his eyes pleading for mercy. The monster returned the gaze, it’s red eyes staring at Chris with hunger and passion. Yet behind those red eyes, there was a darkness. The darkness did not cry of hunger or of lust. It cried in pain and for help.
Chris’s eyes shot open. He was no longer on the bed, but in his room. He blinked several times and sat there in his corner, taking in what he had just seen. Was it just a dream? Or was it a memory or a sign? Chris sat there, thinking long and hard. Finally, when he thought his head would explode, he jumped to his feet and headed out, hoping that Kou was still at home.
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Archive Version 070326 | English | NL | 3da99e9a981ca321cc363ac06063f3248a4a80aa26d91b17eeee18f60251c07e |
I’m in my 50th year. I have found peace and solitude. This is the year I decided to transform my life from the inside out. I feel as though I arrived at the junction of ‘lessons learned’ which is the sum total of who I am. I know there is more to be revealed, but I must take a moment and recognize this happy place.
In my 50th year, I became a teacher. I found the career that I was destined to find. I’m a fourth-generation educator. My mother’s family was deeply rooted in education in the South. I carry this mantle from my ancestors.
I’ve always been enamored with learning and the notion of being educated. As a little girl growing up in Connecticut, one of my favorite places as a landmark was Yale University. My grandmother would occasionally take me to “The Green”, a park across from Yale. We would feed the birds breadcrumbs and hang out. I use to gaze over at the buildings – the ivy hugging the structure was the coolest thing ever – before I had ever heard the term “ivy league school.” Any environment where learning took place has always made me feel safe, secure, and fulfilled.
It’s no surprise that I am a reading teacher. I was equally obsessed with books and reading. I read through the entire dictionary as a child. Over the years, I have collected hundreds of books. Now that we are in the age of eBooks and Kindle is popular, my library has a different look. Nonetheless, I have plenty to read.
In my 50th year and first year as a teacher, I desired to be effective. In my opinion, the best way to do that is to establish relationships and gain the trust of my students. They obviously wanted the same. Their efforts to get to know me and willingness to let their guards down for the most part allowed us to establish bonds. I will never forget my first class of 8th grade students at Sacaton Middle School. I love them all!
My experiences with these students this year allowed me to reconnect with my inner child. I remember what my life was like at 12-15 years old. The pain of growing up in dysfunction and wanting to be understood. The pain of having to keep secrets for fear of the outcome once revealed. The notion of “one day, I will be free and can make my own decisions.” The pain of seeing and experiencing way too much too soon in life. The pain of always desiring to be loved and never quite getting the right portion of it.
As I am teaching and spending time with the kids in my classroom, I am praying for them. Their future is uncertain at this point, but I hold them dear in my hearts and want to always think and speak positive, lifegiving words over them. I wish I could follow the lives of all my students, but reality dictates otherwise. It has to be enough for me to know that I am impacting generations to come in my simple role as a teacher.
Peace and blessings to the promoting 8th grade Sacaton Middle School Class of 2015 – Ms. Lyons | English | NL | ed1b1d441ca6c1f1e6d66c9f4ab7dcae1cb452b473a1467bf496b5d4b28bc339 |
The Honourable James Leslie Bain Allsop AO was appointed Chief Justice of the Federal Court of Australia on 1 March 2013. Previously he was the President of the NSW Court of Appeal (2008-13), a judge of the Federal Court of Australia (2001-08) and an additional judge of the Supreme Court of the Australian Capital Territory (2003-08).
His Honour was appointed as an Officer of the Order of Australia in 2003.
His Honour began his legal career at the New South Wales Bar in 1981 and was appointed Senior Counsel in 1994 (in NSW) and Queen’s Counsel in 1998 (WA). He graduated from the University of Sydney in 1980 with a Bachelor of Laws, winning the University Medal.
1300 00 2088 | English | NL | ee7c274f25ed1d46d06fd1c387593cc933df58cef47bfcd55e281ad8ae4ad456 |
This year I got an apprentice hunting license which allowed me to go hunting with Jan. Even before hunting season began, Jan and I went out looking for deer signs: good trails, rubs and scrapes, deer beds, deer tracks and places where they had eaten. We found a good trail that led down to the river, and we set up a trail camera along it. We soon discovered that the deer were mostly coming out at night.
Later, we moved the camera to a different location and got more really cool pictures.
These nighttime pictures would not be possible without Gorge Shiras, who in 1889 pioneered what became known as wildlife photography. The first pictures he took were on the shores of White Fish Lake which is near Marquette, Michigan, his favorite region. He was the first to successfully take nighttime wildlife pictures. Ten of his nighttime photographs were featured at a Paris exhibition in 1900 and then at the World’s Fair in 1904. In 1906, his work was featured in National Geographic and he became internationally famous. Shiras was good at stalking wildlife with his camera because he had been trained as a hunter as a young boy. He shot his first deer at age twelve, but as an adult he traded in his gun for a camera.
We knew where to put our trail cam because there were several rubs and scrapes. In early fall, bucks rub their antlers on small resilient trees to rub the dried velvet off. They have this cover on their antlers called velvet that appears as they begin to grow new antlers in the spring. Velvet is a membrane filled with blood vessels that nourish the antlers while they grow. At this time, the antlers are very sensitive. Once the antlers reach their full growth, the velvet dries and this is when they rub. The dried velvet must feel like peeling skin after a sun burn. Later in the fall, they rub their antlers in preparation to fight other bucks. These are the rubs we see. As they do this, it strengthens their necks, and when they fight their necks act as a shock absorber. You can often judge how big the buck is by how big the rub is. Bucks lose their antlers after mating season in early winter. This is why some Native American tribes named one of the months of the year, the Moon When Bucks Drop Their Antlers. There are also scrapes. This is when a deer paws the ground with his two front feet. Scrapes are almost always done under a hanging branch. There are many ideas as to why deer do this, but only deer really know.
Hunters, either with a gun or a camera, need to know as much as possible about the animals they are tracking. To find deer, one should know that they have incredible smelling abilities. A blood hound has 200 million olfactory sensors, and a deer has 297 million. A deer can smell 60 times better then we can. A deer’s sight is not much better than ours; however, they are experts at detecting slight bits of motion. Deer also hear extremely well. Their big ears are constantly moving and turning in order to pinpoint the slightest sound. The average life span for a doe, a female deer, is 8 to 12 years. However, there are records of a black tailed female deer who lived in captivity and made it to 22 years old. On the other hand, bucks, male deer, are not likely to make it past 4 ½ years due to hunting. Generally, the larger species of deer live to be older.
Even though I never got a deer, Jan and I ran into some neat places. The first time I went out with him, we came across what we called a beaver clear cut. Four inches in diameter aspens had been chewed down and covered the landscape. The trees that had not been chewed down made it so dense it was easy to get lost. There were all kinds of beaver roads. One went right down a cliff that led to the river. One day we got within 20 yards of two does, but we are only allowed to shoot bucks. Another day, we found 5 fresh deer beds, a melted deer sized oval in the snow. Even though hunting was a great learning experience, it was also really hard. I was always cold because we were either sitting or moving excruciatingly slowly, and being quiet was a challenge in knee high snow. In a way, hunting puts a hunter in the animal world. | English | NL | 1172b83ee2a8a498afaed0fe0b1c8238282ce8436db9665e9ea9f99ae04d3b8a |
Focus explores the creative talent within the climbing community.
Illustrator Rob Modini took a while to develop his style. The Colorado-based climber and artist has worked with a variety of media during his career, in both a professional and personal capacity, but only in recent years has settled into defining his approach.
How did you develop your style?
I always find the question of style a tricky one. As an art director, I think of style as one part of a broader toolkit that can be leveraged to help articulate a particular voice or perspective; it has a function.
As a professional illustrator, I think of style as an affectation that, over time, evolves into a more natural expression. It's like a rainshell that you wear for long enough to forget you're wearing it. At first it feels bulky and cumbersome, but eventually you find yourself climbing without giving it a second thought. (Yes, I just slipped a climbing analogy in there). When I was younger, I had such a curiosity and passion for making imagery that I enjoyed trying all kinds of things: matte painting, 3D, painterly, graphic. I was proud that I could move between these styles with relative ease. While I've always had a particular sensibility about things like color, it wasn't until the past few years that I gave any serious thought to developing a personal style. One of the reasons I resisted for so long is that I used to think of style as a crutch, a way of compensating for poor image making skills. Now I see the value in it. If you have to compose an image of a city scape, it helps to not have to think about how you're going to render a car. Having a style to fall back on frees you up to think about more interesting problems.
In regards to the more recent work that I've been posting on my tumblr, I don't think in terms of style at all. For this type of work I'm motivated entirely by my interests. That's not to say that these images don't fit into some stylistic category, but it's purely a byproduct of exploring a particular thought or idea—not a conscious choice.
It's interesting that your view has changed like that over time. How do you approach new pieces? What process do you go through from ideation to creation?
For commercial work I think it's almost always necessary to start with some sketching. Oftentimes if we're pitching on something, this will be accompanied by doing some research and pulling some reference material. Because I regularly find myself working with a team and especially because I work remotely, sketching is a vital part of the process to help ensure everyone is on the same page. The sketch is also where I do most of the larger conceptual and formal problem solving. Since I usually feel the most creative and motivated in the mornings I like to do my sketches then, that way the rest of the day I can spend on the execution.
For my personal work I'm not obligated to communicate with anyone so I only sketch if it's necessary to remember something. There are times when I'm getting tons of ideas but I'm not too keen on making any of them yet. I find that I do a lot of sketching and doodling in these periods but I don't actually create any finished work. I keep all these sketches, edit them down to the ones I think are interesting, and archive them. This way when I feel like making something but have no real ideas I can dive into my sketches and pick one that I'm interested in finishing. Often the finished piece will be quite different from the initial sketch but I find the sketch still critical as a jumping off point. With the collage stuff that I've been doing lately, I think the whole joy is not having any plan at the outset and allowing the process of drawing, cutting, and composing to illuminate a piece. Working in this way is much more of a challenge but also much more rewarding.
That's a fascinating way to approach your personal projects. Many people can struggle with the process of completing work. What advice would you give to people who might find it difficult getting to a final endpoint with a piece?
Obviously having a deadline can help immensely. It's important to point out that this is a problem thats largely overcome with experience. The only way to get comfortable making that decision is to make it a lot.
As long as you're involved in the process of making something, it continues to offer you an escape. You can always make it better, or make it different. You can always say to yourself, "This isn't the type of piece I'm making". The process of making a piece is an attempt to understand what you're making. You start off with an idea, but it's not until you start creating it that you really understand and interact with it. At some point, this process ends, and you have to accept or confront what it is you've made. I think that confrontation makes people anxious. You are worried that the piece might misrepresent your intentions, that you've miscommunicated, or that it's just bad, and so you try to avoid that confrontation. You have to understand that your practice is more important than any individual piece, and the only way to progress in your practice is to finish work—even if it's bad work. Eventually that anxiety no longer inhibits you and can actually be helpful.
What guidance would you give to anyone looking to follow a similar path in illustration and design?
That's a little tough because I didn't take a very conventional path. One thing I'd stress is how important it is to surround yourself with people who are motivated and passionate about what they're doing. There was a period in my life when I was a bit directionless, but I had the good fortune of being friends with a lot of really great talented people and I think that saw me through some tough times. This is true professionally too. I've been lucky to work at some top studios with some super talented people and once you experience how high the bar can be set, it's impossible to forget.
You can follow Rob on Instagram here | English | NL | 995c073dd742a6defb034663bc8cb5397f301caee1557565d36795fbae5ba2f0 |
“My head keeps spinning,
I go to sleep and keep grinning,
If this is just the beginning,
My life’s gonna be beautiful.
I’ve sunshine enough to spread,
It’s like the fella said,
Tell me quick,
Ain’t love like a kick in the head?”
Lyrics to Dean Martin’s Ain’t That a Kick in the Head
They say love comes when you least expect it. Like an unanticipated visitor seeking refuge in the warmth of your hearth. Or, a spray of lilacs hidden beneath a winter’s snowfall. In an instant, a cloud of darkness can give way to bright, sparkling love, moonlit promises, and a treasure trove of memories.
But, sometimes in the blush of youth, we confuse lust for love. And, sometimes we never know real love at all. And, as in my case, there are times love opens its arms and we walk away for reasons that later we cannot comprehend.
Like the refrain goes, love’s like a kick in the head. Perplexing and illogical, it’s safe to say, we never learn about love from the mistakes of others. Which is why, the song and dance of love is one that is repeated often, throughout the course of history.
Or, as Sonny and Cher would say, “And the beat goes on.”
Meeting Jake was unexpected. Gregariously handsome, he had all the right lines, which he’d flick at you in rapid procession so that when you fell, you fell hard. Still, if Jake was unexpected, falling for a mere underclassman like James was even more so. James had a soft, youthful quality about him, which is why it was so easy for me to scoff at the thought that there might be anything between us. Too young to consider dating, he seemed more like one of the kids I’d babysit for on the weekends.
Yet, with each passing day, James impressed me with his intelligence, crackerjack wit, and genuine compassion. Unlike Jake, he didn’t have a come-on line. He never tried to be sexy or prove anything he wasn’t. He was just James, a boy who was exactly as he appeared.
In the days that followed my breakup with Jake, James remained his usual self. In other words, James was as attentive as ever. He’d greet me with his usual ray-of-sunshine smile, copy down the homework assignment for me if I skipped out on class—which I did on two occasions—walked with me to my next class, without even asking if it was alright with me, and generally gazed at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. But, I was.
James was always there. Reliable. And, while I appreciated the little things he did to lift my spirits, my mind had been dizzily racing elsewhere. I’d needed something—a spark, a change. I wanted to be reckless and wild, and not the sweet little girl most assumed I was.
But, until the moment that James drew me out of study hall, willing me to give him a chance, it had never occurred to me that the change I needed, the high I craved, might be found in him. That night, I thought about our conversation behind the school—how he looked and how exhilarating it felt to be touched by him. How he held my hand so assuredly, as if it was something he did all the time. And how the recollection now electrified me. I got little sleep that night, playing our encounter over and over in my head.
The following morning, I knew what I had to do. I was going to take the next step, I thought excitedly, as I pumped my legs, riding my bike to school. James wanted me to give him a chance, and that’s exactly what I planned to do, eager was I to discover what he was made of, and what it’d be like to spend time with him outside of school. It was do or die, and put your money where your mouth is, and I was more than ready.
Okay, maybe cautiously ready. After all, there was still the matter of the age difference. What if my friends were to learn about this date I was planning with a sophomore? Would they laugh and make me the butt of their jokes?
As I made my way past Waldbaum’s supermarket, through the parking lot, bypassing the local library, I found myself feeling unsteady. What was I thinking? I was willing, wasn’t I, to give him a chance? Suddenly, I was uncertain. As I eased my bike onto the school grounds, I found my second thoughts were turning into third and fourth ones. I was caving.
I can do this, I told myself.
No, I can’t. No way, no how.
I walked down the hall toward Geometry. The second bell, marking the start of class, had yet to ring, but Mrs. C was already writing on the chalkboard the problems we’d be working on that morning. James and Sam were there, too.
James’ face lit up when he saw me, and I felt my cheeks burn. I can do this I said to myself as I took my seat in front of them, and turned around to face them.
James must’ve also been thinking about our rendezvous the day before, for he asked, with a mischievous grin, “So, did you end up making it to your last period okay?”
I nodded. The words I’d been planning to say stuck in my throat. I can do this. I can invite him on an outing for Saturday. Piece of cake, if only I’d stop backpedaling.
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t she make it to her class?” Sam interjected.
“No reason. Just asking,” James quickly replied, realizing he’d nearly spilled the beans.
I’m crazy to invite him anywhere. People would definitely talk if we went out. If I’m seen alone with him, away from school, they’ll wonder. Unless, unless…a thought came to me. No one would say anything about three friends hanging out. Three, not two.
Practically choking on my words, I began to sputter, only to be interrupted by James, who lowered his voice and spoke directly to me. “Hey, any interest in going on a bike ride with me tomorrow? I was thinking we could head out to Eisenhower Park.”
Yikes. His invitation, while pleasing, caught me off guard. I can’t do this. Not without Sam.
Nervously, I brought Sam into the conversation. “Great idea! What do you think, Sam? Can you make it?”
James was puzzled by this turn of events. Clearly the invitation was for me alone. He said, “I think Sam has plans with his folks.” He paused, then added, “Am I right, Sam?”
Sam didn’t take the hint. “Um, not really. I can make it. What time?”
A flood of relief came over me. I’d be seeing James but, in case we ran into anyone, it would be obvious it wasn’t a date. There was no way I could be seen dating a sophomore, plain and simple.
Still, to make doubly sure we wouldn’t be seen together, I said, “Actually, how about I meet you both there? Is 1 o’clock okay?”
“Sounds good,” said Sam. A sullen James looked away.
“James?” I said wistfully.
He seemed deep in thought. I knew he wanted it to be just the two of us, and was starting to feel bad about my decision to include Sam.
Say something, James. Tell me you can’t wait to see me, anyway. Tell me you’re as excited as I am. Tell me you understand. It’s better this way, don’t you see? We’re friends, the three of us. Friends, that’s all, James—James? Why can’t you say something?
Sam pressed him. “What’s wrong with you?” The second bell rang, signaling the start of class.
James finally looked up and sighed, “Sure, 1 o’clock is fine. We’ll meet at the park.”
Only I could see the flash of confusion in his eyes that seemed to be asking me, ‘What are you afraid of?’
Everything. Falling for you. Being with you.
I was afraid of myself.
But, frankly, I hadn’t a clue.
(To be continued.)
Missed an installment? Catch up by visiting the page, Lightning in a Jar: High School Years. | English | NL | d76e7bc8a779702b6d4921f66415516084f68acc2716afefa64fdad8d9347263 |
The Light Within by Diana Bellerose
Stacy Blanchet was born on June 24, 1965, in San Diego, California. Her parents are of Cuban, French and Lebanese descent. She is the elder of two children. By the age of four she would see her parent’s divorce. By age 11, with her mother’s second divorce, Stacey quickly learned that nothing lasts forever. It was during the second divorce that Stacey was sexually abused by a relative, and expected to keep quiet and deal with those demons alone. It was those two incidents that forever shaped her life in ways she would not know until years later. Deciding to seek help at the age of 19 for what she would call her dark years, she met therapist, Gerry Limpic. He would be the first of many to change the course of her life. He believed and fought for her rights. He felt it was necessary to expose and remove Stacey from this toxic family situation. | English | NL | a0993df3897469a8ce43b7960e32f806a1df31179e567b5442351a2f35e6f73a |
It’s important to note that In the Woods was Tana French’s first novel. Not only was it warmly received, but it spurred another four murder mysteries that also did well on the market. I’m encouraged by this, especially since the word count of In the Woods surpasses the average for first time novelists.
Overall, the narrative is beautifully written. French’s ability to capture the emotion of the moment and convey it to the reader is on point and at length. Told in first person by Detective Rob Ryan, you feel as if you’ve sat down for an interview with him, a secret conversation where he tells you things he can’t tell other people. It’s intimate that way, but it’s also deeply disturbing.
Two crimes occur in Knocknaree, Ireland, one in 1984 (the disappearance of two children) and one in present time (the murder of a twelve-year-old girl). At first the crimes don’t seem related, aside from both occurring in the wood near town.
Yet there is a big connection and his name is Detective Ryan, but his memory is shifty and his nightmares are vivid, so it’s only a matter of time before his secrets implode.
There are only two negatives about this book. One, some of the narrative was too long. It’s important for us to be in Detective Ryan’s head, sorting through his memories and processing evidence, but sometimes his inner sermons were really long. Sometimes he conveyed important information pertinent to the crimes, but most of the time it was an emotional outpouring that eventually became unnecessary. We knew the guy was suffering. We didn’t need to continue beating that horse.
Second, I had a pretty good hunch who was involved in the murder early on. I’m not sure if that’s because the character was too archetypal or if I knew it on my own senses. Still, I read most of the second half waiting to see how the character was going to be revealed, which I supposed was a mystery inside the mystery.
Other than those two things, the book was thrill.
Next up: The Execution of Noa P. Singleton. | English | NL | e6ec16323a2a4e797152694a54b1a420d2410980c76f8310d1461d80c8fbb400 |
Today’s Friday Muse piece is short but feels like it has the potential to open up into an entire novel. Or, knowing my luck, an entire novel series.
Detective Hale ripped through the strips of yellow and black police tape and entered the dark room, exchanging the warmth of the hallway for the cold of a crime scene. Blue moonlight pierced the long vertical blinds in the living room, casting cerulean stripes across the disheveled studio apartment. He shut the door behind him, wishful that none of the neighbors had seen him enter. The department knew nothing of his presence here. He had been ordered to stay far away from this particular crime scene, but he had no idea why. He wasn’t a suspect, and this part of Lysallis was under his jurisdiction.
He made his way past the small kitchen to his right and entered the living area. He scanned the room, making a mental note of the toppled lamp, the smashed computer desk, and the overturned couch. A struggle had occurred here. He approached the blinds and peered out on the city. He marveled at the view of Lysallis from the vantage point of the twentieth floor. The Pleasure District, lit in a red haze, stood out like a glowing ruby in the distance.
Hale continued his search around the one-room apartment, checking the in-wall bookshelves, the big-screen television, and the small bathroom. Nothing stood out to him, aside from the various toppled items that filled the living space.
And then his eyes caught sight of the one item he had been searching for, the one item that would connect his assumptions with the truth of the matter. Atop the small end table that stood near the overturned couch sat a small crane made of origami.
Hale took a pair of tweezers from the inside pocket of his overcoat and used them to lift the crane from its perch on the end table. He examined the paper bird and noticed that it was nearly identical to the other paper birds that had been left at the other half dozen crime scenes he had investigated in the last few months. The crane was made of paper, red in color, soaked in the victim’s own blood. A calling card left by the Red Crane Killer. | English | NL | 1fef980e9fdf47aae59877e7b354ab1ccfa261ab2de70574b267af730a85b95d |
Abandoned WW2 apartment reveals hidden treasures
An apartment located in Paris has been discovered after lying vacant for more than 70 years. Remarkably the apartment was full of priceless pieces of rare furniture and artwork. The home which had been untouched for seven decades was discovered around three years ago after the owner passed away aged 91. The luxurious home belonged to Mrs De Florian, who had fled Paris right before the Nazi invasion of the city during the Second World War.
She left for the south of France and never returned to her Paris home. 70 years on, when the apartment was opened again it looked like no-one had set foot inside for that whole time. The apartment appeared to be stuck in a time warp and had some rather valuable possessions inside. The apartment was located near a church in Paris’s 9th arrondissement, between Pigalle red light district and Opera. Experts were tasked with taking an inventory of her belongings which astonishingly included a painting by the 19th century Italian artist Giovanni Boldini, said to be worth a fortune.
One expert remarked that it was like coming across the castle of Sleeping Beauty, where time had been standing still. The Boldini painting was of a beautiful Frenchwoman who turned out to be the artist’s former muse and Mrs de Florian’s grandmother, Marthe de Florian, a beautiful French actress and socialite of the Belle Époque. The piece was put up for auction and sold for £1.78million, a world record for the artist. | English | NL | 283e9cb78275d4cc167d19723008abbe47f6268a363c344dc953aceffe99b42d |
Poul was born in 1929 in Østervrå, Denmark. In 1948 Kjaerholm started as a student of a furniture maker to learn the trade and gain work experience. In 1952 he started the Architecture course at the Danish school Arts of Crafts, this school was located in Copenhagen. Poul Kjaerholm died in 1980 in Hillerød, Denmark.
Kjaerholm distinguished himself from other designers because he used steel instead of the often used wood. Yet he also used many natural materials in his designs, such as canvas and leather, but also rope and rattan (not to be confused with bamboo). Rattan comes from the rattan palm.
Poul Kjaerholm designed a low armchair in 1955. This was taken into production by Fritz Hansen. The name of this world famous chair is PK22.
The frame of the PK22 is stainless and the model is derived from his graduation assignment the "Element" chair, this chair was also called the PK25. Poul Kjaerholm even won a prize with the PK22 seat at the most important furniture fair in the world, the Milan Triennale. This was in 1957. He won the Grand Prix here.
Also in 1960 Poul Kjaerholm won the Grand Prix prize because of his industrial designs. The designs by Poul Kjaerholm have become permanent designs of several museums. Like the Museum of Modern Art in New York, the Victoria and the Albert museum in London. But not only in these museums are the collections of Kjaerholm, also in many other museums in Norway, Denmark, Germany and Sweden the famous designs can be found.
After the PK22 chair, Poul Kjaerholm came up with several designs with the name that started with his initials "PK". In 1960 he came with the PK9. This was a chair with three legs of steel. The seat was fiberglass-covered with leather. In 1965, Poul Kjaerholm designed a lounge chair, which he called the PK24. A lounger with an elegant cane bed. The PK24 is because of its fantastic appearance used in the science-fiction film, Minority Report in 2002 by Tom Cruise.
After various designs Kjaerholm expanded his collection with variants on his existing models. For example, he changed the material of the furniture.
Kjaerholm had a good friend who, besides entrepreneur, was also the builder of his designs. This Kold Christensen built all designs from Kjaerholm from 1950, and after his death in 1980 Fritz Hansen took over the production of Kjaerholm's designs around 1982. | English | NL | 26c9257225988f04c62ad62342147cf2b9655da2b711c99183b5d9aca319e142 |
My name is Wilson. I am a SOON reader from Nigeria and the fifth child in our family.
Ever since I was born, God has been good to me, but I want to tell you about a special time when he saved us from robbers who carried guns. It happened one night when I was 14 years old and we lived in a block with 10 rooms. These were built on either side of a passage – a whole family lived in each room. Ours was in the middle of the block.
We heard guns
One night, when we were all asleep, we woke suddenly to the sound of gun-fire. Doors were being broken down and we could hear men shouting at the people in the block opposite ours. They had begun at the first building in our street and were working their way along, entering each room in each block. Soon it was the turn of our block. They broke down the door at the entrance to the block, hitting it with their guns. They went from room to room, taking people's money and belongings. Everywhere they went, they threatened people with their guns. Everyone was very frightened.
We too were very afraid as we heard the robbers coming nearer and nearer to our room. We knew they would be very angry with us because we had no money they could take. We were sure they would destroy our belongings and beat us up, maybe even kill us. Everyone in our family prayed to God that he would save us.
But here is the wonderful thing God did for us – he made the robbers blind, as they came to our door so that they passed it without stopping. It was as though, for them, the door was not there.
Only one robber stopped. He tried to break the door, but the bolt held firm and the door stayed shut. He too went away. It was the only one of all the rooms that the robbers did not enter that night.
God saved us from harm, perhaps even death. He answered all our prayers as we sat in our room afraid for our lives. | English | NL | 51f2df37f78d461905db1a64de00d3129bc422d667d0d403a9271d86742c15b9 |
Long ago, when my flute lessons took place at Orchestra Hall, my teacher, the then-Principal Flute, Sid Zeitlin, would turn me loose to practice on the darkened stage afterward. “Monostatos” did that as well, once or twice a month. Needless to say, it was a heady experience. Apparently whoever was playing on stage was piped throughout the building. I didn’t let that bother me. The sound of the flute with the acoustics at OH was sufficiently fascinating to take the edge off of any discomfort. However, as if by some sort of dark magic, players would crawl out from the woodwork to attempt to insinuate themselves into my life through flattery. I learned later that they were slandering me behind my back. Such is the life when one is born with a target on their back. :-0
For as long as I can remember I cherished every recording I could find made by Jascha Heifetz. My parents went to hear him once, at the Stratford Theatre in Connecticut, and refused to take me with them. It took me years to forgive them for that. That sound, that grace, those chops. I was mesmerized. When I began to play the flute seriously I realized that I wanted to play it as though it were a violin. I began to dream of somehow becoming one of Heifetz’ students, but even I realized that he would probably balk at having to deal with a flute player (or, more likely, roll his eyes and fall on the floor laughing) :-0 I would have been deliriously happy as a gofer, just sitting on the floor and listening to him play and teach, actually. I even had family in the LA area. I had everything figured out, I thought. I had the privilege of hearing one of Heifetz students perform the Haffner Serenade with the Minnesota Orchestra. The exquisite quality of Adam Han-Gorski’s sound and technique brought me to tears. Heifetz, the master, had done his job well. I tried to convince Mr. Zeitlin to write a letter of introduction to Heifetz for me, but he declined. So I wrote to him on my own. But a few months later he was dead, and my dreams were crushed forever.
So now I own the Complete Heifetz, and can honestly say that I have listened to virtually everything he ever recorded. The whole is far more patchy than the parts — in pieces where I would have expected him to be brilliant, he might sound annoyingly ordinary. Some of the itsy bitsy’s he so loved just make me grit my teeth. Some of his playing seemed stilted, as though he had not quite found the soul of the piece but was playing it anyway. Some of his playing (horrors!) sounded even ordinary. But on the whole I found I had uncovered one of the mysteries of his mastery — that when he learned a piece, he owned it, as though he were the composer. Not only did he know every nuance of style and phrasing, but he understood the architecture of the piece. He structured his performances so that there was only one real climax per movement. His playing was never flashy, it was always in proportion to the music.
I have heard it said (when he was alive many people said this) that Heifetz’ playing was ‘cold’. That, I feel, is another of his mysteries. Heifetz was from Vilnius, in Lithuania. He had the heart of a gypsy, but his playing was cool and his style eminently classical. Because the fire was controlled, it shone through the cool technique. The result was, as we know, simply breathtaking. During the years after that, when my chidren and I were locked out of Monostatos’ Orchestra, I found, as one of the clique I call “Monostatos” was a string player, that I could not longer tolerate the sound of stringed instruments. Except for Heifetz. During all the times of struggle and disappointment, his music was my lifeline. It still is. I do listen to other string players now, and recently enjoyed Hillary Hahn’s new recording of the Mozart V#5. She is splendid, and the recording is wonderful. Then I said, “Hmmm…how did Heifetz interpret this piece?” Different — light and delicate, yet with considerable power and speed. Flawless…
So, back to the darkened stage, where, at that time, I practiced not only the Mozart flute concerti, the Neilsen, the Khat, Bach, etc…but also parts of the Mendelssohn, the Brahms, even the Tchiakovsky. During the next few weeks I plan to record excerpts from some of those pieces. Stay tuned…:-) | English | NL | fb274f66031fa0d359c61e4faafec174929655ba1e50a03c92b0d16a843f382b |
Josie is a student at Riverdale High School and was the lead singer, as well as the guitarist of her band, Josie and the Pussycats. However, after she secretly made the decision to pursue a solo music career, Valerie Brown and Melody Valentine disbanded the group. She is the daughter of Myles and Sierra McCoy, who was the mayor of Riverdale. Her father whose a man of music, gave her the name Josephine, naming Josie after the late singer Josephine Baker. Because of this, she often struggles to gain his approval while also trying to impress him. Unlike her father, Josie's mother, Sierra, is far more encouraging of her talents, especially where her band and music are concerned. They both enforce "black excellence", especially when the choice of the band members are concerned.
A snooty and ambitious teen. She’s the lead singer of Josie and the Pussycats and has no interest in recording any songs written by Archie.
Spinning off from her time in the small town of Riverdale, a now 20-something Josie sets off on a new adventure to make it in the big city. More determined than ever to break into the music scene as the next Diana Ross, Josie finds herself forging new friendships, falling into new relationships, and, one day, becoming the star she is destined to be.
Josie grew up in Riverdale. She was primarily raised by her mother, as her father was often away on business. In Josie's early years, her mother became the mayor of Riverdale, and consequently, she and her mother had to endure the hate mail and slanderous messages people were sending to them. Sometime prior to her introduction to the series, she formed a musical group that would later become known as Josie and the Pussycats. Josie, along with the other two members Valerie and Melody, spent their time practicing in the stock room at Power Records where they worked. One day, Josie came to rehearsal with a bag of cheap cat ears from the Halloween store. With her goals in sight, she plans on making it big; winning the Rockland County's Battle of the Bands the prior year was only the beginning.
As Josie, Valerie, and Melody rehearsed for their upcoming performance, they were interrupted by Archie Andrews, who was interested in writing for the group. However, Josie swiftly declined his offer, explaining that the Pussycats were building a brand for themselves, creating a look and telling a story in the process. She planned to continue telling their story through the songs they write. She made her stance on the topic clear, telling Archie that it was never going to happen. That night, Josie and the Pussycats performed a cover of "All Through the Night" during the back-to-school semi-formal, at Cheryl Blossom's behest.
As a favor to Cheryl, Josie agreed to assist Archie with his music. The Pussycats would be performing at the Taste of Riverdale, so they would be rehearsing every night that week in preparation. She invited Archie to quietly sit in on their rehearsals, in hopes that he might learn something. The night of their first rehearsal, she was inclined to ask what it is that Archie expected to achieve. He just wanted to write for them. Josie questioned if he thought that he was qualified enough to write for the Pussycats and divas of color. She reminded him that they didn't live in the big city, and although people's minds were opening up there were still people out there who are very close-minded, such as those who sent her mother hate mail following her victory as Mayor.
They were called the Pussycats because they had to claw their way into the same rooms that someone like Archie could just walk into, so she refused to believe that he could write her experience, as he couldn't possibly relate. However, her feelings towards his abilities may have shifted once he displayed a minor amount of his songwriting capabilities. During the Taste of Riverdale, Josie and the Pussycats took the stage, and effortlessly performed "All For Me".
Josie was amused by Archie's failed audition for the 75th annual Variety Show, in which the pressure became too much for Archie, and he choked.
Josie's diva tendencies were at an all-time high during the Pussycats rehearsal for the variety show, where she accused both Valerie and Melody of failing to secure their parts. She informed her fellow Pussycats that they are to always perform at 150%, regardless of where they are performing, whether it be Madison Square Garden or Aces Bowling Alley. This led to a massive fight between her and Valerie, which ultimately ended in Valerie leaving the group, as Josie gave Val a choice between her and the Pussycats or Archie.
Josie approached her mother with the dilemma involving Valerie's exit from the Pussycats, and that they couldn't just replace her as she wrote their songs. However, Sierra informed Josie that she was the only one that was irreplaceable, everyone else was disposable as far as Josie's mother was concerned. Her mother explained that a new sound could have been good for the Pussycats, as Josie knows how much her father hated Pop music, she was then cut off as she attempted to explain that the Pussycats weren't Pop. Josie's father was missing two concerts to be at her upcoming performance, so both Josie and her mother would hate to disappoint him. Sierra suggested that she quickly find a new member, someone skinny and beautiful, but not more skinny and beautiful than her, and Josie's mother also reminded her about their branding, that being women of color.
The next day at school, Josie and Melody's search for a new Pussycat would soon come to an end, as they were joined by Veronica, who wanted a source to channel her aggression. The three of them then proceeded to strut down the hallway in front of everyone, including Archie and Valerie. During their first rehearsal without Valerie, a problem arose as Veronica was unfocused, which Josie called her on. She wondered what problem a rich girl like Veronica could really have to go through, seeing as Josie saw her problem as the top priority since her father was missing Jazz fest to see her perform. Veronica felt bad that Josie had daddy issues, but she should be grateful that she could at least be in the same room as her father because Veronica didn't have that luxury, having not seen her dad in three months, after she realized that Veronica had it far worse, Josie apologized.
That night, Josie attended a dinner proposal at Hermione Lodge's home, which was being hosted by Fred Andrews. At the dinner, she informed her father that Valerie quit the Pussycats and that their new member was Veronica, who she claimed was really talented. Following the dinner proposal, Josie met up with Veronica at Pop's shoppe, where they two of them shared sob stories, for Josie, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't impress her father. Veronica's sob story was the discovery that her mother was in a relationship with Fred Andrews, which Josie didn't approve of, but she suggested that there may be another side of the story that's worth hearing.
The night of the Variety Show had finally come, Josie was approached by Valerie, who she informed that her spot had already been filled, despite the fact that Valerie was no longer performing with Archie. After thinking it over for a moment, Josie allowed Valerie back into the Pussycats, saying "I suppose there's always room for one more kitty in my litter-box." The two of them made up, but under a new arrangement where Val would be allowed to sing as well. Moments later, the Pussycats took the stage and put on a wonderful performance, which everyone seemed to enjoy, but her father. He left halfway through the Pussycats performance, and while Josie put on a brave face for the crowd, it left her in tears afterward, as she cried her eyes out in the bathroom, while her mother comforted her.
That night, she accompanied Veronica, Kevin, and Reggie to a nightclub called the Roving Eye, where they danced the night away. Upon tiring themselves out, the four of them found a booth to cool down in, Josie told Veronica to finish her drink, as she practically left her body on the floor, something that Veronica wished she could actually do at times. Veronica explained that the lawyers and police took everything from them when her father was arrested, and despite her mother telling her that no one could ever take her name, that's exactly what Hermione did like it was nothing.
The club manager then returned with Veronica's credit card, he claimed it had been reported stolen, and that he was supposed to call the police, Josie explained to him that he was more than welcome to do that, but then she would call her mother, Sierra McCoy, the mayor of Riverdale.
In the days leading up to the 75th Anniversary Jubilee, Josie was approached by Archie, who insisted that she take a look at his song, to which she did, and she was fairly impressed, commenting that Archie was getting better with every song. Having previously been told that Archie would be performing with the Pussycats at the Jubilee, he requested that they play his song during the event. Unfortunately for Archie, while his song was good, Josie had to deny his request because her mother had already approved "Astronaut". She understood that Archie's song was about his friends, who had been through hell and back, but the Jubilee was for the entire town.
In addition to her duties as a Pussycats, Josie was the newest recruit of the River Vixens. She was excited to both work on her moves and be a team player, as long as she's in the front, which was Cheryl's position.
A couple days later, with Cheryl and Melody at her side, Josie confronted Betty at Pop's during Retro Night to find out why she posted all over social media that the Pussycats would be performing a free concert at the diner. Betty explained that had she asked Josie to perform, she would've said no, so instead, she decided to force Josie's hand into performing. If Josie's mother even hears that she stepped foot in the diner, she'd be in a lot of trouble. In spite of that, Josie cared about the shoppe, and Betty knew this to be true. Josie explained that even if she wanted to help, they were one Pussycat down because Valerie had a norovirus. Luckily, Cheryl was there to fill in, commenting that if Josie can be a Vixen, then she can be a Pussycat. Josie loved Pop Tate's cheese fries, Melody noted. So, she had as much reason to want the shoppe open as anyone else. With all in agreement, the Pussycats stood on top of the roof of Pop's diner and performed Milkshake for the crowd below.
That night, Josie, Valerie, and Melody, attended the party in Nick's hotel room, along with Veronica, Archie, Betty, Cheryl, and Reggie. After having a few drinks, Nick recommended they kick the party up with some Jingle Jangle that he scored from Reggie. The Pussycats did not hesitate to partake in the night's drug-fueled escapades. High off the Jingle Jangle, Val and Mel danced behind the bar with Nick, while Josie and Reggie made out on the sofa. Unfortunately, their high was blown after an argument between Betty and Veronica erupted within the hotel room, which ended with Betty leaving early after she made claims of Veronica being a bad person and how she was only their friend due to circumstances
The next day, after a night of wild partying, the Pussycats performed Out Tonight at the SoDale Gala Opening, which was being hosted by Veronica's family. They took to the stage and gave a wonderful performance before the crowd. However, it was during their performance that they noticed Nick headed into the back with Cheryl, who could barely walk on her own. Concerned for her well-being, the Pussycats left the stage in search of Nick and Cheryl. They discovered Nick, in one of the bedrooms, getting undressed, as he prepared to rape Cheryl, who was barely conscious. Fortunately, the Pussycats arrived in time to save her. They pulled Nick away from Cheryl, and like a pack of wild animals savagely attacked him. As Veronica, Melody, and Valerie made sure that Nick suffered for his actions, Josie checked on Cheryl to ensure that she was unharmed.
After the open house, Josie headed back to the Pembrooke with Cheryl, Veronica, and Archie. They were joined by Betty soon thereafter. In Veronica's bedroom, Archie asked where Nick was in that moment, though Cheryl instructed him to put his cape away because the Pussycats had already saved her. Cheryl then announced that she would be pressing charges because she wanted Nick to be held accountable for his actions, for him to pay and suffer for what he tried to do to her. Cheryl began to sob, and so Josie and Veronica held her close, attempting to provide comfort for Cheryl in her time of need.
After Mrs. Cooper learned of the drug fueled party that was hosted by Nick, in his Five Seasons hotel room, Josie and her friends, along with their parents, were called over to the Cooper house, where they all could be appropriately punished for their inappropriate actions. During the gathering, Reggie admitted that he acquired his drugs from a dealer on the Southside, who he suspected of being a Southside serpent. While they admittedly shouldn't have taken the Jingle Jangle, Veronica pointed out that Nick asked for it, and later pressured them into taking it. Furthermore, he attacked Cheryl. If anyone should be under interrogation, they believed it to be him. However, as Sheriff Keller explained, prosecuting Nick would be difficult given that they were all unreliable witnesses due to the fact that they were high, as Jingle Jangle stayed in one's system for up to three days. Unfortunately, it had only been one day since the open house, where Josie and Veronica discovered Nick with Cheryl, which would raise a credibility issue in court. Josie's mother was appalled to learn that she too had participated in taking Jingle Jangle despite knowing how her father struggled with addiction. They abruptly left after her mother announced that bringing the Southside under control was her number one priority as Mayor.
The next day, at her mother's demand, Josie, Veronica, Reggie, Kevin, Archie, and Betty were forced into picking up trash at Pickens Park as part of their community service. While her friends worked to clean the litter-filled park, Josie toyed with her phone, forcing Reggie to confront her on her lack of contribution. He sarcastically remarked that while she may be like Beyoncé most days, she was no better than the rest of them on that day, as they were all sentenced to cleaning duty. "I think your biceps can handle it, Mantle", Josie retorted. Veronica then interrupted, asking if she could borrow Reggie for a moment, to which Josie replied "please, take him".
Josie was at the school music room rehearsing a cover song called "Spooky" when the school's janitor, Mr. Svenson, opened the door, scaring Josie. He was about to lock up and wanted to check if she's going to be okay. Josie assured him that she'd slip out the side door when she finished, just as usual. Mr. Svenson agreed to that, as long as Principle Weatherbee never found out. After she continued rehearsing for a little longer, she left the school and headed home. Upon reaching the Five Seasons hotel, the McCoy's new place of residence, Josie was met by Sierra who had been waiting for her. Josie was reprimanded for staying out too late, as Sierra explained that they'd moved out of their home because of the Black Hood. With the letter that the Black Hood had addressed to the town of Riverdale, Sierra had become more cautious. Josie didn't see the problem with walking the streets alone and didn't feel it was necessary for a bodyguard. She wasn't Whitney, Josie retorted, but Sierra thought otherwise. She then set a curfew for Josie, she was to return home before dark from now on. Reluctant, Josie complied with her mother's wishes.
At school, the next morning, Josie walked beside Cheryl as she told her about how the Black Hood has her mother on edge, who then has Josie on edge. Josie couldn't handle stress, as it affected her vocals too, causing her to lose her voice. On top of that, she felt guilty about going behind the Pussycats' backs, working on songs alone, rather than working on songs with them. However, Cheryl assured Josie that she understood why she felt guilty, as the Black Hood was going after sinners. She was allowed to feel guilty, but only up to a certain point. Cheryl revealed that she gave her song "Milkshake" to a music producer, to which he insisted that Josie come in alone for studio time. Josie was ecstatic to hear the news. She then opened up her locker to find a teddy bear on the top shelf, with a note tied to it, as Cheryl commented "OMG, another note from your secret admirer!", but Josie wasn't pleased to see yet another note, making it the third gift this week. She needed to get a new lock. Teasing Josie, Cheryl wondered who this "mystery bae" could be. Maybe it's the Black Hood, he loves writing notes, Cheryl joked. Josie didn't think it was funny.
In the music room, Josie was rehearsing a song, when Chuck appeared in the doorway. While he was amazed by her voice, Josie grew irritable by his mere presence, asking in an irritated tone if she could help him. Chuck attempted to ask her out on a date, but given his past behavior, Josie was quick to decline. However, she did take time out of rehearsing to ask if he was responsible for the gifts that she had been receiving in her locker. "Well, I can be", he answered. Unfortunately for Chuck, Josie didn't date due to all her time being focused on music. However, if she were to date, Josie explained that it wouldn't be a "chauvinist, misogynistic, harasser of women", such as himself.
Later in biology class, Josie informed Cheryl of Chuck's newfound affection towards her. Cheryl wasn't too pleased by the news that Josie came bearing to her, but Josie assured Cheryl that she declined, she wasn't insane. Cheryl was pleased to hear Josie's response, also reminding her they both had a date at the recording studio. However, Josie was unable to make it, choosing instead to head to the girl's locker room to get some steam, as her throat was acting up. Cheryl wasn't pleased by what Josie had to say to her, they needed to practice. Josie snapped at Cheryl, due to frustration, didn't know who was more controlling, her or her mother. Understanding where Josie's frustration was coming from, Cheryl backed off, showing gratitude towards Josie, instead, for saving her from 'Nick St. Creature'— a debt that she would never be able to repay back. Nevertheless, she was able to offer her humble skills to make her career blossom but was happy to take a step back if she was feeling overwhelmed by it.
After her steam session, she was confronted by Melody and Valerie in the locker room. Valerie and Melodie claimed that they received a letter in their lockers that said Josie was ditching them for a solo career. Valerie walked closer expressing her anger; they were sisters, and Josie clawed them in the back. Josie tried to explain that it wasn't black-or-white, she had an opportunity and decided to take it. They concluded that Josie wanted to try as a solo diva because she had neglected to inform them and sneaked around their backs working on songs. They then announced that Josie was now on her own before Valerie walked out. "Pride cometh before the fall, Josie," Melody added before following Valerie.
As Josie was exiting the building, she ran into Chuck, whose abrupt appearance frightened her. Josie then appeared relieved to see that it was him, so much so that she asked him for a ride home. Chuck was happy to oblige, though he wanted to make one stop first, that stop being at Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe, where he and Josie had milkshakes in a booth and discussed the nature of their outing. Josie insisted that they weren't on a date. Admittedly, Chuck didn't have the best track record with women, but he had changed by going to church with his father. He had even started taking art classes as he one day sought to draw comics or kids books, though Josie had a difficult time believing that he had changed. Just then, Pop Tate approached their booth, confirming Chuck's claims of change when he commented on Chuck's recent attendance at church. Josie then asked if he had planned for Pop Tate to interject as the timing of it was near perfect. However, Chuck stated that it was merely a coincidence. In an attempt to further convince Josie that he was putting forth an effort to better himself, he asked her to dance in the middle of Pop's as a song came on the jukebox. The two of them took to the dance floor, where they danced together until being interrupted by Josie's enraged mother, Mayor McCoy, who had repeatedly called her, and Sheriff Keller. Chuck apologized for not having her home, though Mayor McCoy wasn't interested in anything he had to say, telling Chuck that she didn't want him within ten feet of Josie before dragging Josie out of the diner.
Once home, Sierra reprimanded Josie for acting out with all that is going on. Josie retorted that she wasn't acting out, but was, in fact, living her life. There are people in the town with hate in their hearts, Josie should know this, as she read all the letters her mother received. And now, with the Black Hood emboldening them, it escalated to a point where she was now receiving death threats. Shocked by this revelation, Josie widened her eyes in fear. Sierra recalls the harsh words they use; they threaten to slit her throat or cut her heart out. Not only that but in the most recent letter she received, Josie was mentioned. This seemed to wake Josie up, but clearly not enough, as when Sheriff Keller asked Josie if she'd received any letters or packages that posed a threat, Josie replied that she hadn't, failing to mention that she'd been receiving disturbing messages from a secret admirer.
At school, the next day, Josie updated Cheryl with recent developments about her mother. After comforting Josie, Cheryl then brought up the subject of Chuck, she couldn't believe Josie went on a date with him. While Josie tried explaining to Cheryl that Chuck was trying to change for the better, Cheryl was not convinced; taking a few art classes does not a saint make. Even if she thought he'd changed for the better, she still failed to inform the Sheriff about Chuck low-key stalking her. Entering the music room, they noticed yet another gift from the secret admirer that was placed on top of a stool. Josie opened up the scroll to find a drawing of her with a message written on top, "IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU, NO ONE CAN". There’s one more thing too: A box with a heart inside. Storming out of the music room, Cheryl immediately confronted Chuck in the library. Though Chuck adamantly denied any involvement, Cheryl, who was in a particularly nasty mood, accused him of pretending to have been reformed. As far as she was concerned, Chuck was still the same person who perceived women as objects to possess and torture. If the Black Hood wasn't a middle-aged Caucasian man by Cheryl's account, then Chuck would be a prime suspect in her eyes. However, before Chuck could even get the chance to fully plead his innocence, Mr. Svenson, the school's janitor, stepped in, during which time Josie and Cheryl confirmed that it was Chuck who was sending threats and disturbing messages. Hearing this, Mr. Svenson escorted Chuck to Mr. Weatherbee's office.
At Five Seasons, Sheriff Keller talked to Josie and Sierra. He informed them that Chuck would be steering clear of her from here on out. Sierra was glad that they'd finally caught the miscreant that was behind those disturbing messages. Sheriff Keller thought otherwise, they questioned Chuck and checked his locker but no evidence was found. Sierra insisted that he keeps looking, if her daughter claimed it's him, then it's him. Later on, in a dream sequence of Josie's, she was back at the music room rehearsing a song, when the Black Hood approached her slowly from behind, turned her chair around and slit her throat. She woke up gasping for air as she held her neck firmly. Her mother rushed in and held her daughter as she tried to get her daughter to respond.
Later that night, Josie and Cheryl sat in a booth at Pop's, where Josie drank tea to soothe her throat. After getting off the phone with the Black Hood, Pop Tate announced that they were all sinners who failed his test and that the reckoning was upon them.
At school, Josie and Cheryl stumbled onto Archie and Veronica kissing each other in the student lounge. Cheryl instructed the hands-on couple to get a room as she and Josie continued on their way.
While dressed in nothing but towels in the ladies locker room, Cheryl commented on the tension knots in Josie's back, which she had the perfect solution for with her lavender essential oil. As Cheryl rubbed the oil onto Josie's back, Mr. Svenson entered the locker room, unaware that the girls were still inside. He averted his eyes and apologized for the intrusion. Though Josie insisted that it wasn't a big deal. However, Cheryl, on the other hand, was much more upset, demanding that he get out of the locker room. She even accused Mr. Svenson of being a peeping tom, before suggesting that he be fired and investigated. Cheryl then attempted to continue massaging the oil onto Josie's back, but Josie pulled away.
A couple days later, in a booth at Pop's, Josie informed Cheryl that she would be performing at a car dealership, which Cheryl remarked was barely a step above amateur porn. Reggie had texted her that his father was willing to pay $5,000 for her to perform five songs, so long as he got to escort her. Cheryl then intentionally knocked over her milkshake after she looked over to Jughead's father, FP, who had just been released from prison and was working at Pop's as a busboy. Cheryl demanded that he clean it up, the same way he cleaned up Jason's blood. Not only did FP agree to clean up the mess, but he also volunteered to get her a milkshake, free of charge.
In the days leading up to Christmas, Josie Archie, Betty, Reggie, Cheryl, Veronica, and Jughead attended the Secret Santa gift exchange that Kevin had arranged. On the day of the Secret Santa, they all gathered in the student lounge at school, where the exchange took place. It was Veronica's turn, and Josie was tasked with purchasing her a gift. Veronica opened her present from Josie, which awkwardly enough was a gift certificate for a couples massage. Unfortunately, upon her purchasing of the certificate, Archie and Veronica were still together. Hoping to recover from her fumble, Josie suggested that Veronica use the certificate to take someone other than Archie, such as Betty or her mother. Luckily, Betty was the last exchange of the evening. Based on the wrapping of her present, Betty instantly knew that it was Archie that picked her name. Betty unwrapped the gift to find an old read-a-long record that she and Archie used to listen to when they were younger, entitled "The Swiss Family Robinson". Archie informed her that he and his father found it while they were cleaning out the garage. Josie then ran over to give Midge a hug as she and Moose surprised them.
With it being announced by Principal Weatherbee the day before that Southside High was closing down and that its students would be relocated to designated schools in the district, including Riverdale High, Josie joined Kevin, Archie and Veronica in the hallway to welcome back Jughead, as well as the new Southside transfers (Toni Topaz, Sweet Pea and Fangs Fogarty). Unfortunately, the welcoming didn't go as planned as Cheryl and Reggie interrupted Veronica as she encouraged each the newcomers to drink deeply from the cup that is "fair Riverdale". With the River Vixens and Riverdale Bulldogs backing her up, Cheryl approached the registration desk to hurl insults at the Serpents, referring to them as "Southside scum" and "raggamuffins". Cheryl announced that she would not stand by and allow Riverdale High's above average GPA to drop because of overcrowded classrooms with underachievers such as themselves. Cheryl told them to find another school to deface. Archie stepped in the middle just as things were getting out of hand. He hoped to put their differences aside so that they could start over. When Reggie declined Archie's offer, Sweet Pea stepped forward to finish what they had started during the rumble. Fortunately, Mr. Weatherbee arrived to send them off to class before the altercation could escalate.
In the student lounge, Josie, Veronica, and Kevin became acquainted with Toni, Fogarty, and Sweet Pea. They were then called out into the hallway by Mr. Weatherbee, as he was in search of the culprit responsible for defacing the school's seal with a spray-painted on Serpent. Next to Weatherbee stood Reggie, who they suspected of being the actual vandal. The Serpents were innocent, though Weatherbee believed otherwise, especially with Reggie in his ear, claiming that the Serpents were doing what they do best, tagging their turf. Having fallen victim to Reggie's lies, effective immediately, Weatherbee outlawed gang behavior of any kind. As of that moment, Serpent jackets would no longer be tolerated and tattoos were expected to be covered. Possession of any gang paraphernalia would lead to immediate suspension.
At the Five Seasons hotel, Josie asked Veronica why couldn't the two of them sing a duet at Pickens Day. Veronica replied that it could be just the two of them, but the Pussycats are a brand that shouldn't sit fallow. Josie's mother returned home to the sight of the two of them with audition posters. Veronica told her that they were bringing the Pussycats back and that it was her idea to do so despite Josie previously agreeing with her mother to focus on her solo career. Hoping to avoid any further conflict, Veronica suggested that they bill it as a special event, one-night-only. Her mother rudely replied that she was talking to Josie. In fact, she'd rather they continue the conversation at a later time, once Veronica was gone.
A couple days later, Josie was forbidden by her mother from performing at the Pickens Day event after Jughead had published an article from the Blue and Gold accusing General Pickens of slaughtering the Uktena tribe for their land many years before. In the wake of this article, the town was riled up and her mother feared the possibility of a riot. Josie assured her mother that no one was rioting, furthermore, she had promised Veronica that she would perform. Her mother told her to tell Veronica that the Pussycats weren't hers to order around. Hearing the anger in her voice, Josie wondered why the mere mention of Veronica was triggering her mother. In response, Sierra told Josie about the Lodge's way of doing business. And the way they used Veronica to do their business. After learning the truth from her mother, Josie confronted Veronica in the music room at school and told her that she would no longer be performing. Josie didn't like being manipulated by a Lodge. As far as she was concerned, whatever their parents had going on, that was between them, and her mother didn't want her to be a part of it. While her mother may have to do what Veronica's parents want, Josie doesn't have to do what Veronica wants.
Josie and her mother attended the Pickens Day celebration in Pickens Park the following day, where they were greeted by Veronica's mother, Mrs. Lodge. She was glad to see that they made it but disappointed to hear that Josie wouldn't be performing alongside Veronica. Her mother explained that she had been forbidden from performing following the publishing of Jughead's article because of the possible backlash. A little while later, an upset Josie watched from the crowd as Veronica took to the stage to perform with Valerie and Melody with what was being called "Veronica and the Pussycats". Halfway through their performance, the Southside Serpents marched into the park with duct-tape over their mouths while holding signs that read 'honor this land' and 'sacred land'. With Sweet Pea and Fogarty at her side, Toni stood in front of the stage to announce that they represented the dead and the silenced. Pickens Day was a lie. General Pickens slaughtered the Uktena tribe, Toni's grandfather's family. And the land in which they were standing on, would soon give way to a new Southside, which was stolen from them. While the Serpents couldn't bring them back, they could at the very least honor them. Hoping to ease the crowd's concerns, Veronica's father got on stage to applaud the Serpents for standing up for justice, as well as the honor and legacy of the Uktena, who contribute to the rich tapestry that is Riverdale, that is the Southside and that will be SoDale.
Josie stopped by the Pembrooke with her mother to offer an apology to the Lodges after Pickens Day. Her mother had misgivings about some of the decisions Veronica's parents were making which was admittedly wrong and inappropriate. Given the stressful times, neither Veronica nor Mrs. Lodge held any grudges. As proof of that, Veronica invited them both to her confirmation ceremony. Josie's mother graciously accepted their invitation. It made giving them their gift that much easier. The gift of which she spoke was Josie's offer to sing at Veronica's confirmation. While Veronica already had plans to sing herself, Mrs. Lodge accepted Josie's offer so that they could perform together. When Veronica asked if Josie knew the "Bitter Sweet Symphony" from the Cruel Intentions soundtrack, Josie replied that she could learn.
A couple days had passed and Veronica's ceremony had arrived. To start the service, Josie sang Bitter Sweet Symphony as Veronica walked down the aisle. She joined Josie in singing as she approached the stage. After their duet, Veronica was anointed and confirmed.
Josie stood by her mother's side as she resigned from office over a live broadcast. She claimed that she was stepping down as Mayor to spend more time with her family and return to her own legal career in Riverdale
Josie returned home to the Five Seasons to find her mother and Sheriff Keller supposedly discussing installing a security system at the law firm. As the Sheriff exited the room, her mother explained to her that she cared for Tom. While Josie understood, it was still weird to see her with another man, especially when her father still didn't know. Unbeknownst to Josie, her father did know about the affair as her mother had told him. They were initially going to wait until after Josie's graduation but her mother decided it was time to tell Josie that they were getting a divorce. Josie asked if the Sheriff was going to get a divorce as well. Her mother replied that he had to talk to his wife, who was overseas and Kevin first. She also insisted that they respect that.
Despite being told by her mother to respect the Sheriff's decision to wait, Josie called up Kevin to meet her at Pop's where she revealed to him that her mother and his father were having an affair.
Later that night, Josie is scolded by her mother after she learned from Tom that Josie had told Kevin about the affair. She credited Josie for a lot of things, but never for being cruel. However, Josie believed that she did the right thing in telling Kevin because it would provide him with the chance to save his parents' marriage since she couldn't save hers. Although, because of Josie's interference, Kevin was no longer talking to his father, who was also still trying to reach his wife overseas. Their lives were imploding, which Josie blamed her mother for. However, according to her mother, that was the Lodge's doing. This wasn't how she wished for the affair to come out, but that choice was taken away from her, just like Josie took that choice away from the Sheriff and Kevin, even if she wasn't trying to hurt them.
Later that night, Josie ran into Kevin at the Bijou where she apologized for telling him about the affair as it wasn't her place. While she should've left that up to his father, she was just hurting and upset at her mother. Kevin accepted her apology, and like Josie, he was at the theater alone. So the two of them saw the film together.
After the movie, Josie and Kevin called their parents to request that they meet them at Pop's. They assured their parents that it wasn't a trap, but when Josie and Kevin were talking after the movie, they realized that the conversation was bigger than all of them and that it was probably going to be a long one. So they believed it was best if they started talking about it.
Josie met with Archie at Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe where she learned that his father was going to run for Mayor with the Lodges' support. So Archie was hoping that Josie could convince her mother to talk to him, secretly if necessary. Josie explained that her mother barely made it out of the Mayor's office alive. If she let slip even a whisper about what went down between her and the Lodges, there would be hell to pay. She'd implicate herself in numerous ways. Archie figured as much. Which is why he was thinking that there were plenty of other things that her mother could say to his dad without getting into the shady business with the Lodges. Realizing that Archie made a good point, Josie agreed. And so she and Archie watched as her mom revealed to his dad the less glamorous side of being the Mayor.
The next day, outside Town Hall, Josie and her mother watched as the Lodges held a press conference to announce that Hermione Lodge was running for Mayor.
Josie and Kevin watched as Ethel approached Veronica in the cafeteria at school and poured a milkshake from Pop's onto Veronica in retaliation for her parents' misdeeds.
The next day, Josie congratulated Toni for making the squad with her routine at River Vixens practice. In honor of Toni joining the squad, Cheryl invited Josie, Toni, Betty, and Veronica to Thistlehouse for a mandatory slumber party.
During the slumber party at Thistlhouse, Cheryl revealed her true intentions behind inviting them over. It wasn't to celebrate. Cheryl confessed that she terrified of being alone at the house with her uncle Claudius, who was crazy and a complete stranger to her. Cheryl had overheard her mother and uncle plotting against her and her Nana. Josie questioned if she was possibly imagining things. But if Cheryl was, then so was Betty, who was dealing with a similar circumstance. There was a stranger in her life as well, Chic. With him lurking in every corner, her house felt dangerous and deadly. After hearing a loud thump, the girls ran into the hallway to find Nana Rose unconscious at the bottom of the steps. It would seem she had fallen or even been pushed. Fortunately, she survived the fall and was taken to Riverdale General Hospital.
At practice, Josie was asked by Veronica to be her celebrity endorsement for her campaign for student council president. However, Josie had not forgotten Veronica had stolen the Pussycats from her. Nonetheless, before Josie could say no, Veronica informed Josie that Andy Cohen was a very close friend of the family which caught Josie's attention. Should she offer her endorsement, Veronica offered her a spot to perform on Watch What Happens Live as a special guest. And so Josie agreed.
The next day, at the campaign rally, Josie got on stage to give her endorsement as promised. She spoke to the student body, telling them that Veronica and Betty had her vote as Riverdale High's next president and vice president. She then reminded the woman to vote and be heard during this election. Josie, Veronica and Archie then performed on stage. However, Ethel entered the lounge halfway through their performance with flyers that revealed, amongst other things, that Veronica knew all about her parents turning Southside High into a prison. It would turn out that Josie had fed Ethel all of this information to get back at Veronica for all the lives her family had destroyed.
Josie and Reggie squared off against Veronica, Archie, Jughead and Betty at the school hall meeting. The first question of the night came from Sweet Pea and Fogarty, who were concerned about the Southsiders and their treatment since being transferred to Riverdale High. Midge's question followed, in regards to Veronica and Archie's parents being on opposite sides of the Mayoral election. And so she questioned if this would cause problems for their campaign. However, Veronica and Archie adhered to the old maxim that politics are never discussed at the dinner table. They were apparently on the same page about everything, even her parents building a prison. In the meantime, they were committed to improving the quality of life at Riverdale High, as were Josie and Reggie, who promised to deliver results.
At River Vixens practice, Josie and Veronica were approached by Toni who told them that Cheryl was missing and she was certain that Cheryl's mother had something to do with it since she recalled Cheryl mentioning to them how she was concerned that her mother and uncle Claudius were out to get her. Cheryl's mother claimed that they sent her off to an all-girls boarding school in Switzerland, but Toni was unconvinced considering that Cheryl would be posting selfies every hour if this was true. But she hadn't. In fact, her social media had been dead for days, which Josie and Veronica were convinced was a sure sign of foul play. So the two of them agreed to help Toni find Cheryl, even if they had to storm Thistlehouse.
The next day, Josie, Veronica, and Toni barged into Thistlehouse and demanded answers on Cheryl's whereabouts. When Penelope refused to answer, Josie threatened to have her mom tell the Sheriff that Cheryl was missing. Seeking to avoid any unwanted attention, Penelope complied. She revealed that the truth was that Cheryl started to exhibit strange, deviant behavior. So, she was sent abroad to a private wellness institute where they were trying to help her. In case they didn't believe her, Penelope gave them a drawing of Cheryl's that depicted Josie and Cheryl together, which strongly resembled the drawing that Josie had accused Chuck of drawing. This meant that it wasn't Chuck who threatened Josie and sent her a pig's heart, but instead, it was Cheryl, who had grown obsessed with her. Penelope feared that Cheryl would either hurt Josie, herself or both of them. Josie, Veronica and Toni then exited Thistlehouse to regroup but in light of recent events, Josie wanted no parts of Cheryl's search and rescue.
In history class the next day, Josie and Veronica exchanged looks as Toni was called up the office though none of them seemed to know what for.
Josie ran into the auditorium with Betty, Veronica, Archie, Toni, Cheryl, Ethel, KevinMidge and Moose. They got on stage, where they continued to sing and dance before being joined by Fangs, the assistant director. The cast then began introductions, starting with Archie who portrayed "Tommy Ross", the boy next door. Betty played "Sue Snell", the good girl. Veronica portrayed "Chris Hargensen", the mean girl. And Cheryl would be playing the iconic role of "Carrie White". As for who would be portraying, "Margaret White", Carrie's mom, that role went to Alice Cooper, which came as a surprise to almost everyone. Kevin explained that while her casting was untraditional, to him, there's nothing more amateur than age-inappropriate casting. Alice was both looking forward to playing Margaret and spending more time with Betty. Chuck Clayton joined them late after mistaking that rehearsal was in the music room.
Cheryl interrupted the rehearsal after hearing whisperings that some of them, mainly Josie and Ethel, didn't think she was fit to play the role of Carrie White. So to settle the matter, she began to sing "Carrie" to prove them wrong. Kevin initially didn't believe that this was necessary, but after hearing Cheryl's performance, all doubts surrounding her casting were no more. Ethel, Josie, Veronica, Betty, Alice, Toni, Midge, Moose, Archie, Jughead, Kevin, Fangs, and Chuck gave Cheryl a round of applause. As Cheryl headed back to her seat, a heavy sandbag falls from above and nearly crushes her.
In the auditorium, Kevin explained to Josie and Cheryl that this scene Mrs. Gardner is being a friend when Carrie has none, out of kindness. Josie remarked that she'll fake it as best as she can as she was still upset at Cheryl for threatening her and sending her a pig's heart. Josie began to sing though Cheryl yelled out for her stop during the middle of the scene as she couldn't go on with Josie hating her, especially when they were singing a song about friendship. Cheryl knew what she did to Josie was wrong, but she was wrestling with some dark, Carrie White-like demons. So she apologized to Josie and asked for her forgiveness. Josie accepted Cheryl's apology, and together, the two of them sang "Unsuspecting Hearts".
Later that week, due to some unforeseen circumstances, Kevin informed Josie, Archie, Veronica, Jughead, Fangs, Toni, Ethel, Alice, Moose, Midge, Betty, and Chuck that Cheryl will no longer be playing Carrie. When they asked why Kevin simply replied that Penelope Blossom wasn't much of a stage mom. In the meantime, Cheryl's understudy would assume the role, that being Midge, who Kevin appointed after the sandbag incident.
In the student lounge, Reggie, and Josie announce to Archie and Veronica that they are withdrawing from the race for student body president. Reggie explains that he is clearly not ready to be a leader of men, following his near shooting of Fangs outside the station. As for Josie, she and her mother had a talk after riot night. It was then that they were reminded that Josie is an artist, not a politician. Josie wants to return to what she's best at, that being music. This only leaves Archie and Veronica to run for student council president. Along with Ethel Muggs, who is running as a third-party candidate.
The next day, after Archie, Jughead, and Cheryl saved the Serpents from a raid at the Whyte Wrym, Josie joins them and the rest of their classmates. The school comes together in a show support of the Southside students who are being wrongly transferred. Josie, Archie, Jughead, Veronica, Reggie, Cheryl, Toni, Sweet Pea, Moose, Kevin and many other students put on Serpent jackets and confront principal Weatherbee. Archie explains that everyone is ready to walk out. Mr. Weatherbee threatens to expel any student that does, though Archie calls his bluff. He knows that Weatherbee is a good man who doesn't discriminate, and if he isn't, Archie tells Weatherbee to expel him as he doesn't wish to be a part of that. With that being said, Weatherbee tells everyone to get to class.
Both the mayoral election and student body election are held in the gymnasium of Riverdale High. Among the voters are Josie, Pop Tate, Weatherbee, Sweet Pea, Moose, Veronica, Reggie and many others.
Over at the Andrews house, Fred hosts a party as they wait for the votes to come in for the mayoral election. Josie attends with her mother, along with Archie, Veronica, Kevin, Moose, and Reggie. Unfortunately, Fred loses the mayoral race to Hermione. Not long after this news breaks, Hermione stops by to tell Fred that he ran a great campaign. It was close. It came down to less than 200 votes. As a show of good sportsmanship, Hermione and Fred shake hands.
The following day, Josie sings the national anthem as Archie prepares to be inaugurated in the school gymnasium. However, the event goes awry when Sheriff Minetta and two deputies enter the gym to arrest Archie for the murder of Shadow Lake resident, Cassidy Bullick.
Archie's trial is now in session. He sits alongside his mother, Mary, and Attorney McCoy, both of whom are acting as his counsel. Josie attends. She sits next to Sweet Pea. Archie is being prosecuted by the District Attorney, Ms. Wright. The evidence and testimony presented during court supposed tell a dark tale, that Archie has a history of violent behavior. She attempts to paint Archie as a bad person in her closing argument as Mary attempts to shed light on all the good deeds Archie has done, such as helping solve the murder of Jason Blossom, providing the Southside Serpents with refuge as they hid from the police, and punching through a layer of ice in order to save Cheryl from drowning. With that in mind, Mary takes the opportunity to remind the jury that there were no witnesses, murder weapon or motive to the killing of Cassidy Bullock. After hearing from both the prosecution and the defense, the jury begins to deliberate.
While the jury deliberates, Josie and Kevin inquire with their parents about Archie's chances of being found not guilty. Sierra replies that it's 50/50.
Just as planned, Cheryl hosts an End-of-Summer pool party at Thornhill. Josie sits poolside with Sweet Pea, whom she seems to have struck a romantic relationship with over the summer. He's excited for school to start back up, mostly because he'll get to see Josie in the hall every day. However, Josie has other plans in mind. She told him when they started this that their summer fling was going be just that. A fling. With a three-month expiration date. Sweet Pea is very much aware, but he doesn't want the good times to end, caressing Josie's upper thigh as he hopes that she'll reconsider. Josie admits that she has enjoyed their time spent together. Nevertheless, not even he is going to distract her from her music. They then proceed to kiss.
Josie interrupts Veronica and Betty's discussion on how to stop Archie from going to prison with a possible solution of her own. She informs Veronica that she may not be too late to help. The jury is being sequestered at the Five Seasons. Third floor, room 301. The security's tight, but Josie thinks she can get Veronica in. Veronica's thinking that she only needs to get to one Jury member. To convince them that her dad's the villain here, not Archie, for there to be a hung jury. Which would give them more time to prove Archie is innocent.
Labor Day weekend is over and Archie's trial is now in session. Josie, as well as the rest of Archie's friends and family are in attendance. However, the jury could not reach a verdict. They're deadlocked. Six-to-six. With that, the jury is dismissed. In lieu of another trial, the State is prepared to offer a deal for a lesser sentence. Instead of prison, time served plus two years in juvenile detention, if Archie will plead guilty to the crime of manslaughter. Archie takes the deal and in arrested.
In the locker room, Josie is getting dressed as she overhears Veronica’s conversation with Cheryl. Veronica confronts Cheryl for trying to steal Archie’s presidency. Veronica intends to keep Archie’s seat warm until his return, but Cheryl retorts that Jackie O. didn’t rise to presidency after John F. Kennedy’s assassination, it was Lyndon B. Johnson who did. However, as Josie points out, Johnson led them to Vietnam. Josie then suggests that Cheryl give Veronica a break all things considering, but Cheryl is only willing to a point as she reveals that she needs the presidency for her college applications.
Josie, Veronica, Cheryl and the rest of the River Vixens arrive at Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center to cheer on Archie and the boys for their football game. As they perform, the boys storm the fence in excitement. The boys then return to the game as the girls continue to perform. However, things go awry when Warden Norton signals the guards to attack the players under the claim that they were rioting. Joaquin is one of the first to be knocked to the ground and beaten. Archie, on the other hand, fares better against the guards, taking out several of them before being overwhelmed with the prison guards clubbing him. Veronica, Cheryl, Josie and the Vixens watch from the fences in horror.
Josie and Kevin arrive at Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe. When they do, Pop Tate, leads them to a back room and tells them to pick up the phone and dial 642. Kevin does just that. Reggie answers, asking for a password before allowing them into Veronica’s speakeasy, which is located under the diner. Veronica explains to Kevin and Josie that she hired some of the Serpents from the Whyte Wyrm to sell drinks, cocktails only. Veronica then asks Josie to be her resident chanteuse. Josie graciously accepts as she has been working nonstop to find her new sound as a solo act and is in need of a place to try it out. As for Kevin, Veronica asks him to be her emcee. He accepts only under the condition that he occasionally gets to sing.
The night of the grand opening for Veronica's speakeasy has arrived. Josie steps on stage and performs "Anything Goes".
Given the growing dangers that the teens of Riverdale are facing, the town Mayor, Hermione Lodge, decides to personally visit Riverdale High to provide clarity on the dangers they face. Josie, Betty, Cheryl, Jughead, Veronica, Reggie, and Kevin are all in attendance. Hermione explains that Dilton Doiley and Ben Button have already taken their lives, and Ethel Muggs attempted to. All three victims are linked through playing Gryphons and Gargoyles. From what little they do know about it, the game seems to be targeted at impressionable developing minds. Hermione elaborates that the game’s quests and role-playing scenarios are specifically designed to foster delusions, paranoia, and violence. As mayor, Hermione officially bans Gryphons and Gargoyles. On top of that, Mrs. Burble is going to be holding extended office hours and Hermione has set up a 24-hour crisis hotline overseen by Kevin.
Josie, Kevin and Reggie are called into the Blue and Gold offices by Betty, who informs them of the Midnight Club and their parents’ past involvement with Gryphons and Gargoyles. Josie is in disbelief that her mother was a rule-breaking, anti-apartheid activist in high school. And Kevin questions how his father and her mother were together even back then. Much like Josie, Reggie is also skeptical. He doesn’t believe that his father did live action role-play with as he put it "a group of lame ass nerds". Regardless of what they would like to believe, Betty needs them to subtly ask their parents about Gryphons and Gargoyles, as her suspicion is that whoever was running the game back then is also running it now. Josie, Reggie and Kevin seem aggravated at the insinuation that one of their parents could be responsible for what happened to Ben and Dilton, but they agree nonetheless.
Following Betty’s instructions, Josie and Kevin devise a plan to get their parents to reveal what they know about G&G. They do this by inviting them to Pop's for a lunch date. When Josie asks how they met, Sierra says that they attended Riverdale High at the same time, but they were more so acquaintances than friends. They claim that they never ran in the same circles. Sierra was in Model UN and Volunteers of America. Tom was in RROTC and on the boxing team. Kevin then asks if they ever played Gryphons and Gargoyles. Sierra and Tom claim that they didn’t and that they only knew of people who did. Seeing as that they’re all together, Sierra and Tom take this opportunity to reveal to Josie and Kevin that they’re engaged.
Josie, Kevin and Reggie reconvene with Betty in the Blue and Gold to discuss their efforts to gain more information from their parents. Josie and Kevin came up with nothing as their parents did not admit to anything. All they did was lie and pretend as if they knew nothing of G&G. In other news, Josie reveals that her mother and Kevin’s father announced their engagement. As bad as that was, Reggie’s dad’s reaction to Reggie’s questioning in regards to G&G was much worse, as Reggie was left with a black eye. Reggie wonders why their parents are acting so secretive about something that happened 25 years ago and what Betty is keeping from them. Before Betty can answer, Veronica enters. She tells them how Archie is caught up in some diabolical teen fight club and that she intends to break him out of juvie with all of their help.
Josie, Veronica, Betty, Kevin, and Reggie reconvene at La Bonne Nuit. Archie’s stuck behind bars and his life is in danger. As much as possible, they must follow the plan. The slightest deviation and Archie could end up dead. They will need a distraction if they’re going to disorient the guards and save Archie. Something they can sneak into the location easily, that won’t arouse suspicion, something they’ll have to make themselves, so Josie, Kevin and Reggie sneak into the chemistry class to make smoke grenades, masqueraded as beverages. As for the getaway route, Veronica already has a position picked out for Betty. So long as she sticks to the woods, their cars shouldn’t be able to follow her. Just in case, Betty suggest adding another precaution to the plan.
Josie, disguised as a waitress, brings Reggie and Veronica over a dozen or so "beverages". She overheard the guards betting heavily against Archie. They say he’s going down. Reggie remarks that Archie’s opponent is huge and that Archie doesn’t seem to have much time left. So, Veronica orders the others to get in position and wait for her signal.
When Veronica gives the signal, the three of them proceed to throw the smoke grenades disguised as beverages into the ring. It quickly fills with smoke. When it does, Archie makes his escape through the drains. Afterward, Josie and Reggie wait on the side of the road for Veronica to meet them with Archie. Before long, Veronica comes from out the woods with Archie, who can barely stand. They duck down behind the car at the sound of passing police cars, and once the coast is clear, they put Archie in the back of the car and drive off.
After Josie, Kevin, Reggie, Betty and Veronica arrive at Dilton's bunker to regroup with the others, Toni patches Archie up and tells him not to make any sudden movements. Archie reveals that it was Joaquin who stabbed him though Archie thinks the Warden made him do it. He then asks where are they, to which Betty explains Dilton’s bunker. The only people who know about it are in the room and it is the safest place in Riverdale. Veronica then notices the branding on Archie’s side, courtesy of Warden Norton. Veronica then calls for everyone’s attention. Since her father saw her, she has to do some damage control on the home front. But, someone needs to stay with Archie at all times. Betty and Jughead volunteer to take the first shift. Equally important, Veronica announces that everyone in the room, herself, Josie, Kevin, Reggie, Betty, Jughead, Cheryl, Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs, are all part of a pact. From this moment on, no one is to know where the bunker is. No one was involved with the breakout and no one knows where Archie is. They are all expected to take this to the grave.
In a booth at Pop’s, Kevin tells Josie and Reggie how he searched the woods for Joaquin but couldn’t find him as he had to eventually double-back to act as the decoy. They quickly stop the discussion as Pop Tate approaches with their orders. Once he leaves, they resume talking. Joaquin is out there, is Kevin’s last words on the matter. Reggie, however, can’t believe they pulled off the escape. He then looks to Josie and Kevin, asking if they’re going to play Gryphons and Gargoyles to find out what their parents and Betty won’t tell them. Over the radio, an important news bulletin is made, announcing Archie’s escape.
Josie, Betty, Veronica, Jughead, Cheryl, Kevin, Reggie, Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Evelyn sit as Sheriff Minetta confronts them with his suspicion that Archie had help in escaping Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center. Sheriff Minetta informs them that hiding a convict and information from the law is a felony offense. So, whoever aided and abetted Archie is just as much a criminal as he is. A few students in particular catches the sheriff's attention. When he asks where Josie was during the time of the breakout, she struggles to come up with an alibi, eventually settling with her being alone in the music room. Sheriff Minetta will be looking into all their alibis. As he continues to antagonize Josie, she suddenly has a seizure. Cheryl rushes to her aid, catching Josie and telling the sheriff to back off.
Josie is performing on stage at La Bonne Nuit as Cheryl and Toni arrive. Later, Josie is singing as Hiram arrives at the Speakeasy to settle on an arrangement with Veronica to pay for his protection.
While returning home from the speakeasy, Josie is nearly attacked by a Gargoyle. He waits by her door as she turns the corner. Josie just barely makes it inside, locking the door behind her as the Gargoyle bangs on the door. Josie then calls Veronica and Reggie over to inform them of the attack. Again, Veronica is very apologetic. Veronica’s paying a lot of money to ensure that this doesn’t happen. However, Josie is very much aware of Hiram’s affiliation with the Gargoyles. Whatever problems Veronica has with her father, Josie refuses to be dragged into it. Either Veronica straightens this out or she'll have to find a new singer for La Bonne Nuit as it’s too dangerous for Josie to be there.
As Josie sings on stage at La Bonne Nuit, Archie drinks his pain away at the bar, with Reggie serving him. Reggie then declines to serve Archie any further as he requests another drink. He does however offer to call Archie cab, explaining that Veronica’s dealing with enough as it is, she doesn’t need Archie making a scene. As Archie begins to become unruly, he is roughed up by security, though Josie comes to his rescue, seeing Archie out and taking him home. Josie takes Archie into his bathroom and dumps him in the tub before turning on the cold water as he is in need of a cold shower.
Josie concocts a home remedy consisting of lemon, ginger, and cayenne to sober Archie up. She asks where his dad is, to which Archie says that he’s at work. Archie would be too if he didn’t get fired after his first day for picking a fight. So, he went to drown his sorrows. While they didn’t talk much last year and she can’t even attempt to guess the hell Archie’s been through, Josie suggest that Archie channel his anger into something constructive like music. Or, if he’s in the mood to hit things, she recommends that he join Kevin’s dad, who boxes at the gym. Either way, Archie has to deal with his demons head on. Archie agrees that he has to face this head on, and there’s one person he hasn’t faced since returning to town, that being Hiram.
Later in the week, Josie is approached by Archie at the bar and thanks her for taking care of him and setting him straight when he got drunk. He’d been thinking about her advice in regards to doing something constructive, and Josie reassures him that Kevin’s dad would be more than willing to box with him. Archie then asks Josie if she would be up to jamming out together like they used to. She happily agrees, but only if Archie sings back up.
Josie and Kevin have sit in a booth at Pop's with their mother and father. Sierra and Tom reveal that they don’t want a big wedding, both having just finalized their respective divorces. Not to mention the Gargoyle King’s constant lingering presence. They would prefer to keep it simple and get marred at Town Hall. While Josie and Kevin fully disagree, they respect their parents' decision. However, at the very least, Josie and Kevin would like to throw them an after-party at La Bonne Nuit. Tom and Sierra reluctantly agree to a small party. As Moose enters the diner with his father, Major Marcus Mason, Sierra and Tom take the opportunity to invite them to the wedding, though Marcos doesn’t appear to be too enthusiastic, almost brushing off the invite. Tom explains to Josie and Kevin that he and Marcus used to be good friends, as they both were in RROTC together. But, they grew apart. Sierra surmises that this was due to Marcus being jealous of her and Tom’s relationship as he had a crush on Sierra.
Josie visits Sweet Pea at Sunnyside Trailer Park. She enters his trailer to invite him to her mother’s wedding, though he mistakes her unexpected arrival as a booty call as it wouldn’t be the first one they’ve had since their summer fling ended. However, this is not the case. Josie was hoping that Sweet Pea would be her date to the wedding. He hopes this means that they’re officially together, but Josie would rather it not be so official. Admittedly, Sweet Pea likes her and would be all in with her without a second thought, but he’s not built for her to just slide back into his life whenever she doesn’t want to be alone.
Josie sits alone in the music room until Archie decides to join her. She reveals to him that there’s a recruiter for Julliard holding local auditions and Josie’s slot is this afternoon. Archie assures her she’s going to do great, but Josie isn’t even certain how she’ll get there. It’s at Seaside, and she just assumed Sweet Pea would give her a ride, but she didn’t even get a chance to ask him. Archie questions if Josie and Sweet Pea are together, but as Josie informs him, she had to end it so that she could focus on her music. Which is what she always does. So much so that she’s pushed everyone away. She can’t even ask her mom for a ride because she doesn’t even know about the audition. If Josie told her and she didn’t perform well, then her mother would start asking about her backup plans, which Josie doesn’t have. Archie volunteers to take Josie in his jalopy.
Josie arrives at her audition for Julliard and takes center stage. Archie watches from the back as she performs.
Josie and Archie sit in a booth at Pops, where they await the results of Josie’s audition. Unfortunately, they are unable to invite her back for callbacks, which deeply upsets Josie as she sang her heart out for it still only not to be enough. She’s given up so much for this moment and kept telling herself that in the end, it would be worth it. She had built up so many walls just to focus on this one thing and now she’s all alone because of it. Archie assures Josie that she’s not alone. He’ll even accompany her to her mother's wedding. Archie’s been truly alone these last few months and can sympathize.
Josie and Archie rehearse a song together at his house. Their phones ring simultaneously. It is Josie’s mother and Archie’s father. Fred instructs Archie to lock the doors to the house. Archie replies that the doors are already locked, but now he's worried, asking his father what’s wrong.
In the music room, Josie tells Archie how in the end, her mother and Kevin’s father got the wedding they wanted. Just the four of them at Town Hall. They said it didn’t feel right having a party. As for what’s next for Josie, after everything Kevin and Moose went through, not getting into Julliard doesn’t seem like such a big deal to Josie anymore. For now, she's just going to take it day by day, which is precisely what Archie’s been doing. Josie and Archie then start to sing together. As Josie and Archie end their duet, they find themselves face-to-face. They inch closer and Archie asks Josie if he can kiss her, to which she agrees, and the two proceed to kiss.
Josie and Archie grab a booth a Pop’s. He proposes that they skip school and catch a movie at the Bijou. Unfortunately, Josie has a meeting with her college adviser. She hopes they can meet up after school, but Archie will be training with Tom by then. While there aren’t any college scholarships for boxing, stepping in the ring keeps Archie in a good head-space and helps him focus. With growing interest in Archie, Josie jokingly tells him not to go messing up his face as it is growing on her.
Josie approaches Archie and tells him that she performing at La Bonne Nuit tomorrow night and that she would like for him to be on the guitar, unfortunately, he has his first fight that night. Archie reveals to Josie that he’s being paid to throw the fight, which Josie disapproves of. Archie explains that it’s a short cut to get his name out there. However, Josie still isn’t convinced that being paid to get beaten up is a good idea. Archie reminds her that he’s an ex-con who walked out of the SATs. While he has admittedly been dealt a bad hand, Josie believes it’s up to him to change that even if Archie is being offered $5,000. She believe that he’s worth more than that.
While Josie performs at La Bonne Nuit, Tom prepares Archie for his fight with Ronson. Afterward, Josie arrives just as the final round commences. She roots for Archie from the crowd. Just as it seems as if Archie is gaining control, Ronson head butts him. The fight is then broken up. Tom rejoins Archie in his corner to coach him through the final minutes of the fight. He assures Archie that he’s done great, but if he wants to win this fight, he has to knock Ranson out and then the fight commenaces. The bell sounds to signal the the end of the match not long after, just as Archie is gaining control. There’s a split decision, but ultimately, Ronson wins the fight.
Josie waits for Archie after the fight. He asks about her show. She says she killed it, much like Archie did during his fight. She’s glad he didn’t throw it, which is a win to her. She then asks if he wants to get a milkshake at Pop’s to celebrate. Instead, they head to Archie’s place, where they have sex.
Josie finds Archie at the gym and the two of them joke about his new gig and then plan to have dinner at Pop’s. However, before they can, the two become alert after hearing an odd sound. They open a closet to find a young boy inside. Archie comes off a bit aggressive, but Josie comes in with a more comforting approach, asking the kid for his name and if he’s hungry. The boy reveals that his name is Ricky and then Archie and Josie take him Pop’s.
While at the diner, Josie asks about Ricky’s parents, who he claims to have never known. Archie then asks about the cubby he was hiding in. Ricky explains that he’s been staying there on and off for a few weeks. Josie asks if there’s anyone they can call, but Ricky doesn’t have anyone. Short on options, Josie recommends calling Betty as she knows people at Social Services. Ricky instantly takes off and runs for the door but Archie catches up to him before he can get away. Ricky’s afraid of Social Services as they will send him back to a shelter called The Santa Lucia Shelter. While there, they branded Ricky with the same symbol branded on Archie that means sacrifice. Ricky got that brand from some of the older guys who were at the shelter. They didn’t live there, but they did crash there, and one night, Ricky woke up and they were holding him down and branding his arm. That’s when he left the shelter.
Veronica and Reggie welcome Josie along with more than half a dozen employees to the casino of La Bonne Nuit. They’ve got poker on the floor, blackjack at the bar, nickel and quarter slots along the wall, and a horse race-themed wheel of chance in the corner. Reggie already called dibs on spinning it. It goes without saying that discretion is of the upmost importance. But Josie is forced to ask the obvious question. What to do if they’re raided? Veronica and Reggie have made upgrades to the place to account for such a threat. They have a number of compartments and close-in doors to hide all the Casino paraphernalia. At which point Veronica will bat her eyelids and say "What secret casino, Officer?"
While rehearsing, Josie is asked by Betty if she has noticed that Kevin has gotten very involved with the Farm at an alarming rate as Betty has become concerned. And last night, when Betty was leaving school, she saw him and a bunch of the other Farmies holding their hands over a Bunsen burner. Betty explains that cults like the Farm prey on emotionally vulnerable people like Kevin. Josie hasn't told her mother or Kevin's father, but she admits that over the last week, she had heard Kevin sneaking out at night. She assumed that he was going back to Fox Forest, but now she thinks that he’s been going to meet them.
At the Andrews house, Archie and Josie sing to one another.
In the classroom sits Josie, Archie, Reggie, Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Evelyn, who all proceeds to break out in song and dance, leading Hermione to questions if they’re all truly this miserable. They then come down the hall in song and dance and make their way to the auditorium. Josie, Archie, Kevin, Cheryl, Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Sweet Pea, Fangs, Peaches, and Evelyn get on stage, where they conclude their performance.
Afterward, Kevin announces that there’s been a slight change to their creative team. While Evelyn has been helping him produce the musical, he’s recently asked her to step up and be his co-director, much to Betty’s disdain, as she points out that Kevin has always directed the musical alone. Which Kevin reveals has always been incredibly stressful, especially after last year’s incident, with Midge being killed by the Black Hood. Josie’s playing Veronica Sawyer, outcast turned Heather turned outcast again.
Josie, Archie, Betty, Veronica, Cheryl, Toni, Sweet Pea, Fangs, Reggie, and Peaches lay on their backs in the student lounge as Evelyn tells them that everything in their lives matter. There are universal truths within each of their experiences. In rehearsal, they’re going to explore their own personal traumas and experiences and exercise them through their art. Kevin interrupts to inform Cheryl, Veronica, and Betty that "Candy Store" set and costumes are ready.
The cast meets up at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy compound as planned. Josie, Reggie, Sweet Pea, Fangs, Kevin, Cheryl, Veronica, Evelyn, and Archie then start to sing and dance. While singing with Fangs, Sweet Pea stumbles upon Archie and Josie having an intimate moment. With the exception of Betty, who watches from afar, everyone comes back together to finish the musical number.
Josie, Archie, Jughead, Betty, Veronica, Cheryl, Toni, Sweet Pea, Fangs, Reggie, Peaches, Evelyn, and Kevin meet back up in the auditorium the following day. They’re each going to share something they’ve never told anyone before. Sweet Pea reveals that it hurt him to see Archie and Josie getting cozy last night. This is the first of Betty hearing about this, and so she looks to Archie and asks if he and Josie are dating, but he doesn’t answer. Under the suspicion that he may have been nothing more than a rebound, Reggie asks Veronica if she knew of Archie and Josie’s relationship. Veronica had no idea, she claims.
Archie approaches Josie in the music room to discuss their relationship. Josie is quiet upset that Sweet Pea exposed them, though Archie is happy that it is now out in the open. He wants to make them official, but Josie is against it. The other day, when Archie asked how they got together, Josie explains that they were lonely. It’s not a strong bedrock. Josie sees them as nothing more than lonely souls filling a void.
Josie finds Archie boxing at the gym. They both have something to say to the other. Archie goes first. If Josie doesn’t want to be in a relationship because she’s not into him, then he’s fine with that, but if she does like him then he wants to start figuring out what they are and what they can be to each other. Archie wants to fight for their relationship and it seems like Josie is willing. The two of them then start to sing and dance.
They’ve now reached the emotional climax of the musical. "Seventeen" captures the longing all the characters feel for what they’ve lost, their teen innocence, Kevin tells Sweet Pea and Josie.
The night of the musical has arrived. It ends with Josie, Archie, Sweet Pea, Toni, Reggie, Veronica, Cheryl, Betty, Jughead, Kevin, Evelyn, and Fangs on stage singing "Seventeen". As the musical concludes, Edgar Evernever rises from the audience, clapping slowly and very dramatic-like. He is joined by over a dozen members of the Farm, who are all wearing white and join in on the slow clap. From the stage, Evelyn states that she knew her dad would like it. Weatherbee and Mrs. Klump appear to be one with the Farm as they too are wearing white and applaud the performance.
Josie and Veronica watch from the crowd as Archie is escorted to the ring for his fight against Randy Ronson during the Gilded Gloves tournament. Josie asks if Veronica’s nervous, but she isn’t in the slightest. Josie then notices Archie’s new robe and trunks. Veronica explains that Archie’s officially sponsored by Pop’s. She continues to watch the fight, during which time, Archie knocks Ronson out in the second round.
Following the fight, Randy Ronson is taken to Riverdale General Hospital, where Mad Dog, Fred, Tom, Josie, Archie, and Veronica sit in the lobby, waiting to hear news of his fate. Just a few feet away sits Elio with Randy’s family. Unfortunately, Dr. Patel arrives to deliver the news that Randy did not survive.
Josie calls her dad after seeing that he has a gig nearby and is hoping that they can grab some dinner beforehand.
As planned, Josie grabs dinner with her father at Pop’s. Myles was more than willing as his next tour will be a long one. This is precisely why Josie wanted to meet up. She explains how recently she’s been the headlining act downstairs at La Bonne Nuit, but Riverdale is a small town, and she wants to go on tour with him to broaden her musical horizons. Myles explains that it’s a hard life being on the road. Josie begs, asking that he at least come see her perform. Before he can answer, Gladys, Jughead, and FP barge into Pop’s disguised with their identity shielded behind Serpent masks, with guns pointed. They empty the register and head for the door. As they do, Pop Tate comes from behind the counter with a shotgun and opens fire, hitting FP. As he prepares to shoot again, Jughead rips off his mask and tells Pop Tate to stop shooting as it’s not what he thinks. Jughead attempts to tend to his father, who lays on the floor bleeding, but is pulled away by his mother, as it is now up to the two of them to continue the game. Myles and Josie watch from the floor as this unfolds. Josie lends to this incident as yet another reason why she needs to get out of town.
Josie, Archie, and Veronica convene at La Bonne Nuit, where Veronica informs Archie that on top of everything else, Elio is also refusing the Ronsons Randy’s insurance money. Veronica is hoping they can make Josie’s show tonight a benefit, with the proceeds going to the Ronsons. Archie then gives Josie a kiss and heads off to settle things with Elio.
Just before the show, Josie looks into the crowd, though there’s no sign of her dad, and Veronica checked the front door, and he never picked up his ticket.
At La Bonne Nuit, Josie performs. As her performance concludes, the crowd erupts in applause. The loudest applause of them all coming from Myles, her father, who little did Josie know, was there for her entire performance.
Josie is complimented on her performance. She says that she thought her father had bailed on her again. Myles explains that was his intention. When you’re on the road, gig after gig, you have to get on stage and give it your all no matter what. Josie has to want to play music more than anything else. With that, Myles agrees to allow Josie to tour with him.
Archie finds Josie after her show singing in the music room. He apologizes for not making it back in time to see it. Josie then reveals that she decided to go on tour with her dad, but she doesn’t know when she’s coming back, if at all. While she’s loved their time together, they’re not endgame, which she’s fine with. Archie’s life is in Riverdale while hers is somewhere out there, maybe New York. Archie tells her that he was going to ask her to prom, but that’s no longer an option now, and the two say goodbye with a kiss.
Josie is a young lady with rich, brown skin, dark brown eyes, and thick, bouncy, curls. She's naturally very slender, and flaunts her body shape confidently, often dressing like a celebrity. Her clothes are similar to rock star inspired styles and she's often seen sporting leather jackets along with her trademark Pussycat ears. However, since leaving the Pussycats and going solo, she has refrained from wearing the Pussycat ears.
Josie is both zealous and talented. She was lead singer as well as the guitarist for Josie and the Pussycats. She thrives to exceed and be the best, especially with both parents watching over her shoulders at every turn. Her mother encouraging her to succeed and to embrace herself as a powerful and successful woman of color, while her father on the other hand, shows very little interest in her musical aspirations, looking to it as nothing more than "pop music" and child's play. Because of this, she tries even harder to impress him and gain his approval.
Josie is also a very loving and caring person to the people who she loves and cares about. At times she's not perfect, as when she gets frustrated, she tends to take it out on others. As to the time when her father was in town, she ended up taking her anger out on Valerie, resulting in Valerie leaving the band temporarily. However, Josie can also be a very soft and caring person to the people who she likes. As to when she heard about Archies father getting shot, she came by to show her support along with her girls.
With the emergence of the Black Hood, both Josie and her mother have been on edge. The lingering feeling that the killer could strike at any time has led them both to become extremely paranoid, more so Josie, who has been having anxiety nightmares and brief moments of panic. Because of this, Josie and her mother moved to the Five Seasons for their own protection.
The relationship between Josie and Cheryl is really tight. They always care for each other and have shown that they'd do anything for each other. Josie always does favors when Cheryl ask her. As a favor to Cheryl, Josie agreed to assist Archie with his music. Josie and the Pussycats also helped Cheryl as she was drugged and almost raped by Nick St. Clair. Since then Cheryl has gone to great lengths in order to protect Josie and repay her for saving her. Both Josie and Cheryl have referred to the other as "My girl" due to their close friendship.
The relationship between Josie and Sierra McCoy is tight and close-knit. They care deeply for each other, as a mother and daughter would. Their relationship is developed than Josie's relationship with her father. Even though Sierra may be strict toward her daughter, it is only for her daughter's benefit. She pushes her to achieve her goals and is proud of her for her accomplishments such as the band, Josie and the Pussycats. Lately, their bond has strengthened due to recent threats bringing them closer to stand together as a unity. Josie has been supportive of her mother in the toughest situations like when her mother informed her of recent death threats she's been receiving. Josie also stood alongside her when her mother announced her resignation from office over live broadcast.
The father-daughter relationship between Myles and Josie McCoy is rather complicated. The two of them are not very close due to the fact that her father is often on the road given his career as a professional jazz player. To make matters worse, Myles is quite hard on Josie, generally putting a lot of pressure on her regarding her musical choices and career. Because of this, Josie tries even harder to please him, but he remains to be unimpressed, despite her best efforts. This is proven when he left the 75th annual Variety Show during her performance with her band, Josie and the Pussycats, which while on the subject, he views as child's play and Pop music, though Josie insists that it's more. Despite his views on the Pussycats as a group, he values Valerie talents, who he believes to be the real deal, as she provides the group with some much needed integrity.
The relationship between Josie McCoy, Valerie Brown and Melody Valentine started before the start of the series. They were close friends, and together, the three of them made up the highly ambitious rock band, Josie and the Pussycats. They met and befriended each other while working at Power Records, where they used to practice together. One day, Josie came up with the idea of calling themselves the Pussycats after showing up to practice with cheap cat ears from the Halloween store. Valerie temporarily left the band after Josie and her had a dispute but they eventually worked it out and found their way back to each other. However, this dispute pales in comparison to the one that followed after Valerie and Melody learned that Josie was starting on her solo career and was leaving the Pussycats. Unfortunately, the ladies have not spoken to each other since.
The relationship between Josie McCoy and Archie Andrews pre-dates the series given that they both grew up in Riverdale. Their relationship originally started out as a small rivalry between musicians, as Archie, who was looking to rise as an up-and-coming songwriter, hoped that Josie would assist him in doing just that. While Josie on the other hand, who is an established musician in her own right, wasn't willing to help him achieve his aforementioned goal. However, their relationship later evolved into a friendship after the pair bonded over their love of music, which resulted in Archie performing alongside Josie and the Pussycats. And while they don't interact much, they are still very much friends, as Josie came to Archie's aid and helped get him clean. The two later began a relationship after Archie supported Josie during her time of need.
While Chuck and Josie may not have come in close contact, Chuck took a liking to her. When he entered the music room, he was amazed by her voice. However, Josie didn't return the warm greetings as she knew his past with women and would never date a "chauvinist, misogynistic, harasser of woman", such as himself. Late at night, as Josie was leaving school, she came across Chuck whose presence shook her as it was dark in the hallways. She allowed him to give her a ride home, but not before they stopped at Pop's. Even though Josie insisted that they weren't on a date, they did bond more than they ever had before. Chuck claimed that he'd changed for the better, and even though Pop Tate and Josie started believing this, his past still showed through as Josie's mother wasn't happy to find them together, who then threatened him to stay away from her daughter before dragging her out of the diner. At school, when Josie received a disturbing message from a mysterious admirer, automatically thinking this was Chuck's doing, she confronted him at the library, resulting in him getting escorted to the principal's office.
The friendship between Josie McCoy and Veronica Lodge kicked off after Veronica joined Josie and the Pussycats as a temporary replacement to Valerie Brown. They both talk to each other about personal family drama which is something they both happen to have in common with each other and can relate to. Josie and Veronica both have issues with their fathers, which is something they talk about with each other. After Veronica became an official part of the family business, Josie became distant with Veronica after her mother forbade Josie from hanging out with her, explaining how she didn't like the way the Lodge family conducted their business by using their daughter. She didn't want her daughter to be a part of it, even though she may be dealing with the Lodges. However, after the two families sat and talked it out, Veronica and Josie performed together at Veronica's confirmation ceremony. Nevertheless, there was a brief moment of disloyalty when Veronica and Josie were singing for Veronica's campaign. Ethel Muggs was handing out flyers displaying rude things about Veronica, and she ran off after Betty fled from the room. Then Josie said to Ethel that the families that had suffered by the hands of Hiram and Hermione Lodge needed to stick together. But Josie helped Veronica and Toni find information about Cheryl Blossom, so their rocky relationship steadied a little.
The friendship between Josie and Kevin has apparently grown since the two of them discovered that their parents were having an affair due to Josie's father constantly being on the road and Kevin's mother being overseas. Sharing nearly identical household drama, the two have begun to spend more time together both in and out of school, such as sitting together at lunch and going to the movies. Before recently, Josie and Kevin had very little interaction though they always appeared to be friendly towards one another given that they run within the same circle of friends.
Josie and Reggie have grown closer while students at Riverdale High. They were first seen together at Riverdale General Hospital, after Fred Andrews was shot, along with the rest of the Pussycats. However, their relationship didn't take off until the night they both attended Nick St. Clair's party at the Five Seasons, where they took Jingle Jangle together before making out. Later, after being exposed for using Jingle Jangle during the aforementioned party, they were sent to do community service in Pickens Park, where Reggie seemed to take an interest in Josie. They later joined forces to run for Student Body President and Vice President. After they decided to leave the campaign, each with their own reasons, they've since remained close, though it is unclear if anything more will come from their relationship.
After Archie is arrested, Josie and Sweet Pea start a summer fling with one condition: a 3-month expiration. Sweet Pea wishes for more, but Josie declines his offer by as she must remain focused on music. It is, however, revealed that Josie and Sweet Pea kept hooking up despite their fling's initial expiration date. Josie asks Sweet Pea to accompany her as her date in Sierra’s and Tom’s forthcoming wedding. Sweet Pea, who wants a real relationship with Josie, declines her invitation as she doesn't want a serious relationship. During the party at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy compound, organised by Evelyn Evernever, Sweet Pea spots Josie and Archie having an intimate moment. Deeply hurt, Sweet Pea spills the secrecy of Josie and Archie’s relationship.
She has defied her mother's wishes multiple times despite being constantly reminded to not forget their branding; Divas of color. Josie allowed Cheryl to perform alongside the Pussycats and also decided to accompany Archie at singing his song at the jubilee.
Josie did not seem to have to audition for a position on the River Vixens, as Cheryl had introduced her as a new member almost immediately. | English | NL | fe69e3b2c58d15e7b48e1bc8b587903fbd8e80c00fdf57d51b108a5bceb10f95 |
The sun would rise soon. Marie Soledad could tell because, at this early hour, the hint of morning sunlight contrasted with the still present nighttime. It seemed to create an effect of further darkening in sky. She took another sip of her steaming coffee, the warmth almost burning her throat as it slid down into her stomach. The chill from the window slipped through her nightshirt into her chest, and she shivered.
She was waiting—had been waiting—over three hours for her husband to come home. If it had been like before, she would have gotten into the car herself to search for him in the untimely hours of the morning. She would have dragged him back by his unsteady legs, and hushed him into bed before the children awoke. They were still young, and she wasn’t sure if they really understood the extent of the brokenness in their house. Although sometimes there was a hint here and there, an anxiety that the whole household shared, she could never fully ascertain if they saw the widening canyons between their parents. The house itself held its breath, as if its inhabitants were already broken bones, and with one bad gasp, the entire house would crumble. She would have to wake the children soon enough. What if he wasn’t back by then?
The door slammed, and disturbed her uneasy silence.
“You’re home,” she whispered from the kitchen with some hesitance. She heard his steps come up behind her. She knew them so well. They were heavy, and like she had guessed, with a hint of unsteadiness to them. Her neck stiffened; she could feel his breathing behind her.
“You shouldn’t have stayed up all night waiting for me. I was obviously going to come home,” he said. His voice on the defensive.
Taking a deep breath, Marie Soledad contemplated turning around and facing him. It bothered her even more now that he was so tall. It was easy for him to stand over her. To look down at her with his strange disgust.
With an expert spin of her wheelchair, she rotated to face him. “I didn’t stay up. I mean—I fell asleep—but then I woke up early when I realized you never came back to bed. I was worried.” She tried to keep her tone even. She was exhausted, and not looking for another fight.
“I told you I was going out.”
“So what are you saying exactly?”
“I wish you had felt the need to call me, or at least to text me, so that I could know that you were okay,” she tried to steady her voice, to even it out until none of her emotions leaked out. “You left before even putting the children to sleep,” she paused there, hearing her hurt slip into her voice.
He sighed in annoyance and turned away from her. With one hand in the air, he brushed away her words and her worry, as if he was swatting an annoying fly. Marie Soledad experienced the sting of his dismissal deep in her chest. It hurt more than anything because he used to take her words seriously. They used to mean something to him, even when they hurt him, especially when they hurt him. His hand reached into the fridge, and he pulled out a beer.
“At this hour?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. He cracked the bottle cap against the counter, a rough, aggressive sound.
“Yes,” he responded defiantly. “Am I your prisoner now? I already have to do everything for you, and I’m not allowed a drink?”
This time, she felt no shock. She had sensed this sentiment of his for a few months now. After the disbelief and the pain had left his system, this was all that was left. Resentment. His resentment over her condition, and the fact that now he could never escape.
Marie Soledad knew what he was thinking. That he was stuck in this marriage, because what type of sick son of a bitch would he be if he left her? She knew he had contemplated leaving her every time she was out of the house. He would sit at the edge of their bed, staring at the catheter tubes and the hospital shit littered around their room, and no doubt, he would have remembered the times she couldn’t hold her bladder, and peed the bed like their youngest child. He would think, “She’s not here right now, I might as well…” But then he’d stop himself when he saw a stray toy on the floor, because it always came down to his children. They were his handicap, and they prevented him from walking away, the same way Marie Soledad would never walk again. Sometimes, she could see how the thought of their searching and panicked faces made him sick with claustrophobia, and yet he loved them. He loved them with the same reverential passion she felt for them, and that prevented him from leaving her. How could he miss any part of their lives? Camila was learning to ride a bike with him. Matias wanted to race toy cars together. Whenever he came home from work, their little feet would slip over the floor as they ran into his arms. Camila’s nose kisses. Matias’s funny expressions. He was as much a prisoner of theirs, as he surely felt he was of Marie. They were all intermixed, their shared bloodlines binding them together in inexplicable ties.
“I just wanted you to tell me. I’m worried about you,” Marie Soledad spoke slowly. Finally, he turned to acknowledge her from across the room.
“That’s all you ever do. You just go around the house moping and worrying. I have to do everything around here,” he said in a huff, sitting down and looking away from her, wearied at the kitchen table. She tried moving forward towards him, remembering with a sharp sting how she used to hug him from behind at that same chair. Back when his troubles were not exclusively about her, but about his work, about money. Marie Soledad would lean over him, and kiss his hair with her smiling lips, and he would lean back into her, his shoulders relaxing into her chest. She had lost her smile. Ever since that runaway car sent her flying towards the asphalt during her routine morning run, her lips would lift in a faint attempt, and then fall. Now, the loneliness consumed them both from separate sides of their shared kitchen.
He put his head in his hands, and she knew then that he regretted his harsh words. They had been together long enough to read each other’s bodies. Back before the accident, she thought that this was a positive quality in their relationship. But now, when he studied her fragmented body, he only saw a shadow of the sensuous and adventurous woman from before. He read the scars, the unfeeling limbs, the catheters and adult diapers that she now had to use. It made her feel ugly. It made her feel broken.
Marie Soledad gazed down at herself. It had been a long time since she had felt secure in her own skin, especially her bottom half, disconnected from her control. After her accident, it had taken her a long time to learn how to do everything again. She had to start over, learning from scratch the way she had taught Camila and Matias to walk. Repetition and repeated mistakes. Everything from dressing, to reaching for the top shelves in her closet still required at least a little help. She wanted that elusive self-sufficiency that her doctors had told her about with fake cheery smiles. Yet here she was, struggling even after all these months of trying. Yesterday, Matias spilled his soup, and it took her over twenty minutes to wipe it all up, maneuvering through their too-small kitchen. At an early hour like this, she could finally admit that she was tired of trying. Most of all, she was tired of trying to stay positive for her sleeping children, especially when her marriage had become a series of tossed grenades. She could feel it in her heart, the way he was repelled by her, and she spent every day waiting for the next explosion.
“Have I ever told you the history of my name?” Marie Soledad asked with a start, disturbing his own thoughts, and bringing him back into the present. She had said each word with precaution, careful to formulate the thoughts that she had been contemplating for weeks with precision.
He looked up at the odd question. She could tell he had been expecting a fight or at least tears to come from her. She could see him thinking it over, searching for a trick. All of this exhausted her, and made her feel even more alone. When they first got married, her mother warned her that their fights would only grow with their years together. A fight was never solely about what angered them at that moment, but all the other fights in their combined history, stacked one on top of the other to come out in a screaming match every single time. How exhausting.
“My mother wanted to pick a name with a double meaning. Soledad normally means Alone. This always struck me as a bad omen, a gloomy sign over the rest of my life, and I hated it. But then my mother told me the other meaning. Can you guess?”
He shook his head. Despite his misgivings, now he was curious. He turned his body towards her, contemplating the beer bottle in front of him, and she could see him wondering, how had he not known something so basic about his wife?
“Marie Sol. Your old nickname for me. Don’t you find it curious that Sol means Sun? Or that Edad means Age? The Age of the Sun. It’s as if lasting light hides itself in the worst sort of word. A word that most people fear.”
His eyes had turned to the window, where the sun was finally appearing over the horizon, as watercolor designs started to cross the sky. Dawn. That special time of the day that most people ignore, or rather take for granted, because sunset gets all the excitement and attention. Dawn. A time coveted to catch the last seconds of sleep. Dawn. A time insomniacs recognize as preciously theirs. Dawn. A time right before children awake. He thought in silence for a long time about his wife’s words. She let him think them over. His lips stiffened, and his eyes stopped blinking. Then, his eyebrows tightened as the realization hit him little by little. He shook his head once. Then twice more after a pause.
“I know what you’re trying to say, and I’m not going to fall for it,” he answered flatly. He couldn’t look away from her now. His eyes concentrating on the details of her face for the first time that morning. Marie Soledad felt self-conscious then, imaging how he saw her. She had wrinkles now, more than she ever cared for, and her hair no longer had that flourishing thickness from their early years together, when they used to go dancing. She remembered nights when her strands of auburn hair would stick to her lipstick, her laugh ringing in his ears. She pushed that memory away.
“What exactly am I trying to say?”
“You’re saying that I should leave you, aren’t you?”
For a moment neither one of them said anything else, gauging the effects of those words hanging in the air. Words that were so acid that they stung their eyes.
Nevertheless, she still said, “You aren’t happy with me. I don’t want you to stay with me just because of our children. The children are young enough, and if we do this correctly, we could make this work with the least amount of bloodshed. I can do this alone.”
She was giving him an out, with a full concession, a retreat, a white flag, and a transfer of power. Her words should have elated him, she had given him exactly what he wanted, but they only filled him with a terrible tightening in the pit of his stomach. Marie Soledad was surprised by the clear pain that flashed across his face.
She wheeled herself up to his knees, and her eyes were fierce and fixed as they looked up at him. He had known her for a long time, and he could see the sacrifice settling on her own shoulders. Marie Soledad had never been the type of person to allow her life to pass her by. Before her accident—and now there was always a before and an after—she had always been on top of the house, on top of the children, on top of her job, on top of his well-being, on the top of their world. He had thought she lost her resourcefulness the second she came back from the hospital, and sunk into her deep depression. Lying on her bed, she had stared out the window, hoping to fly far far away from her burdensome body and the cries of her two needy children. For weeks, Marie Soledad had given up on cleaning after her kids, or even looking after herself. Her hair had grown stringy, her face had become pale, her voice had lost its rhythm. Only recently, when he began to really drink, did she realize that life kept moving, and it was her responsibility to catch up. Even now, she could feel her old resourcefulness still returning.
On the kitchen counter, there was a picture of the four of them sitting on top of her hospital bed the day she was released home. A trace of her mouth was raised, but her eyes were vacant. Even surrounded by the bouquets of flowers and the GET WELL! balloons, she looked empty in the picture. Marie Soledad studied her husband’s expression, trying to guess how he actually felt when they took that picture, but she only got a sense of the general anxiety everyone had been feeling at the time. Maybe what she saw on his face was a deep determination to make their situation work, although it was apparent now that his determination had eroded in the previous months. At what point had he given up? They both knew he hadn’t really tried to make their marriage work.
Looking into his familiar brown eyes, she remembered their years together. The most striking moments coming back in a quick succession. Hearing his whispering voice in her ear as they swayed to her Latin music on their first date. The time she was so angry with him that she couldn’t even bear to touch him. Her excitement, as he kneeled down with a ring for her finger. The screaming match they had when she forgot their anniversary because of her work. The comfort of his heartbeat as she slept naked on his chest, their chests rising up and down together. The day his mother died, and how she had stood outside the room for hours even though she knew his mother didn’t like her. The moment she held their first baby, the miracle they had made together, feeling his awe and terror echo hers. Calling him from the ambulance in shock, hoping he’d get there as quickly as possible. Wishing for more time.
“No,” he spoke after their long silence. “I don’t want a divorce.” His tone was firm and set, but strained at every word. Even at this moment of revelation, she knew he was sacrificing his chance to be free of her.
“You aren’t happy. You shouldn’t have to stay with me to be a good parent. I can do this alone, and you can do this alone. Maybe that will feel less lonely for both of us. Because it’s clear that we don’t work anymore. Everything feels… broken,” Marie Soledad whispered the words because they hurt too much to say in the conversational voice that she had tried before. She couldn’t even say “divorce” out loud. She wasn’t sure if she believed her own words. She blinked back the tears in her eyes, and took a deep breath to calm her heartbeat.
He sighed, shook his head twice, and then the words were rushing out of him. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been terrible. I don’t know what else to say. I just don’t want a divorce. We can make us work.” He reached for her cold hands, and held them in his warm ones with a squeeze. She was surprised at the tenderness of his gesture. It had been a long time since he touched her with such delicate kindness. But she felt herself recoil against him, as if he had carved out the cracks in their marriage until they were canyons, and then expected her to cross them with one leap of faith.
She wanted to believe his words, but then she remembered the recent drinking, and the long nights away from their bed. The bottles that had been thrown against the wall in anger, and she remembered her fear. She pulled back her hands from his. “You can’t act this way again, if you decide to stay. This pattern isn’t healthy.”
“I know,” he said, the words tense as they came out. “I’ve been angry. I don’t even think it’s at you anymore. I just wish there was something—anything really—that could change things back to how they were before.”
“You wish you could go back in time?” She motioned down at herself in her wheelchair, her puppet-like legs under a blanket, and remembered when he used to run his hands over her legs, the light touch of the tips of his caressing fingers. Now, she felt nothing down there, not even his flinching aversion.
“Do you remember when my mother died?” he asked then. She nodded, surprised that his thoughts had traveled down this avenue. “She used to tell me to think twice about marrying you; right up until her dying breath. She said that you were over-controlling and too independent—”
“Yes,” Marie Soledad remembered. “Your mother never liked me because she never understood the type of woman I was. She was surprised that I’d want to stay at my job after we had children. She didn’t think a woman should work after she got pregnant.”
“The funny thing is that I married you for that very reason. You were so driven. You had so much life in you, and you did everything you set your mind to do.”
“I’ve changed,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I used to think I was invincible. My body used to be me, not the part of me that stopped working.”
He tried to speak, but there was nothing for him to say. Instead, his hand found its way into hers again, and this time, even though there was some hesitance from her behalf, she didn’t pull away.
They could hear the rustling of the children in their beds, and the beeping of the two alarm clocks down the hall. Then they blinked at the sudden sunlight streaming in through their kitchen window, signaling that officially a new day had begun.
“Want to get them ready?” Lucas asked, stashing away the full bottle of beer back in the fridge, and gesturing to the back of their house. There was still the canyon between them, but he no longer felt the need to cut it open any further. For now, Marie Sol could feel a tentative truce forming between them. There was something there in his expression, a remembrance of a time when he would look at her as if she was the most beautiful woman, even though she never was. She saw his regret now, his inability to stop loving her despite everything that had happened.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Marie Soledad responded, almost visibly changing her attitude, trying to push behind her all their words said in past frustration and anger, the strange gap that she could still feel between them. It wasn’t gone, though she was doing her best to ignore it for now. There was a moment of awkwardness as they made their way down the hallway, but then their familiarity took over. Their expert hands worked together picking outfits and packing school lunches, hearing about Matias’s dreams, and Camila’s wish to ride her bicycle today at the park. They attuned into a past rhythm with minor adjustments here and there for Marie Sol. But at least they were working together, which was easier than doing it all alone, and the warm sunlight that morning helped ease them into another effort, and another day. | English | NL | 6a2109e2a939b9ea2460574ca2c2a4ed7218f8c80579cddaa597078e83ec3ffd |
Exploring Southwark and discovering its history
The following account is from Ye Parish of Camerwell by WH Blanch, published in 1877
In the early part of the seventeenth century, so says tradition, there occurred in Camberwell one of the most remarkable incidents on record. The house in which it is said to have taken place was the fine old mansion which, until about occupied a prominent position on the south side of Camberwell Green, and known for many years as the OLD HOUSE ON THE GREEN. Our illustration, which is certainly of a most weird character, should already have prepared the reader for the following narrative, for it must candidly be confessed that if the appeance of the house as it originally stood did not suggest the story, the story that is now current would certainly have inspired an artist to picture such a house.
In the foreground is a mysterious pond over which the trees seem to mourn and moan in a manner which would delight the heart of Miss Braddon. The house itself was a fine specimen of a country mansion, and stood alone in its grandeur, as though it had found its was to Camberwell by mistake, so different was it to the surrounding buildings. Its manificent hall was adorned with frescoes on walls and ceiling by the famour artist Sir James Thornhill,and the noble oak staircase was of great width, and beautifully carved. The dining and drawing-rooms were of unusual proportions, and elbarately worked medallions and other decorations were profusely arrayed. Tradition fixes this spot as the resident of Sir Christopher Wren, aparently without any authority, although local nomenclature has come to the rescue of tradition by naming the road which now occupies the site of this ancient structure as Wren Road.
About the year 1600, this residence was occupied by a wealthy merchant and his lady, whose matrimonial life was rendered miserable by the fierce jealousy of the husband. The lady who was the subject of so much jealousy is described as a person of wonderful charms and spotless innocence, which, however, were no protection against the baseless accusations of an infuriated husband.
“She had jewels and rings and a thousand smart things; was lovely and young with a rather sharp tongue”
and therefore bickerings and quarerellings were of daily occurrence. On one winter’s evening a coach was seen to draw up in the forecourt of this fine old mansion, into which a lady entered and instructions were given to the driver to hurry with all expedition to one of the river ferries, where he was paid and discharged. The occupant of the coach was understood to be the lady of the house, who was never heard of afterwards.
The inconsolable husband made every effort to discover the fate of his wife, and for a season the Old House on the Green was filled with greief uncontrollable and unavailing sighs. Its noble rooms were deserted and their wealthy owner betook himself to other scenes where he hoped to forget his sad and unaccountable loss. Years of travel worked wonders, and once again did the occupant of the old mansion revisit the scene of bygone days, not this time as a man overwhelmed with grief, but as a lover bent on new conquests. During his travels he became enamoured of a wealthy and beautiful heiress, who was t bring back to his noble roooms the happy scenes of his early married life.
All went merry as a marriage bell. His friends clustered around him with warm congratulations on his return and his coming good fortune. A banquet of more than ordinary magnificence was prepared, and never within the walls of this stately mansion were preparations made on so large a scale as on that which was to celebrate the return of the former disconsolate husband. The guests were assembled and laughter rang throughout the ancient halls, but sadness, unaccountable to the guests, was depicted on the countenance of the host, who was noticed to give incoherent orders to his servants. Just as the dinner was about to be served, the master of the house was seen to disappear and many were the conjectures at his prolonged absence.
At length a pistol shot affrighted the assembled guests with its sharp ring, and all rushed to discover its terible import. In the bedroom was seen the frightful and mutilated body of the host lifeless on the floor. The speechless horror of the guests who had deserted a well ordered dinner table and rushing to and fro and the attendance bewilderment and consternation may be filled in by the reader. On the table was found a written confession of the fact that the departure of his wife – the murder and final disposal of the unhappy victim – were his own acts, and that the “lady” who was supposed to have left the house of her own accord never to return was his own butler, dressed in female attire, according to a preconceived plan between the butler and himself, while in fact he had murdered his own wife and buried her in the basement of the house. This portion of the kitchen he blocked up with a brick wall in order to escape detection. An addendum was made to this confession, to the effect that on entering his bedroom after leaving the dinner table he saw the ghost of his late wife which filled him with horror and prompted him to commit suicide.
The statement of course is only traditional but so strongly was it impressed upon the minds of a family of the name of Westmoreland subseuently residing in the house, that one of the sons induced his father to allow the brick partition in the basement to be broken through with a view to elucidate the mystery. Although no corpse was found there, a narrow strip of room was discovered with a floor similar to that of the kitchen, from which the entrance was effected, leading reasonably to the inference that the kitchen was at one time larger, and that a walled partition had been erected for some unknown purpose. | English | NL | d8105b85f51df38c96a96e9919488fff20c9cc35f90625f4f14a0e547b6b01db |
While reading this book , I had often wondered how this interesting and enigmatic association of a British Monarch and her Indian teacher “Munshi ” had escaped the keen eyes of historians. In Hindi , the word “Munshi ” is more traditionally used for accountants of small businesses but this “Munshi” was definitely much more than to Queen
Much has been written about the times of Raj but this unconventional relationship was partly concealed as systematically the evidences were purged after Queen’s death .The teacher and his family were driven away from their homes .All the correspondences were burnt or confiscated and Munshi’s family was hounded upto India to wipe away any residual documents .It was as if the indulgence that the Queen was allowed in her later years was a matter of great shame to the Monarchy and earlier it was forgotten the better it was. Further, the descendants of Abdul Karim had left the subcontinent after partition of India and had settled in Karachi [Pakistan], which further helped to fade away the memories .Post Indian independence ,many historical buildings such as the tomb of Abdul Karim after his death had also fallen into neglect . Fortunately , as the Queen’s journal were in Urdu [Persian script]and they were left alone by foreign historians ,it helped the author a great deal to analyze this relationship .
This book’s claim to fame was its adaptation into a major motion picture [Stephen Frier’s film by the same name ] seven years after it was written .It was initially written in 2010 by Shrabani Basu ,who after majoring in History from St Stephens College in New Delhi trained as a journalist and later joined the London Office of Ananda Bazar Patrika as their correspondent The book was republished one more time seven years later. She has many other books to her credit such as For King and another country ; Indian Soldiers on western Front ;Spy Princess-Life of Noor Inayat khan .The book ,Victoria and Abdul ,was a toil of five years and travel of three countries .
Queen Victoria , was the Queen of United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland from 1837 until her death in 1901 . In 1876 , she adopted the additional title of” Empress Of India .Tall handsome ,24 years old , Abdul Karim was presented to the Queen at her Golden Jubilee celebration with the other Indian servants. Abdul Karim worked as an assistant clerk at Agra Central Jail and his father was a physician of traditional medicine .Though he was supposed to be with the Queen for a year but an incredible relationship happened and lasted more than a decade .
Though Queen was titular head ,but had always taken a keen interest in affairs of her Monarchy .She had strategically arranged the marriages of her children all throughout the Europe and was later known as the “Grandmother Of Europe and always had some kind of political influence in the country . But after the deaths of her husband , Albert, and later her Scottish gillie , John Brown , whose ring she took to her grave, she had an enormous emotional void in her life .None of the trappings of Monarchy or the presence of her big family could fill it .
Just at that point Abdul Karim entered Victoria’s life and he had all the qualities that Queen admired .He was soft spoken , well mannered ,gentle ,good looking ,proud of his heritage, learned and aware of current affairs .When Queen met Karim she was in her geriatric age group but that did not deter the Queen from forging a human relationship which even to the insiders including her own children was of the most bizarre kind .
Victoria had been brought up as an epitome of morality and the relationship was platonic to its core but it was a combination of various relationship in one . She was a mother, well wisher, guide ,employer and he was a companion ,teacher ,adviser to her .
Queen ,though did not travel to India but was always very inquisitive about this colony ,” The Jewel of the Empire “.Soon after her association with Abdul ,his influence on her was complete . Not only did she start learning the language but Indian curries were being cooked and attires were being worn in the household .Interestingly , the journals she kept of her lessons were of profound importance as they played a great role to unearth this beautiful relationship.
As far as Victoria was concerned, he was a part of her household and expected other members to accept Abdul .But the schism was much wider than the Queen imagined . Abdul lasted for almost ten years but it was almost a daily struggle for Queen to legitimize his position in the household as for rest of them, he was just a part of the” Black Brigade”
In the book “White Mughals “ , written by Dalrymple ,we have witnessed that in early 18 th and early 19 th century, 1 in 3 British men in India were married to Indian women but as British supremacy got established, it was expected that the relations should be of ruler and ruled .We have to recall that post 1857, subcontinent had officially declared its War of Independence and though it was overtly quenched , covertly the milieu was most inappropriate for a relationship between a White Monarch and her Brown servant .
From times immemorial , unconventional human relationships had been under persecution .These relationships are perfectly legal but are not allowed to be preserved as some unspoken rules emerge from some corner . Rules of convention , Rules of race , Rules of religion ,Rules of color , Rules of hierarchy and God knows many other unheard of rules But the bonds of these relationships are much stronger and they resurface time and again with their whiff of eternity . | English | NL | ba55eade67b921603b2738f372e5ffcc1509479173e3522f8489952b41d48b1d |
Chris Jacob (Yaacov) Schaefer ©2009
There is a lot of confusion and disagreement over what exactly is the true nature of the “Godhead.” This has been a point of contention in centuries past and it remains a dividing issue even now.
In my own journey of faith, I was drawn to the Messianic movement that had recently gained momentum in the late 1990’s. The Messianic movement consisted of a motley assortment of believers-- all who were questioning what they had previously been taught. Some had wonderful insights, and had cleared up for me many of the itching questions I had had for many years. Others spewed out desolate teachings, that in my soul I knew were wrong, but could not immediately rebut. So as I searched for fellowship with like-minded believers, it soon became clear that there was much more division (and sometimes more treachery) within Messianicism than there was within Christianity. It is this situation that made this book a necessity.
A very important question: Do we desire to have the same kind of belief and praxis as the 1st Century believers or not? If we do, and believe the first century believers to be the closest to the Savior and His teachings, and if we believe their understanding to be the most accurate, then we should be desiring to believe and and live like they did.
So as we grapple with this heavy topic of the “Godhead”, it may be helpful to look at an account where some believers had their understanding adjusted and expanded by another believer.
Maaseh Schlichim/Acts 19:2-6
2 He [Shaul/Pallu] said to them, "Have you received the Ruach
HaQodesh when you believed?" And they said to him, "We
have not even heard whether there is any Ruach
3 And he said to them, "Into what then were you
immersed?" And they said, "Into Yochanan the Immerser's
4 Then said Shaul, "Yochanan the Immerser truly immersed
with the immersion of repentance, saying to the people, that
they should believe on Him who should come after him,
that is, on Moshiach Yehoshua."
5 When they heard this, they were immersed in the Name
of the Master Yehoshua.
6 And when Shaul had laid his hands upon them, the
Ruach HaQodesh came on them
; and they spoke with
tongues, and prophesied.
This passage dealt with general concept of the Ruach HaQodesh's existence.
Five protocols we can learn:
A. When they said that they never heard of the Ruach HaQodesh, Shaul/Pallu did not call them "heretics" and expel them till they repent. But instead, he found out where they were at, and then continued to present a fuller understanding
B. When Shaul/Pallu asked them if they'd recieved the Ruach HaQodesh, they did not call him a "pagan polytheist" and cast him out of their presence for indicating that there is another
Supernatural Being in in conjunction with YHWH.
C. They did not accuse Shaul/Pallu of having a "private interpretation" when he spoke to them of the reality of the Ruach HaQodesh.
D. When Shaul/Pallu laid his hand upon them for them to receive the Ruach HaQodesh they did not call him a "heretic" or "practicer of magic" nor did they expel him away from their assembly.
E. They did not hinder themselves by remaining shackled by the religious establishment's limited understanding
May we all be teachable. | English | NL | 82cc24449299544958c74bb46265ee195308d48d5e414558ec2cc53496def006 |
The Crusading General-The life of Sir Bernard Paget, GCB, DSO, MC by Julian Paget
"Over sixty years on, there can be very few Second World War major military figures whose biographies have not been published, but General Sir Bernard Paget has been, until now, one of them. During the war against Hitler, Paget held key appointments of great importance. He proved himself a shrewd commander during the ill-fated Norway campaign and was appointed Commander-in-Chief Home Forces and later C-in-C 21st Army Group. In both positions he was responsible for building and preparing the Army for the opening of the Second Front. His gift as a superb trainer of troops was given full rein. He was also an early architect of the D-Day landing plans. Yet, as this perceptive work reveals, to his disappointment he was replaced by Montgomery fresh from his victories in North Africa and Italy. Instead Paget became C-in-C Middle East Forces, a huge command previously held by men such as Wavell and Jumbo Wilson. However, the focus of attention had switched to North West Europe and Paget's role has not received the attention it deserves.
The Crusading General traces the full career of this almost forgotten man who wielded immense influence throughout the Second World War and whose contribution to the Allies' ultimate victory has been singularly overlooked.
Written by his son, a distinguished military historian, it has the advantage of full access to all Paget's papers and photographs. It is essential reading for those who have more than a passing interest in the War and art of generalship." | English | NL | 8325c1628de01eb4ccf7250d64277aff4c8ba4975c4b4872092d9d2b5222af32 |
I wrote in a previous post on how my wife and I had made a renewed pact to start devouring books from our local library during which I also mentioned my intention of reading a biography of renowned fantasy/sci-fi and Christian apologetic writer, C.S. Lewis. The book, The Narnian: The life and Imagination of C.S. Lewis, is written by Alan Jacobs a professor of English at Wheaton College in Illinois, and paints a fascinating picture of a man whom I have always respected and enjoyed his fiction. It is not often that I pick up a biography and admittedly I digested this one rather slowly, but I almost had no choice as Jacobs pulled me into Lewis’ world in a way I had never known.
Jacobs doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to “Jack’s” life. You can certainly tell that the author is enamored by his subject, but he does a good job of balancing his praise of Lewis with the realities that plague many of us in this life. Lewis faced a great deal of hardship in his life, as we all do, but to read of his conversion from atheist to Christian and how he was able to rapidly develop prose using parchment and an inkwell pin (he never learned to type) when he had done nothing but struggle with his true love of writing poetry was nothing short of fascinating for me. I found myself empathizing with Lewis’ life as I felt so much of it mirrored parts of my own. My hopes to be a writer and be recognized for it, loving and loathing teaching at the same time, and balancing a life that we are not always prepared for.
The biography has re-inspired in me a desire to read and reread many of Lewis’ work as well as write more of my own. I highly recommend the book to anyone who has read and enjoyed any of his work. | English | NL | a3f0bf1678d36915b8da5004dc01fab4b304412b6d2efa22d1be6baab5a7d35b |
I want to share something that happened today. I’m currently doing three weeks of supply work in Year 2 class at a really lovely school in North London. One of our lessons today was drawing and painting seahorses. I’ve always found drawing really difficult and as a child I remember the frustration when the picture I’d drawn looked nothing like how I’d imagined. In the past I would have set up the paints, shown the pupils a few pictures of seahorses and modelled how to draw one. Then I’d have sent the children to their tables where the paint would have already have been out and told them to do their own.
Today I tried something slightly different. I still showed them pictures of seahorses and we discussed the colours etc… then I showed them these instructions:
I then modelled how to follow the instructions by drawing my own:
Then, as I would have done in the past, I sent the children to their tables however this time there was just a piece of paper and a pencil in each place. Then step-by-step we went through the instructions and drew our seahorses as a class:
“Ok the first step is a small dot in the middle of the page. Will you all do that now? Hold your pencil up in the air when you’re ready to move onto the next step.”
We continued like this, stopping after each step to check everybody had done it, until everyone in the class had drawn their seahorse. Halfway through the lesson some parents on a tour of the school walked in and commented on how quiet the room was which is not something that can normally be said of my art lessons.The children were completely focused on their drawings. In just 15 minutes every single child had drawn a seahorse and I was blown away by the quality of their work. There was no one upset because they couldn’t do it or getting frustrated because their picture didn’t look right. There as the occasional request to use a rubber but that was about it. I didn’t take a photograph of their pictures before they painted them so this one will have to do:
I tell you this fairly mundane story because in the past I would have dismissed teaching art in this way in favour of, “letting them get on with it.” I would have been worried that having the whole class follow step by step instructions one at time would make the lesson sterile and dull. After all, art is meant to be creative and isn’t it one of the few opportunities pupils get to express themselves without worrying about the “right” way? However by the end of this lesson every pupil had a painting they felt proud of because it looked how they’d imagined it would look in their head. It looked like a seahorse.
I’ve always been a big fan of the Austin’s butterfly video. I’ve used it in a number of INSETs as an example of the impact effective feedback can have. After today I’m starting to think that Austin’s teacher could have saved Austin a good eight drafts if she’d just told him how to draw a butterfly in the first place.
There will always be a place for enquiry and discovery in my classroom. I still believe there is a case for the teacher stepping back sometimes and letting children lead. But I think sometimes we need to just tell them. | English | NL | 8da608a4d3ff71d271434e5f88f2395e01f0dcda009a7fef9fc2131a129c9364 |
Matthew 4:22-24 Worldwide English (New Testament) (WE)
22 Jesus called them. Right away they left the boat and their father and went with him.
23 Jesus went all around through Galilee. He taught people in their meeting houses and told them the good news about the kingdom of heaven. He healed all the sick and weak people.
24 The people in all the country of Syria heard about him. They brought all who were sick in any way, or had bad spirits in them, and those who could not walk or use their hands. Jesus healed them. | English | NL | f8405e35393e7bba5064a8ac77bd7367020a4bdc5aee723f3678e0034b17b3ff |
“I don’t like it,” Menchú said.
Asanti sighed. “We’ve been over this before.”
“And we’ll go over it again.”
“I suspect we will,” Asanti said.
Asanti and Menchú sat across from each other at her desk in the center of the restored Black Archives. Her acolytes, she was sure, could hear their voices rising. She watched as Menchú took a deep breath, calming himself down, collecting his thoughts.
But they were arguing about magic—in a way, about the mission—and Asanti knew how personal it was for Menchú. He blamed himself for destroying his hometown, as she’d known soon after meeting him. It had driven him away from magic, toward the Society. She wondered if she would ever force Menchú to the point where he would lose himself in the heat of the argument and say something he couldn’t take back. She wondered if she, too, would ever reach that point. She made herself a promise, right then, that she would do everything she could to prevent that from happening. That she would always try to back off, to remind herself that she cared too much about Menchú and the rest of the team to create a rift between them.
“There is a fundamental problem with the Society using magic to fight magic,” Menchú said.
“Team One uses magic all the time,” Asanti said. “And so do we.”
She gestured toward the Orb. The manual she and Frances were using to decipher it was right in front of her—Menchú had interrupted her mid-paragraph—and she ran her hands again over the characters on the page. Her initial excitement at its discovery had led to a nagging frustration, as the manual had proven to be, well, hard to use. Should I have expected otherwise? she wondered. No. But still: There she was, a polyglot, an expert in her field, in possession of one of the best libraries about magic in the world, and still far too much of the knowledge contained in this book was out of reach. She wanted to call her dissertation advisor, but he was long gone; she missed him. She wanted to contact Perry, as she thought he might know something, but was unsure even how to reach him.
“The Orb is different,” Menchú said.
“Is it? It seems from this book that it can do far more than we ever thought it could. It was built for us to use.”
Menchú sighed again.
“Arguing with you point for point about this is a frustrating exercise,” he said, “when all I am really saying is that I disagree with you on a general principle about the reason for the Society’s existence—its mission. Until very recently, I thought you accepted that mission.”
“I do accept it.”
“Then what has changed?” Menchú asked.
Now it was Asanti’s turn to pause. What, indeed?
“The Hand got too close,” she said.
“That was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence,” Menchú answered. “It will not happen again on our watch.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“When was the last time a demon was in the Vatican?”
“I don’t think that’s the right way to think about it,” Asanti said. “You don’t hear the chatter like Liam and I do. There are rumors that the balance is shifting. That bigger things are coming. And I don’t think we’re prepared.”
“And you think experimenting with magic will change that?”
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“No,” Menchú said, “but that’s irrelevant. It’s not necessary for us to have better ideas. It’s necessary for us to contain magic.”
“I know that,” Asanti said. “Please know that I know that.”
Menchú paused again.
“Just please tell me,” he said, “that you are doing this because you really think it will make our work better. Not because you are following some personal impulse.”
“That is not what I am doing,” Asanti said.
“But I’ve seen it in you before,” Menchú said. “Do not deny that it’s there.”
“It’s there,” Asanti said. “It is.” Which was when she saw her opening. She sharpened her tone, moved in to slit this argument’s throat. “But I would never jeopardize you, or anyone on Team Three, or anyone here at the Vatican, for a passion project. I thought you knew me better—and had more respect for me—than to suggest that.”
She watched, with a little satisfaction, as Menchú’s expression softened, became conciliatory.
“I didn’t mean to suggest that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Asanti said. “And I know this conversation isn’t over. For now, I’m just asking you to trust me.”
“I do,” he said.
“All right. Then let me get back to work.”
She returned to her book. Shook her head. Menchú was right. The Orb was a puzzle to fix, a problem to solve, and it let her lean into the curiosity that had brought her to study magic in the first place, that had brought her to the Vatican. She wanted to know how it worked.
And the visit behind Team Four’s door had put another thought in her head: that she had to find out just what might have happened to them. It occurred to her that the official statement on Team Four—that they had been excommunicated, removed from the Church—did not in fact suggest that the team had been destroyed. There was no... | English | NL | dd8b8cf135ed15aa93088196d2f1c0dffafedc4276397e4d0603bc2278186af7 |
Evidence of a previously unknown Viking king has been discovered in a hoard of silver found by a metal detectorist, stashed in a lead box in a field in Lancashire.
The 201 pieces of silver including beautiful arm rings, worn by Viking warriors, were found on the outskirts of Silverdale, a village near the coast in north Lancashire, by Darren Webster, using the metal detector his wife gave him as a Christmas present. It adds up to more than 1kg of silver, probably stashed for safe keeping around AD900 at a time of wars and power struggles among the Vikings of northern England, and never recovered.
Airdeconut – thought to be the Anglo Saxon coin maker's struggle to get to grips with the Viking name Harthacnut – was found on one of the coins in the hoard.
The Airdeconut coin also reveals that within a generation of the Vikings starting to colonise permanent settlements in Britain in the 870s – instead of coming as summer raiders – their kings had allied themselves to the Christian god. The reverse of the coin has the words DNS – for Dominus – Rex, arranged as a cross.
The hoard is regarded as among the best found this century, and the fact that it was never recovered suggests its owner came to an untimely end.
"It was a considerable sum of money, the price of a reasonable herd of cattle, or a very good herd of sheep," Gareth Williams, a coins expert at the British Museum where the hoard is being studied, said. "One arm ring alone would just buy you an ox."
Webster had collected his son from school, and was heading back to work – but he decided to allow himself a few hours in a field where he had been several times before, but never found anything more exciting than a Tudor half groat.
He hit a strong signal almost immediately, and uncovered a sheet of lead only a few inches down – and was slightly disappointed with his find. The lead proved to be crudely folded into a container, and when he lifted it he released a shower of pieces of silver.
"I knew when I saw the bracelets it had to be Viking," he said. "When I heard later there was one coin that nobody had ever seen before, that was a strange feeling."
The find will go through a treasure inquest next week to determine its value. The reward will be shared between Webster and the land owner. The Museum of Lancaster hopes to raise funds to buy the hoard.
The hoard also had coins minted for Alwaldus, who defected to the Vikings in Northumbria after an unsuccessful attempt to claim the English crown from his considerably better known uncle, Alfred the Great. The Vikings allowed him to call himself a king, but he only survived a few years before dying in battle.
There are also Frankish and Islamic coins, but one of the more intriguing would have been worthless to the original owner. Williams explained that silver coins are often found in Viking hoards, which have been tested by clipping or bending: the scruffy little fake, of copper with the thinnest film of silver almost worn away, shows what they were wary of.
One of the arm rings – usually given by leaders to their warriors in return for services rendered and expected – is particularly unusual, combining Irish, Anglo Saxon and Carolingian style ornament.
Another Viking hoard was found in the next parish in the 1990s, and the site is only about 97km (60 miles) from one of the most famous Viking hoards ever uncovered, the 8,600 pieces of silver, 40kg in total, of the Cuerdale hoard. Staff at the British Museum have been working on the definitive account of its discovery by workmen in 1840, and the contents of the treasure – some closely resembling pieces from the Silverdale hoard – are now within months of publication after a mere 130 years devoted to the task.
The British Museum also announced the most recent results for the treasure finds scheme and the portable antiquities scheme , which encourages voluntary reporting by amateurs of less valuable – but historically priceless – finds. A total of 157,188 antiquities finds were reported, and 1,638 treasure finds in 2009 and 2010,up from 19 reported treasure finds in 1988, an indication of the spectacular increase in reporting since a network of finds officers was established across the country. Treasure finds included a bronze age hoard found near Lewes in East Sussex, evidence of the complex trading networks 3,500 years ago: the objects included gold-foil decoration from northern France, amber beads, which may have come from the Baltic, along with "Sussex loop" bracelets, which have only ever been found within an 80km (50-mile) radius of Brighton. | English | NL | b0c90b0cbbbed1c6237aaeefadd750fbaef1ce720193d18e480c8a29c9a48146 |
FRED L. BUTTON
An attorney of high standing, Fred L. Button practiced continuously in Oakland for more than forty years, using
his legal acumen for the benefit of the city as well as for his own aggrandizement, and he also contributed toward
the cultural development of the community through his accomplishments as a musician. He was born March 10, 1856,
in Pontiac, Michigan, and in 1863 came with his parents to Oakland, where he has since resided.
After completing his grammar school course Mr. Button attended the McClure Academy and the College School. For
a few months he worked in the printing office of the Oakland Transcript, learning to set type, and in 1869 he entered
the first class of the local high school. In 1876 he was graduated from the University of California and was awarded
the university medal and also a prize for the best scientific thesis. For two years he was an instructor in mathematics
at the university and then took up the study of law in the office of Henry Vrooman and W. R. Davis, at that time
a leading Oakland firm. In 1879 he was admitted to the bar but remained with Mr. Vrooman until 1881, when he began
his independent professional career, and soon demonstrated his ability to cope with the intricacies of the law.
Mr. Button was an able advocate as well as a wise counselor and handled much important litigation, winning a large
percentage of his cases, for he never entered the courtroom without preparation as thorough as time and means rendered
possible. He continued in active practice up to the time of his death. As secretary of the board of freeholders
he aided in drafting the new city charter and under the direction of the councilmen of Oakland he often revised
the city ordinances. He twice codified and annotated for publication the ordinances and city charter and was always
ready to serve the municipality to the extent of his ability. His knowledge of the principles of jurisprudence
was comprehensive and exact, and in 1895 he revised for publication the standard law textbook, "Harlow on
Sheriffs." In 1896 he was nominated for the office of city attorney but declined the honor, which came to
Mr. Button was married in 1885 to Mrs. Emma Haas, a daughter of Captain Johland, of Napa, California, who was a
sea captain and an early resident of New Bedford, Massachusetts. He sailed around the Horn and made his home in
Napa, where his brother had previously located. To Mr. and Mrs. Button were born two daughters: Mrs. H. A. Merrill,
a resident of Oakland; and Mrs. Dan H. Knox, of Alameda. By her former marriage Mrs. Button has a daughter, Mrs.
N. T. Luning, of Oakland. She has two grandchildren, David H. and Fred E. Merrill. She is still residing at the
old home at 590 Thirty fourth street, Oakland.
In politics Mr. Button was a stanch republican and November 5, 1899, was unanimously appointed a school director
to fill a vacancy. He was elected for the following term and while serving on the high school committee was largely
instrumental in reorganizing and improving the personnel of the teaching force. A Mason in high standing, he was
chosen master of Oakland Lodge, No. 188, F. & A. M., in 1889 and also belonged to the local chapter, council
and commandery, to Oakland Lodge of Perfection of the Scottish Rite Consistory, and to Aahmes Temple of the Mystic
Shrine. His membership relations likewise extend to the Eastern Star and in 1890 he was made grand patron of the
At an early age Mr. Button showed evidences of musical talent, which was fully developed. In 1870, when a boy of
fourteen, he sang in the May Festival at San Francisco and later was a member of the choir of St. Paul's church
and also of the Independent church, of which the Rev. Hamilton was then pastor. For several years he was a director
and in 1880 was elected president of the original Orpheus Society, which at that time was a choral club of mixed
voices, led by the late W. J. Macdougall. In youth he began the study of the flute and readily mastered that difficult
instrument. For years he played in the Shrine, Templar and Bohemian Bands of San Francisco and Oakland, and in
1925 was one of the organizers of the California Flutists Guild of Oakland, of which he was made secretary. A patron
of the opera, Mr. Button had a collection of opera programs dating from his college days, and these were carefully
preserved in his scrapbook. As a youth he became interested in conchology, which was his father's hobby, and in
the course of a half century the family accumulated one of the largest and finest private collections of shells
in this country. In later years he took an interest in the radio, giving a number of talks over the same on various
subjects. He enjoyed travel, scenery, art and music, was just getting ready to enjoy life with his family when
he was called away.
In 1920 Mr. Button was one of the founders of the Oakland Pioneers Society and served as its president up to the
time of his death, which occurred October 2, 1927, when he was seventy-one years of age. With deep interest he
watched the development of Oakland and had an intimate knowledge of matters pertaining to its history. His activities
touched life at many points, and judged from the standpoint of service, his was a notably successful career.
History of Alameda County, California
BY: Frank Clinton Merritt
The S. J. Clarke Publishing Co.
Chicago, Ill 1928
Alameda County, CA
For all your genealogy needs visit Linkpendium | English | NL | 54b41e07b4278b047318f704163224bb50f0a81c3c65c18b78c7efa20ca9915f |
As a successful commercial artist, Volkhart achieved plaudits from his continued critics. His ability to capture ‘inner light’ within the composition of his paintings was, as in ‘A Surprise visit’, very successful. Painting out of period costume drama was his forte and his scenes of romantic courtship in the late 18th and early 19th century. He continued to benefit from delivering Classical periods as we see here.
Works by this artist…
His Master's Voice( ref : 9325 )
A Suprise Visit( ref : 10052 ) | English | NL | ad571aa9552c624cd60debf4cc4314c038127d887eca6997a9564d8e1f3569d5 |
Eric Gabriel received a B.A. in Studio Art and was a member of the competitive Studio Art Honors Program at the University of Maryland, College Park. He has shown work in D.C. and Maryland, and created work for use as band logos, album covers, and show posters. In 2015 he won the Anwar Sadat Chair for Peace and Development's Art for Peace competition, and his piece was purchased for the collection. His work is informed by a variety of influences and processes, including but not limited to: popular, lowbrow, comic book, and video game art, political and subversive imagery, improvisation, reflexivity, and extreme detail. Lately he’s been working to broaden his skills for applications in concept art & entertainment design. | English | NL | ae4f471c416d5212bb3590bef5d8cc916cd938f86994f73b443c23566e35e1db |
Depressed people have to pop pills. It’s currently one of the only ways to manage the disorder. 350 million people around the world suffer from some kind of depression, and those who are fortunate enough to get treated for it are typically prescribed medication that they have to take multiple times a day. The medications may work, but they also come with countless other negative side effects and take weeks to take effect.
What if you could manage your depression with a single pill taken only once? What if this pill had no side effects and started working immediately? Sounds like science fiction, right? Well it’s not. In fact, this “Magic Pill” has been a part of human culture for thousands of years. It’s only recently that scientists are beginning to explore the possibility that magic mushrooms may have therapeutic effects.
Magic mushrooms grow naturally and come in many types. However, they all contain a chemical compound called psilocybin which is the active ingredient. Psilocybin is part of an entire class of drugs called psychedelics. While under the influence, people are typically entered into a state of consciousness completely unlike any others normally experienced in life, even by other classes of drugs. This experience is commonly known as a “trip”. There have been countless reports of a “mixing of the senses” and “feeling at one with the universe” from recreational users while “tripping”. Studies done in the 1970’s suggested that psychedelics may have clinical potential. However, due to the war on drugs, this class of drugs was made illegal in the 1980’s, and all research was stopped.
In 2016, Roland Griffiths and his research team at Johns Hopkins University ran the first experiment involving psychedelics since they were banned. The study was conducted on cancer patients who exhibited symptoms of depression and anxiety. The goal was to see how effective psilocybin would be in managing these symptoms. Unlike similar studies conducted 30 years before, this one was set up so that neither the administers of the drug nor the patients knew whether the drug was real or a placebo. The only people who knew which dose was which, were the researchers. This is known as a double blind study and is highly regarded as a well designed experiment in scientific circles.
The study consisted of 51 patients and the results look promising. There was an almost immediate drop in symptoms of depression and anxiety in most of the patients and the results were long lasting. By the six month follow up, 78% of patients showed a reduction in symptoms of depression and 83% showed a reduction of symptoms in anxiety. 65% were cured of their depression and 57% were cured of their anxiety.
There were zero physical side effects.
This study has gotten a lot of recognition and praise from other scientists in the field and the results have since been verified independently. The testing of the drug is now moving to phase III clinical trials. While the results look promising, there is a lot more research to be done before this can be established as an approved method of treatment. For example, while this didn’t happen in the study, there have been many reports by recreational users of extreme psychological distress during their “trips”.
Can psilocybin actually turn into a viable cure? Scientists just aren’t sure at the moment. However, what we should not do, is completely disregard or discredit any of the results simply because they were obtained using an illegal substance. All of these substances were hastily made illegal before their effects could be thoroughly scientifically explored. Psychedelics are powerful substances and while there are cases of negative psychological experiences, there have been countless other reports of these drugs having an extremely positive and long lasting effect on the user.
Just put legality aside for one moment. We have a class of drugs that people have been using for thousands of years with many positive effects. Should we swallow this red pill and see what kind of a trip it takes us on, or continue taking the blue one and live in ignorance? | English | NL | 392487699c55c5cb0edf5b0d1cf844972bfa1d90018ba484d08ae0846a44afe4 |
By Michael K. Smith, Ph.D.
I met Ray DeGennaro over coffee at Panera at lunch time on a nice, almost Spring day. Ray had just come from teaching his Introduction to Finance course at the University of Tennessee. He felt that talking to over 200 students in one of UT’s big lecture halls had strained his voice a bit. Our conversation began with me wondering how he chosen his particular career.
Ray admits that he stumbled into his career in finance. He was born in Altoona, Pennsylvania, and raised in Oberlin, Ohio. The son of a high school math teacher, Ray was attracted to an academic career, and his early academic efforts were also in education. He earned a Bachelors in Education from Ohio State and then a Masters in Elementary Education from Ohio University. He taught English and Remedial Reading at the high school level until he enrolled in a Ph.D. program in Reading at Ohio State. At this point, he realized that he was no longer completely interested in this subject, so he switched to the university’s Masters in Business Administration program. One day, one of his professors asked him if he wanted to switch into that Ph.D. program. He accepted the offer, and this choice began his lifelong interest into all matters financial.
Ray has had a distinguished professional and academic career. He was a visiting scholar at the Federal Reserve Bank in Cleveland before he came to the University of Tennessee in 1990. “How was working at the Federal Reserve different from working in academia?” I asked. “It’s surprisingly similar,” he said. At the Federal Reserve, half of his job involved research on monetary issues and financial institutions. The other half involved disseminating this knowledge. “This is exactly what I do at the University level when I conduct research and then teach classes,” Ray said. His enthusiasm for university teaching has been rewarded with several nominations for outstanding teacher awards.
Ray has had great success with his Great Course How the Stock Market Works (see review in this issue). He is currently designing another Great Course on International Economic Institutions. This course will overview such organizations as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund as well as examining “Why Nations Fail” and the economic consequences of such failure. He likes the academic environment because it allows him the freedom to research new topics.
As our conversation was ending, I must admit that I asked Ray some financial retirement questions. Like I was his student, he worked with me to formulate a precise question that he could answer. Once I had my exact question, I didn’t particularly like the answer. (“That’s just the way it works,” Ray laughed.) We parted with a promise to talk again soon.
Michael K. Smith, Ph.D., is owner of TESTPREP EXPERTS (www.testprepexperts.com ) which prepares students for standardized tests such as the ACT and SAT. He is also a consultant to Discovery Education Assessment. He can reached at email@example.com. | English | NL | e38cd03b1357dabf343a10191af5df24031dd66a14562f3e55044fc63b7d6fbd |
I’m a poet.
An early bio on you said you were a retired Navy Commander – a submariner. I want to know how you morphed from a Navy submariner into, of all things, a poet. There must be some stories there.
It has been a lengthy journey with lots of curves and surprise turns – but stories, yes, there are many I could share with you. I’d probably bore you to death.
Well, try me. What drove you into your first writing project?
In my final year of my English classes at the Naval Academy, the last project (hurdle) I had to get over was a thesis on some topic related to naval history. After weeks of indecision, I settled on researching and writing on England’s preparation to meet the Spanish Armada. Not long into the research, I realized the topic was too broad to cover in a thesis, so I selected a segment of that preparation. The paper was titled: “Sir Francis Drake’s Expedition to Cadiz.” My academics at the Academy were not my strong point; I’d consider myself a mediocre student. However, for that paper, I received a 3.9 (on a 4.0 scale) . I was so fascinated with that period of history, I vowed to return to it, expand on my research, and write a book.
I did. However after graduation, life got in the way and my vow was delayed. The book, “Cabin Boy to Captain: A Sea Story,” that incorporates many of Drake’s adventures was written in blank verse and published as a historical novel – 50 years later.
Edward W. Lull | English | NL | 7259982dcb5948d7b7de427b657a23c2cdd35da561a852d2b6be3ef77d73c75b |
Fresh new fiction from Beth Gilstrap
Suebelle thought she’d handle things better in the country. Five years into marriage with Johnny, she blamed their inability to conceive on city fumes, power stations, and all that durn noise. No baby wanted that kind of pile driving, 2 am and the bar on the ground floor is still hopping kind of noise. Not to mention the hundred-year-old windows that leaked and needed caulking. When Suebelle duct-taped cardboard over the bottom half of all four of their windows and stapled pillows on top of it to boot, Johnny said maybe it was time for a change. Lucky for them, a month before their lease ended, Johnny’s granddaddy had the fortitude to finally die of his congestive heart failure.
“Well, you know it’s a blessing,” Suebelle said right there in his dead granddaddy’s living room in front of God and his sweet Granny and everybody. “You couldn’t carry on a conversation with the man anymore. Didn’t do a thing but stare at Bonanza reruns. That ain’t no kind of life.”
His grandma pulled on Johnny’s shirtsleeve until he was right by her mouth. “What did she say? Did she say he was better off dead?” blowing a hint of menthol chewing tobacco at him.
“Nah, Grandma. She wouldn’t speak such things,” Johnny said, looking at Suebelle that way where his eyes bulged and his upper lip twitched.
When Suebelle announced to the room she would be outside if anyone needed her, the relief was instant, like a fast July rain.
If Suebelle was supposed to be sorry, she wasn’t. She had no intention of letting herself get to that point of decay, of going batty in some nursing home where they threw sad 4th of July parties, everyone wheeling around in their stained clothes with little American Flag pins on their t-shirts, trying and failing to eat hot dogs on buns. No siree. Suebelle knew she’d take care of it herself. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to work a gun, but she’d figure something out. Pills. Hobble herself over to some train tracks and just lie down. No note or anything. If she made it to that age, people would assume she was demented and lost and oops walked smack into the 6pm Norfolk Southern. Poor old Suebelle, they’d say.
Back inside, the family made plans without her. “Well, Johnny, you know I’m not staying around here anymore since your Grandpa passed. Your Daddy and me talked about it and thought you might want to move out here and take care of the place for us. I don’t aim to sell it as long as it might do you and your new family some good,” his grandma said, careful to get a jab in Johnny’s ribs on the word “family.”
“I’ll have to talk to Suebelle.”
“I think you got to do more than talk, darlin’,” she said, tossing her head back in a laugh. With grandma’s sex talk, the whole room giggled, but almost as quick as it started, the laughter took a sharp turn to tears for Grandpa. They all agreed the world had lost a good man and once the Baptist contingency of the friends and family left, they all got to drinking proper.
Suebelle could feel Johnny watching her from the porch, but she didn’t look back. She walked the edge of the field where his family used to grow tobacco, humming a little Otis Redding and wishing she hadn’t given up on her guitar lessons. Maybe if she could play the blues better, she could manage to seduce her body and Johnny’s into making three out of two. Her arms had started to show age. More brown spots. A little more softness and flesh, the hint of cellulite when she pressed down on her arm. She told herself she was okay with it. She told Johnny she liked the way women aged, that she’d always felt old anyhow. Now her outside matched her innards was all.
Back in the city that night after all that drinking and mortality, they tried and failed to make a baby. By this point, she had stopped getting her hopes up in between periods. Used to be she’d stop drinking altogether, avoid caffeine, take the folic acid pills and the whole shebang, but hell, she was doing good now if she kept her drinks to two.
“Sweetness?” Johnny said.
“Yeah,” she said rolling onto her side. Red lights twirled across the ceiling.
“Grandma says she wants us to move in to her place since she’s headed to Sunset Manor.”
“We could get away from the city? How much rent will your people charge us?”
“None. We just have to look after the place,” he said, rubbing her shoulder.
“We could put a tire swing on that maple by the field.”
“Yes, sweetness. We sure could.”
“Can we redecorate?”
“She says it’s ours, to make it our own.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetness,” he said draping his leg over hers.
Five months after moving into his family’s farmhouse, Suebelle was still barren, but the house shined from new paint, rugs, and shutters on the bottom half of the twenty-three windows in the place. It was a step up from pillows stapled to cardboard. Johnny had been promoted at the bank, but had to travel a lot more so Suebelle was left home in those fifteen heated rooms and a root cellar with no baby and money to spend. She made the house hers until she was out of ideas. After that, she took to wandering the property. Twenty acres sounds like a lot until you’ve walked it so many times you can walk it drunk in the dark.
Little by little, Suebelle built herself a fort in the forest at the back of the abandoned tobacco field. When Johnny had only spent one night out of twenty at home, she rolled up one of the rugs that had clashed with the paint in the foyer and dragged it on out to her hiding spot. Not that she had anyone to hide from most of the time. His family didn’t come around when he was on the road. The quiet in the house had gotten fifteen leagues of deep, so deep it made her head throb. This might have been of concern to her friends if she’d kept in touch with any of them after college. It might have concerned Johnny if he’d ever been home long enough to wake up from his work and travels. When he came home, he was shell Johnny, shadow Johnny, couldn’t-even-touch-her-if-he-wanted-to Johnny. First it was the rug, then a tent and her guitar. She made a fire pit out of cinderblocks from the old house where traveling pickers used to sleep at harvest. She wondered if the land remembered their suffering; now, she blamed its ghosts for her lack of baby. For a while, she’d sit out there next to a fire she built herself on this land that had no memory of her own blood, her own family, and strum her guitar til her fingers blistered. She’d sing “ain’t got no man” songs and play into the wee hours to no one but the scrub pines and deer. The “no baby” songs were instrumental. She had no words for them.
Soon, Suebelle and Johnny had no words for each other.
Suebelle knew they were in it big time when he stopped calling her sweetness. She always told herself they would be okay as long as when he got home, he lifted her chin so she had to look at him and said, “You’re my sweetness.” The first night he didn’t call her by the pet name, she made him chili. He ate it with Uncle Ben’s and said thank you and cleaned up his own mess.
He was so polite she wanted to beat him with her guitar.
She slept in her tent in the woods and he only noticed when she didn’t make the coffee before he left again. Suebelle heard his car crunch down the gravel and then put her tent in the fire. It burned strange and pungent. All color and fume. Her mismatched rug had grown a good layer of moss and she didn’t even have the heart to play anymore. No more “ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone” songs. She needed to create something, but what? Songs were too ephemeral for her now, lost to the trees, drowned in her own haywire.
For the rest of winter, she stayed indoors watching soap operas and game shows. She forced herself to run the vacuum once a week, but she quit cooking and now ate a different Lean Cuisine for each weekday. Weekends she ate frozen pizza. Johnny had TGIF frozen wings and cheese sandwiches on white bread when he was home. They’d nod at each other and drink in front of any number of cooking or dance contest shows until they both fell asleep.
Those months, she thought a lot about Johnny’s grandpa as she sat curled under his afghan in his favorite chair. The way he gurgled the last year of his life, mostly. Come April when the ground finally thawed, she walked the property again. Suebelle needed fresh air and exercise, to get her blood moving, to make something, anything. To somehow make up for her lack of Sweetness.
When Suebelle found the carcass out next to the maple, she knew she’d found her project. It looked to be a cow; maybe some kind of elk. She didn’t know much about that kind of thing. More horns than anything. She guessed those turkey vultures she’d seen a while back had eaten well since there wasn’t much flesh left to speak of. A little at the hooves. There, in the spot she’d envisioned spinning a little girl in a tire swing, were the bones of her future only she didn’t know it yet. All she knew was she was going to use them for something. Make something so this life at least didn’t go to waste. She dragged the carcass over to the back of the house to what had been Johhny’s granddaddy’s workshop.
When Johnny came home eight days later, Suebelle met him at the door with wine-stained lips and a bear hug. She wore a pair of his grandpa’s dickie’s and Johnny’s Green-era R.E.M. t-shirt.
He pushed away. “What’s got into you? Aside from a shit ton of wine?”
“I made us a little family,” Suebelle said. “And dinner. I made that hash brown casserole you like. With the crunchy onions.”
Johnny smiled, but took another step back. “Well, that’s a nice surprise. You know, I’m glad to see you coming out of your funk a little bit. Maybe it was just the winter blues is all? Maybe now spring’s here, you’ll feel better.”
She grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him in a way that made him wonder if he’d ever see his real wife again.
“I do feel better,” she said. “I finally figured out how to make this place ours. I’ve made us a family.” She led him into the dining room where she’d moved her new baby. She had positioned the figure she’d made from the carcass in the back corner of the dining room next to the window so it could get good light. Suebelle had also clothed her baby, draping her in one of Johnny’s grandma’s old tablecloths. Modesty was important. Staring at a skull wrapped in a cloak and standing at a man’s height, Johnny didn’t quite know what he was looking at, but he was worried enough to grab Suebelle by the waist just in case she was about to slit his throat or something.
“Well, now Suebelle,” he said, scratching his scruff while keeping one hand on her. “What on God’s green earth is it?”
“That’s Sweetness,” she said. “That’s my baby.” She wriggled loose and pinched a few buds off the roses on the table and sprinkled them over her baby.
“I don’t follow, hon.” He got up and lifted the tablecloth to see an old tripod from her college photography days. She had taped a pillow up where a man’s shoulders would be.
Johnny thought of what to say, how he should approach the situation, wondered if she’d fallen in with some devil-worshiping tweakers. He touched the tip of the horns and turned to her with those same old bug eyes that were supposed to scare her straight.
“I think it’s an elk. Found her out by where we were going to put the tire swing,” she said.
“I think it’s a cow. And hon, only males have horns.”
“I told you. Her name’s Sweetness. Now, be a doll and set the table.”
Suebelle hummed one of her “no man” songs as she cut out big squares of casserole, but she no longer remembered the melody to her “no baby” songs. She didn’t have to. As long as she had someone to call Sweetness, she was gonna be just fine out in the country.
After Suebelle sat down and had her napkin in her lap, she raised her glass to Sweetness and nodded at Johnny, but he looked pale. He waited for Suebelle to take the first bite. After he finished the only good meal his wife had made in nearly a year, he said, “Baby, I think we need to talk.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I got my man and my baby Sweetness and all is right with the world.”
Beth Gilstrap is the author of I Am Barbarella: Stories (Twelve Winters Press, 2015) and No Man’s Wild Laura (Hyacinth Girl Press, forthcoming 2016). She serves as Fiction Editor of Little Fiction. She has been awarded residencies at The Vermont Studio Center and The Cabin at Shotpouch Creek through Oregon State University’s Spring Creek Project for ideas, nature, and the written word. Her work has appeared in Quiddity, Ambit, The Minnesota Review, Literary Orphans, and Synaesthesia Magazine, among others. She lives in Charlotte with her husband and enough rescue pets to make life interesting. | English | NL | 837b52ba5cf737d667295e0f683f8d389768eab9b4c216b87761bc5c69ffb836 |
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I loved him; I knew I did, and I knew that he loved me. Although it killed me inside, I had a duty to perform, and a vow to uphold; a vow to myself and a vow to my husband.
"Honey, can't we talk about this?" The sound of his voice, and the pain that was evident in his words, made me wish I could take him in my arms and hold him, until all his tears dried and all his fears ceased existence. But I couldn't. Not this time.
"I'm sorry, Travis, but this has to end. Here, tonight....now," My heart was breaking inside my chest as I spoke the words, but I stood my ground. "I love you, Travis, you know that, but nothing can happen between us."
"But why not? Is it me? I can change, Baby, please--"
"No, it's not you. It's me. I'm married, Travis."
He seemed taken back by my statement. "Well, I know that...I've always known," he stated, unable to conceal the honest shock in his voice. "But so what? What does you being married have to do with anything? You could get a divorce, everyone does."
I shook my head. "I'm not everyone, Travis. I will stay with my husband and I will love him."
"But you don't!"
Tears welled in my eyes as I heard his words. "No, I don't. But I did once, and I can and will love him again. Travis, love is difficult. Fairy-tales don't happen. Happy endings aren't real. If I want my marriage to work, I have to work. I have to fight for it."
I took his hand in mine and looked into his baby blues. "Thank you...if it weren't for you, I never would have realized that." His eyes began to water as tears formed. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and whispered goodbye as I walked away.
I had made a vow, many years earlier, that in sickness and health, for richer or for poorer, I would stand by my husband and love him. I had broken that promise the day I met Travis. I fooled myself into believing the lie of happy endings.
As I walked away from Travis that day, I made three vows to myself:
The first vow I made was to never again see Travis. It broke my heart to say it, but I had to. If I wanted my marriage to work, all hindrances had to be removed and that began with Travis.
The second vow I made was that I would no longer believe the lie of fairy-tales and that true love has a happy ending. Because I then knew that true love doesn't have a happy ending, since true love should never have an ending.
The third and final vow I made was that I would never again break the most important vow, my wedding vows. I would keep that vow until the day I closed my eyes and into eternity I found myself.
I took a deep breathe. There I was, at my front door. It was time to face reality and talk to my husband. I gathered all the strength I had left, turned the door knob, and opened the door. | English | NL | 0e0be56d94b1148cf6b76ba9741c2ebb453e3628c0af7b6303bd3650e729c593 |
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femara be used for infertility | English | NL | 76e2e694ae5a25d942856d82d3972419eea58442be303a3945fa045b5d80eb98 |
The Star by Maurice Baring
He had long ago retired from public life, and in his Tuscan villa, where he now lived quite alone, seldom seeing his friends, he never regretted the strenuous days of his activity. He had done his work well; he had been more than a competent public servant; as Pro-Consul he proved a pillar of strength to the State, a man whose name at one time was on men's lips as having left plenty where he had found dearth, and order and justice where corruption, oppression, and anarchy, had once run riot. His retirement had been somewhat of a surprise to his friends, for although he was ripe in years, his mental powers were undiminished and his body was active and vigorous. But his withdrawal from public life was due not so much to fatigue or to a longing for leisure as to a lack of sympathy, which he felt to be growing stronger and stronger as the years went by, with the manners and customs, the mode of thought, and the manner of living of the new world and the new generation which was growing up around him. Nurtured as he had been in the old school and the strong traditions which taught an austere simplicity of life, a contempt for luxury and show, he was bewildered and saddened by the rapid growth of riches, the shameless worship of wealth, the unrestrained passion for amusement at all costs, the thirst for new sensations, and the ostentatious airs of the youth of the day, who seemed to be born disillusioned and whose palates were jaded before they knew the taste of food. He found much to console him in literature, not only in the literature of the past but in the literature of his day, but here again he was beset with misgivings and haunted by forebodings. He felt that the State had reached its zenith both in material prosperity and intellectual achievement, and that all the future held in reserve was decline and decay. This thought was ever present with him; in the vast extension of empire he foresaw the inevitable disintegration, and he wondered in a melancholy fashion what would be the fate of mankind when the Empire, dismembered and rotten, should become the prey of the Barbarians.
It was in the winter of the second year after his retirement that his melancholy increased to a pitch of almost intolerable heaviness. That winter was an extraordinarily mild one, and even during the coldest month he strolled every evening after he had supped on the terrace walk which was before the portico. He was strolling one night on the terrace pondering on the fate of mankind, and more especially on the life--if there was such a thing--beyond the grave. He was not a superstitious man, but, saturated with tradition, he was a scrupulous observer of religious feast, custom, and ritual. He had lately been disturbed by what he considered to be an ill-favoured omen. One night--it was twelve nights ago he reckoned--the statues of Pan and Apollo, standing in his dining-room, which was at the end of the portico, had fallen to the ground without any apparent cause and had been shattered into fragments. And it had seemed to him that the crash of this accident was immediately followed by a low and prolonged wail, which appeared to come from nowhere in particular and yet to fill the world; the noise of the moan had seemed to be quite close to him, and as it died away its echo had seemed to be miles and miles distant. He thought it had been a hallucination, but that same night a still stranger thing happened. After the accident, which had wakened the whole household, he had been unable to go to sleep again and he had gone from his sleeping chamber into an adjoining room, and, lighting a lamp, had taken down and read out of the "Iliad" of Homer. After he had been reading for about half an hour he heard a voice calling him very distinctly by his name, but as soon as the sound had ceased he was not quite certain whether he had heard it or not. At that moment one of his slaves, who had been born in the East, entered the room and asked him what he required, saying that he had heard his master calling loudly. What these signs and portents signified he had no idea; perhaps, he mused, they mean my own death, which is of no consequence; or perhaps--which may the Fates forfend--some disaster to an absent friend or even to the State. But so far--and twelve days had passed since he had seen these strange manifestations--he had received no news which confirmed his fears.
As he was thus musing he looked up at the sky, and he noticed the presence of a new and unfamiliar star, which he had never seen before. He was a close observer of the heavens and learned in astronomy, and he felt quite certain that he had never seen this star before. It was a star of peculiar radiance, large and white--almost blue in its whiteness--it shone in the East, and seemed to put all the other stars to shame by its overwhelming radiance and purity. While he was thus gazing at the star it seemed to him as though a great darkness had come upon the world. He heard a low muttering sound as of a distant earthquake, and this was quickly followed by the tramping of innumerable armies. He knew that the end had come. It is the Barbarians, he thought, who have already conquered the world. Rome has fallen never to rise again; Rome has shared the fate of Troy and Carthage, of Babylon, and Memphis; Rome is a name in an old wife's tale; and little savage children shall be given our holy trophies for playthings, and shall use our ruined temples and our overthrown palaces as their playground. And so sharp was the vividness of his vision that he wondered what would happen to his villa, and whether or no the Barbarians would destroy the image of Ceres on the terrace, which he especially cherished, not for its beauty but because it had belonged to his father and to his grandfather before him.
An eternity seemed to pass, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of the armies of those untrained hordes which were coming from the North and overrunning the world seemed to get nearer and nearer. He wondered what they would do with him; he had no place for fear in his heart, but he remembered that on the portico in the morning his freedman's child had been playing with the pieces of a broken jar, a copper coin, and a dog made of terra-cotta. He remembered the child's brown eyes and curly hair, its smile, its laughter, and lisping talk--it was a piece of earth and sun--and he thought of the spears of the Barbarians, and then shifted his thoughts because they sickened him.
Then, just when he thought the heavy footsteps had reached the approach of his villa, the vision changed. The noise of tramping ceased, and through the thick darkness there pierced the radiance of the star: the strange star he had seen that night. The world seemed to awake from a dark slumber. The ruins rose from the dust and took once more a stately shape, even lordlier than before. Rome had risen from the dead, and once more she dominated the world like a starry diadem. Before him he seemed to see the pillars and the portals of a huge temple, more splendid and gorgeous than the Temples of Caesar. The gates were wide open, and from within came a blare of trumpets. He saw a kneeling multitude; and soldiers with shining breastplates, far taller than the legionaries of Caesar, were keeping a way through the dense crowd, while the figure of an aged man--was it the Pontifex Maximus, he wondered?--was borne aloft in a chair over their heads.
Then once more the vision changed. At least the temple seemed to grow wider, higher, and lighter; the crowd vanished; it seemed to him as though a long corridor of light was opening on some ultimate and mysterious doorway. At last this doorway was opened, and he saw distinctly before him a dark and low manger where oxen and asses were stalled. It was littered with straw. He could hear the peaceful beasts munching their food.
In the corner lay a woman, and in her arms was a child and his face shone like the sun and lit up the whole place, in which there were neither torches nor lamps. The door of the manger was ajar, and through it he saw the sky and the strange star still shining brightly. He heard a voice, the same voice which he had heard twelve nights before; but the voice was not calling him, it was singing a song, and the song was as it were a part of a larger music, a symphony of clear voices, more joyous and different from anything he had ever heard.
The vision vanished altogether; he was standing once more under the portico amongst the surroundings which were familiar to him. The strange star was still shining in the sky. He went back through the folding-doors of the piazza into the dining-room. His gloom and his perplexity had been lifted from him; he felt quite happy; he could not have explained why. He called his slave and told him to get plenty of provisions on the morrow, for he expected friends to dinner. He added that he wanted nothing further and that the slaves could go to bed. | English | NL | f96daeb1085af8cea2400853919663ad8beada707250a46760e22f45e3e47c1e |
It seems that everywhere Paul went he incited either a riot or a revival — or both. After preaching the Word for three weeks in the Thessalonian synagogue some of the Jews were “persuaded” to believe the gospel, but some were infuriated by it (v.4-5). The place where Paul was staying was broken into by an angry mob of hired thugs. In Berea (v.10-13) the mob from Thessalonica tracked Paul down, and he had to be smuggled out of the city to make his way to hiding in Athens.
All alone in Athens, Paul continued to share the gospel while he waited for his companions. Athens was known as the intellectual center of the world. The Athenians had a lot of knowledge but they didn’t know how or what to worship. For fear of neglecting some god or goddess, they worshiped the images of many deities. Idols lined every street, stood at the door of each building, and filled the beautiful temples. One historian of that era, Petronius, said, “In Athens it was easier to find a god than a man.” Athens was smothering in idolatry, and all that lostness, spiritual blindness, and false hope grieved Paul deeply (v.16).
Paul began to witness to anybody who would stand still long enough: Jews in the synagogue, Gentile worshipers there, and anyone he found hanging around the marketplace. God arranged for Paul to be heard in the marketplace by representatives of the two great schools of philosophy in Athens, the Epicureans and the Stoics. These men took Paul by force to the Areopagus (the court of the intellectuals) for a kind of informal hearing. (God was sovereignly getting Paul into position to make the maximum impact with a gospel witness to some of the greatest minds of his day.)
Standing before these great thinkers, Paul found people who were very smart, but who admitted their own ignorance about the truth. They had an altar dedicated “TO THE UNKNOWN GOD” (v.23). Paul used that as his starting point to share the grand story of the gospel, from creation (v.24) to judgment (v.31). Paul presented his message in an intellectually appealing way, but he did not back down from the truth. He shared about the death and resurrection of Jesus and he told them that God commanded them to repent of their sins (v.30). The response was varied: some mocked Paul, some were curious and asked to hear more, and some received the gospel and became believers.
Be ready today for God to give you an opportunity to make the unknown known to someone who is lost and seeking the truth (v.23). Just share what Jesus has done for you and leave the results to Him. Like Paul, let the will of God lead you — and give ’em Jesus! | English | NL | a67d2531f466f354c9e911aef7a9c7ee181c0247e21e03c1909f00003a93afb0 |
Personal recollections told to William E. Ryker – Sept. 1910
I was born in October 1828 on the farm where was built the “Old Fort”, or what was commonly known as Buchanan Station. My grandfather, George Buchanan, moved there with his family in the Autumn of 1814 from Paris, Ky. to which place he emigrated from the barrens of York (i.e. hills of York, County Pennsylvania). He built the fort and stockade shortly afterwards as a defence against the Indians. Grandfather Buchanan was a soldier in the Revolution. He died at the age of 102 years. Grandmother lived to be 101 years. They are buried in the McLaughlin burying ground west of where the fort was built.
The fort, or station, was built of logs. There was a heavily barred door. Around the walls were loop holes or firing ports. It had a projecting upper story with ports for firing out and down should the enemy scale the outer walls and attempt to fire the fort, as was frequently done in the times of frontier forts. The fort was surrounded at a distance of a rifle shot by an outer wall or stockade, consisting of a solid wall of posts set firmly in the ground and sharpened at the tops, ground and sharpened at the tops, and a massive gate, heavily barred, served for coming in and going out. There were also loopholes in this outer wall to enable the garrison to shoot down the approaching savages.
The Indians stopped at my Aunt Mary Benefiel’s cabin when they were on their way to Pigeon Roost and robbed her of the dinner she had just set for the “log rollers”. She had to blow the dinner horn twice that day. Some days afterwards, the word came to the station of the massacre at Pigeon Roost.
My father, Willson Buchanan, built his cabin south of where the fort stood. East of him was uncle Jack Buchanan’s claim, west of father’s were the lands of Uncle William Buchanan and Uncle George McLaughlin. They were then all in Jefferson County as Ripley County was then but a part of Jefferson, as were parts of Jennings and Scott. Adjoining my father and uncle on the south (in what is still Jefferson County) were the homesteads of Cousin William McLaughlin; Uncle George Benefiel (a soldier in the Revolution); cousin John West, Moody Pullem and George Mermoo [a variant of the name Mermoud]. These last joined the Ripley County line as afterwards located. The Benefiels nearly all settled within the boundaries of Shelby Township, while the Buchanans have rather inclined to Ripley County, although there are many of their descendants in both counties.
I may be said to have lived in both counties. Madison was always our trading point, and although it was over the hills and “away far.” My recollections of Ripley County, as well as of North Jefferson, are of a time when with the exception of the settlers’ cabins and small clearing here and there, it was an almost unbroken forest of giant poplars, monarch oaks, with cherry, linn, ash and beech of even giant size as undergrowth. There was still some wild game left. I remember going after the cows one evening, when I ran and climbed up a large poplar log, a deer sprang up and bounded away. Through the dense forest, I ran the opposite way as fast as my little legs could carry me. Squirrels were so plentiful that we boys were required to watch the corn fields and shoot them to save the corn.
We had some glorious fox chases in those days, too. Pigeons would come flocking in when the beech nuts were ripe. They would fly in swarms to as to almost darken the sun, mornings and evenings, as they came from or returned to the Pigeon Roost. There appeared to be millions of them at times, and the noise of their wings would sound like the roaring of a hurricane in the great wide forests. Our hogs fattened on the oak and beech mast and when we were hungry for mess of pork we had but to take down the rifle and go to the woods for a fat hog. Hogs, sheep and cattle were marked in those days, just as they are branded with the owner’s brands out on the ranges now. Thus, a crop and a slit in the left ear with a half crop and underslit in the right ear would be one man’s mark; whilst a half crop and a slit in the left ear with a crop, a slit and an under bit in the right ear would be another’s mark and so on.
I remember when a lad going with my father to the New Marion larding machine. There was but one house on the road from Haney’s Corner to New Marion. The parents and the children at this house had white hair and little eyes. Our roads were mostly just blazed roads, and when we were not jolting over roots we were in the mud and chuck holes. As to our mails, “Old Ben” Whitham was both postmaster and mail carrier. He would walk to Madison and back the same day carrying the mail sack on his shoulder and the next day he would go the same way to Versailles and back. We had mail once a week from each place. | English | NL | 676514505b888e065c5ace7ad9b207f7fdc7dbf386d2db22ad73d9a5be25c0b8 |
For countless decades, those referred to as Spirit-empowered believers were deemed crazy. But in our times, the Holy Spirit is moving in fresh, unmistakable ways. We are witnessing a revolution, and for those who are watching, the true source is undeniable.
Ivan's incredible story of redemption and Holy Spirit rescue has the unique distinction of changing not only my life but the lives of thousands of people. Ivan (not his real name) grew up in a small village in Russia. Life was simple enough until his father died when Ivan was barely 18, leaving him with the responsibility of helping to provide for his mother and seven younger siblings. Overwhelmed by their circumstances, his family moved from their village to a larger town to find work. With his new responsibilities weighing on his shoulders, Ivan set out to find work.
Instead, he ran into trouble. Two of the families in his apartment building made a hearty living as thieves, and they taught him how to steal. The money and all that he was accomplishing seemed to come easy. Until one day, it didn't. Before he turned 25, Ivan found himself in a Russian courthouse, the judge's guilty verdict echoing in his ears.
The prison to which he was condemned was so harsh that neither family members nor preachers dared visit. However, amidst the darkness and loneliness that seemed to have consumed his life, an unusual miracle took place. During lunchtime one day, the head of the prison brought in a box of Gideon New Testament Bibles. Somehow it had come by mail, the officer explained, and any prisoner was welcome to take one back to his cell. Ivan picked up the New Testament and began to read.
He couldn't put it down. By the time he finished, warm tears were flowing down his cheeks. In that moment, he surrendered his heart and life to Christ and prayed the sinner's prayer. Almost as soon as Ivan said amen, something came over him, and he began to speak in a language he had never learned. It frightened him to the point that he thought he was losing his mind.
Determined to understand what just happened, Ivan began to read through his little book one more time. He decided that if there was nothing in it that explained what had happened to him, he would know he had lost his mind, and he would commit suicide. His heart soared and then fell as he read through Matthew, Mark, Luke and John again but found no evidence of the experience he had in his cell the night before. His hope waning fast, Ivan reached Acts 1. He devoured it and quickly turned to Acts 2. There, he found his answer: "And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues, as the Spirit enabled them to speak" (Acts 2:4).
He wasn't crazy after all. That was what had happened to him—and if the Holy Spirit could change his life in such a way, why wouldn't He do it for others? Filled with fresh faith, hope and Holy Spirit power, Ivan began to tell everyone what God had done in his life.
For many years now, he has extraordinarily preached the gospel, planted churches and fed the hungry families of Russia. His life has left an indelible mark on the Russian church and the worldwide community of believers. Even more, Ivan's story is a poignant reminder that the world needs Jesus, but the church still needs the mighty infilling power of the Holy Spirit.
You're beautiful. I see Jesus in you!
Have an awesome week.
Mikel French has challenged spiritual awakening all across America, where many celebrations extended into multiple weeks, and has conducted celebrations in France, Sweden, Russia, Romania, Poland, Ukraine, Moldova, Serbia, Germany, South Africa, Malawi, the Philippines, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Haiti, Japan, Singapore, India and Thailand. He conducted an outreach celebration in Manila, Philippines, reaching 200,000 teenagers with the Book of Hope. Through the generous support of partners, he has presented the message of Jesus Christ to millions of people in the nation of Russia through televised citywide soul-winning celebrations. Mikel considers it an honor to assist in conducting the annual pastor's conference, where thousands of pastors from Russia's 11 time zones come for training, teaching and equipping. Mikel and his wife, Marsha, reside in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
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Dr. Mark Rutland's
National Institute of Christian Leadership (NICL)
The NICL is one of the top leadership training programs in the U.S. taught by Dr. Mark Rutland. If you're the type of leader that likes to have total control over every aspect of your ministry and your future success, the NICL is right for you!
FREE NICL MINI-COURSE - Enroll for 3-hours of training from Dr. Rutland's full leadership course. Experience the NICL and decide if this training is right for you and your team.Do you feel stuck? Do you feel like you’re not growing? Do you need help from an expert in leadership? There is no other leadership training like the NICL. Gain the leadership skills and confidence you need to lead your church, business or ministry. Get ready to accomplish all of your God-given dreams. CLICK HERE for NICL training dates and details.
The NICL Online is an option for any leader with time or schedule constraints. It's also for leaders who want to expedite their training to receive advanced standing for Master Level credit hours. Work through Dr. Rutland's full training from the comfort of your home or ministry at your pace. Learn more about NICL Online. Learn more about NICL Online. | English | NL | 1c3e0361f18746661b2a7e873f3acfb646b7230ad8aac1940faedae408a5279f |
I consider one of the greatest gifts I have ever received to be the fact that I knew Fr. Charlie. Granted, I was very young when I knew him and most of my memories are the little “snapshot” memories of a child, but I knew him none the less. He was the priest at St. Stephen in Salado, my home parish, for much of my childhood. He heard my first Confession and gave me my First Communion.
He really was a spiritual father to me in many ways. He was so kind to everyone, but especially children, and I remember how he always called me “Honey.” One of the things I knew about him as a child was his “bottomless pockets” where he would carry all kinds of little trinkets and pins that he would give to people. I have several beautiful crucifixes that he gave to me when I needed a word or two of encouragement.
It was because of his great witness that there was no doubt in my mind where I would go to high school. I was so excited to start at Holy Trinity as a freshmen because I knew it was a place dear to Fr. Charlie’s heart. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was in the last few months of his life when I was just starting my life at Holy Trinity.
I remember commenting to my mother one time, after an episode when it was becoming clear that Fr. Charlie’s health was beginning to decline, “It’s a miracle that he drives himself all the way from his home in Georgetown to Holy Trinity everyday.” Her response was that he could do that because he knew that his guardian angels would get him there safely. I always admired Fr. Charlie for that: his simple, childlike trust in God.
I have one distinct memory of Fr. Charlie’s childlike faith from my own childhood. During a homily at St. Stephen he talked about the goodness and beauty of creation and of each person. To make this point he brought out an old record player and played a record with the song “If I Were a Butterfly” on it. He invited all the children up to the front of the church to join him in singing and dancing during the song, flapping their arms for the butterfly and wiggling their hands for the fish. I still remember the words:
“If I were a butterfly,
I’d thank you, Lord, for giving me wings;
And if I were a robin in a tree,
I’d thank you Lord, that I could sing;
And if I were a fish in the sea,
I’d wiggle my tail and I’d giggle with glee;
But I just thank you Father, for making me – ME!
’Cause you gave me a heart and
You gave me a smile
You gave me Jesus, and
You made me His Child
And I just thank you, Father
For making me – ME!”
I thank God for that memory of singing and praising God with Fr. Charlie. He was always praising God, even when things were hard. It was that knowledge that got me through another time I would sing with Fr. Charlie, because this time was much more difficult.
Fr. Charlie passed away December 18th, 2009, during my freshman year of high school. I remember because it’s the day after my brother’s birthday. For his funeral, before his body was transported back to Iowa to be buried, there was a mass at St. Helen’s Catholic Church in Georgetown. Holy Trinity’s Bella Sona choir, which I was a member of, was invited to sing at the mass.
I remember rehearsing before mass and being unable to sing from all the emotion I was experiencing. Right before mass started Mrs. Fette, the choir director at the time, gathered us around for a prayer. She was also very emotional, and she prayed that we would have enough strength to get through the mass and sing for Fr. Charlie. I remember in that moment, hearing Fr. Charlie’s name, that I suddenly felt a very profound sense of peace. Despite the many emotions I was feeling, I was able to sing the words of Fr. Charlie’s favorite song “Let It Be” at the end of mass:
“…And when the night is cloudy, there is still a Light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be…”
There are many “cloudy nights” in life and it can be easy to forget to praise God in the midst of them. However, when I get wrapped up in the stress or anxiety of things there will often be a moment when the grace of God breaks through and I can’t help but hear Fr. Charlie saying to me, “Honey, you can relax. God’s in charge.”
In those moments I am confident that I don’t just have the Light of God shining down on me, but I also have the light of another man too: the light of Fr. Charlie.
* * *
The joyful witness of Fr. Charlie is one that we need to preserve so that he can continue to touch the lives of our students like he did during his lifetime. If you have photos or fond memories of Fr. Charlie, please feel free to share them with us by contacting Alyssa Snyder at email@example.com or Isabelle Brogan at firstname.lastname@example.org. Please limit written memories or stories to 400-500 words a piece.
* * *
About the Author
Alyssa Snyder is a proud alumna of Holy Trinity Catholic High School, graduating from the Class of 2013 as the Valedictorian. She currently works at Holy Trinity teaching Speech and Senior Theology and serving as the Dean of Student Services and Campus Ministry. | English | NL | 74b44899ba113b1c0d1b602957d9b8fd9e651da35ff63600a233bbfba8d23916 |
Though animated and energetic on the air, Johnny has been contending with pain in his legs for more than a decade, which has made it difficult to walk. He first encountered the problem about 14 years ago while spending the summer on Fire Island. When he returned to his home in Manhattan and saw his doctor, Johnny learned he had plaque buildup in the blood vessels of his legs. One option was to have a surgical procedure known as peripheral artery bypass, in which doctors would bypass the clogged arteries to improve blood flow in his legs. His other option was to increase his physical activity to aid circulation.
Johnny elected not to have the procedure and instead made lifestyle changes—a better diet and more exercise—and saw his cardiologist regularly. But after a few years, when chest pains and difficulty breathing stopped him in his tracks, he sought out the care of the experts at Lenox Hill Heart & Lung.
“I was walking down the street holding my chest. I knew something wasn’t right,” explained Johnny.
He was referred to Mitchell Weinberg, MD, an interventional cardiologist at Lenox Hill Heart & Lung and the director of Peripheral Vascular Interventions at Northwell Health. He specializes in minimally invasive procedures to diagnose and treat plaque buildup in the arteries. After performing a diagnostic catheterization, Dr. Weinberg revealed blockages in several arteries and determined surgery would be Johnny’s best option. Dr. Weinberg sent Johnny to his colleague, and vice chair of cardiothoracic surgery, Nirav Chandrakant Patel, MD, at Lenox Hill Heart & Lung. “Dr. Patel was incredible,” said Johnny. He said, ‘We’ll take care of you.’” After thorough testing, Johnny learned he had plaque buildup in the arteries leading to his heart, greatly increasing his risk of heart attack. He needed triple bypass open heart surgery.
“Although Mr. Marino was nervous, we discussed the importance of the surgery and reassured him of our experience and expertise,” said Dr. Patel. “Our team performs hundreds of these surgeries every year, and we have been recognized as one of the best cardiac programs in the country.”
Lenox Hill Heart & Lung is a recognized leader in heart care, rated by Healthgrades five years in a row as one of the 100 best heart programs in America. This distinction places the hospital among the top 5 percent of cardiac programs in the country. | English | NL | 8c74fdade49b13365fd3588cbc0ebd168182095f4edf0c6f4e048ae2b716d2c9 |
The other Mary
Mary and I got up early this morning in despondency to perform the final act of love we could for our Lord Jesus. It took us an hour to get to Joseph’s tomb, the only people about being the Roman guards around the city on night watch. We talked on the way about what to do about the giant stone, there was no way that we could move it ourselves. When we finally reached the tombs the earth moved! The stone in front of the tomb where Jesus was laid then rolled to one side in a blaze of light, and two soldiers who had been posted by the tomb (we hadn’t realised they were going to be there) fell flat on their faces. I’ve never seen a soldier do that, they usually stand so rigid. Something that looked like a man and shining with bright light sat on the stone and talked to Mary and I. He said ‘don’t be afraid’, and told us that Jesus wasn’t there because he had risen! We turned and ran in a mixture of terror and joy when suddenly, walking towards us was Jesus himself! We both fell down in front of him, overjoyed. He told us to tell his brothers that he will see them in Galilee. Then he was gone.
Now I have been back to tell the brothers. They don’t believe me yet, but they will, they will. Our Lord is Risen, He is Risen! Alleluia!
Jesus, we thank you that with you all our journeys end in resurrection.
You have renewed our hope: we know that death is not the end,
Thank you for the adventure of knowing you, your suffering and your resurrection.
Jesus Has Risen
After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.
There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.
The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”
So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. “Greetings,” he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” | English | NL | 8797576bbac928503b3139e58e5b101418fe6d055810bba21919fac3ce271b68 |
Life Before Life – Pre Birth
The following paranormal phenomena statement on pre birth experiences is an extract from the first spontaneous paranormal survey conducted by Psychic Revolution. These accounts have not been edited but any information that may identify the original contributor has been removed.
705. PRE BIRTH
I think of this as a pre-birth memory because I believe I wasn’t born when the events took place:I saw my mother and brothers in a place where I had never lived – clearly saw what my mother was wearing and how my brothers were behaving. Later I saw photographs of my mother in the dress she had been wearing. Seeing the photo may have sparked the memory – I don’t exactly remember, but in later life, during meditation, I saw the same scene.
– end of pre birth extract –
Before birth I was conscious/aware of my family and particularly my mother’s anger, fear, and unhappiness with me. After my birth I could not understand why I was treated with so much disrespect. This was because I felt the same size as them and I even had more wisdom than them. But they treated me as a non-entity. I could not understand their behavior.
Pre-Birth Experience : At the age of 8 yrs old. I repetitively had a specific dream, every night for about 3 weeks. Each dream consisted of a woman (she was pregnant)walking through a blueberry patch and catching her foot on a vine that she did not see and falling down face first on the ground. It was very stressful for me, each times waking up crying. When I finally told my mother about it, her jaw dropped and she explained to me that it had been her sister (my real mother) that had gone through that very event. Conclusion being: I was the child in her womb that not only saw it happening but experienced it too.
Finding Your Way around Psychic Revolution:
Return from Pre Birth to: | English | NL | 1d48550e00bdc35b43102b6e72586e076d8a12b206e52100bea28e23ca7fb574 |
In the third century, in the province of Huan, women invented and developed a secret language, forbidden to men. It served to communicate between them and has been transmitted from generation to generation until almost our days. They embroidered it on clothes, fans and handkerchiefs, containing messages. Each letter of the nushu alphabet is basically a flower, so they passed as ornamental elements to the profane eye.
For millennia, women in China have been considered one more property of the husband. Women were prohibited from education, and with it learning to read and write the official language. A tradition more than “complemented” with the bandage of the feet from girls to acquire the shape of a goat’s hoof, in such a way that they could not walk long distances alone. The Chinese woman was educated exclusively for marriage, and when this took place, they were confined to the house of their in-laws, condemned to illiteracy and domestic confinement.
They also created what became known as the Book of the Third Day. A blank notebook that was given to the newly married women, three days after the wedding, where they used the nushu to express their feelings and their desires. Yang Huanyi is the name of the last woman who knew nushu. It belonged to the last generation that needed to learn it. Faced with their despair, their daughters, like many other women in China today who regularly attended school, did not want to learn it.
Yang was born in the province of Huan. His father was a village doctor and Yang learned from him and his grandmother some of the practices of Chinese medicine. And he also learned nushu. He learned it from seven old women, who in turn learned it from seven other old women each.
He was married at the age of 22 years by marriage arranged by his parents, according to tradition. Her husband was bitten by a snake after three months of marriage and died. Yang remarried at two years, although he was not very lucky. Her second husband was an inveterate gambler who spent family income, disappeared from the house for long periods and then had to pay off debts to the farm animals that Yang raised and cared for. He had eight children from his marriage, although only three survived.
The secrets of nushu
He was an employee of the Jiangyong Cultural Department who accidentally discovered the existence of nushu. In the 80s of the 20th century, the discovery of a language that could have been kept secret for more than 1,700 years became public. The academic community did not believe. Scholars do not yet agree with the age and origins of the language. Some argue that it is thousands of years old, while others believe that it can not be more than several hundred years old.
Nushu is a syllabic language. Each sign represents a different sound unit in the local dialect. His strokes are fine, like threads or strands, and elongated lines. There are four types: points, horizontal lines, vertical and arc-shaped lines. It was written in columns, from top to bottom. The nushu characters appear to be a rhomboidal variant derived from Chinese square characters.
A lost language
In 1995 Yang Huanyi was invited to participate in the conference of the United Nations for Women held in Beijing, where she delivered her letters, poems and songs for study. He died shortly thereafter, in 2004, at the age of 98, taking with him the secret of a language that shows that human beings usually find, in the face of adverse circumstances, a way of expressing their emotions. According to Zhao Liming, a professor at Tsinghua University in Beijing, nushu is not just a script, but represents the whole traditional Chinese female culture.
When older women felt that the end was near, they often asked family members to put some of their writing in their coffins and burn the other pieces of their work. Thus, most of a woman’s work was buried with her, with which the writings were lost forever. Considered as animals for thousands of years, these women found a way to secretly evoke the song of freedom of caged birds.
“It was like a bolt of sun lightning that made women’s lives more pleasurable. It is a culture of sunlight that allows women to speak with their own voices and fight male chauvinism.” | English | NL | 854d2799cfd7a86b9da0e6afe72d84e7f0c3f498d04c38bb0b079b6baff57647 |
So true Jesus cares for every aspect of our well being.
We often think of healing as being physical when really, healing can take place mentally and spiritually. As well as this, we’re not only healed of the natural but also of the supernatural. There are many examples in the bible of healing. Let’s take a look at both the Old Testament and New Testament. OT
In Genesis 20:17 we can find the story of Abraham when he prayed to heal Abimelech, his wife and the salve girls so that they could have children. NT In the book of Matthew 15:30-31 we see the story where the blind, lame and maimed came to Jesus and were healed. These two stories, like the other stories of healing in the bible, have one thing in common. Belief. These people believed in the Lord’s power that he would heal what they were asking for. These people had faith in what they were asking for…
View original post 711 more words | English | NL | f9c8f7360646d832983a32f77c993366784d67489db71881069363b99c407eb6 |
They may say baseball is the same in the minor leagues that it is in the big leagues, but any old ball player or manager knows better. Where the difference comes in, however, is in the greater excellence and unity of the major players, a speed, a daring, a finish that can be acquired only in competition with one another.
I thought of this when I led my party into Morrisey's private box in the grand stand of the Chicago American League grounds. We had come to see the Rube's break into fast company. My great pitcher, Whittaker Hurtle, the Rube, as we called him, had won the Eastern League Pennant for me that season, and Morrisey, the Chicago magnate, had bought him. Milly, my affianced, was with me, looking as happy as she was pretty, and she was chaperoned by her mother, Mrs. Nelson.
With me, also, were two veterans of my team, McCall and Spears, who lived in Chicago, and who would have traveled a few miles to see the Rube pitch. And the other member of my party was Mrs. Hurtle, the Rube's wife, as saucy and as sparkling-eyed as when she had been Nan Brown. Today she wore a new tailor-made gown, new bonnet, new gloves--she said she had decorated herself in a manner befitting the wife of a major league pitcher.
Morrisey's box was very comfortable, and, as I was pleased to note, so situated that we had a fine view of the field and stands, and yet were comparatively secluded. The bleachers were filling. Some of the Chicago players were on the field tossing and batting balls; the Rube, however, had not yet appeared.
A moment later a metallic sound was heard on the stairs leading up into the box. I knew it for baseball spiked shoes clanking on the wood.
The Rube, looking enormous in his uniform, stalked into the box, knocking over two chairs as he entered. He carried a fielder's glove in one huge freckled hand, and a big black bat in the other.
Nan, with much dignity and a very manifest pride, introduced him to Mrs. Nelson.
There was a little chatting, and then, upon the arrival of Manager Morrisey, we men retired to the back of the box to talk baseball.
Chicago was in fourth place in the league race, and had a fighting chance to beat Detroit out for the third position. Philadelphia was scheduled for that day, and Philadelphia had a great team. It was leading the race, and almost beyond all question would land the flag. In truth, only one more victory was needed to clinch the pennant. The team had three games to play in Chicago and it was to wind up the season with three in Washington. Six games to play and only one imperatively important to win! But baseball is uncertain, and until the Philadelphians won that game they would be a band of fiends.
``Well, Whit, this is where you break in,'' I said. ``Now, tip us straight. You've had more than a week's rest. How's that arm?''
``Grand, Con, grand!'' replied the Rube with his frank smile. ``I was a little anxious till I warmed up. But say! I've got more up my sleeve today than I ever had.''
``That'll do for me,'' said Morrisey, rubbing his hands. ``I'll spring something on these swelled Quakers today. Now, Connelly, give Hurtle one of your old talks--the last one--and then I'll ring the gong.''
I added some words of encouragement, not forgetting my old ruse to incite the Rube by rousing his temper. And then, as the gong rang and the Rube was departing, Nan stepped forward for her say. There was a little white under the tan on her cheek, and her eyes had a darkling flash.
``Whit, it's a magnificent sight--that beautiful green field and the stands. What a crowd of fans! Why, I never saw a real baseball crowd before. There are twenty thousand here. And there's a difference in the feeling. It's sharper --new to me. It's big league baseball. Not a soul in that crowd ever heard of you, but, I believe, tomorrow the whole baseball world will have heard of you. Mr. Morrisey knows. I saw it in his face. Captain Spears knows. Connie knows. I know.''
Then she lifted her face and, pulling him down within reach, she kissed him. Nan took her husband's work in dead earnest; she gloried in it, and perhaps she had as much to do with making him a great pitcher as any of us.
The Rube left the box, and I found a seat between Nan and Milly. The field was a splendid sight. Those bleachers made me glow with managerial satisfaction. On the field both teams pranced and danced and bounced around in practice.
In spite of the absolutely last degree of egotism manifested by the Philadelphia players, I could not but admire such a splendid body of men.
``So these are the champions of last season and of this season, too,'' commented Milly. ``I don't wonder. How swiftly and cleanly they play! They appear not to exert themselves, yet they always get the ball in perfect time. It all reminds me of--of the rhythm of music. And that champion batter and runner--that Lane in center-- isn't he just beautiful? He walks and runs like a blue-ribbon winner at the horse show. I tell you one thing, Connie, these Quakers are on dress parade.''
``Oh, these Quakers hate themselves, I don't think!'' retorted Nan. Being a rabid girl-fan it was, of course, impossible for Nan to speak baseball convictions or gossip without characteristic baseball slang. ``Stuck on themselves! I never saw the like in my life. That fellow Lane is so swelled that he can't get down off his toes. But he's a wonder, I must admit that. They're a bunch of stars. Easy, fast, trained--they're machines, and I'll bet they're Indians to fight. I can see it sticking out all over them. This will certainly be some game with Whit handing up that jump ball of his to this gang of champs. But, Connie, I'll go you Whit beats them.''
I laughed and refused to gamble.
The gong rang; the crowd seemed to hum and rustle softly to quiet attention; Umpire McClung called the names of the batteries; then the familiar ``Play!''
There was the usual applause from the grand stand and welcome cheers from the bleachers. The Rube was the last player to go out. Morrisey was a manager who always played to the stands, and no doubt he held the Rube back for effect. If so, he ought to have been gratified. That moment reminded me of my own team and audience upon the occasion of the Rube's debut. It was the same only here it happened in the big league, before a championship team and twenty thousand fans.
The roar that went up from the bleachers might well have scared an unseasoned pitcher out of his wits. And the Quakers lined up before their bench and gazed at this newcomer who had the nerve to walk out there to the box. Cogswell stood on the coaching line, looked at the Rube and then held up both arms and turned toward the Chicago bench as if to ask Morrisey: ``Where did you get that?''
Nan, quick as a flash to catch a point, leaned over the box-rail and looked at the champions with fire in her eye. ``Oh, you just wait! wait!'' she bit out between her teeth.
Certain it was that there was no one who knew the Rube as well as I; and I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the hour before me would see brightening of a great star pitcher on the big league horizon. It was bound to be a full hour for me. I had much reason to be grateful to Whit Hurtle. He had pulled my team out of a rut and won me the pennant, and the five thousand dollars I got for his release bought the little cottage on the hill for Milly and me. Then there was my pride in having developed him. And all that I needed to calm me, settle me down into assurance and keen criticism of the game, was to see the Rube pitch a few balls with his old incomparable speed and control.
Berne, first batter for the Quakers, walked up to the plate. He was another Billy Hamilton, built like a wedge. I saw him laugh at the long pitcher.
Whit swayed back, coiled and uncoiled. Something thin, white, glancing, shot at Berne. He ducked, escaping the ball by a smaller margin than appeared good for his confidence. He spoke low to the Rube, and what he said was probably not flavored with the milk of friendly sweetness.
``Wild! What'd you look for?'' called out Cogswell scornfully. ``He's from the woods!''
The Rube swung his enormously long arm, took an enormous stride toward third base, and pitched again. It was one of his queer deliveries. The ball cut the plate.
``Ho! Ho!'' yelled the Quakers.
The Rube's next one was his out curve. It broke toward the corner of the plate and would have been a strike had not Berne popped it up.
Callopy, the second hitter, faced the Rube, and he, too, after the manner of ball players, made some remark meant only for the Rube's ears. Callopy was a famous waiter. He drove more pitchers mad with his implacable patience than any hitter in the league. The first one of the Rube's he waited on crossed the in-corner; the second crossed the out-corner and the third was Rube's wide, slow, tantalizing ``stitch-ball,'' as we call it, for the reason that it came so slow a batter could count the stitches. I believe Callopy waited on that curve, decided to hit it, changed his mind and waited some more, and finally the ball maddened him and he had to poke at it, the result being a weak grounder.
Then the graceful, powerful Lane, champion batter, champion base runner, stepped to the plate. How a baseball crowd, any crowd, anywhere, loves the champion batter! The ovation Lane received made me wonder, with this impressive reception in a hostile camp, what could be the manner of it on his home field? Any boy ball- player from the lots seeing Lane knock the dirt out of his spikes and step into position would have known he was a 400 hitter.
I was curious to see what the Rube would pitch Lane. It must have been a new and significant moment for Hurtle. Some pitchers actually wilt when facing a hitter of Lane's reputation. But he, on his baseball side, was peculiarly unemotional. Undoubtedly he could get furious, but that only increased his effectiveness. To my amazement the Rube pitched Lane a little easy ball, not in any sense like his floater or stitch-ball, but just a little toss that any youngster might have tossed. Of all possible balls, Lane was not expecting such as that, and he let it go. If the nerve of it amazed me, what did it not do to Lane? I saw his face go fiery red. The grand stand murmured; let out one short yelp of pleasure; the Quaker players chaffed Lane.
The pitch was a strike. I was gripping my chair now, and for the next pitch I prophesied the Rube's wonderful jump ball, which he had not yet used. He swung long, and at the end of his swing seemed to jerk tensely. I scarcely saw the ball. It had marvelous speed. Lane did not offer to hit it, and it was a strike. He looked at the Rube, then at Cogswell. That veteran appeared amused. The bleachers, happy and surprised to be able to yell at Lane, yelled heartily.
Again I took it upon myself to interpret the Rube's pitching mind. He had another ball that he had not used, a drop, an unhittable drop. I thought he would use that next. He did, and though Lane reached it with the bat, the hit was a feeble one. He had been fooled and the side was out.
Poole, the best of the Quaker's pitching staff, walked out to the slab. He was a left-hander, and Chicago, having so many players who batted left-handed, always found a southpaw a hard nut to crack. Cogswell, field manager and captain of the Quakers, kicked up the dust around first base and yelled to his men: ``Git in the game!''
Staats hit Poole's speed ball into deep short and was out; Mitchell flew out to Berne; Rand grounded to second.
While the teams again changed sides the fans cheered, and then indulged in the first stretch of the game. I calculated that they would be stretching their necks presently, trying to keep track of the Rube's work. Nan leaned on the railing absorbed in her own hope and faith. Milly chattered about this and that, people in the boxes, and the chances of the game.
My own interest, while it did not wholly preclude the fortunes of the Chicago players at the bat, was mostly concerned with the Rube's fortunes in the field.
In the Rube's half inning he retired Bannister and Blandy on feeble infield grounders, and worked Cogswell into hitting a wide curve high in the air.
Poole meant to win for the Quakers if his good arm and cunning did not fail him, and his pitching was masterly. McCloskey fanned, Hutchinson fouled out, Brewster got a short safe fly just out of reach, and Hoffner hit to second, forcing Brewster.
With Dugan up for the Quakers in the third inning, Cogswell and Bannister, from the coaching lines, began to talk to the Rube. My ears, keen from long practice, caught some of the remarks in spite of the noisy bleachers.
``Say, busher, you 've lasted longer'n we expected, but you don't know it!''
``Gol darn you city ball tossers! Now you jest let me alone!''
``We're comin' through the rye!''
``My top-heavy rustic friend, you'll need an airship presently, when you go up!''
All the badinage was good-natured, which was sure proof that the Quakers had not arrived at anything like real appreciation of the Rube. They were accustomed to observe the trying out of many youngsters, of whom ninety-nine out of a hundred failed to make good.
Dugan chopped at three strikes and slammed his bat down. Hucker hit a slow fly to Hoffer. Three men out on five pitched balls! Cogswell, old war horse that he was, stood a full moment and watched the Rube as he walked in to the bench. An idea had penetrated Cogswell's brain, and I would have given something to know what it was. Cogswell was a great baseball general, and though he had a preference for matured ball- players he could, when pressed, see the quality in a youngster. He picked up his mitt and took his position at first with a gruff word to his players.
Rand for Chicago opened with a hit, and the bleachers, ready to strike fire, began to cheer and stamp. When McCloskey, in an attempt to sacrifice, beat out his bunt the crowd roared. Rand,
eing slow on his feet, had not attempted to make third on the play. Hutchinson sacrificed, neatly advancing the runners. Then the bleachers played the long rolling drum of clattering feet with shrill whistling accompaniment. Brewster batted a wicked ground ball to Blandy. He dove into the dust, came up with the ball, and feinting to throw home he wheeled and shot the ball to Cogswell, who in turn shot it to the plate to head Rand. Runner and ball got there apparently together, but Umpire McClung's decision went against Rand. It was fine, fast work, but how the bleachers stormed at McClung!
Again the head of the Quakers' formidable list was up. I knew from the way that Cogswell paced the coaching box that the word had gone out to look the Rube over seriously. There were possibilities even in rubes.
Berne carefully stepped into the batter's box, as if he wanted to be certain to the breadth of a hair how close he was to the plate. He was there this time to watch the Rube pitch, to work him out, to see what was what. He crouched low, and it would have been extremely hard to guess what he was up to. His great play, however, was his ability to dump the ball and beat out the throw to first. It developed presently, that this was now his intention and that the Rube knew it and pitched him the one ball which is almost impossible to bunt--a high incurve, over the inside corner. There was no mistaking the Rube's magnificent control. True as a plumb line he shot up the ball--once, twice, and Berne fouled both--two strikes. Grudgingly he waited on the next, but it, too, was over the corner, and Berne went out on strikes. The great crowd did not, of course, grasp the finesse of the play, but Berne had struck out --that was enough for them.
Callopy, the famous spiker, who had put many a player out of the game for weeks at a time, strode into the batter's place, and he, too, was not at the moment making any funny remarks. The Rube delivered a ball that all but hit Callopy fair on the head. It was the second narrow escape for him, and the roar he let out showed how he resented being threatened with a little of his own medicine. As might have been expected, and very likely as the Rube intended, Callopy hit the next ball, a sweeping curve, up over the infield.
I was trying to see all the intricate details of the motive and action on the field, and it was not easy to watch several players at once. But while Berne and Callopy were having their troubles with the Rube, I kept the tail of my eye on Cogswell. He was prowling up and down the third- base line.
He was missing no signs, no indications, no probabilities, no possibilities. But he was in doubt. Like a hawk he was watching the Rube, and, as well, the crafty batters. The inning might not tell the truth as to the Rube's luck, though it would test his control. The Rube's speed and curves, without any head work, would have made him a pitcher of no mean ability, but was this remarkable placing of balls just accident? That was the question.
When Berne walked to the bench I distinctly heard him say: ``Come out of it, you dubs. I say you can't work him or wait him. He's peggin' 'em out of a gun!''
Several of the Quakers were standing out from the bench, all intent on the Rube. He had stirred them up. First it was humor; then ridicule, curiosity, suspicion, doubt. And I knew it would grow to wonder and certainty, then fierce attack from both tongues and bats, and lastly--for ball players are generous--unstinted admiration.
Somehow, not only the first climaxes of a game but the decisions, the convictions, the reputations of pitchers and fielders evolve around the great hitter. Plain it was that the vast throng of spectators, eager to believe in a new find, wild to welcome a new star, yet loath to trust to their own impulsive judgments, held themselves in check until once more the great Lane had faced the Rube.
The field grew tolerably quiet just then. The Rube did not exert himself. The critical stage had no concern for him. He pitched Lane a high curve, over the plate, but in close, a ball meant to be hit and a ball hard to hit safely. Lane knew that as well as any hitter in the world, so he let two of the curves go by--two strikes. Again the Rube relentlessly gave him the same ball; and Lane, hitting viciously, spitefully, because he did not want to hit that kind of a ball, sent up a fly that Rand easily captured.
``Oh, I don't know! Pretty fair, I guess!'' yelled a tenor-voiced fan; and he struck the key- note. And the bleachers rose to their feet and gave the Rube the rousing cheer of the brotherhood of fans.
Hoffer walked to first on a base on balls. Sweeney advanced him. The Rube sent up a giant fly to Callopy. Then Staats hit safely, scoring the first run of the game. Hoffer crossed the plate amid vociferous applause. Mitchell ended the inning with a fly to Blandy.
What a change had come over the spirit of that Quaker aggregation! It was something to make a man thrill with admiration and, if he happened to favor Chicago, to fire all his fighting blood. The players poured upon the Rube a continuous stream of scathing abuse. They would have made a raging devil of a mild-mannered clergyman. Some of them were skilled in caustic wit, most of them were possessed of forked tongues; and Cogswell, he of a thousand baseball battles, had a genius for inflaming anyone he tormented. This was mostly beyond the ken of the audience, and behind the back of the umpire, but it was perfectly plain to me. The Quakers were trying to rattle the Rube, a trick of the game as fair for one side as for the other. I sat there tight in my seat, grimly glorying in the way the Rube refused to be disturbed. But the lion in him was rampant. Fortunately, it was his strange gift to pitch better the angrier he got; and the more the Quakers flayed him, the more he let himself out to their crushing humiliation.
The innings swiftly passed to the eighth with Chicago failing to score again, with Philadelphia failing to score at all. One scratch hit and a single, gifts to the weak end of the batting list, were all the lank pitcher allowed them. Long since the bleachers had crowned the Rube. He was theirs and they were his; and their voices had the peculiar strangled hoarseness due to over-exertion. The grand stand, slower to understand and approve, arrived later; but it got there about the seventh, and ladies' gloves and men's hats were sacrificed.
In the eighth the Quakers reluctantly yielded their meed of praise, showing it by a cessation of their savage wordy attacks on the Rube. It was a kind of sullen respect, wrung from the bosom of great foes.
Then the ninth inning was at hand. As the sides changed I remembered to look at the feminine group in our box. Milly was in a most beautiful glow of happiness and excitement. Nan sat rigid, leaning over the rail, her face white and drawn, and she kept saying in a low voice: ``Will it never end? Will it never end?'' Mrs. Nelson stared wearily.
It was the Quakers' last stand. They faced it as a team that had won many a game in the ninth with two men out. Dugan could do nothing with the Rube's unhittable drop, for a drop curve was his weakness, and he struck out. Hucker hit to Hoffer, who fumbled, making the first error of the game. Poole dumped the ball, as evidently the Rube desired, for he handed up a straight one, but the bunt rolled teasingly and the Rube, being big and tall, failed to field it in time.
Suddenly the whole field grew quiet. For the first time Cogswell's coaching was clearly heard.
``One out! Take a lead! Take a lead! Go through this time. Go through!''
Could it be possible, I wondered, that after such a wonderful exhibition of pitching the Rube would lose out in the ninth?
There were two Quakers on base, one out, and two of the best hitters in the league on deck, with a chance of Lane getting up.
``Oh! Oh! Oh!'' moaned Nan.
I put my hand on hers. ``Don't quit, Nan. You'll never forgive yourself if you quit. Take it from me, Whit will pull out of this hole!''
What a hole that was for the Rube on the day of his break into fast company! I measured it by his remarkable deliberation. He took a long time to get ready to pitch to Berne, and when he let drive it was as if he had been trifling all before in that game. I could think of no way to figure it except that when the ball left him there was scarcely any appreciable interval of time before it cracked in Sweeney's mitt. It was the Rube's drop, which I believed unhittable. Berne let it go by, shaking his head as McClung called it a strike. Another followed, which Berne chopped at vainly. Then with the same upheaval of his giant frame, the same flinging of long arms and lunging forward, the Rube delivered a third drop. And Berne failed to hit it.
The voiceless bleachers stamped on the benches and the grand stand likewise thundered.
Callopy showed his craft by stepping back and lining Rube's high pitch to left. Hoffer leaped across and plunged down, getting his gloved hand in front of the ball. The hit was safe, but Hoffer's valiant effort saved a tie score.
Lane up! Three men on bases! Two out!
Not improbably there were many thousand spectators of that thrilling moment who pitied the Rube for the fate which placed Lane at the bat then. But I was not one of them. Nevertheless my throat was clogged, my mouth dry, and my ears full of bells. I could have done something terrible to Hurtle for his deliberation, yet I knew he was proving himself what I had always tried to train him to be.
Then he swung, stepped out, and threw his body with the ball. This was his rarely used pitch, his last resort, his fast rise ball that jumped up a little at the plate. Lane struck under it. How significant on the instant to see old Cogswell's hands go up! Again the Rube pitched, and this time Lane watched the ball go by. Two strikes!
That whole audience leaped to its feet, whispering, yelling, screaming, roaring, bawling.
The Rube received the ball from Sweeney and quick as lightning he sped it plateward. The great Lane struck out! The game was over--Chicago, 1; Philadelphia, 0.
In that whirling moment when the crowd went mad and Milly was hugging me, and Nan pounding holes in my hat, I had a queer sort of blankness, a section of time when my sensations were deadlocked.
``Oh! Connie, look!'' cried Nan. I saw Lane and Cogswell warmly shaking hands with the Rube. Then the hungry clamoring fans tumbled upon the field and swarmed about the players.
Wereupon Nan kissed me and Milly, and then kissed Mrs. Nelson. In that radiant moment Nan was all sweetness.
``It is the Rube's break into fast company,'' she said. | English | NL | eb3d93ebdb5da03e6b85166b9f894ecedcdc7bfd24a07b680ed90e048c7c44a8 |
Fisher was having one of those dreams where all he could do was sit in a particular spot and look around.
A man with a red cross on his chess beckoned him down off his perch to play chest, insisting he take white.
“Black goes first,” he said after Fisher is seated, promptly sliding a pawn to King 4. Fisher found he was frozen again, unable to protest the rules change. The pieces moved before him against his will. It was over in 13: black triumphs once more. “Boris Spaskey!” he cussed, then imagined a black crow perched on the tombstone of a freshly dug grave. He didn’t dig it. He didn’t!
Objects spread beneath the waters in all sorts of mad ways.
A captain and his trip.
Dorothy at the beginning of both the yellow and red bricked roads. Spinning.
Another dreamer floated nearby, a mermaid.
She was having a slightly different dream where Fisher sat at a red desk and watched several stationary red spots in front of him.
When he moved, they moved (slightly).
It was time to talk to the red brain-heart. | English | NL | a79f4087ca7c867d9a5ef061532fcdf7e8e7c8b04ef2787079c631ae7c100f3d |
Landing on the scorched patch of the dark Earth a divine creature lied writhing in pain, without an understanding of where it was or how it got there.
Only moments ago it stood in a state of bliss and contentment.
Now his eyes opened wide standing naked in front of a dark world full of rage and fear. The Divinity from which he was born began to shrink back as he quickly got dressed and hid, afraid that he would be attacked by the creatures that occupied this dark and terrifying world.
A decision had to be made, as he was not sent to hide from the world but to share the light inside that was a gift. For no other was created in the exact manner that he was. No other experienced the same pains and losses, victories and triumphs that he had, and no other suffered those things in quite the same way as he did.
It was time to make a choice. Risk stepping out and revealing the naked truth and scarred imperfection of the gifts he was given. Or hide them until he passed away from the scary place.
It was a difficult choice, but a choice all the same. And upon further inspection of where he now found himself. The creatures that he was so afraid of and he feared so much were in fact just like him. They only attacked for fear of being attacked. They hid in the Dark like him, for fear of being seen naked and scarred, broken and imperfect.
An amazing thing happened when he stepped out of the dark and began to share his light. He found that he was not attacked but that now, others seeing the light pouring from him, gained the courage to do the same.
The man boldly showing all of his vulnerable spots, changed the world he had been dropped upon. Because he realized that even though the dark was scary and though he was naked and all of his flaws and cracks could be seen, it was only through his broken places that the light was able to shine from him and light the dark and scary world. Now, they all could see. No longer prisoners of the dark and scary world.
Do I share what has so uniquely and honestly be given to me no matter the terror and fear of this world? Or do I shrink back and hide for fear that I will be ridiculed or laughed at or attacked?
Can I make the decision each day in each moment to share the Light that God has put inside me, as It is inside all of us, or will I make the decision to hide the gift only I can bring to the world?
Bring whatever gift you were sent here to bring today. It was Uniquely given to you to Give to the World.
Have a Great, Shiny, Saturday. | English | NL | 0706e3e7e6c929545478d096e0de7f8aecc1a54a74426b9470a0ffd334542567 |
How to Make Friends and Monsters by Howard Boward.
Publication Date: August 2013
List Price: $12.99
Review: Do you know how it feels to be oppressed? Well, Howard Boward, the main character of How to Make Friends and Monsters does, he experiences it every day. Being called How-Lame or How-Weird everyday by the UPs (the Uber Populars) doesn't feel good, until he becomes one because of an accidental experiment creating his powerful, giant, hairy monster named Franklin Stein that eventually becomes his best friend. Ron Bates wrote this diverting, attention-grabbing book. Howard Boward's journey from How-Lame to How-Cool is an incredible time for him. It is like a dream for him but how will it change his friendship with others?
Howard Boward is a boy who hasn't always been a very popular person. He wants to be an Uber Popular. Just when you think that a nerd has no chance of being popular you are wrong. Howard decides to actually make a friend with animal DNA, wonder putty, and some weird chemicals. When Howard looks back at the blob, he notices it changing. In a few days, the blob turns into the giant but nice monster named Franklin Stein. Franklin and Howard become best friends, but getting popular gets to Howard, leading him to forget about him. Franklin feels double-crossed so he goes to live with Uncle Ben. When Howard asks to borrow Reynolds' phone he calls Uncle Ben and asks to talk to him. Franklin says 'hi' but he refuses to talk further. Then, Howard accidentally calls Crystal, who is a major gossiper. She over-hears that Franklin is a monster, and Howard tells her not to tell anyone. She wouldn't if he created a monster for her. He does, but Crystal tells the other UPs, and now, all of them want one. He makes them, but they want to give them back. He knows he can't care for giant animals, so he refuses. Then, the UPs bring Howard to The Palace, which is their hideout. What will happen to Howard? Will anyone save him? Read the book to find out!
This book, in my opinion, was fantastic! I really liked how it's not realistic! I like books that have super-powers, monsters, aliens, and other fake things. Giant monsters are better than boring stories about history. I loved how they kept pushing the story further, instead of stopping it short. It would be interesting it if there was a sequel of this book; it would be great. What is great about this book is that it has a theme to it. It shows friendship is important. It also shows that you need to be loyal to people to remain friends. It also shows that people can change: good to bad, or bad to good. It doesn't matter if you have popular friends or not only the real friends matter the most. True friends stick with you no matter what. Some parts in the book I didn't like because they were confusing because Howard uses Reynolds' phone to call Uncle Ben, what I didn't get is, how does Reynolds have Crystal's number? He wasn't popular. This book's story line is really meant for boys. Most girls aren't interested in monsters, science, fires, and football, but most guys love those things. You should read the book if you like fictional things. This book isn't meant for serious people. I personally liked the storyline. It was action, sci-fi, and adventure. This book is one of the best I have read! A great audience for this book would be for kids around ages 9-12 because it is engaging, but it is also a long book to read. Or those kids who like to play with toy monsters, who like science, and whoever likes creating things. So, if you like any of those things, you should read How to Make Friends and Monsters by Ron Bates! Enjoy your journey!
Review written by Kenneth (6th grade student).
We would like to thank Zonderkidz for providing a copy of How to Make Friends and Monsters for this review.
Have you read How to Make Friends and Monsters? How would you rate it? | English | NL | f2e2cd0fc36ba906a352931a036e28cdaa38f29c8a9c5a51062e4ad307a74113 |
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I found this story on my hard drive; I wrote it a while back. Thought someone might enjoy it. It's not my best work but hey, I've got no shame :) ============================================================================== Brian's date was late. He paced up and down in front of his door impatiently, waiting. He had met her in a bar just a day ago; they had hit it off so well that she had asked him out.
She was a forceful woman that way; it was one of the reasons he was attracted to her. Another was her body: jet black hair, curly and full, pouting lips, a cute tiny nose, short, powerful muscles, small firm breasts, a nice ass, a real athlete's figure. He had wondered what she was like in bed: acrobatic, would she take charge, would she ride him like a motorcycle. But now it seemed like he would never find out.
As he turned, he heard a knock. Finally, it was her. Smiling in spite of himself, knowing that it was his personal magnetism that drew her to him, made her this eager for him, he turned to open the door. As he did he also acknowledged that his muscled frame, chiseled features, and incredible physique might also have something to do with it. He was shocked as he opened the door, for there stood his date, but she was wearing a black mask. "Dianne." he began, wondering two euro whores crave for jism loads hardcore groupsex was up, but she put a hand over his mouth, slammed the door behind her, and growled, "Mistress to you, slave!" Brian couldn't imagine what had gotten into her.
She seemed to have gone insane.
Grabbing him by the arm, with powerful strides she pulled him down to the basement, to the rec room, currently empty with the ping-pong table folded to one side. Still glaring at him, she took off her backpack and pulled out another black mask for him. "Put it on, slave!" "Now wait a minute." began Brian, but he was starting to be aroused by all this domination, and he recalled that, last night, both he and Dianne had drunk a few and chatted about what their sexual turn-ons were in a slightly tipsy manner.
They both had been into domination. Now Brian understood, or at least hoped he did. "Yes Mistress," he finished, taking the mask and putting it on. "Now, the slave will answer a question. Who am I?" "Dianne." "Wrong, slave!" She pulled out a riding crop; Brian couldn't believe beautiful big boobs bbw loves to fuck had one.
"Bend over!" He did so, hoping she wouldn't be too violent. "Pull down your pants." He complied, gritting his teeth. "Now, repeat after me. 'I am the slave.'" The crop flicked down, leaving a line of fire on his left buttock. "I am the slave," he gasped in pain. "Good. Now, if you are the slave, who am I?" The crop hit his ass again, burning. "The Mistress," he managed through clenched teeth.
The pain descended again. "Good. Now beg me to stop, slave!" Again the crop. The pain was just on the edge of brutal, but Brian found his penis hardening. "Please Mistress, stop!" "No! I must punish you! You deserve to be punished, don't you, slave?" Once more the crop struck.
"Yes Mistress." The crop descended more slowly this time, then she brought it around to his face. "Very good. You learn quickly. Now, lick my tool, and maybe the Mistress will lick yours to reward you for your efforts." Brian was beautiful asian nailed in lots of positions warming to the part of the slave.
He stuck his tongue out and ran it up and down the head of the crop, then down the base and back. He noticed as he did that Dianne had not yet removed her long coat, but she seemed pleased.
"Very good slave. Now, strip for your Mistress, but if you do not please me, I will punish you again." Brian slowly stood and slipped his shirt over his head, baring his chest, powerful and sweaty, then slipped his pants and boxers down, revealing his already-growing manhood.
Dianne seemed excited by the sight of his naked body, and he stood, flaunting himself, until she had seen her fill. "Bend over slave and let me see your ass." Brian turned and bent to touch his toes, and Dianne came up behind him and looked at his red buttocks and his large cock hanging down. "Mistress has hurt the slave's buttocks with her tool. She must heal them.
Beg me to heal them slave!" "Oh please Mistress, heal me! Please Mistress!" "Very well slave." From between his legs Brian could see Dianne bend and kiss each cheek lightly, then lick up them and down the crack, running her hands over his stinging flesh. Then she grabbed his cheeks and violently spread them, causing him to cry out in pain. "The slave is naughty. Mistress did not give him permission to scream. Big ass mature georgia peach must be punished again.
No more healing." Dianne stood behind him, with his cheeks spread wide, and pressed a finger into his anus, making him wince, but he did not cry out again. Then she pushed in another, un-lubricated, and spread him painfully. "Beg me to punish you, slave!" "Oh Mistress, I deserve to be punished!
Punish me!" Brian was getting very hard from the pain and the anal pleasuring. Dianne withdrew her fingers and took her crop, smacking it down hard on his anus, making him wince, but he gritted his teeth and took the pain. "Who am I?" "The Mistress!" he cried in pain.
"Who are you?" "The slave!" "Thank me for punishing you." "Oh thank you Mistress, Big boob xxx porn storys deserve every stroke." "Good slave." The blows stopped. "Now, the slave will be rewarded. He will let me taste his cum." "Oh thank you Mistress." "Lie down." He did so in a rush. Dianne knelt beside him, bending her head to kiss his already-swollen member. This sent a rush of arousal through his crotch, followed by another as she licked him all over, then sucked his cock, harder than he had ever been sucked before.
He was close to cumming in an instant, then she pulled off and with her nails lightly scratched his shaft, then ran her hands down and grasped his balls, taking his cock into her mouth and leaving it there, not sucking. She took his balls and twisted, and he moaned. She smiled at his pain and squeezed, and this was too much for him. Brian ejaculated with such force that it spilled from her lips, his white treasure filling her mouth. She swallowed it with relish as the second spasm rocked through him and he shuddered as another stream, and another, spurted into her open mouth.
She took it all in, the excess running down her chin, and kept up her pressure on his balls until he finished cumming. Then, smiling, she rose to his lips and kissed him, passing all his semen from her mouth to his, then commanded him again.
"The Mistress, because the slave ejaculated so well, will reward him again." She opened her coat and for the first time Brian, with his salty semen in his mouth, saw what was underneath. She was wearing a black leather bra with the nipples cut out and black leather boots. Nothing else.
Her shaved sexy ebony slut cock in her bedroom was beautiful to behold, pink and wide, and wet-looking he was pleased to see. Her skin was tan and her body looked as good bare as he had hoped. Almost immediately, the taste of his head in his mouth and the site of her pussy made him harden.
"The slave will pleasure Mistress with his jizz. Kneel and pleasure me!" Brian wordlessly did as she commanded, putting his hands on her pert thighs, feeling the powerful muscles clench as she opened her legs a little and squatted slightly, then putting his face in her pubis and smelling the scent of an aroused woman. He kissed her pussy lips just as she had kissed his lips, passing the semen into her cunt forcefully. "Deeper, harder, I want to feel it!" she commanded, and he complied, pulling her labia open with his thumbs and probing his tongue deep into the folds of her mons.
She would not be satisfied with mere clit licking, he knew, so he plunged his tongue deep into her vaginal passage, pressing up to find her g-spot. He tasted her sweat and arousal, tasted what had to be juices from a pre-date masturbation, and his own cum, spreading through her. He pressed the right spot and she arched her back and moaned "Yes! The slave pleases his Mistress very well!" He ran his tongue over the spot again and again, feeling her walls tighten and loosen, then he slipped a finger down to massage her anus as she had done, but softly at first until she opened, then pressing in.
"Oh Yes!" she screamed above him, and from her taste and feel he knew she was building to orgasm, so he took another two fingers and pinched her clit, which had emerged from its hood.
His other finger quickened the pace of its anal penetration, and his tongue lapped at her g-spot. When he pinched the clit she spilled over the edge, screaming unintelligibly, wailing, and palpitating hard on his tongue. He kept pressing, tasting her head and his spilling out onto his mouth and face, feeling the hard orgasm that he had hoped for, and still hoped for, on his dick.
She came for several minutes as he kept licking, then panted to a stop. "Oh my slave," Dianne gasped, "you have pleased your Mistress. Now she will reward you again." "Thank you mistress," Brian replied, wondering what the reward would be.
"Would you like to drink my piss?" "Yes Mistress!" Brian wanted to taste her; he had tried piss-drinking with other girlfriends, always great, but not as fulfilling as piss combined with domination. "Open your mouth, slave, and I will give you my gold. But first, who am I?" "The Mistress." "Good. Thank your Mistress for her piss, slave!" "Thank you for pissing on me Mistress!" She smiled. He leaned back on his knees and held his mouth open below her cunt, and she reached with a hand to spread her lips open, then seemed to relax, and a warm golden stream arched out of her pussy to splash onto his face.
It soaked him, but he drank all that went into his mouth. She tasted warm and sweet, quite unlike a dominatrix should taste, but good jerk your dick while sniffing my panties joi the same. He could taste her arousal in her piss too, and he wanted more of her. She halted the flow after a moment, after it had covered his face, and smiled. "Does the Mistress please her slave?" "Yes Mistress," Brian said, wanting more. "Then the slave must please the Mistress." "What is it Mistress?" "I want to taste your piss, as I tasted your jizz." "Thank you Mistress." "Stand up.
Don't use all of your piss up or there will be none left for other things." At this Brian wondered what Dianne meant, but he stood and she knelt before him, holding his cock in her hands, still quite hard. Brian found that he had quite a bit of piss in his bladder from the orgasm and the wait, and it was easy to call some up for her. The warmth spread through his cock as he pissed into the mouth of this beautiful woman, piss running down her breasts, in her hair, on her face, and into her mouth, where she moaned and drank.
When she held up a hand, he stopped, much harder to do. "Very good, my slave. Now, for that, Mistress must give the slave another reward. Or does the slave deserve punishment?" This was a weighted question.
"Punishment Mistress. I have been bad, not stopping when you told me to stop." "That's right slave!" she growled, going to her bag again. "Bend over on your knees and I shall punish you." Brian expected more spanking, but instead she pulled out a strap-on, put it on, and got behind him.
The strap-on was knobby and long, and he hoped she wouldn't drive it all the way into his ass. "The slave must be punished. Do you want to be punished, stunning babe needs more than a dildo Mistress, please!" "Who is it who punishes and rewards you?" "You Mistress." "Receive your punishment!" she cried, and forcefully tried to press herself into his tight ass. She was rejected, and she growled and pulled him wider apart. The pain was incredible, but also beautiful.
When the dildo finally penetrated his virgin ass, Brian moaned in spite of himself. He had never been bi, had never been taken up the ass, but he liked it, even un-lubricated, which was quite painful. "No talking!" she growled, then pressed in further until his rectum seemed about to split. Then she pulled back and pushed in again. Cherry crush and pal milf oil orgy slumber party could feel himself bleeding a little, and it burned, but at the same time it felt wonderful.
She began slowly fucking him, widening him painfully each time, but making him a little looser as well. She fucked him harder, pressing her entire length into his anus. "Who gives the slave pleasure and pain?" she grunted. "The Mistress!" Brian cried out in pain and pleasure as the rectal penetration carried him to new heights.
Then she pulled out, satisfied. "Thank me for the pain, slave!" "Thank you Mistress!" "Has the slave learned his lesson?" "Yes Mistress." "Then Mistress will allow the slave to fuck her, bring her to orgasm, and cum in her pussy.
If the slave cums before the Mistress says he may, more punishment." She lay down, pulled the strap-on off, and spread her legs, revealing her wet pink pussy. This sight made his cock jump, and he hoped he could hold out. The pain in his anus was bad but fading, and he knelt before her sacred alter of flesh and mounted her. brazilian slut can not stop fucking hardcore blowjob and harder!" she commanded, and he did his best, pressing his hardened penis deep into her hole.
He fucked her hard, pressing so deep he breached her, and growing harder and harder until it was all he could do not to cum. He took hold of her hips and raised her rear, pounding into her wildly as she gasped beneath him, her arms outstretched.
Finally after an eternity of pounding he pressed what must have been her g-spot, setting her orgasm off again, riding the powerful waves. Her orgasm on his tongue had been puny compared to that his penis had caused.
Her powerful feminine muscles caught his penis in a vise, threatening to crush it. Her legs wrapped around his back and pulled him so deep that his balls were caught painfully between his legs and her buttocks, and all he could do was grind as her powerful muscles spasmed on him.
In the midst of her climax, just as Brian could take no more, Dianne screamed, "Who am I?" "The Mistress!" he groaned, fighting back orgasm. "Cum in my pussy slave! Fill me with your juice!" She was already almost full to bursting with him and the other juices, but he released and shot his whole load deep into her vagina, deeper than he had ever cum before.
All his past sex melted before this; this was really an orgasm. She was so hot and powerful beneath him and around him.
She screamed with the force of his ejaculation as they both were drenched in sweat and the orgasms finally subsided. She did not release him from the grip of her powerful legs or muscles when they had finished though. "Who's pussy do you cum in?" she asked him breathlessly. "Mistress'" "And who's pussy do you worship?" "Mistress'" "As a reward for your powerful stamina and even more powerful orgasm, which gave the Mistress great pleasure, she will let her slave piss in her pussy." "Thank you Mistress." This was a new wrinkle for Brian, but it sounded fine, with her tight muscles around him.
"Don't use it all up; there's more for the slave's piss to do," she grinned softly. "Very well Mistress." He let the last drops of semen spill from his cock, then opened his bladder, much harder to do now.
But still, he managed a trickle, then a stream, then with force. It jetted into her deepest space and she moaned, then screamed as the powerful jet filled her completely and pressed her muscles away, spurting out of her lips.
Her pussy was all warmth and wetness now, but just as Brian was about to run out, her muscles clamped down again, cutting him off, and Dianne had another shuddering orgasm from the force and fullness of his urine. The palpitations were weaker now, but they served to re-energize his penis, hardening it again as she rolled over him, the liquid from all the sex and the piss spilling out onto her legs, her stomach, him, and the floor.
"Oh yes slave!" she moaned after a minute. "Your piss is hot in my cunt. But now the slave must learn a lesson. Too much pleasure will make the slave soft. Kneel and bend over!" Brian did as she commanded, seeing her pull the strap-on back into position over her dripping cunt. "Does the slave love his mistress?" "Yes Mistress." "Does the slave want Mistress' dildo up his asshole?" "Yes Mistress, please!" Brian's anus still hurt from the last time, but he wanted more.
"Since the slave has been so good, Mistress will loosen him so the lesson is not too painful." Brian was relieved and happy. Dianne knelt behind him and bent to put her face on his buttocks, then she darted a clever tongue into the crack and licked his tight hole, sighing with pleasure when she tasted blood.
His ass was still tight, but her tongue made him smooth and wet and opened him slightly. Then she rose. "Who am I?" "Mistress!" "Where does the slave want Mistress?" "In my asshole!" "Good." Then she thrust her dildo several inches into Brian's rectum, bringing the warm teen pussy mallory rae murphy 6 tube porn back. It subsided as she worked her way in and out of him, more slowly, loosening him gently until he was wide enough and then she began fucking him, reaming his asshole with her long studded dildo.
Brian sank onto his elbows with weakness as the studs rubbed his flesh, feeling it penetrate him deeper than ever, feeling her pure power behind the thrusts. His cock hardened, then he realized that she was stroking it with one hand. "Cum slave! Cum with me up your ass! Cum all over the floor!" He was close, and with effort he did as she commanded, the orgasm building deep within him where he was being probed, then exploding through his balls and out onto her hands and the floor.
His and her ass were bouncing as she continued to fuck him harder, thrusting until he was sure she must break through and puncture the place where his semen still welled from. Then she moaned and jammed into him, taking her hand from his dick and rubbing his jizz all over herself as she had a shuddering orgasm above him.
Her hips shivered, her pelvis thrashed, and she buried her strap-on deep in him again and again, forcing more cum out of him onto the floor as both panted to a standstill. Brian was too weak to stand, but Dianne pulled out of his now-wide-open anus, shucked the strap, and purred, "The slave makes his Mistress very happy. Has the slave learned his lesson?" "Yes Mistress," he panted.
"Then let me reward the slave again. I will piss kerala girls first night fuck sex his anus so he knows what it's like to have cum inside him." "Oh thank you Mistress." Brian was excited. The anal sex had been great; he was eager to find a man to try it with now, or maybe two, or a man and a woman.
Now she wanted to piss on him again, in his ass, which he was sure would be just as good as everything else had been that night. He arched his ass into the air and spread his legs to give her a better shot at his asshole, which felt like it was miles wide.
She smiled, stood, opened her lips with a finger, and seemingly effortlessly began to piss. She must not have taken a piss for a week leading up to this, Brian thought as the golden stream arched onto his buttocks, then she adjusted her aim and sent the golden warmth deep into his asshole.
It filled him like nothing he had ever felt before; as full as her dildo but softer, warmer, wetter. It caressed his abrasions and filled him with warmth. She stopped, but let him sit for a moment, ass in the air, with the hot piss filling every cranny of his rectum, then she grinned.
"Quid pro quo, my slave," she murmured softly, as if the lines between slave and Mistress were blurring. "You must cute teen webcam anal dildo ryder skye in stepmother sex sessions me up my ass." As she knelt and Brian stood, he felt the warmth drain out of him onto his legs, and he hoped the soon he could feel that fullness again, maybe with her piss, or maybe with another man's cum.
He knelt behind her, and she girlishly waggled her rear as she opened her legs, to bare her beautiful pussy, dripping wet, and her tight brown anus. Without being told he licked her, running his tongue over her musky ass, dipping it into her rectum to ease his entrance. His cock, he knew, was already dripping from other sex. "Mount me, my slave!" He complied, opening her cheeks with his hands, getting behind her, then slowly pressing his cock into her tight hole.
It was as tight as her pussy when she came, and he hardened, widening her as he pressed in deeper, feeling his penetration, feeling her reflexive contractions around his penis. He had never taken a woman up the ass before, and it was pleasantly surprising. He eased all of his large shaft into her and they both sat for a moment, as if growing used to the penetration.
"Fuck me harder!" she groaned, and he pulled back and slammed himself back into her rectum again. She screamed and tightened on him, then got control and loosened slightly, allowing him to pull out and thrust again, more easily this time, and again, until they had built up a rhythm. She moaned with every thrust and tightened, but her ass muscles were weakened by constant assault and her tightness remained only pleasurable raunchy lesbian and group fuck from hot chicks Brian, not impossible.
His hips pressed into her firm round ass with every thrust and he held her around the waist to secure her.
Slipping an hand down, he teased her open pussy then pressed a finger in, then another, spreading her wide, until she screamed again, but not a command, just a scream. Her ass spasmed and then opened wide and she came, her cunt rocking on his fingers, her breath coming quick with every thrust of his penis into her asshole. "Cum in my ass!" she moaned in the midst of her orgasm, and Brian, lyra law makes sean fuck her tight pussy had been approaching again, was happy to oblige, filling her tight anal passage with his warm thick head.
He took his hands and rubbed her juices all over her back and him, and they both bounced to a standstill. "Oh yes, my slave, you have done well. But I think you haven't filled my anus up as much as you filled my pussy.
I shall have to punish you." She giggled in a most un-dominatrix-like way. ".Unless you can complete what you started. I've had your beautiful warm piss up every hole except one." She tightened her anus. Brian was overwhelmed with pleasure. He was going to fill this beautiful woman's tight rectum with both his head and his piss. The urine welled up inside him without his bidding and sprayed like melted gold from his dick straight up her asshole.
He felt the warmth well up around his cock and gush out onto both their bodies as she moaned and he emptied his bladder hard into her wide open anus.
She screamed as it jetted into her, filling her to bursting, and the added pressure made her cum again without him even touching her pussy. Her frenzy of orgasm, the pressure of her muscles, and the warmth and wetness of his piss drove him over the edge too, once he'd finished pissing, and they both moaned as one, his jizz spilling into her already full anus, making her gasp in pleasure. When the climax ceased, she moved until he slipped out of her and they lay side by side, too spent to do more.
"Dianne, that was." he gasped. "Next time we should invite some friends," she laughed dryly. They both slipped into blissful unconsciousness, dreaming of next time, and the time after that. | English | NL | 3cb3694cb2c0984282b8d55121d92e5ffa687aed20052b81b5e063fa44549c03 |
August 26, 2000 – Douglas Allen Woody (Allman Brothers) was born on October 3, 1955 in Nashville, Tennessee. His father, a truck driver, weaned him on the blues, country and rock oldies. Woody picked up both the mandolin and bass guitar at a very young age. Watching Paul McCartney play with the Beatles, he began learning the bass at age 14. Inspired by such bassists as Mountain’s Felix Pappalardi, Cream’s Jack Bruce, and Hot Tuna’s Jack Cassady, Woody began playing in local bands. Not long afterward he first heard the Allman Brothers Band on the radio and became interested in exploratory Southern rock. Allen started as a guitar player, but later on switched to bass.
He majored in music at at Middle Tennessee University. After graduating, he worked at local Guitarshop in Nashville for eight years, where he met Artimus Pyle, ex-drummer of Lynyrd Skynyrd , who gave Allen his first big break by giving him a job as bass player for APB.
December 16, 1997 – Nicolette Larson was born on July 17th 1952 in Helena, Montana. Her father’s employment with the U.S. Treasury Department forced frequent relocation on Larson’s family, not an easy task for a family of eight. The Larsons moved every couple of years and the young Nicolette was exposed to every genre of music from soul to pop via country. She especially liked Hank Williams and her singing was undoubtedly influenced by Dolly Parton, Tammy Wynette and Loretta Lynn, but her peripatetic childhood and varied taste would later be reflected in albums containing Tamla Motown material alongside songs by Sam Cooke, Burt Bacharah and Jackson Browne.
April 20, 1991 – Steve Marriott (Small Faces and Humble Pie) was born in London on January 30th 1947. He started singing and performing, by busking at local bus-stops for extra pocket money. His father Bill was an accomplished pub pianist and the life and soul of many an ‘East End’ night. Bill bought Marriott a ukulele and harmonica which Marriott taught himself to play. Marriott showed an early interest in singing and performing, busking at local bus-stops for extra pocket money and winning talent contests during the family’s annual holiday to Jaywick Holiday camp near Clacton-on-Sea.
At the age of 12, he formed his first band with school friends Nigel Chapin and Robin Andrews, called ‘The Wheels’, later the ‘Coronation Kids’.
In 1960, his father Bill spotted an advertisement in a London newspaper for a new Artful Dodger replacement to appear in Lionel Bart’s popular musical Oliver!, based on the novel Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, at the New Theatre (now called the Noël Coward Theatre) in London’s West End, and without telling his son, applied for him to audition. At the age of thirteen, Marriott auditioned for the role. He sang two songs, “Who’s Sorry Now” by Connie Francis, and “Oh, Boy!” by Buddy Holly. Bart was impressed with Marriott’s vocal abilities and hired him. Marriott stayed with the show for a total of twelve months, playing various boys’ roles during his time there, for which he was paid £8 a week. Marriott was also chosen to provide lead vocals for the Artful Dodger songs “Consider Yourself”, “Be Back Soon,” and “I’d Do Anything,” which appear on the official album to the stage show, released by World Record Club and recorded at the famous Abbey Road Studios. In 1961 the Marriott family moved from Strone Road to a brand new council flat in Daines Close, Manor Park. Continue reading Steve Marriott 4/1991
April 1, 1984 – Marvin Pentz Gay was born April 2, 1939 in Washington, D.C., he later added the “e” due to childhood teasing and to appear more professional (akin to his childhood idol Sam Cooke’s addition of an “e”). His father , Reverend Marvin Gay, Sr., was an ordained minister in the House of God, a small, conservative sect spun off from the Seventh-day Adventist Church. The church, borrowing some elements of Pentecostalism and Orthodox Judaism, has very strict codes of conduct and does not celebrate any holidays. Gaye got his start singing in the church choir and later learned to play the piano and drums to escape from his physically abusive father. Continue reading Marvin Gaye 4/1984
July 17, 1959 – Billie Holiday was born Eleanora Fagan Goughy in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The singer also nicknamed ‘Lady Day’ by her musical partner Lester Day, was a JAZZ/BLUES/SOUL POWERHOUSE, who collapsed at age 44, under her own virtuosity fed by an uncontrollable urge for alcohol and drugs.
Holiday spent much of her childhood in Baltimore, Maryland. Her mother, Sadie, was only a teenager when she had her. Her father is widely believed to be Clarence Holiday, who eventually became a successful jazz musician, playing with the likes of Fletcher Henderson. Unfortunately for Billie, he was only an infrequent visitor in her life growing up. Sadie married Philip Gough in 1920 and for a few years Billie had a somewhat stable home life. But that marriage ended a few years later, leaving Billie and Sadie to struggle along on their own again. Sometimes Billie was left in the care of other people. Continue reading Billie Holiday 7/1959 | English | NL | 98c6cd51dc017d1f36c15b3fa767eeaa2336fb00b4af5c68dd34122d9780a1d5 |
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Thomas Ruthven, 1st Lord Ruthven (died 6 May 1671) was the son of William Ruthven of Freeland by his wife Isabella Fotheringham, and a great-great-grandson of William Ruthven, 1st Lord Ruthven. In January 1651 he was created Lord Ruthven of Freeland, in the Peerage of Scotland, by King Charles II (who, though in exile from England, had been crowned King of Scots at Scone earlier that month). Lord Ruthven was married to Isabel, daughter of Robert Balfour (previously Arnot) and his wife Margaret Balfour, 2nd Lady Balfour of Burleigh, and by her was the father of a son David, who succeeded to his title. His daughter Jean later succeeded to the title, and on her death it passed to the issue of another daughter, Elizabeth, who had married Sir Francis Ruthven, 1st Baronet.
William Ruthven, 1st Lord Ruthven was a Scottish nobleman and founder of the noble lines of the Ruthven family.
Lord Ruthven of Freeland is a title in the Peerage of Scotland. It was created in 1651 for Thomas Ruthven. He was the grandson of Alexander Ruthven, younger son of William Ruthven, 2nd Lord Ruthven. The letters patent creating the peerage is said to have been burnt with the House of Freeland in 1750, and the remainder to the peerage is not accurately known. However, as the dignity was retained on the Union Roll, it has been presumed that the honour was to heirs-general. Lord Ruthven of Freeland was succeeded by his son, the second Lord. He never married and on his death in 1722 the title and estates devolved by entail upon his youngest sister, Jean. On her death the estates passed to her nephew Sir William Cunningham, 3rd Baronet, of Cunninghamhead. He was the only son of Anne, elder sister of the third Lady Ruthven and also heir of line. He assumed the surname of Ruthven upon the death of his aunt, but lived only six months after his accession to the estates and never assumed the title.
The Peerage of Scotland is the section of the Peerage of the British Isles for those peers created by the King of Scots before 1707. Following that year's Treaty of Union, the Kingdom of Scots and the Kingdom of England were combined under the name of Great Britain, and a new Peerage of Great Britain was introduced in which subsequent titles were created.
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Earl of Carlisle is a title that has been created three times in the Peerage of England.
Earl of Gowrie is a title that has been created twice, once in the Peerage of Scotland and once in the Peerage of the United Kingdom, both times for members of the Ruthven family. It takes its name from Gowrie, a historical region and ancient province of Scotland. On 23 August 1581, William Ruthven, 4th Lord Ruthven, was created Earl of Gowrie by James VI, King of the Scots. He was executed for high treason, attainted and his peerages forfeited on 28 May 1584. Two years later in 1586, the attainder was reversed and his son, the second Earl, was restored as Earl of Gowrie and Lord Ruthven, but both peerages were forfeited after the alleged plot and subsequent death of the second Earl's younger brother, the third Earl, in 1600.
Earl of Brentford was a title that was created twice in Peerage of England. It was first created in 1644 when the Scottish soldier and diplomat Patrick Ruthven, 1st Earl of Forth, was made Earl of Brentford, in the County of Middlesex. He had already been created Lord Ruthven of Ettrick in 1639 and Earl of Forth in 1642, both in the Peerage of Scotland. He had no surviving male issue and the titles became extinct on his death in 1651. Lord Brentford was a great-grandson of William Ruthven, 1st Lord Ruthven. His brother William Ruthven was the grandfather of Francis Ruthven, who was created a Baronet, of Redcastle, in 1666. The latter married Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Ruthven, 1st Lord Ruthven of Freeland, great-grandson of William Ruthven, 2nd Lord Ruthven. Their daughter, Isabel, succeeded as 5th Lady Ruthven of Freeland in 1722.
William Ruthven, 2nd Lord Ruthven was a Scottish nobleman. He served as an Extraordinary Lord of Session and Keeper of the Privy Seal.
The Clan Ruthven is a Lowland Scottish clan.
William Ruthven, 1st Earl of Gowrie, 4th Lord of Ruthven was a Scottish peer known for devising the Raid of Ruthven.
Alexander Patrick Greysteil Ruthven, 2nd Earl of Gowrie,, usually known as Grey Gowrie, is a Scottish hereditary peer. He was a Conservative Party politician for some years, including a period in the British Cabinet, and was later Chairman of Sotheby's and of the Arts Council of England. He has also published poetry. Lord Gowrie is the hereditary Clan Chief of Clan Ruthven.
David Ruthven, 2nd Lord Ruthven of Freeland was a Scottish politician.
Baron Ruthven of Gowrie, of Gowrie in the County of Perth, is a title in the Peerage of the United Kingdom, held by the Earl of Gowrie since 1956. It was created in 1919 for Walter Hore-Ruthven, 9th Lord Ruthven of Freeland, in the Peerage of Scotland. He was succeeded by his eldest son and namesake, Walter, the tenth Lord and second Baron. On the tenth Lord's death in 1956 the Scottish Lordship of Parliament and British barony separated. The Lordship, which could be passed on through female lines, devolved on his eldest daughter, Bridget, while the British barony, which could only be passed on through male lines, devolved on his great-nephew, Grey Ruthven, 2nd Earl of Gowrie. Lord Gowrie was the grandson of Alexander Hore-Ruthven, 1st Earl of Gowrie, second son of the ninth Lord Ruthven of Freeland. See Lord Ruthven of Freeland and Earl of Gowrie for further history of the titles.
Bridget Helen "Biddy" Monckton, 11th Lady Ruthven of Freeland CBE, was also known as The Countess of Carlisle between 1918 and 1947, as Lady Monckton between 1947 and 1957, as The Viscountess Monckton of Brenchley between 1957 and 1965 and as The Dowager Viscountess Monckton of Brenchley between 1965 and 1982. She was a British peer and Conservative member of the House of Lords, but is probably best remembered as the wartime commander of women's services in India.
Alexander Seton, 1st Earl of Huntly, who adopted the family name of Gordon from about 1457, was a powerful 15th-century Scottish magnate. He was knighted in 1439/1440 and was Lord of Badenoch, Gordon, Strathbogie and Cluny.
Alexander Stewart, 2nd Earl of Buchan was the only son of James Stewart, 1st Earl of Buchan, and Margaret Ogilvy. Alexander succeeded to the Earldom and the Barony of Kingedward and other lands, probably in 1499, as he got sasine of the Earldom on 23 January 1499/1500. On 21 January 1490/1491 he got from his father a Charter to himself and his first wife, Isobel Ogilvy, of the lands of the Barony of Kettins and others; and on 6 February 1499/1500, another of the same lands to himself and his second wife, Margaret Ruthven.
William Douglas, 1st Marquess of Douglas and 11th Earl of Angus (1589–1660) was a Scottish nobleman.
Charles James Ruthven Howard, 12th Earl of Carlisle, 12th Lord Ruthven of Freeland MC, styled Viscount Morpeth until 1963, was an English nobleman, politician, and peer.
Major General Walter Patrick Hore-Ruthven, 10th Lord Ruthven of Freeland, 2nd Baron Ruthven of Gowrie,, known as Master of Ruthven from 1870 to 1921, was a senior British Army officer. He served as Major-General commanding the Brigade of Guards and General Officer Commanding London District from 1924 to 1928, and was then Lieutenant Governor of Guernsey until 1934.
Lord Methven was a title in the Peerage of Scotland. It was created on 17 July 1528 by King James V of Scotland for his stepfather Henry Stewart. The title became extinct on the death of the grantee's grandson in the 1580s. The title takes its name from Methven in Perthshire.
William Hay, 5th Earl of Erroll was a Scottish peer and statesman.
James Balfour, 1st Baron Balfour of Glenawley or Clonawley was a Scottish nobleman and courtier who was one of the chief undertakers in the Plantation of Ulster. | English | NL | 4f7b891c6e38b1148a478cfdf2712a074954fa14f77c683bd89c60ab25bae40e |
Stories of the Buddha’s Former Births
Book 1 Ekanipāta
84. Atthassadvara Jātaka
“Seek health.”—This story was told by the Master while at Jetavana, about a boy who was sage in matters relating to spiritual welfare. When he was only seven years old, the boy, who was the son of a very wealthy Treasurer, manifested great intelligence and anxiety for his spiritual welfare; and one day came to his father to ask what were the Paths leading to spiritual welfare. The father could not answer, but he thought to himself,—“This is a very difficult question; from highest heaven to nethermost hell there is none that can answer it, save only the All-knowing Buddha.” So he took the child with him to Jetavana, with a quantity of perfumes and flowers and unguents. Arrived there, he did reverence to the Master, bowed down before him, and seating himself on one side, spoke as follows to the Blessed One—“Sir, this boy of mine, who is intelligent and anxious for his spiritual welfare, has asked me what are the Paths leading to spiritual welfare; and as I did not know, I came to you. Vouchsafe, O Blessed One, to resolve this question.” “Lay-brother,” said the Master, “this selfsame question was asked me by this very child in former times, and I answered it for him. He knew the answer in bygone days, but now he has forgotten because of change of birth.” Then, at the father’s request, he told this story of the past.
Once on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, the Bodhisatta was a very wealthy Treasurer; and he had a son who, when only seven years old, manifested great intelligence and anxiety for his spiritual welfare. One day the child came to his father to ask what were the Paths leading to spiritual welfare. And his father answered him by repeating this stanza—
Seek Health, the supreme good; be virtuous;
Hearken to elders; from the scriptures learn;
Conform to Truth; and burst Attachment’s bonds.
—For chiefly these six Paths to Welfare lead.
In this wise did the Bodhisatta answer his son’s question as to the Paths that lead to spiritual welfare; and the boy from that time forward followed those six rules. After a life spent in charity and other good works, the Bodhisatta passed away to fare thereafter according to his deserts.
His lesson ended, the Master identified the Birth by saying, “This child was also the child of those days, and I myself the Lord Treasurer.” | English | NL | 8d732e531bbdc4a0a367b5138488b467f2811833fcf4749bfdda2183c9d61325 |
In prisons, those things withheld from and denied to the prisoner become precisely what he wants most of all.
Prosecution I have managed to avoid; but I have been arrested, charged in a police court, have refused to be bound over, and thereupon have been unconditionally released - to my great regret; for I have always wanted to know what going to prison was like.
I know not whether laws be right, or whether laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol is that the wall is strong; And that each day is like a year, a year whose days are long.
The worst of prison life, he thought, was not being able to close his door.
I don't like being famous - it is like a prison. And driving for Ferrari would make it far worse.
They were being driven to a prison, through no fault of their own, in all probability for life. In comparison, how much easier it would be to walk to the gallows than to this tomb of living horrors!
Kill a man, and you are an assassin. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill everyone, and you are a God.
I never saw a man who looked With such a wistful eye Upon that little tent of blue Which prisoners call the sky.
Any punishment that does not correct, that can merely rouse rebellion in whoever has to endure it, is a piece of gratuitous infamy which makes those who impose it more guilty in the eyes of humanity, good sense and reason, nay a hundred times more guilty than the victim on whom the punishment is inflicted.
The torment of human frustration, whatever its immediate cause, is the knowledge that the self is in prison, its vital force and 'mangled mind' leaking away in lonely, wasteful self-conflict.
Definition, rationality, and structure are ways of seeing, but they become prisons when they blank out other ways of seeing.
It is hard, but it is excellent, to find the right knowledge of when correction is necessary and when grace doth most avail.
The contagion of crime is like that of the plague. Criminals collected together corrupt each other; they are worse than ever when at the termination of their punishment they re-enter society.
When the Nazis came for the communists, I remained silent; I was not a communist. When they locked up the social democrats, I remained silent; I was not a social democrat. When they came for the trade unionists, I did not speak out; I was not a trade unionist. When they came for me, there was no one left to speak out.
When I was in prison, I was wrapped up in all those deep books. That Tolstoy crap - people shouldn't read that stuff.
Trial by jury itself, instead of being a security to persons who are accused, shall be a delusion, a mockery, and a snare.
I have paid no poll-tax for six years. I was put into a jail once on this account, for one night; and, as I stood considering the walls of solid stone, I could not help being struck with the foolishness of that institution which treated me as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be locked up...I saw that, if there was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through, before they could get to be as free as I was.
I was put into jail as I was going to the shoemaker's to get a shoe which was mended. When I was let out the next morning, I proceeded to finish my errand, and, having put on my mended shoe, joined a huckleberry party, who were impatient to put themselves under my conduct; and in half an hour -- for the horse was soon tackled -- was in the midst of a huckleberry field, on one of our highest hills, two miles off, and then the State was nowhere to be seen. | English | NL | 6f7f65809cc6ee08991cca9aa91a836d187d6c61956cad6135a41416087c33e5 |
Psalms 54 “Save me, O God, by thy name, and judge me by thy strength. Hear my prayer, O God; give ear to the words of my mouth. For strangers are risen up against me, and oppressors seek after my soul: they have not set God before them. Selah. Behold, God is mine helper: the Lord is with them that uphold my soul. He shall reward evil unto mine enemies: cut them off in thy truth. I will freely sacrifice unto thee: I will praise thy name, O Lord; for it is good. For he hath delivered me out of all trouble: and mine eye hath seen his desire upon mine enemies.”
Sometimes when you get a lot of facts, details and ideas all at one time they will slip right by you. Like James said, you will look in the mirror of the Word of God and you will see yourself for what you are. You will see some changes that ought to me made, corrections, and help from the Word of God. Then, after you have read these things, unless you make a concentrated effort to remember and respond, you will forget what manner of man you saw as you were reading. It will all just evaporate from your memory and you will not remember at all what God revealed to you about yourself that needed improvement. Someone said, “The biggest room in the world is room for improvement.”
As you read God’s Word or set under teaching and preaching, it might be a good idea to jot down the things that come to your mind, areas where you need to make some changes in your life. I want what you read today to make a difference in your life tomorrow. I want you to be a victorious Christian. My key word is mentioned twice in Psalm 54:6. The word is “I”. It is a one-letter word. I want you to think with me about that little personal pronoun “I”. You see one of the problems in our society is we have been taught to be self-centered. The average person in America today lives for self. We examine everything in light of what effect does it have on me, how do I see this thing, how does it look to me. We have our share of “I” problems.
Satan had “I” problems, Isaiah 14:12-14 “How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How are thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations! For thou had said in thine heart, I will ascent into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God: I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the north: I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most High.”
Why did Satan got kicked out of heaven? Why is it that the devil was chased from his place of prominence in which God had intended for him to serve (perhaps as one of the ark angels)? Five times in this passage the devil said, “I”. His whole attitude and existence centered around what he said he was going to do. He was all enamored with, caught up in, and infatuated by that first person pronoun “I”. He was looking out for number one.
A lot of people have “I” problems. I found an old anniversary picture of my wife and I. In that picture I do not have glasses on. I was in the transition period. That time when I only wore glasses to read and the rest of the time they stayed in my pocket. People do not want to admit when they start having eye problems. During that period of time I would carry my glasses in my shirt pocket, I was over helping clean the gym. We were getting ready for some event. We had these carpets to be laid on the floor. I put it down and said, “Man, these carpets need to be smoothed out.” I saw a lump in the middle of the carpet and so I went over and stomped on it trying to get it to go down. Then I said, “Where are my glasses?” They were under the carpet. It was a great day.
Another example of this happened when my parents took my brother John, his wife Sophie, Nancy and myself out for their fifty-fifth wedding anniversary supper. My brother was in his eye sight transition where I was about six years prior, so he was not wearing them regularly. We got to the restaurant and he had left his glasses at home. You should have seen him trying to read the menu! He borrowed mine to try to use them as a magnifying glass. We all have (eye) I problems of some kinds. The “I” problem I am talking about is a little play on words, but the truth of the matter is it has everything to do with how you look at things. It has everything to do with your perspective.
We all have “I” problems. We all have that tendency to see things from our own perspective and not from God’s perspective. That was the devil’s problem. He was looking at things the wrong way and it got him in a heap of trouble. He got kicked out of heaven. He has been an adversary of God, God’s work and program ever since. He is your enemy and my enemy. It all started with that one letter word “I”. I is the center of sin and pride. It would do us all well to look in the mirror of God’s Word and see ourselves as God sees us. | English | NL | e04cce2e3508f374669ab1cae5e8c80cf1ba0f2cb71200c32111865b8bb4a9da |
To our knowledge, Jesus never spoke in tongues.
We have so little insight into his personal life, it is difficult to say anything definitive about his private practices. If he did speak in tongues for his own edification, no one was there to witness it. If some one did witness it, no biblical author was ever impressed by the Holy Spirit to record it. Although if someone had witnessed him doing so, I feel fairly certain it would have been recorded in light of Acts 2.
As far as his public ministry goes, we have no recorded incidence of Jesus ever speaking in tongues. We do have incidences of him speaking in Aramaic, but that was his native language, not the supernatural occurrence of speaking in tongues. Again, in light of Acts 2, had he spoken in tongues, I feel fairly certain one of the gospel authors would have recorded it. Something so seminal in the birth of the church would have surely had a precedent in the life of Christ recorded if there was one.
Regardless, I think the real issue implied by this question is that if Jesus never did, why should we? The answer is that regardless of what Jesus' experience was in this respect, at its beginning the church unanimously spoke in tongues, and the experience was promised to all that followed. For the disciples and those selected to be Apostles by Jesus, the clear choice of God was that every one of them spoke in tongues upon their baptism in the Spirit, even if Jesus never did.
So, the particular experience of Jesus in regard to speaking in tongues is not the controlling precedent for those who follow him. Instead, it is the experience of those who first followed Jesus which is the model for Christian experience. Jesus may have not spoken in tongues, but his followers did, and so can we! | English | NL | d0ea9d0666784962538548434aa6ea8f98652a582052adcbcdfb38a6e2ca3017 |
Alfred Newey won the Grand National on Eremon in 1907
Alfred Newey was born in Cradley in 1882. Alf’s family came from Cradley, his father’s work as a coal miner having taken them to Yorkshire. As Alfred was interested in horses at age19 he started working at a local stables in Brereton, Lichfield and in 1902 applied for a jockey’s licence. In the years to come he was runner up in the Jockeys Table, won the 1907 Grand National on Eremon, the Scottish Grand National on Creoline and the Welsh Champion Hurdles on Assaroe. He later trained at Hednesford and sent out Gracious Gift to win the Liverpool Foxhunters. Alf had come third in the 1905 Grand National and in 1907 Eremon was a relative novice. Eremon was though expected to perform very well which his 8-1 odds showed. During the race the jockey broke a stirrup at the first fence but did well enough to stay on and lead at the Canal Turn on the first circuit before another strange Grand National event took place when Rathvale who had unseated it’s jockey came up alongside Eremon and tried to viciously bite the horse. Alfred Newey tried to scare the horse away with his whip but with no success as the pair raced side-by-side for an entire circuit until he finally pulled away to win the race over Tom West by six lengths. Alas, shortly after his Aintree triumph, Eremon got loose at exercise and was fatally injured. Alf married Gertrude Corbett in June 1907 and they are recorded on the 1911 census as residing at Prospect House, Hednesford, Alf now a jockey and trainer, with 9 employees.
Thank you Maureen Millsom
Alfred moved from Cradley to Hednesford with his family where he worked as a horse driver at the Rawnsley colliery,a horse trainer from the area had somehow noticed Alf’s potential-how is unclear! But nevertheless he spent eleven years under the man’s wing, and learned to ride under an apprenticeship scheme. Meanwhile a Manchester-born horse trainer by the name of Tom Coulthwaite had around the turn of the century, settled on the edge of Cannock Chase and established a stables at Hazel Slade which had quickly gained an enviable reputation. With the grand national approaching, Coulthwaite was readying Eremon for glory, despite the horses humble almost comically so background.
Eremon had been bought for fifty quid (50 pounds) and had worked in his youth as a cart horse, but after some intensive work at hazel slade Eremon was winning races, and Coulthwaite was confident enough in him to pit him against the very best in the biggest race of all. He chose Alf newey as the jockey, despite advise to the contrary by others in the business. The black country rider lined up with the cream of the sport at Aintree that march.
Coulthwaite would have been forgiven a self-congratulatory grin as Alf led Eremon to the front of the field from the start, in perfect conditions and in front of the packed course. Then at the second fence one of Alf’s stirrups broke, and he faced the proposition of riding out the entire race completely off–balance, just staying on the horses back would have been difficult enough, let alone taking the remaining fences at an angle. But Then Rathvale a rival hore, threw his rider and decided to accompany Eremon all the way home, as if he didn’t already have enough on his plate, as the two rode neck and neck for the rest of the race, Alf with one eye on the chasing pack and one foot swinging free had to lean over every few yards and crack Rathvale on the head with his whip handle, it did the trick-he backed off just to follow the triumphant Eremon over the line just a yard or two behind, the black country jockey had ridden himself into the history books, despite the days mishaps, on a former carthorse.
Alf was described as being broad and short legged.
As well as the grand national he won the Scottish grand national on crinoline and the welsh champion hurdle on Assaroe, later he trained at Hednesford and sent out gracious gift to win the Liverpool foxhunters. By 1911 he was described as a trainer/jockey living at prospect house Hednesford.
Not bad for a black country miner who had started off in a little village called Cradley. I think all of Cradley turned up at the grand national that year to watch and see “our Alf romp home. | English | NL | 4b5a60fa29a19e02437d66a42d581e8c9208c59554db25ab6c2959d78f4e1390 |
Children of parents who have alcohol use disorder are more likely to get married under the age of 25, less likely to get married later in life, and more likely to marry a person who has alcohol use disorder themselves, according to a new study by researchers at Virginia Commonwealth University and Lund University in Sweden.
"There are many pathways through which a parent's alcohol problems can influence our own risk for alcohol problems. One important pathway, of course, has to do with the genes that parents pass to their children," said the study's lead author, Jessica E. Salvatore, Ph.D., an assistant professor in the Department of Psychology in the College of Humanities and Sciences at VCU. "But another important pathway, which we demonstrate here, is through the social environment."
The study, "Parental Alcohol Use Disorder and Offspring Marital Outcomes," was published in the most recent issue of the journal Addiction. It is based on data from legal, medical and pharmacy registries with detailed information on 1.17 million people in Sweden who were born between 1965 and 1975.
Read more here. | English | NL | 1650b49800b0ec84c9655e90ef054867172369ed97bee947d1ba750024df027f |
Jude The Anticipator was a fortune teller working out of the Bronx in the 70s. He was one scary dude. I never met him. It was my mentor Earl Marlowe told me about him. Earl knew him when he lived in the U.S., having settled there after leaving the Merchant Navy.
This is what Earl said about him:
“Jude The Anticipator was a scholar of the streets, a man with hunting knife strapped to his leg and a .44 Magnum in his pocket. A bad ass motherfucker. But he had a hell of a lot of wisdom. And he could read the future better than anyone I ever knew. He could tell yo’ fortune in detail like he was watchin’ it unfold on a TV screen.
Thing was, he never pulled punches. If it was bad, he’d tell you. He scared the shit outa people. They’d go to him shakin’, prayin’ he’d have somethin’ good to say. Jude the Anticipator was not diplomatic. He see evil he tell you. He see the grim reaper he tell you.”
According to Earl, the crazy thing was Jude the Anticipator loved disco music. You’d find him getting down with The Trammps, tracks like Rubber Band and The Night The Lights Went Out. He was even telling fortunes in Bronx nightclubs, laid his spirit board down on the tables. Crowd around him saying, “Tell me my fortune, Jude, I love you man…”
Often they wished they’d never asked – especially when what he told them came true. Other times, people would celebrate because he told them about the happy birth of a child, or that they were going to win some money.
Jude died sometime in the 1980s. Here’s Jude’s favorite track:
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An all too-common sophomoric slight to artists is: “A child could have done that.” Seiki Kuroda (1866-1924), the most significant Western-style painter in Japan’s early modern history, however, shows that even some young adults can not accomplish what takes years to hone.
Kuroda’s “Self-portrait” (1885), created before he reached his 20s and on display at the Museum of Kyoto’s latest exhibition, is in fact weak, and his other drawings and compositions in the following few years — from copies and plaster casts — do not indicate the future heights and rewards he would eventually attain. For this, the exhibition is brilliant — it shows the way his talent emerged, the skills he slowly acquired, the directions taken up or abandoned and the stylistic eclecticism Kuroda is not often widely known for, even today.
Kuroda was an aristocrat, who learned French and went to Paris in 1884 to study law at the behest of his father. Three years of that was enough, however, and he started studying painting with Raphael Colin. Before he returned to Japan in 1893, his work was academic, conventional and the compositions uninspired. He drew nudes in classical poses, painted like an amateur and even though he came back to Japan with a trove of paintings displaying new international trends that he became enormously famous for, his oeuvre was consistently uneven in quality. His “Field” (1889) and “Girl Holding a Sheep” (1899) are the epitome of Sunday-art exhibition subjects.
Then, in 1890, Kuroda started to develop bold brushwork as seen in “Cityscape of Paris” and his compositional ability skyrocketed in the loose brushwork of “Woman Knitting” (1890). By then he had become an established figure and in 1896 he headed the Western Art Department at the Tokyo School of Fine Arts.
Controversy had preceded this, however, with “Choso,” a nude that in many ways was the pinnacle of French painting and the forte of his teacher but was taboo in Japan. He was censured but refused to give in and his three panels of 1899, “Sentiment,” “Impression,” and “Wisdom,” now stand as testament to the triumphs of modern Western Japanese art and the supremacy of the naked female body.
It was, however, “Lakeside” (1897) with the somber, pensive beauty attired in kimono, holding a fan and set before a lake with the verdigris of the distant hills, that has come to distinguish his career. His much more disparate work, characterized by such bold, expressionist brushwork and color as in “A Nap” (1894), would make Van Gogh blush.
That he continued to work almost into impasto abstraction as in the garden weeds in “Storm” (1919) or the almost chaotic “Roses” (1923) are aspects of his career that deserve much more attention than has been given to date.
“Kuroda Seiki: Ninety Years On — A Great Master of Japanese Modern Western-style Painting” at The Museum of Kyoto runs till July 21; open 10 a.m.-6 p.m. (Fri. till 7:30 p.m.). ¥1,200. Closed Mon. www.bunpaku.or.jp/exhi_special.htm | English | NL | e35491695a434190ac13384ad02e570961d789bbc2fa2336f5e923c5c81c59bd |
Grave Clobber was once a great pharaoh who ruled the Golden Desert long ago.
That was until his seven jealous brothers buried him in an underwater tomb while he was sleeping. But the remaining brothers still fought among themselves, and their infighting ultimately led to their kingdom falling apart and the family name being lost forever… almost. Because Grave Clobber eventually rose from his watery grave, and when he discovered what his brothers had done to their kingdom, he hunted each of them down and clobbered them. This was how he came to the attention of the Golden Queen, who now ruled the desert herself. She recruited Grave Clobber into her gang of Doom Raiders, but when the Skylanders defeated them once and for all, Master Eon thought that perhaps there was more to this mummy than meets the eye. He gave the old pharaoh a chance for redemption, and since nobody clobbered better than Grave Clobber, he was the perfect choice to be a Sensei trainer for the Brawler Class. | English | NL | 47e1998e573e89fd29b092f2e3b5b6e6eb3d4265c69d540832b779d2be3d6206 |
If Thomas Aitkenhead had been born 50 years later he might have been one of the leaders of the Scottish Enlightenment instead of the last man in Britain to be hanged for blasphemy. As Dilys Rose makes clear in her evocative novel, it was his love of learning, debate, and thinking for himself that led him to the gallows in 1697.
Edinburgh at the end of the 17th was a grim theocracy. The Church ran a kind of secret police. Rose describes how Aitkenhead’s mother, who along with many other Scots of her age loved to go A-Maying, dared to go with her children for a day of fun on Mayday beside the Water of Leith on the Sabbath. But she is seen by “the two black-coated elders…who [if they were frank] would admit to thoroughly enjoying their time in the open air, free from coccyx-numbing pews and the asphyxiating odours of humanity which accumulate between kirk walls during a Sunday sermon.” The result, despite the elders chased away with stones, is that his mother must stand in church for six weeks “on a raised wooden form situated directly beneath the pulpit, from which she and fellow sinners can be scrutinised by the congregation.” Her children share her humiliation.
Rose paints a vivid picture of 17th century Edinburgh, and her use of Scots in dialogue (which is easily understood after a few paragraphs) adds to the sense that you are there in the narrow, dark, grimy, stinking streets among the crowds. She creates the times as effectively as Hilary Mantel created Tudor England, an achievement that is rare in historical novels.
Aitkenhead’s father was a herbalist, contributing to his son’s taste for inquiry and allowing Rose to share the poetry of his stock and the secrets of his remedies, including a love potion that is, of course, forbidden by the church. A poor businessman, Aitkenhead’s father heads to bankruptcy and an early death. His family is, however, taken in by rich relatives, giving Rose a chance to describe the world of the rich as well as the poor. The rich relative provides for Aitkenhead to become a medical student at Edinburgh University at a time when the seeds of the Enlightenment were beginning to sprout.
Meeting men like Alexander Pitcairn who were willing to ignore the strictures of the church and read, think, and talk widely and exposed to the books flooding in from the world, Aitkenhead was intoxicated by the intellectual possibilities. Even while enjoying the fragrance of a physic garden he notes that “Every plant form is so particular, complex, perfectly designed. For some– for many–such abundance is proof of the existence of God. But why, if the true purpose of life is to conform to God’s will, would He need so many different species, such endless variety?” Darwin’s great book was more than a century away, but the questions were there.
Some of the teaching at the university was dull, and bored and hungry in a geometry lesson Aitkenhead reacts to the teacher asserting that “the principles of geometry were given by God so that his people might labour more efficiently.” He asks to speak: “if God is responsible for the rules of geometry, which can be proven mathematically by the rules of logic, why is not possible to follow a similar computation for the Creator Himself?” He continues and knows from the reaction in the room that he is on dangerous ground, but he can’t stop himself going further: “As Aristotle posited, we can imagine a creature that is half hart and half goat, but we know it doesn’t exist. We may be able to imagine a man incarnating God while knowing he doesn’t exist. Man’s imagination, with art and industry, can create anything.” After a whiff of atheism, the last sentence captures the spirit of the Enlightenment.
Like all students, Aitkenhead plays and jokes with his colleagues, none of whom are as questioning and curious as him and some of whom are jealous of his wit and learning. At a horse race Aitkenhead objects to the abuse of the horses, but his false friend says “It’s God’s will that an animal does man’s bidding.” The debate continues and responding to a Biblical quote from his friend Aitkenhead says: “If he ask me, the doctrine o theology is a rhapsody o feigned and Ill -invented nonsense. It’s patched up pairtly o the moral doctrine o philosophers, and pairtly o poetical fictions and extravagant chimaeras.”
These words combined with others he has said and some invented by his enemies are his undoing. His false friend reports his words and soon he is arrested, imprisoned, and tried. His punishment of hanging is recognised as excessive even at the time, and perhaps it reflected the theocracy recognising how learning, debate, and free-thinking would mark its decline.
It seems extraordinary in contemporary Britain that anybody could be executed or even fined for blasphemy, but it still happens in many countries. In Pakistan, as in 17th century Edunburgh, accusations of blasphemy are used by the unscrupulous to get rid of their political enemies. ISIS will kill for blasphemy much less than that of Aitkenhead.
As he sits in prison awaiting execution, Aitkenhead writes a letter to his family and friends to try and explain and justify his words and actions. “Each word must be weighed like a granule of precious matter; each must contribute to a true representation of his beliefs.” As I read that sentence, I thought how Rose in her novel has succeeded in creating a compelling novel by weighing each word and sentence like a granule of precious matter. | English | NL | 370849f19bdda2a3411dc5f375c5678024f17d12d4c98d1ba5f840f85736de61 |
Efraím G. Valverde (1928 – 2003) was the fifth Bishop President of the Apostolic Assembly. He was born September 21, 1928 in Pinedale, Califorina and married sister Catalina Ponce in 1948, the following year they were both baptized in the Name of Jesus. His family had belonged for generations to the Baptist Church until his family and him were reached with the Apostolic doctrine in Tijuana, México. Brother Efraím quickly set himself to preaching in his characteristic animated and firm manner. The Lord used him to compose many hymns, which include “Indeleble,” and “Agradecimiento.”
He received a divine call to move from Tijuana to northern California. Quickly appointed a Pastor, he was elected Bishop of Northern California in 1962 when Pioneer Epifanio Cota died. In 1966 he was elected Bishop President of the Apostolic Assembly presiding the church during this time of social changes and unrest. As President he rented and later purchased the first office building to house the Church’s headquarters in Los Angeles, he created new districts beyond the American Southwest and he advised future leaders of the United Pentecostal Church of Colombia. He died on July 4, 2003. | English | NL | 5587385e3f45408baa2906ccd223ff762d4144b2cae4b93c713848fd0d53f04b |
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Run To You by Kandice Michelle Young
I moved to New York for a fresh start. I did not move here to fall for a man like Sebastian.
Sebastian Black came into my life like a storm in the peak of the nightâ¦dark, raging, all-consuming, and guaranteed to leave destruction in his wake. From the moment our eyes met, he had a hold on me. I wanted, craved, and needed him like nothing I had ever desired before.
The problem was he needed total submission. From the moment he handed me the contract, I knew what he was proposing would destroy me. What I had not planned was his ability to make me crave destruction. I would lose myself in him. Sebastian knew how to take me over the edge, and before I even knew it, I wanted to go freefalling.
It was evident that my past had the ability to destroy us. What I had not calculated was the power of his to do the same. My dark, brooding, impeccably sexual, alpha-male had his own crosses to bear. I was not sure I was strong enough to handle them, or the woman who helped chain him there.
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Run From You by Kandice Michelle Young
Available June 1oth
Sebastian called me his princess, but he was far from my white knight. He was my drug. One hit and I was addicted to him.
I ran from him to save my life. I kept running to regain my sanity. Kyle would help me with that. His warmth and familiarity were just what I needed to get back on track. Beautiful in his own right, Kyle was everything I once knew to be good about the world. Kyle was perfect for me, he always had been.
Except he wasn't Sebastian, he could never be. The horrors of my past pulled me away from him. The nightmares of my present would bring us back together. Confused though I was, I knew Sebastian was the only choice. The damage done was great, our love greater. Surviving each other would take everything we had, but it was the only option.
Every mistake we had made would collapse on top of us, burying us alive in a mountain of anger and guilt. Neither of us could have prepared for what was coming. The only way out was through. The question became, would we be strong enough to make it through together or would our secrets tear us apart once more?
â¦a serial lover of all things pink, self-proclaimed chocoholic, home-schooling mother, and wannabe yogi.
Her debut erotica novel, Run to You, the first in the series Run, is coming soon.
Kandiâs love of storytelling can be traced back to her fourth grade year, when a history lesson on Native Americans became too unimaginative for her liking. She took it upon herself to liven things up by creating a story that was based on half-truths about a self-named Indian Princess. Kandice is in fact of Native American heritage (her great-grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee) and in her own mind a princess, so you can see where her inspiration came from. Her story was a huge hit with friends, and an author was born.
Kandice was born and raised in rural Arkansas, where she currently lives with her husband and three children. Though, if you ask her sheâll confirm that her soul is lost somewhere on the west coast waiting for the day that her body can rejoin it. | English | NL | 26f6c5ebd2b89e2c077f25611851d3060649c18ff5af36d6f03a198a2b37f759 |
Pennsylvania Railroad’s GG1 class has been widely recognized as one of most successful locomotive models ever built. The 80-foot long, 237-ton machines were capable of hauling trains at over 100 miles per hour, as they did between New York and Washington DC from the 1930s to the 1970s.
New Jersey’s GG1s, Nos. 4877 and 4879, were two of the last in service, serving in New York to South Amboy service until retirement in September 1983. To commemorate the GG1s’ history, No. 4877 was repainted from solid black to PRR’s “tuscan red” scheme in 1981 with cooperation between the Jersey Central Railway Historical Society and NJ Transit. Sister Locomotive 4879 was the last GG-1 to pull a revenue passenger train in New Jersey. Both were donated to the museum effort in 1991.
4877 is restored to its 1930s-era “5-stripe” paint scheme and 4879 is restored to its 1950s-era “single stripe” paint scheme. Both are stored at URHS’s Boonton Yard.
Erie Lackawanna 3372
The U34CH represented a landmark in passenger train operation. It is truly the “last of the first of its kind.” During the late 60’s and early 70’s, passenger trains were nearing the end of an era. Aging equipment, heated by steam, could not stand up to the demands of changing technology. Across the country, these older cars were being replaced with newer, electrically lit and heated cars, powered by car-mounted generators or individual power cars. At that same time, the Erie Lackwanna was dealing with an ever aging fleet of coaches and MU’s that dated back to the late teens and twenties. When the NJ Department of Transportation took over passenger service, they used an ingenious new idea to modernize the fleet.
The result was an order of new “Comet I” coaches from Pullman-Standard, and 32 U34CH locomotives from General Electric Co. This was the first time in the evolution of modern passenger equipment that locomotives and cars were ordered together to work in tandem. The new coaches would be powered by electricity delivered from a new type of generator in the U34CH. The drive shaft from the locomotive’s 16 cylinder motor would go entirely through its main generator, which powered its 6 traction motors, and go into a generator used exclusively for powering the train. This meant that, to power the cars, the engine always ran at a full 960 rpm, the equivalent of full power. This made for a locomotive that was not only powerful and efficient, but exceptionally distinctive, characterized by its consistent roar both stopped at stations and at speed.
The U34CH, and its corresponding passenger car fleet, pioneered “push-pull” operation of trains in New Jersey. Today, all commuter trains in NJ run in this manner. The U-boats represented the turning point in New Jersey railroad history, as they bridged the gap between the first generation diesels from the pre-Conrail era and the modern head end powered passenger equipment of today. The story of New Jersey railroading would not be complete without including the U34CH, which is why the URHS finds it imperative to save the last one in existence.
New York Central 4083
NYC 4083 is a one-of-a-kind locomotive that New York Central painted in the experimental “Century Green” paint scheme. It was one one of three units, in an A-B-A set which received the same treatment. In search of a new simplified paint scheme in 1960-61 to replace the “lightning stripe” scheme, the NYC commissioned three new test schemes which were black, gray, and “Century Green.” The decision was made to go with dark gray.
“Century Green” eventually became the standard color for the NYC’s freight equipment. According to NYC Chief Mechanical Officer John Reehling, “The dark grey gave the best appearance. There was not enough stenciling as on a boxcar to break up the wide expanse of just plain green.”
Later in life, it was the last E8 locomotive painted in the Penn Central black livery to run in New Jersey service and was the third and last E8 to be completely rebuilt at Conrail’s Elizabethport, NJ shop, completed in August 1981.
This engine also operated as NJDOT and NJ Transit 4326 for a significant portion of its operational career. It was donated to the museum collection in 1995 and is restored to the one-of-a-kind “Century Green” paint scheme in 2014.
4083’s restoration debut in URHS’s Boonton Yard. Photo by Carl Perelman
This SW9 is a switcher locomotive, one of a long line of similarly designed locomotives produced by the Electro-Motive Division of General Motors (EMD) from the 1930’s through the 1960’s. Thousands of EMD end-cab switcher locomotives were rostered by nearly every railroad in the United States, with hundreds still in service today. These small 1,200 horsepower engines were well-suited to the branch lines and industrial parks of New Jersey, and every railroad in the state rostered a sizable fleet of these locomotives to effectively serve freight customers shipping an endless list of commodities by rail.
This particular unit, built for the Erie Railroad, was often used for local freight service on the railroad’s branches in northern New Jersey. Patterson, Hackensack, Suffern, and Jersey City were just some of the major service areas that Erie 436 called home through the 1950’s. On October 17, 1960, the Erie Railroad merged to form the Erie Lackawanna Railroad, and this locomotive became Erie Lackawanna 436.
Under the Erie Lackawanna, this locomotive was assigned to work the passenger coach yards in Hoboken, moving around cars to arrange trains before the passenger locomotives were attached. When the Erie Lackawanna was included in Conrail on April 1, 1976, 436 became Conrail 9012, where it remained in service in Hoboken, Elizabethport, and Kearny as a passenger car switcher. When NJ Transit was organized in 1983, ownership of the 9012 was transferred, and it was renumbered back to 436.
436 continued to serve NJ Transit into the early 1990’s, when it was donated to the United Railroad Historical Society of New Jersey (URHS). It was restored to its original 1952 Erie colors in 1998 and now resides in the URHS’s Boonton, NJ yard.
This E8 is a streamlined passenger-hauling diesel locomotive which was widely purchased by the country's major railroads. This E8 was built for the Pennsylvania Railroad and survived to be rebuilt in the 1970s for the New Jersey Department of Transportation. It's current NJDOT blue and silver paint job is a rare example of a vintage diesel resorted to a period late in its career.
Photo by Lester Zmudzinksi
“B&O 412” is former U.S. Navy switcher No. 19, which served Weapons Station Earle until its donation to the URHS. This is the only Baldwin owned by the URHS, and is painted to be representative of the many VO1000s which served the Baltimore & Ohio. B&O’s VO1000s often performed freight interchange duties between the Jersey Central, Reading and Baltimore & Ohio railroads, and were all scrapped after their retirement.
Several NJ railroads owned this model diesel locomotive: Baltimore & Ohio, Reading, New York Central, Pennsylvania, Jersey Central and Lehigh Valley. The U.S. Navy requested that the locomotive not be painted to represent its former Navy heritage, so URHS opted to use the No. 19 to represent the Baltimore & Ohio in its collection.
B&O 412 is currently leased to SMS Rail Lines and works in occasional freight service. The locomotive was leased to SMS as a non-operational unit, and was eventually restored to operation by the railroad’s mechanical team, which specializes in Baldwin diesel maintenance and repair.
Photo by Kevin Painter
New York Central 4076
In the late 40s, as steam locomotives began to disappear, streamlined EMD diesels often had the honor of pulling the railroads' finest passenger trains. This New York Centeal E8 pulled many of its owner's named trains, the most famous of which was the 20th Century Limited. The URHS also owns the tail car from this train and it is likely that at some point in its career, it rode at the tail of a train behind 4076.
4076 was transferred to Penn Central, Conrail, and then later to NJDOT in December 2, 1976, where it wore the number 4323. It was rebuilt in March 1980 and was the second of three E8s rebuilt at Conrail’s Elizabethport, NJ shop. It served until 1982 when it was retired from passenger service. It was modified in 1983 for use in the M&E re-electrification to provide layover power to the Dover yard passenger trains so that the stored U34CH’s could be shut down overnight. Since it was equipped with a generator set for HEP coaches in place of one of its prime mover diesel engines, it has half the horsepower of the other E8 locomotives.
In November 1990 it was repainted as “Erie 834” to haul excursions with “Erie 835” (PRR 5788) through funds from URHS and the Jersey Central Railway Historical Society. It is currently stored in URHS’s Boonton Yard.
No. 5788 in Chicago on March 15, 1962. Photo by John Dziobko Jr.
The E60 was the first predecessor to the Pennsylvania Railroad’s GG1. When Amtrak took over America’s long-distance passenger service in 1973, the GG1 fleet it inherited was in the twilight of its usefulness. As a replacement, Amtrak ordered 37 of GE’s passenger variant of the E60. Due to a poor truck design which made them prone to derailments, the E60s were restricted to 90 miles per hour, and never proved to be fully-capable replacements for the GG1.
In 1984, with the arrival of AEM-7 electrics on Amtrak, most of their E60 fleet went into storage. This unit was one of several E60’s that were sold to NJ Transit on January 13th, 1984. Amtrak 958 became NJT 958.
New Carrollton, MD - April 1979 - Photo by Dick Leonhardt
The RS-3 has been called the “definitive” Reading diesel during the steam to diesel transition. No. 492 two is typical of the very versatile “road-switcher” locomotives which served railroads all over New Jersey and the northeast.
No. 492 was delivered to Rutherford, PA in the summer of 1952, and went about replacing the Reading N-1 Mallet and I-9 Consolidation steam locomotives still operating there. Later, it frequently saw service on the Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines in south Jersey. On October 26, 1973, it was sold to the United Railway Supply of Montreal, Quebec and subsequently acquired by the Roberval & Saguenay Railway as their No. 31. By the late 1970s, it was acquired by the Delaware Otsego System and renumbered as the Fonda, Johnstown & Gloversville 103, but painted in the attractive maroon scheme of the DO System. The locomotive was acquired from the General Electric Company by the URHS in 1989. In the fall of 1991, the locomotive was restored into the original Reading Company livery by Tony Zisa with help from the members of the Bergen-Rockland Chapter of the NRHS. Today it is stored non-operational in URHS’s Boonton Yard.
Central Railroad of New Jersey’s fleet of GP7s were built in 1952. They were primarily utilized in passenger service between Jersey City and Bay Head, between Jersey City and Raritan, and between Matawan and Atlantic Highlands before delivery of the Budd built Rail Diesel Cars for that latter service.
When CNJ became part of Conrail, No. 1523 was renumbered to No. 5681, and No. 1524 became 5902. In December of 1976, both locomotives were transferred to NJDOT, predecessor to NJ Transit. NJT donated both locomotive to the URHS collection in 1993. Both engines were restored cosmetically. 1523 is leased to Cape May Seashore Lines, who maintains it in operational condition. 1524 is restored cosmetically and is stored non-operational in URHS Boonton Yard.
Pennsylvania Railroad 7000
PRR 7000 was the first EMD GP9 locomotive built for the Pennsylvania Railroad. It was maintained at Conway while serving the PRR. After the formation of Conrail, it was still maintained at Conway but regularly roamed east to haul freight in New Jersey. Its last Conrail duty was that of a yard switcher at the Elizabethport shops. This locomotive was transferred to NJ Transit in 1983 and continued in its same role even after NJ Transit opened the MMC and abandoned the use of Elizabethport. Upon its retirement in 1995, it was donated to the URHS collection. It has been leased to the Cape May Seashore Lines which maintains it in operational condition.
“Reading 284” is an EMD F7 painted to replicate those operated by the Reading Company in New Jersey. Reading’s F7 line was the last order of cab units the railroad received. Built in 1950, the fleet included 18 A units and 6 B units. In addition to hauling freight, Reading’s F7s were a common sight on their main line through northern New Jersey. In an effort to upgrade their fleet, the F7s were traded in to EMD in 1964 and scrapped shortly there after.
This F7 began its life as Chicago & Northwestern 4074A in 1949. In 1961, it was rebuilt for passenger service and given a head end power generator and a new number: 424. It was its ability to power coaches which drew New Jersey Transit to purchase it and its sister locomotives in 1983. Only two years later they were retired and 424 was donated to the URHS. To help represent one of NJ’s major railroads, the URHS chose to replicate the Reading F7s that were scrapped almost 4 decades earlier.
URHS volunteers restored 284 to turn it in to an interactive display, free of the hazards of an in-service locomotive. Visitors can go inside it, touch it, and learn about it and other diesel locomotives from a first-person perspective.
Reading 284 en route to Spencer, North Carolina to be a part of the North Carolina Transportation Museum’s “Streamliners at Spencer.” Photo by Ron Tilley
The 100-tonner is a small industrial diesel locomotive that many railroads and industrial sites used to move cars around their facilities. This locomotive was owned by the Public Service Electric & Gas Company and was used to move coal hoppers at the Bergen Generating Station in Ridgefield Park, NJ from the time it was built until it was donated to the URHS. It now serves as one of the yard switchers at the URHS Restoration Yard.
The 100-Tonner at the Bergen Generating Station in Ridgefield Park in March 1979. Photo by B. Gripp
The 45-tonner is URHS’s yard workhorse. Built in 1940, it is one of the oldest diesels in the collection, but has been repowered with more modern Cummins diesel engines. It was donated to URHS by Liberty Historic Railway, and currently wears the colors of the organization. LHRy purchased the locomotive from a facility in Michigan and had it trucked to Boonton and repainted. Its exact heritage is unknown at this time. | English | NL | c85eae50f3e2cf3690fd0d620c9b09b6a59984651b0c309e88574787cee5350c |
With the latest firmware, Canon have made slight alterations to LOG2 and the have added LOG3, so which is the best LOG to use?
Shooting with a LOG curve is becoming more and more common as editors get more used to applying LUTS. I often used to shoot with a picture profile that took very little grading for fast turn around shows, but these days almost everyone seems happy to receive LOG footage, but which LOG curve to choose?
From now on I'll be switching from LOG2 to LOG3, here is why.
If you are looking solely for high dynamic range, then LOG2 is the curve for you. For high contrast bright outdoor scenes the LOG 2 curve works really well. I always shoot the LOG2 Cine Gamut preset if using this LOG, as the Cine Gamut gives the greatest colour spectrum for grading. Although it is tougher to grade from scratch, dropping the appropriate LUT on gets the editor most of the way there.
However, there are issues with LOG2, and I wouldn't recommend it for all shooting situations.
Before LOG 3 was available I shot a series of interviews against a dark grey background. I noticed that these dark areas had a fair bit of noise in them once the LUT was applied. This is something that Canon have rectified with the latest firmware upgrade and LOG2 is now less noisy in the shaddows.
I recently saw some of my LOG2 footage being graded in a soho facilities house by a top colourist. His comments were that:
1) His favourite footage to grade was always from the Ari Alexa.
2) He often found Canon footage to have some grain in the shaddowed areas
3) He advised always exposing to the right, as it is a lot easier for him to bring down exposure, than to bump it up.
No suprises there I guess, however, I was still concerned about the grain/noise in the shaddows.
Incidentally, the footage was shot at native 800 ISO, so I wasn't expecting much noise at all. When I looked at the footage on my IMAC it looked pretty clean. However, Imacs are consumer products aimed at making everthing look as nice as possible. This is not true of 4k monitors in grading suits, these are correctly calibrated and can highlight any issues with noise.
I decided to do a few basic tests to see what happens with the noise on the different LOG curves. I set a grey card up lit with an even light from a kino flo and put a white card and black next to it as a reference. The camera was set to native 800 ISO and I tried out various exposures.
Grey was placed at 39 % for LOG2 and 32.5 % for LOG 3 (Incidentally exposure did not need to be altered in order to achieve this shift in values)
The LOG footage itself looked pretty clean on all LOG curves, but applying a LUT caused a bit of grain in the shaddows. I had expected this, as the LUT is essentially bringing up the levels by a couple of stops.
With the LUT applied and at 2 stops and more under exposed, there was some noise when using the LOG2 curve, but the LOG 3 curve looked less noisy.
For many situations I would prefer to trade the extra stop of dynamic rage gained by using LOG2 for the cleaner shaddow areas that LOG3 provides.
The original Canon LOG is still available and is probably closer to LOG3 than LOG2. I would now really only use LOG1 to match the original marki C300. | English | NL | e720dfd078f909a17cc46d8fd0782c326a1889aba76605b9d63ccace0e768412 |
020a - Hooky
Mr. Krabs rushes to the Krusty Krab shouting like a maniac, telling of the return of the hooks. The other fish ignore him, while SpongeBob is confused, and Mr. Krabs tells him that he has to be careful when near a hook, or he will be brought up to the surface and eaten or sold at a gift shop. Patrick shows up, saying that the carnival has come to town and insisting that SpongeBob come with him but SpongeBob is yet to know Patrick is referring to the hooks as the Carnival. He agrees, assuming that he's not quitting work but just taking a break.
The two friends go to the carnival, but much to SpongeBob's horror, the "carnival" is really the site of the hooks that Mr. Krabs warned everyone about. Patrick deliberately hooks himself, and shoots up towards the surface on it. SpongeBob panics, wails, and cries, until he sees Patrick again, who explains that he jumped off and floated down before he reached the surface of the sea. They both played hooky together.
Meanwhile, at the Krusty Krab, Squidward wasn't making the patties, and Mr. Krabs told him what happened. He said that SpongeBob took a break and he wasn't back yet. Mr. Krabs thought Squidward was playing around with him, and he asks Squidward to repeat what he said. After hearing this the second time, Mr. Krabs runs over to the hooks and runs to SpongeBob and Patrick to catch them, with Squidward being mauled by the angry mob. He misses the first time, but once SpongeBob and Patrick float down, Mr. Krabs catches them, and makes them promise to never go near the hooks again. However, the next day, Patrick persuades SpongeBob to play "hooky" again. SpongeBob denies the request, but he goes to the hooks anyway. SpongeBob was walking to the KK, but when he gets near a hook he first looks very sneaky and almost touches the hook, but then realizes he is doing the wrong thing and walks away like nothing happened. However, SpongeBob comes back and plays on the hook, and then...
SpongeBob gets caught on the hook, and, terrified, runs to the Krusty Krab for help. Mr. Krabs tells SpongeBob that the only way to get the hook off is to take off his clothes right in front of Pearl and her friends. He first take off his pants, revealing his underwear. SpongeBob doesn't want to take off his underwear, and Mr. Krabs told him he will find another fry cook. SpongeBob pulls on The Krusty Krab sign and the hook takes his underpants away. SpongeBob was relived, but the sign flinged him into the door. Pearl and her friends laugh at SpongeBob for being naked. He screams and runs out of the Krusty Krab into his house. SpongeBob was never seen ever since the siege of the Krusty Krab.
However, it's then revealed it was Squidward who hooked SpongeBob and got him naked, and that he did that just because SpongeBob needed to learn his lesson. When Squidward pulls the ripped underwear into the Krusty Krab, Mr. Krabs congratulates him and Squidward tells Mr. Krabs that he thinks that SpongeBob will remember this for a long time as he will. Both Squidward and Mr. Krabs laugh. The episode ends with Patrick, trapped in a tuna can was dropped off from the bus shortly after SpongeBob ran home embarrased and he asks "Does somebody have a can opener?". | English | NL | 6095a4aba9b20e1d102992c6db3e81729c1483767404b59ba3f5c82ab654bd1b |
Herb Brooks Biography, Life, Interesting Facts
Herb Brooks was born on August 5, 1937, in Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA. His parents were Pauline and Herbert Sr. He also had two younger siblings.
Herb Brooks loved to play hockey ever since he was a child. He joined the Johnson High School hockey team when he attended the same school. While on the team, the school had more than it’s fair share of victories. After graduating from high school, Herb Brooks attended the University of Minnesota. While attended school here, he also played on the school’s hockey team-- the Minnesota Gophers. He played on this team from when he first entered the school until he graduated (1955 - 1959).
After college, Herb Brooks did all he could to secure a spot on the American Olympic hockey team. He was the last member of the team to be cut in the 1960’s Olympics. He tried to join the team in 1964 and 1968 and managed to earn a spot on the team both times. However, the team did not win any medals either time that he was on the team.
Since Herb Brooks was such a fantastic hockey player in his youth, it was no surprise when he started to coach hockey later in life. He began his official coaching career in 1969. One of the hockey teams he coached was the Minnesota Golden Gophers. This team was extremely successful, winning three NCPP championships while Brooks was the coach. During his time as coach, the team one 175 times out of 296 games.
The team that Brooks was most famous for coaching was the American team in the 1980 Olympics. Herb Brooks began coaching for this team in 1979. He wanted to make a unique style of playing that would confused and impress their opponents. To do this, he mixed American and Canadian styles of hockey playing. The team won several matches before going up again for the Russian hockey team. At this time, the United States and Russia were near the end of the Cold War. Tensions were high, and Americans and Russians were both on edge, wondering who would win the match. Both teams were great. The game was close, but Brooks coaching eventually led the team to victory. The match was so close that the win was later dubbed “The Miracle on Ice.”
After the victory in the Olympics, Herb Brooks was offered a career as a National Hockey League (NHL) coach. He turned down the position and coached in Switzerland for a year before returning to the United States. He returned to coaching in 1981, when he finally signed on with the NHL to coach the New York Rangers hockey team.
He coached for this team until 1985. Beginning in 1987, Herb Brooks coached various teams in the NHL, never staying with one team for very long. He retired from coaching in 2000 but later came out of retirement to coach the United States hockey team in the 2002 Olympics. This time, the team won the silver medal (beating Russia but losing to Canada).
Awards And Accomplishments
In 1982, he was named the NHL Coach of the Year by Sporting News magazine.
In 2002, Herb Brooks was awarded the legendary hockey award, the Lester Patrick Award.
After his death, in 2006, he was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame.
Herb Brooks his wife Patti in 1965. The couple later had two children together: Danny and Kelly. The couple was married until Herb’s death in 2003.
Herb Brooks died in a car crash on August 11, 2003, in Forest Lake, Minnesota, USA. He was 66 years old when he passed away.
In 2004, Disney made a movie about Brooks’ famous hockey match in the 1980 Olympics. In the film, Herb Brooks was played by Kurt Russell.
In 2005, after Brooks’s death, the Olympic ice arena (in New York) was renamed the Herb Brooks Arena.
At his old high school, Minnesota State High School, a hockey award has been named after him. | English | NL | ae8ffd58474930b3868b8834cc75f28770461538d2b2d25b69eea7be287959e6 |
4.5 — 2 ratings — 0 reviews
The Snark had two masts and was 43 feet long at the waterline, and on it London claims to have spent thirty thousand dollars. The snark was primarily a sailboat, however, it also had an auxiliary 70-horsepower engine. It was further equipped with one lifeboat. In 1906, Author Jack London began to build a 45-foot yacht on which he planned a round-the-world voyage, to last seven years. After many delays, Jack and Charmian London and a small crew sailed out of San Francisco Bay on April 23, 1907, bound for the South Pacific
315 pages, with a reading time of ~5.0 hours (78,948 words), and first published in 1911. This DRM-Free edition published by epubBooks, 2014.
There are currently no other reviews for this book.
It began in the swimming pool at Glen Ellen. Between swims it was our wont to come out and lie in the sand and let our skins breathe the warm air and soak in the sunshine. Roscoe was a yachtsman. I had followed the sea a bit. It was inevitable that we should talk about boats. We talked about small boats, and the seaworthiness of small boats. We instanced Captain Slocum and his three years’ voyage around the world in the Spray.
We asserted that we were not afraid to go around the world in a small boat, say forty feet long. We asserted furthermore that we would like to do it. We asserted finally that there was nothing in this world we’d like better than a chance to do it.
“Let us do it,” we said … in fun.
Then I asked Charmian privily if she’d really care to do it, and she said that it was too good to be true.
The next time we breathed our skins in the sand by the swimming pool I said to Roscoe, “Let us do it.”
I was in earnest, and so was he, for he said:
“When shall we start?”
I had a house to build on the ranch, also an orchard, a vineyard, and several hedges to plant, and a number of other things to do. We thought we would start in four or five years. Then the lure of the adventure began to grip us. Why not start at once? We’d never be younger, any of us. Let the orchard, vineyard, and hedges be growing up while we were away. When we came back, they would be ready for us, and we could live in the barn while we built the house.
So the trip was decided upon, and the building of the Snark began. We named her the Snark because we could not think of any other name—this information is given for the benefit of those who otherwise might think there is something occult in the name.
Our friends cannot understand why we make this voyage. They shudder, and moan, and raise their hands. No amount of explanation can make them comprehend that we are moving along the line of least resistance; that it is easier for us to go down to the sea in a small ship than to remain on dry land, just as it is easier for them to remain on dry land than to go down to the sea in the small ship. This state of mind comes of an undue prominence of the ego. They cannot get away from themselves. They cannot come out of themselves long enough to see that their line of least resistance is not necessarily everybody else’s line of least resistance. They make of their own bundle of desires, likes, and dislikes a yardstick wherewith to measure the desires, likes, and dislikes of all creatures. This is unfair. I tell them so. But they cannot get away from their own miserable egos long enough to hear me. They think I am crazy. In return, I am sympathetic. It is a state of mind familiar to me. We are all prone to think there is something wrong with the mental processes of the man who disagrees with us.
The ultimate word is I LIKE. It lies beneath philosophy, and is twined about the heart of life. When philosophy has maundered ponderously for a month, telling the individual what he must do, the individual says, in an instant, “I LIKE,” and does something else, and philosophy goes glimmering. It is I LIKE that makes the drunkard drink and the martyr wear a hair shirt; that makes one man a reveller and another man an anchorite; that makes one man pursue fame, another gold, another love, and another God. Philosophy is very often a man’s way of explaining his own I LIKE.
But to return to the Snark, and why I, for one, want to journey in her around the world. The things I like constitute my set of values. The thing I like most of all is personal achievement—not achievement for the world’s applause, but achievement for my own delight. It is the old “I did it! I did it! With my own hands I did it!” But personal achievement, with me, must be concrete. I’d rather win a water-fight in the swimming pool, or remain astride a horse that is trying to get out from under me, than write the great American novel. Each man to his liking. Some other fellow would prefer writing the great American novel to winning the water-fight or mastering the horse. | English | NL | a98b40d4a3b90c97f68590826548f19f4232b9f5aa8f11a94e66c480e9e4665e |
International Standard Version
1This message came to me from the LORD:
2"Why do you cite this proverb when you talk about Israel's land: 'The fathers eat sour grapes but it's their children's teeth that have become numb.'
3As long as I live," declares the LORD, "you won't use this proverb about Israel anymore. 4Look! Every living soul belongs to me—the father's as well as the son's. So pay attention! The person who keeps on sinning is going to die."
5"If a person is righteous, and practices what's lawful and right, 6if he doesn't eat at mountain shrines, and doesn't look to the idols that have been erected in Israel's house, if he doesn't defile his neighbor's wife or approach a woman during her time of menstrual separation, 7if he doesn't oppress anyone, but instead returns the debtor's security for his debt, if he doesn't rob anyone, but instead shares his food with the hungry and gives clothes to those who are naked, 8if he doesn't lend with usury or exact interest, but instead refuses to participate in what is unjust, if he administers true justice between people, 9if he lives his life consistent with my statutes and keeps my ordinances by practicing what's true, then he's righteous and will certainly live," declares the Lord GOD.
10"Now suppose that person produces a son who's violent, a murderer, and practices any of these things, 11even though the father hasn't done any of these things. The son who eats at mountain shrines, defiles his neighbor's wife, 12oppresses the afflicted and the poor, robs others, doesn't return security for a debt, looks to idols, does detestable things, 13loans with usury, and exacts interest; will he live? He certainly will not! He has done all these detestable practices. He will certainly die, and his guilt will be his own fault."
14"Now suppose that he produced a son who practiced all of his father's sins, but then that son began to fear me and stopped doing all of these things. 15That is, suppose he doesn't eat at the mountain shrines, doesn't look to the idols of Israel's house, doesn't defile his neighbor's wife, 16doesn't oppress anyone, doesn't take possession of a debtor's pledge, or doesn't steal, but instead shares his food with the hungry, gives clothes to those who are naked, 17doesn't refuse to help the afflicted, or refuses to loan with usury or exact interest, but instead follows my ordinances and lives his life consistent with my statutes. He won't die because of his father's sin, will he? No! He'll certainly live. 18As for his father, watch out! If he wrongfully oppressed or robbed his brother and did what wasn't good among his people, he'll die because of his own sin."
19"Yet you keep asking, 'Why wouldn't the son bear the punishment of his father's sin?' Because the son has done what was lawful and right, and has kept all my statutes and obeyed them, he's certainly going to live. 20The soul who sins dies. The son won't bear the punishment of his father's sin and the father won't bear the punishment of his son's sin. The righteous deeds of that righteous person will be attributed to him, while the wicked deeds of the wicked person will be charged against him.
21But if the wicked person turns from all his sins, which he did and keeps my statutes, then he'll live. He won't die. 22None of the transgressions that he had committed will be held against him. Because of the righteous deeds that he had done, he'll live. 23"I don't take delight in the death of the wicked, do I?" asks the Lord GOD. "Shouldn't I rather delight when he turns from his wicked ways and lives?
24But when the righteous person abandons his righteous deeds and commits evil, detestable practices, as wicked people do, he won't live, will he? None of the righteous acts that he had done will be remembered. He'll die in his treacherous unfaithfulness and sins that he had committed." 25"Yet you keep saying, 'The LORD isn't being consistent with his standards.' Pay attention, you house of Israel: Is my behavior really inconsistent with my standards? Isn't it your behavior that isn't just? 26"When a righteous person turns from his righteous deeds and does evil, he'll die because of that evil. He'll die because of his unrighteous acts that he committed. 27When a wicked person quits his wicked behavior and does what's just and right, he'll be enabled to live. 28Because he reconsidered his transgression and turned away from everything that he had been doing, he'll certainly live and not die. 29Yet Israel's house keeps saying, 'The LORD isn't being consistent with his standards.' Is it my behavior that's inconsistent with my standards? Is it not your behavior that's inconsistent with my standards?"
30"Therefore, Israel, I'm going to judge you according to the behavior of each and every one of you," declares the Lord GOD. "So repent and turn from all your sins so that sin won't keep on being a stumbling block for you. 31Stop your transgressing—the deeds by which you've rebelled—and then make for yourselves a new heart and a new spirit. Why should you die, you house of Israel? 32I don't take pleasure in the death of anyone who dies," declares the LORD. "So repent, so you may live!" | English | NL | 8926b2625338a34176c31f1bddf35652073092164b47f0546ba8fd704cf4ee2b |
A Brief History of Central
Central United Methodist Church began in 1797 in a small blacksmith shop on the corner of East Beverley and North Coalter Streets. Sampson Eagon, a blacksmith and wagonmaker, gathered a group of Methodist converts to his home and because so many people came to hear his message, the group had to meet in his blacksmith shop next to his home. And because of Sampson Eagon’s prayer and song services, the neighborhood became known as Gospel Hill. That area of Staunton is still known by that name.
Around 1800, because neither Sampson Eagon’s home or blacksmith shop could accommodate the growing number of Methodists, land was purchased and the first church, a one story brick building, was constructed at the present Lewis Street location of Central United Methodist Church. The present church is the fourth one to be built in that location. The second church building, erected around 1830, was too small for the growing congregation, so a third church was built in 1859, but after the roof collapsed during a heavy snowfall in March 1892, it was necessary to build the fourth church. The cornerstone for the present church was laid September 3, 1892. During the construction of the new church, services were held in the Y.M.C.A. building located on the corner of Beverley Street and Central Avenue, now known as the Town Clock Building.
The first pastor was the Rev. Noah Fidler who was commissioned in 1806, the official year of organized Methodism in Staunton. A church bell was purchased in April 1864.
Originally known as the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, it was named “Central” on February 13, 1905. However, the name was not officially used as far as old records show until June 15, 1914.
Another Methodist church was organized in Staunton in 1908 when the First Methodist Episcopal Church began holding services in the Bodley Auditorium (later occupied by Dunsmore Business College) on West Beverley Street. The new church, known as the Beverley Street Methodist Church, was first occupied in 1914, but was closed in 1973 when the church moved to Churchville Avenue and became known as Christ United Methodist Church.
Still another Methodist church was formed in the Staunton community when St. John’s Church was established in 1954 in the northern section of the city.
In the early sixties the decision was made by Central Church to construct an education building on the old Matthews property at the corner of Beverley and Lewis Streets. This building was consecrated February 28, 1965.
In 1969 Central Church purchased the Gilpin Willson property which adjoins the church on the north side. The purchase of this property completed the full block of church ownership, extending from the corner of Lewis and Beverley Streets to West Frederick Street. The property was leased to the City of Staunton for municipal parking for five years but now is used strictly as a parking lot for Central.
After Central celebrated its 200th anniversary in 1997, various improvements were made to the church property. Those additions included a reception area, an additional classroom, and library, addition of a four-floor elevator at the west end of the Education Building; and improvements to the basement of the Education Building. In 2012 the sanctuary was subject of a facelift involving refinishing and relocating the pews with additional seating space, new carpeting, painting, and an upgrade to the balcony area.
“Two hundred years and the flame still burns” is the theme for Central’s bicentennial and the flame from Sampson Eagon’s blacksmith shop is still being felt as Staunton/Augusta County Methodists join members of Central Church as they observe their church’s historical beginnings. | English | NL | f757be7f25f294beddf8b9c48fcd0cac039c832724c1bef84ca067be1eeaca4b |
It was early evening, the sun was just setting and the group was gathered in the sitting room, Nicole, Augustin and Melissa were sitting in a triangle
of chairs, speaking in hushed voices to eachother, mostly gossip around the city. Cain, Elijah and Tammin were sifting through any books that might've
made more references to the daggers.
They didn't want a complete mess when William came back with Annabelle. He had only left 10 minutes before and should be back within the hour.
Nicole joined in with the idle chit-chat, smiling and laughing... but her mind was really elsewhere. She kept glancing out of the window, trying to
formulate plans to save herself and protect the rest whilst getting to the bottom of this dagger thing... but it just wasn't happening.
"Nicole, your thinking again...you know that is never good." Augustin said, noticing her friend wasn't truly into the idle chit-chat that was going on
between the three of them. "Stop thinking for awhile, we'll get this figured out and nobody will get hurt." She paused, before adding. "I promise,
Kiefer and Nan would be lost without their aunt Nicole." Augustin smiled, knowing her two children thought the world of Nicole.
The three woman's gossip was abruptly interupted by knocking downstairs on the front door. Those searching through books were to thoroughly engrossed
to hear it.
It was of course William and Annabelle at the door, but William did not want to just walk into Tammin's home, so he waited patiently for one of the others to answer the door.
Augustin got up from her flace in one of the wing back chairs, noticing that nobody else had rushed to open the door, she thought to make herself
useful and do so.
Slowly opening the beautiful oak door, she prayed to god that the person or thing standing before her would not end up being evil.
Cain looked at his book again. His eye were started to hurt from reading so much. he closed the book and looked around ther group. "Nothing in that
one. My eyes are feel like they more I do myself." He sat the book aside and stood up to stretch.
Elijah closed his book as well, " I don't thin we'll find anything, we've exhausted the library of books we have." He said, leaning back in the chair
he was sitting in.
Augustin opened the door to find William and a well-dressed redheaded woman who must have been Annabelle.
"Hello Augustin," William smiled to her. "This is Miss Annabelle De Pointe, Annabelle, this is Augustin, a... friend of mine. She will be
helping us to investigate the dagger," he said helpfully, informing Anabelle of who was who.
Augustin smiled "Hello William", She said, before turning and giving Annabelle a polite smile and nod of the head. "It's a pleasure meeting you,
please both of you come inside." She said, stepping back from the door to allow William and Annabelle into the flat.
William was about to move straight into the house but remembered his manners just in time and waved Annabelle in in front.
Annabelle noticed the gesture and stepped inside.
"Thank you, its very nice meeting you Augustin." She said a little nervously, she didn't quite feel comfortable around any of them, but they were helping her, in a way.
The three moved upstairs into the sitting room.
Elijah looked up, "Ah, yes, you must be Mademoiselle De Pointe." He said, standing up to greet her, "The dagger that William told me is in your possession intrigues me greatly. May I see it?"
Annabelle nodded, taking out the dagger, which was not very large at all, but fit the description in the book perfectly.
Augustin eyed the dagger with a little bit of fear, never being fond of weapons. "How did you get such a dagger?" She asked, the question to kind of
poping out of her head.
"Its a gift for my sister, I had to find a decent trader who deallt with such things." Annabelle explained, "Simple if you kwow who you need to talk
Nicole eyed Anabelle suspiciously. She slowly rose from her seat and offered her hand.
"Nicole Ellis..." she said, forcing a smile. She wasnt particularly inclined to trust anyone at the moment.
Annabelle smiled, "Annabelle De Pointe." She replied, taking no notice of the possible hostility. She set the dagger down on the table for Elijah and
sat down in one of the chairs.
Augustin could notice her friend's distrust, and she herself felt the same way about Annabelle, for all they knew she could be lying to them all.
Though she figured if William trusted her then she couldn't be all that bad. "What exactly does this dagger do?"
"I'm not certain. It has magickal attributes of some sort I would think, but I do not know otherwise." Annabelle answered, in truth she knew nothing
Elijah knew more, though he was not willing to devulge of that information in front of the young woman.
Augustin was miffed, why was it she was the only one asking questions? I mean after all everyone must be wondering about this dagger, or about
Annabelle and who her sister might be. "Why might it be that I'm the only one speaking around our guest?" Augustin asked, slightly annoyed and showing
it at the moment.
"Yes but what magickal powers..." Nicole pushed. She wanted to know more, well it was expected as her life was in danger...
Elijah sighed, "The Dagger of Etherios is what its called, there are actually a few in existence, though they have been lost. Their magickal
attributes are ritualistic in nature, they are not themselves magickal but help to heighten the magick of whomever uses it." He explained, "They are
in my recollection a very dangerous artifact, and I sincerely hope that whomever you are giving this to Ms. De Pointe they have no intention of using
it in that manner." He glanced at Nicole, hoping that answered the young Slayer's question, "Now if you'll excuse me I'd like some silence for a
moment while I look it over a bit more."
Augustin turned to the rest of the group, "Do you think when Elijah said be quiet he meant ghostly silent?" She asked, wondering if a cat had stolen
everyones tongues or not.
Nicole rose to her feet. The stuffy silence was making her even more uncomfortable than she already felt.
"Augustin. As the others don't feel too obliged to talk, I'm sure they wouldn't miss us if we went for a short stroll." Nicole said to Augustin, but she knew her friend would read the subtext and pick up on the fact that Nicole wanted to talk to her.
Augustin nodded, "I'm sure they wouldn't." She said, picking up on the fact that Nicole needed to speak with her about something. Picking her shawl up
off on one of the chairs Augustin slipped it around her shoulders before turning towards Elijah. "Nicole and myself will be taking a short stroll, for
we're in need of some much needed fresh air." Augustin said, while turning to head for the door.
William stood up nervously - "Augustin are you sure it would be wise to walk around after dark un-escorted?" He asked worriedly. He had picked up on
the fact that Augustin and Nicole had to talk but he also worried about what Gabrielle might do if she showed up.
"No." Nicole replied sharply. "I very much doubt we can be escorted absolutely everywhere over the course of the weeks to come, so why start now?"
she added, standing up.
William hesitated, Nicole was being understandably defiant - having always been the strong leader of the group it was easy to see why she would
dislike being looked after. "Alright Nicole, I apologise," he said, sitting down, moving his long hair out of his eyes. However, he was already making
mental plans to follow the women at a distance, to make sure they were ok.
Augustin smiled, knowing that William just wanted to look out for the both of them. But she was also thankful he didn't push the subject anymore. It
seemed Nicole was set on it just being the two of them. "Do not worry William, Nicole and I will return safetly in a little while." Augustin said,
waving a good bye as she headed towards the door.
Nicole and Augustin left the house with a few short good-byes and went walking.
William followed them soon after.
The group left at the Flat were pulled out of there silence by a banging at the front door, angry by the sounds of it. Elijah stood up surveying the
"I'll be just a moment as I get that." He said, walking to do the door and opening it to find a very angry looking vampire standing there.
"The Slayer, where is she?" He growled angrily, held back from crossing the threshold but he looked as if he would do anything to get Elijah into his grasp.
"She is asleep." He bluffed, making the mistake of stepping forward as if to prove to himself that he was not afraid of this vampire.
"Liar, I don't smell her around, so tell me, where is she?" the vampire growled again.
"You may come inside and look." Elijah gave the vampire just the chance he needed, he had stepped over the threshold.
The vampire grasped him by the throat, constricting the man's windpipe. Elijah could barely get out a yell of "Crossbow, now!" before the vampire really took a grasp.
"Do you know my name? It is Armand, your council knows me Watcher." He said, "Now tell me, where is your Slayer, Nicole."
This thread is closed due to inactivity. | English | NL | c8463719aef2bdbf18bffa3c486c218e0dd5b8ea4c13edc67a2367b462bc41bc |
We used to have a troll who lived beneath our hanging tree. He was a lovely, quiet fellow, who enjoyed a good cup of tea and collecting odd socks. Last summer his hole was overrun by a bully snake who chased him off. We were so saddened by his departure that we vowed we would not maintain the troll hole beneath the hanging tree.
Summer has very nearly come to its end, it's time to start cleaning the remains of the garden. Mr. Pixie decided it was time to clean up the weeds in the overgrown spot that once belonged to the dear old Troll. He soon shouted over to me, and I ran to see what the hullabaloo was all about. "Just look at that thing!" he exclaimed, pointing to a spot on the ground near a largish rock.
There, nestled in the ground and bundled in rags, was a very ugly little 'thing'. From the slight snorting noises and bubbling drool running down it's chin we surmise that it is sleeping. From the stink and green of his skin we suspect it is a goblin pod.
We have goblins a-plently living near our stream and are offering this pod to anyone who might be in short supply of the smelly things. The listing for this foul fellow is HERE.
We trust that the purchaser is educated on the care and maintenance of garden goblins.
We cannot be held responsible for the inevitable shenanigans and mischief caused by the creature. | English | NL | 550c02e975a898a2eeb3689e0302aa4d3b5e3b4f692789e8ecdeffe89d7434e5 |
1. The District Magistrate of Jhansi has reported against one pleader and two vakils, with a view to disciplinary action being taken against them under the Legal Practitioners Act. It appears that a riot case was pending in the Court of the Joint Magistrate of Jhansi which had arisen out of some communal dispute. On 21st March 1928 an application was made to the Joint Magistrate requesting him to adjourn the case on the ground that the accused wanted to move the High Court for a transfer. In spite of the imperative provisions of Section 526, Criminal P.C., the Joint Magistrate refused to adjourn the case, but forwarded the application with his order to the District Magistrate for information. On 22nd March 1928 a fresh application was made to the District Magistrate for transfer of the case from the Court of the Joint Magistrate. The learned District Magistrate disposed of both the applications on 26th March 1928. In a long and considered order he declined to transfer the case, but, to quote his own words.
gave certain directions to the Joint Magistrate; amongst these directions there was a special admonition that every opportunity should be given to the accused to engage counsel from outside, if they desired to do so.
2. On 27th March 1928 a fresh application under Section 526 of the Code was filed in the Court of the Joint Magistrate, signed by a number of accused persons, praying that the case be adjourned so as to give time to the accused to apply to the High Court for a transfer. The Joint Magistrate adjourned the case till 10th April 1928. The pleader and one of the vakils, accompanied by one of the accused, Kanhaiya Lal, came to the High Court to consult lawyers here, and they were advised that, in view of the instructions, which had been given by the District Magistrate, it was not advisable to apply for a transfer at that stage. The pleader and the vakil accordingly returned to Jhansi, and on 5th April 1928 the Joint Magistrate was informed that the accused did not propose to apply to the High Court for a transfer. There was, however, a request that the case should be taken up on 12th April instead of 10th April, to enable the accused to bring counsel from outside. This request was granted. The case was eventually heard and decided on 30th April, and a large number of the accused persons were convicted.
3. On 3rd May 1928 the District Magistrate, apparently without ascertaining which particular lawyers were concerned in the application of 27th March 1928, issued notices to all the vakils, about nine in number, who were appearing for the various accused persons in the case, to show cause why steps should not be taken under the Legal Practitioners Act, against them. It is to be noted that neither the application of 21st March, nor that of 27th March bore the signatures of any of these vakils.
4. On 5th May 1928 explanations were filed by the pleader and the two vakils, whose case is before us, and were considered. The learned District Magistrate has thought that there was no case of misconduct against the other six practitioners, but has reported the case of the three parsons mentioned.
5. It appears to us that the learned District Magistrate did not look up Section 14, Legal Practitioners Act, under which he had jurisdiction to act, before reporting the case of the pleader. 8. 14, Sub-clause (c) requires in express terms that a report against a pleader shall be made through the Sessions Judge. The District Magistrate therefore should not have reported the case of the pleader direct to us. That section also requires that there should be a clear finding recorded stating the grounds on which the recommendation for suspension or dismissal of a pleader is made. There are no categorical findings in the order of the District Magistrate, though, taken as a whole, the order may be said to contain a finding that the pleader was guilty of misconduct, in connexion with the application of 27th March. We also think that it would have been preferable if the suspected misconduct had been enquired into by the Joint Magistrate himself, in whose Court the application was made. The provisions of Section 14 indicate that ordinarily an enquiry should be made by the presiding officer of the Court where the misconduct has been committed. Here the enquiry was made, not by the Joint Magistrate but by the District Magistrate. We however have jurisdiction under Section 13 to act in the matter and we do not think that these irregularities should, in the present case, be allowed to stand in the way of our enquiring into the matter, because we have to examine practically the same facts in connexion with the case of the two vakils.
6. The application of 27th March 1928. which is the main basis of the charge merely contains a prayer that the case should be adjourned in order that the accused persons might have an opportunity to move the High Court. The learned District Magistrate seems to be of the opinion that it was misconduct on the part of the practitioners to allow this application to be filed, when he himself had considered the case and had issued directions on 26th March 1928 to the Joint Magistrate to give greater facility to the accused persons in their defence. The learned District Magistrate might consider his own order just and fair, but it does not follow that the accused persons would also have the same opinion about it. There is no complaint that the application made to the District Magistrate for transfer was an improper application, and its filing amounted to professional misconduct. If there was no impropriety in filing that application, it may be difficult to see how it would be improper to move the High Court on the same grounds. The application of 27th March 1928 was signed by the accused persons and was presumably granted automatically, but it can be assumed that it was argued by the persons reported against. Although every application for adjournment for the purpose of a transfer indirectly implies that there is a belief in the mind of the accused person that he would not have a fair trial, an application for adjournment under Section 526 does not always amount to an allegation of partiality made by the vakil against the trying Magistrate. To hold that every application of this kind necessarily casts an aspersion on the Magistrate personally, would be to handicap the defence and curtail the right to apply, which the legislature, by the amendment of Section 526, has thought fit to confer on accused persons. It is the duty of Courts, not only to be impartial, but also to inspire confidence in the administration of justice. It is therefore not necessary, when supporting an application for transfer, to establish that there is any actual bias in the mind of the Magistrate concerned. Incidents which are calculated to raise a reasonable apprehension in the mind of an ordinary accused parson that he will not get a fair trial may justify a transfer although no actual bias in the mind of the trying Magistrate can be proved. It is the cumulative effect likely to be produced on the mind of an ordinary reasonable accused person that has to be seen. The question whether sufficient grounds are made out for a transfer is often a matter of opinion, and depends on inferences to be drawn from facts that have happened. If the application is made in good faith, the mere fact that it turns out subsequently that there are not sufficient grounds for transfer would not lead to a necessary inference that there was misconduct on the part of the practitioners who were responsible for such an application.
7. The District Magistrate seems to be under the impression that as soon as the accused persons insisted on filing the application, it was the duty of the practitioners to withdraw from the case, and that the conduct of two practitioners in coming to Allahabad to instruct counsel for the purpose of filing an application for transfer, after the District Magistrate had considered the whole question and given necessary directions, did itself show that they were not acting in good-faith. We think that this act on their part rather suggests that they honestly believed that a case had been made out for a transfer. As soon as they were told that it was not advisable to file an application, they went back to the Joint Magistrate and informed him that they did not propose to move the High Court. There was no delay in this respect, and it is therefore obvious that the application for adjournment had not been filed with a view to utilizing the adjournment for any other purpose.
8. The concluding portion of District Magistrate’s order shows that there had been some irregularities, which, though not sufficient in his opinion for ordering a transfer, did occasion some ground for complaint. One of these was that when the accused applied for copies of depositions of the prosecution witnesses, the Joint Magistrate ordered that copies should be granted if an application was made within four minutes, and also directed his orderly to go to the vakils and make sure that the application was made within the time.
9. The learned District Magistrate has referred to the pronouncements of this Court in several recent cases on the abuse of Section 526, Criminal P.C. But it has never been laid down that an application under Section 526, merely because it subsequently turns out to be not well founded, is necessarily a reckless application involving professional misconduct.
10. The case of Dwarka Prasad, Pleader, In the matter of A.I.R. 1924 All. 253 was a very special case. The only ground on which the application for transfer was sought to be justified was that on a previous occasion the District Magistrate had refused to commit the case to the sessions Court. The vakil, who had himself filed it could not show that he had not made that application on his sole responsibility. He was not able to name even the accused who had instructed him to do so. There was considerable delay in moving the High Court, and even after the vakil was advised that there was no sufficient ground for a transfer, he did not take care to inform the Magistrate that there was no longer any idea of applying for a transfer. The evidence disclosed that the adjournment, which was obtained for the purpose of a transfer, was deliberately utilized for a totally different purpose, and that the application was made recklessly, and the charge of impartiality against the Magistrate was totally unfounded. The language used in that case is to be understood with reference to the facts of that case.
11. In the present case we are of opinion that it cannot be said that the practitioners reported against were acting dishonestly in this matter, or that the application for adjournment was made for any other ulterior motive. We accordingly direct that the proceedings against the three practitioners’ be dropped and that no notice to show cause be issued to them. Let the record be returned. | English | NL | ef055982557170404021eb2170f03d7489cb195a9c1fca0654e3b5c693c3a16e |
Heritage Park is a collection of historic Great Plains buildings dating from the late 19th to early 20th century and is located south of 33rd Street between Grange and Prairie Avenue.
The Beaver Creek Lutheran Church is one of the oldest churches established in Lincoln County. It was completed in 1892 in LaValley Township east of Sioux Falls. The architectural style is Vernacular Gothic Revival, which attempts to combine European attributes with the prairie experience. The church is made almost entirely of wood, the main building material available on the prairie at the time. As the rural population declined, the church's congregation voted to close its doors in 1978. It was then offered to Augustana and was moved to its present location in Heritage Park in 1985.
The Berdahl-Rolvaag House was named for the Berdahl family who built it in 1883 and for author Ole Rolvaag (1876–1931), a Norwegian immigrant, whose novels "Giants in the Earth," "Peder Victorious," and "Their Fathers' God" tell the stories of Norwegian immigrants who came to the area in the 1870s. Rolvaag, a 1901 graduate of the Augustana Academy in Canton, married Jennie Berdahl while she was living in this house with her parents. The house is listed in the National Register of Historic Places.
The Eggers School House is an example of early South Dakota educational facilities. The school was built in 1909 on an acre of land near Renner Corner. After serving as the daily social gathering place for an average of 15 students for nearly 50 years, only four children were enrolled in 1957. The school eventually closed and was purchased and preserved by James Wehde, a former student at the school.
The Rolvaag Writing Cabin, in which the best-selling "Giants in the Earth," called a "moving narrative of pioneer hardship and heroism," by Atlantic Monthly, was written between September and October 1923, was a gift from the Rolvaag family. The family believed it was appropriate to have the cabin close to the Berdahl-Rolvaag House in which Ole Rolvaag heard many of the stories that were incorporated in his novels. The cabin stood on U.S. Forest Service land on Big Island Lake in northern Minnesota and faced destruction if it were not moved. Two Finnish carpenters dismantled the cabin and reassembled it in Heritage Park. | English | NL | fb97b9084bddc48d7e877fb1f10d4e6383ed330d6b67ad7d7997d0b0cd7d4b25 |
Player A – K♣, K♦, J♣, J♦, 10♦, 10♠, 8♣, 4♦, 3♦, 2♠, A♣
Player B – K♥, 8♠, 8♥, 7♠, 7♣, 6♣, 5♦, 4♣, 4♠, 3♠
Conditions: The knock card is the A♦, which means that this is a must gin hand. Player B is on a schneid with the score against him 210 to nothing. He therefore has a count of 14 to protect both the game and the schneid.
General Comment: Player A, who has his opponent on the schneid, will take advantage of every offensive possibility, not only to gin his own hand but to keep his opponent over the count. This requires additional skills such as forcing his opponent to break his hand when the occasion warrants picking unneeded cards. Player B on the schneid must play his hand primarily to get under the count and secondly to win it. There are times when he will violate this order of importance. For instance, if he has an exceptionally fine gin hand with five or six open ways, it would not be advisable to break this hand to get under a count since he has no guarantee of winning the next hand and getting off the schneid. If his best opportunity of getting off the schneid is represented by the hand he is playing he must take full advantage of it, despite the odds against him.
Play of the Hand:
Player A – He has a hand in which only three cards are not matched, the A♣, 2♠, and the 8♣. His choice in throwing one of these three cards should most definitely be the A♣ since it is the card that can be used by his opponent in the least number of ways, and if used in a meld it reduces his opponent’s hand by the least number of points. Also, most importantly, when a player is trying to get under the count quickly, he will not look for low cards for this purpose until he has first reduced the hand by obtaining melds. Later in the game the throwing of an ace would be dangerous in regards to putting a schneided player under a count, so it is usually advisable to get it out of hand as quickly as possible. Since the 2♠ represents almost the same relative value as far as a reducer, it could be looked at in the same light. In this particular case, since Player A is looking for a 2♦ himself, the additional value that he has in throwing the 2♠ as a salesman requires this card as his first throw.
Player B – Takes the 2♠ discard. Of course Player A does not know whether it was actually picked for a meld and if so what meld, or whether it was picked as a reducer. Having obtained the meld on his first pick and having a tremendous potential gin hand, Player B decides against playing a strictly defensive game. He throws the K♥ which is completely useless to him and also has some safety factors.
Player A – Takes the discard and releases the A♣, which is the most useless card in his hand. He is doing this to test whether his opponent is just picking low cards to get under a count. When his opponent does not pick it, he is now satisfied that the first pick was for an actual meld.
Player B – Obtains from the deck the 10♥. Based on the score conditions and the fact that he is a long way from being under count, Player B cannot afford to open up now, even this early in the game. Also, his opponent has already picked his first discard and he cannon in a gin hand, afford to give his opponent a four-card run. Since his opponent picked the K♥, he could be holding the K♥, Q♥, and J♥. Player B then cannot throw the 10♥. He must play for at least a second meld before he can think of reducing his hand under 14. Therefore, he should throw that card which has a relatively safe factor but does not hurt his chances of obtaining a second or third meld. In this case, his discard is a 4♣.
Player A – Takes the 4♣ discard and throws the 8♣. This gives him two additional offensive opportunities. Also, he knows that his opponent is aware of the score situation and that after having his first card picked he would next be inclined to follow it with a fairly safe discard. The pick of the 4♣ might therefore unnerve his opponent, force him to hold something around the 4♣, another 4, or the 3 or 5, and possibly necessitate the breaking of one of his offensive opportunities.
Player B – Takes the 8♣ discard, which gives him a second run and a tremendous offensive opportunity for nine melded. This would automatically put him under the count. If at this time, he discarded from his combinations of 7’s or 8’s, he would leave himself practically no opportunity to quickly acquire his third meld. His choice of discards would then be limited to the 5♦ or the 10♥, both extremely wild cards. However, the 10♥ is wilder since the 4♠ has already been picked. The 5♦ if discarded and taken could tie up the needed 5♣, and 5♠. It also could represent a meld to the color combination that could have been connected with the 4♣, if the 4♣ were a stiff. Because this type of hand must be played for its full value, however, the 5♦ is thrown.
Player A – The 5♦ is taken and the 4♣ thrown back. Player B knows that since the 4♣ was a stiff, and returned when the 5♦ was picked, the 4♣ must have been matched up with either the 4♦ or 5♣. So the 5♦ has not resulted in a meld of 5’s or diamonds. He also has to consider the diamond run possibility since a sequence of this kind offers two ways of being turned into a four-card run as against one way for the 5’s.
Player B – Picks the J♠ from the deck. He knows that his opponent already has two runs. Since he is a long way from being under the count, Player B can no longer afford to take any chances. He has no choice at this point but to throw the 7♠ from his hand. It is the nearest thing to a dead card without actually being dead. It still leaves him three cards that could give him nine melded and put him under count. Although he is giving up a great deal of opportunity, he cannot afford to throw a wild J♦ or 10♥.
Player A – Draws the 3♣ from the deck and discards it.
Player B – Goes to the stock and pulls the 5♥. Not knowing whether his opponent actually has the diamond run or 5’s he cannot afford to discard the 5♥. He must now hold this card as well. The only card left for him to discard is the relatively safe 8♠, which also reduces his opportunity to be nine melded to just one way.
Player A – Picks and releases the 2♥. If Player B does not take the card, it will indicate to Player A that his opponent holds a low spade run.
Player B – Obtains from the deck the 6♥. He can now afford to throw the 8♥ since the 5, 6 combination gives him two opportunities to be nine melded against one.
Player A – Going to the deck, he buys the 9♠ and has the choice of retaining this offensive set up and throwing the J♣ or keeping his original set up and throwing back the 9♠. Since the 8♠ has already been discarded, and the 9♠ has little offensive value to him, he discards it.
Player B – Picks the 10♣ which offers the same opportunity to him with the 10♥ as did the 5♥ and 6♥. The only really safe card in his hand at this point is the 6♥, so he throws this card.
Player A – Draws from the deck the 8♦. He is now actually set for gin, although it is a one way gin hand. In order to hold this card, however, he will have to break one of his other pairs. This is not too much of a concern because buying the third card to a pair of Jacks or 10’s is not the most advantageous gin holding. A second determinate is the fact that since he picked the 5♦ from his opponent, his opponent may be holding the 6♦, 7♦ against him and he certainly does not want to meld him with a card that can tie up his own hand. Three 9’s have been established, so he retains the 8♦. His choice of discards is now between the 10♠ and the J♣. The 10♠ appears to be somewhat safer since the 9♠ has just been played but the 10♠ could conceivably fit with the K♠, Q♠, and J♠ that his opponent may well be holding since his opponent had already given him a King. The pick of the J♣ by his opponent could not in any way hurt his own offensive possibilities by tying up any cards, so he throws this card.
Player B – Although the J♣ is an important offensive card to him, he cannot afford to pick a stiff in this situation. He goes to the deck and picks the 9♣. He is now in a most unique and crucial situation. As shown, he now has eight melded cards but the throw of any of his discards will still leave him with 15 points and his count is 14. He has several choices. He could throw the J♠ and hope that it does not gin his opponent, and then hope to buy any card under a 10, but you need to remember that his opponent has already picked two runs, either of which could be a four-card run and he could be sitting with 4 Kings as well as the Q♠. As long as he is over the count it makes no difference whether Player B loses with 15 and gin or 40 and gin. However, he still can’t afford to throw this card. His opponent could also be sitting with nine melded cards including the K♥, Q♥, and J♥ since he picked up the K♥, so he cannot afford to throw the 10♥. His opponent could have three 5’s as part of his nine melded cards since he does not know what the 5♦ was for, so he cannot throw the 5♥. He can throw the 9♣ back and play to buy a 10 or possibly to take his opponent to the wall. He could also throw the 6♣, the only dead safe card in his hand and try for a win. The 6♣ is discarded.
Player A – Draws a 9♥ from the deck which he discards.
Player B – Going to the deck, he takes a 7♦. Now he really is in trouble. The 5♦ may have represented a 4♦, 5♦, 6♦. He is also missing the 8♦, 9♦, 10♦ as well and certainly cannot afford to throw the 7♦. He is now faced with the problem of either being able to take the hand to the wall if he can buy any other cards to tie up his opponent’s hand or develop mew melds for himself that will enable him to get under count. Therefore, he throws the 7♣ from his run.
Player A – Obtains from the deck the 6♦, which of course gives him a perfect gin set up. Therefore, he discards the 8♦.
Player B – The discard of the 8♦ does not help as far as his holding of the 7♦ is concerned. He might have picked the 8♦ with the hope of eventually buying the 9♦, even to the extent of breaking his 3♠, and 4♠, if by doing so he could get under the count with the K♦. Since it does not appear to be the case, he goes to the deck and picks the Q♣. Up until this point he is aware of the fact that the J♣ has been played but no Queens have been shown. For this reason, he cannot afford to throw the Q♣. Since he no longer has any safe cards in his hand except those that are in melds, he has no choice but to break a meld, but which one should he break? The 8♣ is a dead card as well as the 9♣. The 10♣ is not though because his opponent could be holding two 10’s. The 4♠ is a dead card, as is the 2♠. The 3♠ is not because no 3’s have yet been played. Since each run has two dead cards, the choice is equal. Player B does have an advantage in breaking the 8♣, 9♣, 10♣ in that after discarding the 8♣ and 9♣ he still has another 10 in his hand, which could result in a meld, whereas if he throws the 2♠ and 4♠ the three is completely useless to him. So, he discards the 9♣.
Player A – Obtains the J♥ from the deck. Even though he realizes he is missing all the hearts around the Jack, he is aware that his opponent is breaking his hand. Therefore although he would normally release the J♥ without hesitating, he now sees an opportunity to make an exceptionally fine expert play. He knows that the J♣ has already been played. He also knows that his opponent is aware of this so it is unlikely that his opponent would throw a missing J♠ simply because all of the spades are missing. If he could show his opponent that he is not interested in the J♠, it would be the obvious card for his opponent to throw back if he were holding it. Player A therefore takes one less offensive chance in his hand and throws the 10♠. Even though this card may be used by his opponent, he knows it will not be too much help since he is already breaking his hand.
Player B – Takes the discard, realizing that his opponent is not holding the 10♠, Q♠ combination. He could, of course, be holding the Q♠ together with four Kings and he could actually have a holding such as 3♦, 4♦, 5♦, and the 6♦ with 4 Kings and 2 Queens. That makes the J♠ definitely unsafe. He does have the 8♣ however, which is dead, so he discards the same.
Player A – Picks from the deck the 4♥, which is discarded.
Player B – Draws the Q♦. Now, he is back in the identical position he was in when he broke his 8♣, 9♣, 10♣. The J♠ does appear to be reasonable safe. However, it is not dead and he will not throw it at this point. If his oppo9nent is holding two Queens, Player B could afford to throw in either the 5♥ or the 7♦. He must once again break his hand. He knows now that the 10♠ is safe and that when this goes through the 10♣ is also dead safe. He knows that should his opponent pick the 10♠ he will have him dead. He now discards the 10♠.
Player A – Picks the 5♠ from the deck and throws it.
Player B – Although this is an add-on, it in no way benefits his hand offensively and has no value whatsoever in comparison with a pick from the deck. So he will not even consider picking it. He draws the 2♣ and releases the 5♥.
Player A – Draws from the stock the A♥ which he automatically releases.
Player B – Picks the Q♥. He now knows that his opponent is not holding a pair of Queens so he stops and reevaluates the possible holdings that his opponent could be sitting with. Does he have nine melded, or seven melded? He knows that he is missing the low diamond run all the way from the Ace to the 6 which represents a possible six melded cards. He is also missing all four Kings, so it is conceivable that his opponent could gin with the A♦, 2♦, 3♦, 4♦, 5♦, and 6♦, as well as the four Kings. He is further aware that he is missing the Q♠, so that his opponent could be holding a five-card diamond run or four-card diamond run with four Kings and the Q♠, in which case the J♠ would gin him. There is also the possibility that he is holding the 2♦, 3♦, 4♦, 5♦, 6♦, and four Kings. In this case the 7♦ would gin him. Since the 10♦ and J♦ are missing, his opponent could be holding them. If so, what is he holding them with? Is there any other card in the stock that could be matched up with the sequence, or only the one unplayed Jack? Now that he is playing his hand dead and to the wall, he must take all of this into consideration. At this point he still has one possibility of still getting under the count and that is by buying the 10♦ from the deck if his opponent is not holding the 10♦, J♦ combination. To take advantage of this one possibility, he throws the dead 2♣.
Player A – Going to the deck, he pulls the 7♥ and discards it.
Player B – He picks the K♠ from the deck. This card changes things considerably. It eliminates the possibility of his opponent holding four Kings. Therefore, the only four-card run available is in the low diamond suit. The Q♠ now becomes a useless card to his opponent and the gin potential of his opponent’s hand is limited to the J♦, and 10♦. Even though one Jack is gone, the J♠ is still a danger and it cannot yet be thrown. However, by throwing the now dead 10♣ Player B still retains the possibility of getting under the count again by buying the Q♠.
Player A – Draws from the stock the A♦ and discards it.
Player B – He knows that his opponent does not have a six-card low diamond run and if holding three Kings, a five-card low diamond run certainly does not benefit him. He picks the 5♣ which is completely dead and discards it. At this time both players examine the unused portion of the deck and note that there are only six cards left. Player A is aware that he has not as yet seen in lay any of the three cards he needs for gin. He knows that only one of them, the Q♦, could be tied up in a run. He also knows that if his opponent is holding the other two, the hand will go to the wall. However, if his opponent is holding only one of the two and is not sure of what he is protecting against, he may also be holding other cards as well, and is still over the count. Player B now realizes that the only possibility for his opponent is the 10♦, J♦, and J♥ combinations. He is holding the Q♦ and the J♠ and realizes that one of his opponent’s cards is still in the stock. Since he has two picks out of six cards left, at this point, the odds favor Player B being able to take this hand to the wall by 2 to 1. When there were eight cards left in the deck and the situation was identical, the odds were somewhat less since Player A had three picks out of eight, and when there were 10 cards left, it was even less since he had four picks out of the ten.
Player A – Draws from the stock the 6♠ and discards it.
Player B – Picks the 9♦ and knows that his opponent is now dead. He has successfully defended the hand to the wall. The last four cards left in the deck are the Q♠, 2♦, A♠, and the 3♥, none of which could have effected a gin. | English | NL | bd6b53df7c92a0e84c092fda43e65fa3e0c18dcd1e68d3b1bc5fad5d0fc26b37 |
S (Scripture): Genesis 3:6 When the woman saw that the tree produced fruit that was good for food, was attractive to the eye, and was desirable for making one wise, she took some of its fruit and ate it. She also gave some of it to her husband who was with her, and he ate it.
O (Observation): Becoming wise is a great temptation for Eve (and Adam). Unfortunately, their motives cause them to take a wrong action. Their desire to become wise causes them to want to be like God.
Here is some wisdom from the net.bible.org commentary on Gen 3:6:
The quest for wisdom can follow the wrong course, as indeed it does here. No one can become like God by disobeying God. It is that simple. The Book of Proverbs stresses that obtaining wisdom begins with the fear of God that is evidenced through obedience to his word. Here, in seeking wisdom, Eve disobeys God and ends up afraid of God.
A (Application): I’ve noticed a change in my approach to discipleship over these last two years. I’ve sought wisdom from God in ways that seemed unreachable before. I was seeking to accomplish things that would make me look wise or seem wise.
Instead, I do more in terms of seeking wisdom through fearing the Lord (in a healthy sense of fear and awe). God is other, yet knowable. God is wise, and I am but a humble servant.
Seeking wisdom through humility…that’s my goal.
P (Prayer): Lord, bring me wisdom through acknowledging my place in the world as your humble servant. Amen. | English | NL | 7c0a33f1db622c2bf457c1f896e9139ad24b0e82a5f1d3d96137662ea3eec495 |
CORPORAL GEORGE JAMES HARWOOD
DURHAM LIGHT INFANTRY
28TH OCTOBER 1918 AGE 30
BURIED: GIAVERA BRITISH CEMETERY, ARCADE, ITALY
On 27 October 1918 the 12th Battalion Durham Light Infantry, part of the 23rd Division, attacked across the heavily defended Piave River during the Battle of Vittorio Veneto in Northern Italy.
George Harwood was killed the next day, the 28th. He is buried in Giavera British Cemetery. Yesterday's casualty who died on 27 October 1918 is buried in Tezze British Cemetery. Giavera cemetery is for those who died on the west bank of the river, Tezze for those who died on the east bank. Many many soldiers died in the river itself, swept away by the fast flowing stream or killed by machine gun fire.
Harwood was a married man with two sons aged 4 and 2 at the time of his death. His wife, Ellaline chose his inscription. It comes from a piece of verse regularly seen in newspaper In Memoriam columns:
Duty called him he was there
To do his bit and take his share;
His heart was good, his spirit brave
His resting place a soldier's grave.
To do your bit was a colloquial way of saying that you were making a contribution to the war, playing your part in it.
In April 1919 Ellaline Harwood married William Robins; she was Mrs Robins when she chose her former husband's inscription. A week after Harwood's death the Austrians surrendered and the war in Italy was over. | English | NL | 1dd3d434b0a6f94fa583c01f37c32591c91aa075950c518153f6e67294875860 |
Mr Smith was an angry man. There didn’t seem to be any good reason for his anger: it just was.
He felt angry when his neighbour got a bigger, newer SUV than him; he felt angry when his brother got the latest smart phone and boasted about all its apps; he felt angry when the woman over the road bought a cinema-sized TV screen; he didn’t feel happy for colleagues who got promotions—he felt only anger that HE hadn’t got that promotion; he felt angriest of all when the neighbour with the big TV sold her house and moved to a much bigger one in a better suburb closer to the city.
Mr Smith took his anger out on random people he didn’t know. One day, as he was driving his big vehicle with its bull bars on the front, a woman in a small car cut across in front of him, and he had to brake suddenly. He made a point of driving up beside her at the next intersection.
“Where did you get your licence, lady—out of a cereal packet?” he shouted, shaking his fist.”
“Sorry,” she said, genuinely.
“Aw, get stuffed,” he said, and roared off.
The woman, Ms Jones, knew she had made a mistake, and she really was sorry. She was not herself today because her faithful dog had died that morning unexpectedly, and she was driving home from the vet’s surgery. Of course, Mr Smith couldn’t have known that, but Ms Jones cried all the way home, and felt very alone—more so since she had made a mistake while driving and had been shouted at. All she wanted today was someone to be kind to her.
Eventually, Mr Smith became a manager at his work, and was in charge of 20 people. He was always finding fault with them—most of them were so useless, he thought.
When the sales figures came in for his first year, they were well below what they had been the year before, under kind Mr Tickle. Mr Smith was furious, and he made a plan to get back at the staff. “This will teach them,” he said, fuming. Then he called his staff together and told them their work was not good enough and that they would have to work harder, and take a pay cut, if they wanted to stay. And three of them would have to go anyway: Mr White, Ms Green and Mr Brown. These three had always been very hard workers and had been with the company for many years.
Mr White had had some bad luck: he had a chronic illness for which he needed expensive medication. Even though he had sold his car and his house, when he lost his job he knew he would no longer be able to afford this medication. A year later, he died. Mr Smith said they couldn’t send a card or flowers to his family, because everything the company did had to be cost-effective. And anyway, Mr White no longer worked at the company, so it was not like he was an employee.
One day, Mr Smith had a heart attack, a big one. The doctors told his lovely wife and their three adorable children that he might not pull through and that the next 24 hours would be crucial.
They kept a bedside vigil: although they knew their husband and father was an angry man, they loved him all the same and wanted him to live. The children, Sam, Eliza and John, stood on the left side of the bed, holding his hand. His wife, Jane, sat on the right side, holding his other hand. As Mr Smith stared up at the loving faces, they all started to glow like moonlight; but they were gradually going out of focus, and he knew he was dying.
Without warning, he saw in front of him a burst of forked lightning, and, like a huge wall of TV screens, videos from all his angry outbursts appeared before him, all running together. Beside each screen of him being angry was a video of his victim. There he was, shaking his fist at the errant driver, Ms Jones, and there she was, sobbing as her faithful dog died in her arms. There was Mr White, being told by Mr Smith to pack his things and leave the building immediately; and there was Mr White, dying in pain because he couldn’t afford the medical attention he needed. On and on it went.
All the screens disappeared again, and Mr Smith could just faintly see through the white mist the faces of his wife and children.
Suddenly, he got it—the point of life, and he knew he had failed miserably. He had brought children into the world, but he hadn’t done anything to make the world a better place for them, and for their children and their children, and so on. In fact, he had made the world a worse place for them.
Sorrowfully, he admitted to himself that he had done nothing but take from the world and had let his anger be directed at innocent people who did not deserve it. He had made lots of people miserable. He had been greedy, arrogant and mean.
And now, tragically, just as he saw the error of his ways, it was too late to do anything. If only he could have a second chance to mend his ways. If only he hadn’t left it this late.
Slowly, the faces of his wife and children were coming back into focus. He could not speak to them, but he could squeeze their hands just slightly.
The doctor said he would live for now, but he must change his ways and give up work, and even then, he might not have a long life. Luckily, Mrs Smith had a job, and they decided that if they sold their house and bought a cheaper one, they would be all right.
When he returned home, Mr Smith thought about how he could best use his remaining time. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything big, or world-changing. But something was better than nothing.
He had been advised by his doctors to exercise every day, so each afternoon, he set off on an hour-long walk, to the end of his street , where there was a park beside the beautiful beach. Along the way, he smiled at every person he saw and wished them good health. Sometimes, he could see the sorrow and lack of hope in their eyes. But actually, there was barely a person who didn’t smile back just a little.
Before too long, Mr Smith found himself whistling a tune as he walked along. This brought smiles to the faces of passers-by, too. Often, he would see the same people in the same places, and they would exchange a few words. After a while, Mr Smith’s walks turned into two- and even three-hour outings, he had so many friends along the way that he talked to. They would often tell him their troubles, and he would listen to them. Often, it was dusk by the time he walked home again, and he grew to love this peaceful time of the day, the sinking sun sparkling across the water.
Five years passed, and Mr Smith’s doctor said he was a walking miracle.
Mr Smith was happy with his life, but he wanted to do something more. So he wrote a book about what he had learned, and how he had once been an angry man, but that nearly dying had helped him to change. He called his book A Walk in the Park.
The book was a runaway success, and it sold a million copies. Mr Smith decided to give most of the money to the park, for all his friends to share. As a result, they set up outdoor chess tables, a speaker’s corner, children’s swings and slides, and a cafe where anyone could have lunch for free.
Soon, other people in various suburbs started to follow the idea in their own neighbourhoods. Then other cities and other states caught on. Mrs Smith and the now almost-grown children were very proud of him, but, mostly, they were so pleased that he was such a happy person to be around. They hardly remembered the angry Mr Smith from years ago. And still, Mr Smith went on his daily walk to the park, smiling at every one he met.
Against all the medical predictions, Mr Smith lived to 95, eventually dying peacefully in his sleep. His local park was renamed Smith Park, and a statue put up in his honour—a man walking along, whistling a tune; a happy man who had made a difference.
Painting: ‘Venice Beach at Sunset’, pastels on board, © Caron Eastgate Dann, 2012. | English | NL | 6389468ed6357f71c71837da149973aa75e5c8ff55be2689f33f18d0a1031a73 |
Topic: Sunday Sermons Scripture: Ephesians 2:10
I invite you to turn to the book of Ephesians which we are studying verse-by-verse together. Ephesians 2 is our text for this morning and last week we saw in very clear and definitive terms written under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit by the pen of the Apostle Paul, that salvation is a work of God not a work of man and Paul made this so very clear that man cannot save himself. He does not have the capacity in himself even to respond to God without the help of God. God must do the saving and Paul made that clear. That's what we looked at in verses 8 through 9 and if you happened to miss that message, I'd encourage you to pick a copy of that message up on your way out because it's kind of a companion piece to what we're going to see today.
After verse 9, look at the end of verse 9 there. Paul said, "Not as a result of works, so that no one would boast." One writer says this as you move into verse 10, and I quote, "One might imagine that by now Paul has made his point and is ready to pass on to another topic, but no, he is determined not to leave his theme until he has expounded it beyond any possibility of this understanding." What Paul is talking about in the work of God in salvation and the fact that we as Christians were on the receiving end of the sovereign movement of God in our souls, is so critical to the whole understanding of salvation. It is so critical to the philosophy of ministry. It is so critical to the way that you live your individual Christian lives that Paul knows that this point must be driven home very deeply into our hearts and that's why as we saw last time, he says the same thing in a dozen different ways. He approaches it from every possible angle so that there can be no misunderstanding by someone who sincerely and seriously reads the text.
Now, today's text reinforces the emphasis on God's work in salvation. Look at verse 10 Ephesians 2:10 will be our text for this morning. Paul says,
10 For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.
And just as a preliminary observation of that text, in every aspects of this one verse you see God on the initiating end of salvation, not man. It was God's workmanship that made us into believers. He created us in Christ Jesus, we did not create ourselves. And even the lives that we live and the good works that we live now as believers, it says that God was on the initiating side of that as well when it says that, "God prepared them beforehand so that we would walk in them."
We are going to expand this text this morning and see two really simple aspects, simple but profound, clear but necessary items on salvation. We're going to see, first of all, the source of our salvation and then secondly, we're going to see the purpose of our salvation. And for you young people who are just beginning to learn what it means to listen to God's word, what you should be able to do at the end of a message like this is walk out to say that, "God saved me so that I would glorify him," with the emphasis on, "God did the saving so that I would glorify him." You young people, you have in this text what it is to become a Christian and you have the defining purpose, the reason for your existence and it's not too early for you to embrace this and to set your heart upon it. It's better to set your heart on these things as a young person 8, 10, 12 years old rather than waiting and thinking that, "Well, I'll get to that later in life." Trust those of us who waited a little bit later that God didn't save until a little later in our lives, it's better to live a life for God from the beginning rather than trying to pick it up halfway. It's better to just leave the luggage in the trunk and never pull it out and try to carry it around the rest of the way. We have here who would it is that accomplishes salvation and we have the purpose for which he did it and that's what we're going to see this morning.
First of all: the source of our salvation. The source of our salvation. Where did salvation come from? Whose idea was it? Whose power was it? Whose desire was it? Those questions are so fundamental and what this text, beginning in Ephesians 1, and all the way down to where we're at today, particularly chapter 2, verses 1 through 10, which sets the context for this verse, shows us that the desire for salvation had to come from God originally, not from us because we were dead in our transgressions and we were captive to evil powers and we had no desire for it. And so if you today find yourself here as a Christian and you know that you've been born again, the clarity and the simplicity of this text is simply for you to see one more time in one more way that that came from the good heart of God and not from the accomplishment of your life and it is a humbling truth but it is a necessary truth.
What is the source of salvation? Look at verse 10 with me. Paul says, "We are His workmanship." We are his workmanship. The original language emphasizes the possessive pronoun "his." It places it first in the sequence of words. Salvation is God's achievement, not ours. It's his workmanship and it's like Paul is saying, "It's his workmanship," so that by the emphasis and the stress of his written voice, he says, "Don't think anything else. Let go of your desire to take credit." We live in a world, the spirit of the world is that people want a piece of the action. If there's money to be had, people want a piece of the action. If there's glory to be had, people want a piece of the action. If there's power to be had and influence to be had, people want a piece of the action. They want to be in on it so that they benefit from whatever is happening. Well, here in Ephesians chapter 2, Paul is confronting the spirit, that spirit of our age, and saying when it comes to the glory and the acknowledgment and the responsibility and who was the source of salvation, what this text is saying is that you and I don't get it piece of the action. We are his workmanship. Not God's and ours, this wasn't a collaborative effort, we weren't in joint partnership. We didn't form a limited partnership or a corporation and do it together with God. God saved us and that changes everything. And this word "workmanship" is a word that is used only of the works of divine creation, that the object is on the receiving end of the creative power of God in such a way that the object could not have contributed to bringing itself about.
If you turn over to Romans chapter 1, the same Greek term is used. Romans 1, just back a couple of books in your Bible, the same Greek term is used in Romans 1:20, as Paul talks about, in part, the physical universe. Chapter 1, verse 20, "For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through," here's the word translated differently but it's the same underlying term, "through what has been made, so that they are without excuse." Paul says, "The physical creation displays the glory and the power of God." He says, "The nature of God, in part, is displayed through what has been made." And the point for our discussion here this morning is that this created world that he's speaking about did not make itself. God created the world and what stands after that is the display of his creative power and his originating source of creative ability.
Now, it's that same word, turn back to Ephesians 2. It's that same word that we see here in Ephesians 2:10, "We are His workmanship," we are the object of something that God has done. God, if you're a Christian today, here is the way that you should think about yourself with great gratitude and humility before the throne of God: God did a work of creative activity upon you in your spiritual life to save you. You did not do anything to deserve that. You did not prompt that. You did not earn that. You did not participate in the creative act any more than the universe participated in its own creation. That's the significance of this word. You were no equal partner in securing your fate. You were not the captain of your soul. You were not the master of your own destiny as we've seen and we can't review it all but if you follow the course of the Scriptures that we've been expounded up until this point, you realize that it could never be that way. You did not bring yourself to spiritual life, beloved, and I didn't bring myself to spiritual life, it was a work of God and there's no hidden meaning here. There's no qualifications or reservations to what Paul says. The simple clarity of what he says here is the reality of why we are a believer in Christ here today, it's because the source of our salvation was God himself.
Look at the text again with me, "We are His workmanship." We stand today as living, breathing Christians, spiritually alive. We're like that now in an ongoing way because God did a work beforehand in order to bring that result about and just as the created order stands as a testimony to his creative power in the physical creation, so a Christian now stands as a manifestation and a demonstration of his creative power in the spiritual realm. We didn't participate in that. We didn't make that happen.
And so Ephesians 2:10 is reinforcing everything that Paul just said in verses 8 and 9, look at it with me and you see this together and you see how the cumulative power of each word brings this to pass. Let me say one thing here, okay? Your view of Scripture really affects the way that you look at this. We believe that every word of Scripture was inspired by God. It is the word of God, word for word, not just thoughts but the actual words that we have in front of us are expressing the intention of God and say exactly what he wanted it to say so that when we read a compact rich verse like this passage, verses 8 through 10, every word matters, every word is significant. There wasn't some excess. Paul wasn't saying more than was necessary. We are reading what God wanted in print to testify to man throughout the existence of the physical world. Jesus said, "Heaven and earth will pass away but my words will not pass away." And so word by word we treasure what is said here; this is why we treat it carefully. This is why it takes time to preach the Bible.
But look at verse 8 with those things in mind, every word being important, "By grace you have been saved." Notice that you are on the receiving end of the salvation and it's "by grace through faith, that not of yourselves." Don't think that you contributed to this by your own unaided effort or your own unaided desire. Paul says, "No, it's not from you. It's from God. It's the gift of God, not as a result of your work so that no one may boast for," he keeps going you wonder if he even drew a breath while he was dictating this. He says, "For we are His workmanship," and what I want you to see is that wave after wave is reinforcing the same thing: by God's grace, by what he did, his gift, not of yourselves, not of your works, we are his workmanship.
The source came from God and so by a work of God's Holy Spirit on your heart, God enlightened your mind to understand the things of Christ in the Gospel. He renewed your stubborn will and drew you to Christ when you would not have chosen to do that if he had not but he worked on you. He broke your chains of sin in such a way that you did not come against your will to Christ. He worked in your will in a way so that you came willingly in response to what he had done. Jesus said, "No one can come to Me unless the Father draws him." That's what we're seeing here in this text, you came to Christ freely because God first broke your chains and left to your own desires, you never would have been saved. And so today as we stand here as believers in Christ, we recognize that we are on the receiving end of something that God started and accomplished on our behalf and we are grateful to him.
Now, let me say with as much love and tenderness as I can possibly bring up out of my heart: if you're not a Christian here today, I want you to understand something, that as you sit there alone and separated from God without the Spirit in your heart, without belonging to Christ, still dead in your trespasses and sins, I want you to understand something and I say this to help you but you are hopelessly lost. I grieve for you in your condition because there is nothing that you can do to make things better on your own. You simply have to cry out to God for mercy and say, "God, be merciful to me in this situation," and appeal to him to do something in mercy on your soul that you freely acknowledge that you cannot do for yourself. And so at the same time, understand as we make that appeal to you that Christ says, "Come to me and I will receive you. Those who come to me I will never cast out." When you come to Christ crying out for mercy, you find that he was calling for you first to begin with and as you feel that sense of conviction and that pull towards Christ, respond to it with a humble submission that says, "Yes, Lord save me too."
Now, we're talking about the source of salvation. You see the source again in the following phrase. This just fascinates me just from the repetition of it all. The multiplied repetitions tell us that we must be slow to receive this. Slow to understand it. Slow to accept it. Slow to embrace it. If it was easy for us to accept this, Paul would have only had to say it once but because we are so prone to miss the point, because the pride of our heart so much wants a piece of the action, Paul says it again and again and again under the direction and the influence of the Holy Spirit so that we wouldn't miss it.
Look at it with me there in verse 10, "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works." There we are, passive voice, on the receiving end of the creative work of God. "Created" means that God caused it to come into existence. This word is also used to refer to the physical creation, God bringing it to pass.
Look over at Colossians 1:16. There are a lot of parallels between Ephesians and Colossians and as you read Ephesians and Colossians, they reinforce each other. Paul wrote them at practically the same time and while he was in prison but here you see it in verse 16. In Ephesians he is talking about the spiritual creation of the new birth, here in verse 16 Colossians 1, he uses it to refer to the physical universe among other things but here you see it Colossians 1:16, "For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities - all things have been created," there is our word, "through Him and for Him." And when we read that in Colossians 1, no one would seriously say, "Ah, but what that really means is that creation participated. Creation helped out by bringing itself to the table. Creation exercised faith so that God would create it." We would never say that because it's obvious that's not what it means in that context. Well, the same word is being used to talk about God's spiritual work in Ephesians 2 but somehow we find our way, some people, will find their way trying to say, "But I had a part. I contributed something to this. I worked together with God to bring about my new birth." And Scripture is saying that's not the case. We're his workmanship. We were created in Christ Jesus by the overwhelming power of God.
Now look at Revelation 4:11, if you would. The same word being used here. Revelation 4:11, "Worthy are You, our Lord and our God, to receive glory and honor and power; for You created all things, and because of Your will they existed, and were created." Same word there. God receiving glory, honor and power because of his creative act. It is him alone. He alone gets the glory for it. The physical universe exists because God willed it to be so. The same word shows that you are a Christian by the will of God. It's because he wanted you that way. It's because he worked on your dead heart to bring you to life. It was a divine resurrection. It was a divine liberation.
And so as we wrap this up and it's all in the realm of Christ Jesus as we are joined to him, as we wrap this up, it's clear, it's humbling, it's at the same time very exhilarating to realize that Paul is not congratulating us for having exercised faith in Christ and that by our human act we distinguished ourselves from others who do not believe. That is not his point. Paul is saying that the distinguishing mark, the reason that you are distinct, the reason that you are in the body of Christ is because of the work of God and the will of God, not because of the will of man.
John 1:12. Not by the will of man who received him not by the will of man. We are born not from ourselves. A baby cannot bring about his own birth. His workmanship. Created in Christ Jesus. Martian Luther said this and I quote, "A man cannot be thoroughly humbled until he comes to know that his salvation is utterly beyond his own powers, counsel, endeavors, will, and works and is absolutely dependent upon the will, counsel and pleasure of God." Salvation is of the Lord, that's what that means.
Paul now, having explained the source of salvation beyond any question, and let's just add one last thing so that it can be clear. I have a number of guests this morning. Welcome, we're glad that you're here with us today. You having not been with us as we've gone through the whole passage, I wouldn't want you to miss something by this. I understand that these doctrines of salvation can be taught in a cold, indifferent spirit, in a way that seems like, "Well, what does it matter then. What's the use then?" But the whole context of the passage that we've looked at prior and you're just kind of catching the tail end of it here, makes it impossible for us to do anything but to respond in love and gratitude and a warmhearted affection to the God of our salvation.
The question is: why did he do this? And Scripture says, look at verse 4 with me, it's so important for you to understand this that this work of God in the lives of believers is a display of his mercy. It's because God had compassion upon us in our lost condition and wanted to help us and rescue us from it before we perished eternally with nothing in us to draw out his affections. Nothing to compel him, nothing to earn this kind of motion from God to us, nothing like that at all, simply from the pure, perfect goodness of his attributes. In his great mercy, verse 4, with his great love, by grace in verse 5, in verse 7, in kindness towards us in Christ Jesus, God did this. And so far from this making us with draw in coldness from God, perish the thought, we realize that God has shown such unutterable eternal, magnificent, goodness and kindness and affection toward us to bring us into his family so that he could secure us and bless us forever to realize that he did a work in us to bless us like that makes us say, "Hallelujah, Lord God, you are so very good to me." And we love him with a soft and tender heart rather than turning away because we can't take any credit for ourselves.
And you see, beloved, the sooner, the more completely that we divest ourselves of trying to take any sliver of credit, the more our hearts have now been released and free to give God the glory which he so richly deserves. When you understand that a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, bled on a cross in order to bring this about for you, that he left heaven in order to shed his blood with such mercy and grace that he could look down upon those who were crucifying him and mocking him and say, "Father, forgive them for they don't know not what they are doing." When you realize that he was gashed and bruised and endured the wrath of God as your substitute, that the crown of shame that was thrust into his scalp was the scalp that should have been on you. That that sense of eternal separation, "My God, My God why have you forsaken me?" was your destiny apart from his intervention. Oh beloved, don't you see, don't you see that these truths from Scripture are what bring forth the love for God in our hearts and it's not until we let go of wanting credit that we can fully embrace honoring him exclusively and not trying to stand up on the top tier of the podium with him with our arms around him, "Lord, we did it together." No, no, oh, the thought of that. Oh, the thought of that just shatters me. No, Christ ascends to the top of the platform, as it were, and receives the gold medal and we're in the audience applauding him, not trying to steal the moment by our so-called participation in the work. He gets all the glory and when we embrace that, then we love him far more than when we tried to keep some for ourselves. That's when we're thoroughly humbled and that's when the blessing of God is unleashed on the human soul.
Now, this has a defining impact on so many things and Paul is now going pivot here in verse 10. He's going to pick up into what's going to occupy the rest of the letter here at the end of verse 10. He is pivoting now. He's made his point so that it is beyond being contested. He has made it and silenced all human pride and now he pivots to this other aspect of salvation as we look at point number 1: the purpose of salvation. We've seen for one last time for now the source of salvation and now Paul goes on to talk about the purpose of salvation.
Look at verse 10 with me. Let me say this before we read the text: it's not like you're a little robot toy that God wound the key up at your conversion and then let you go and you just kind of went off into your life unchanged and God says, "Hey, I'll see you in heaven," as if you could continue on after that kind of miraculous work unchanged or unaffected by it. God didn't wind us up and then let us go and, you know, with no intent of anything else to come from it other than making a transaction in his book that says, "This one goes to heaven, not to hell," and nothing else matters. No, no, God's creative act, God's workmanship was for a purpose. It was to take ownership of your life so that, watch this, so that understandings that your secure, blessed, spiritual position having come exclusively from him would now, watch this, places a sense of gratitude and obligation and responsibility and desire on your part that you want to return all of your energies to this God who exercised his creative energy in order to deliver you from your horrible state in sin. And so this massive power of God that was brought to bear on us was for a purpose so that our lives would be transformed. So that our lives would have an eye on, that our hearts would be motivated in what he declares to be good and the purpose of our existence now. He saved us and now he owns us and we like it that way.
We want it that way and so look at verse 10 with me again. Paul says, "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus," here's the pivot point. Now he introduces the purpose, "for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them." We'll spend the next few minutes just kind of unpacking what this means.
Beloved, I want you to understand, I want you to see from Scripture because it defines your life and it defines why we exist and what we do together as a church going forward in the years to come. This defines everything for us. The goal of salvation is not merely that you would go to heaven. The goal of our church is not merely that we would have a place to meet to worship together on Sunday and, you know, have pot luck dinners together. God saved you. God brought our church into existence so that you, we, I would live to the glory of God. That sounds so basic. That sounds so simple. You almost despair of saying I'm saying things that are too simple but do you know what? It really is, it's that basic. This point has to be clear in our minds because this point affects everything. Now the reason that you live, now purposes for which you make your decisions, the basis upon which you determine what you do going forward once these come home with power in your life, is no longer, "What can I get out of it?" but "What most glorifies God?" Our purpose as a church is clearly defined in this point. The purpose of our church is not to please the world, not to make things as welcoming to unrepentant sinners as we possibly could. That's not the point. I know you understand that. I know that you elevate your passions with me as I say that. I know that you get it, that's why you're here so we are on the same side together but that's not the point. That couldn't be the point. The main point, the primary point is that we would do good works as defined in Scripture so that all of our existence, every living breath that God gives us would abound to his glory out of a grateful response for this creative workmanship that he did in our hearts to save us from sin. That little basic point is a lever that changes the trajectory of everything and so we don't mind if unsaved people come into our service and say, "I don't like the music here." Well, do you know what? It's not for you. It's not for you. Please stay. Please visit with us. We're glad you're here but the fact that an unsaved person wouldn't like songs that talk about all glory, laud and honor to Christ our King, is a matter of indifference to us when it comes to determining and deciding what we do. That doesn't define our philosophy of ministry at all. It's defined by good works as God sees them because we're so captivated by the glory of God saving us that we would have it no other way. That's corporately and the same spirit carries over individually. Good works is a way of simply saying godly behavior
Look at the verse with me here. "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works." Now as you first read that, if you're just reading that verse in isolation, you might say, "What's good works?" You know, you start to define it in a lot of different ways. Well, you know what? We don't have to guess what Paul meant here in this verse. I told you that this is a pivot point. What happens, now watch this, we're not going to define it anymore than what we've already done in this broad way but here's what I want you to see is that Paul goes on and finishes chapter 2 and then he writes chapters 3, 4, 5 and 6 in this book and what he's doing from this is the pivot point on is saying and laying out, "Here are the good works, here are the demands of a godly life. This is how you glorify God in the church, in your family, in work and in your prayer life." And so when we want to know what the good works are that Paul is talking about, well, we just keep reading and studying rather than trying to guess what he meant by it. In general, we could say that these good works of which Paul speaks means that you live with biblical attitudes and according to biblical priorities in the life that God has providentially ordained for you. Let me say that again, there's a mouthful there, I want you to hear it. What are the good works of which Paul speaks? As you read the rest of Ephesians, as we study it together, what we will see is that you live with biblical attitudes and according to biblical priorities in the life that God has providentially ordained for you.
God prepared things in advance for you to walk in. As we have studied the doctrine of providence in the past, the very life that you have right now is the life that God has for you now. You don't have to second guess and wonder, "Well, what if I had me this decision, or married a different spouse, or said something different, or taken a different job?" Forget all of that and leave it behind. None of that matters anymore. What matters is today. This is the life that God has given you today and this is the life, this is the time in which you are to bring forth the good works. You can't live any other life than the one that God has given you. If it's a life filled with pain and sorrow then, beloved, I want to encourage you that what God has set before you is for you to live to the glory of God and trust him in the midst of your pain and disappointment and that ennobles your pain and disappointment so that you say, "Okay, whatever else I do, I'm going to glorify God right here. I'm going to show the world what a godly Christian looks like living through sorrow, pain and disappointment without resentment, with courage, with cheer. That's the kind of Christian I'm going to be." That's the life of good works for you. For those of you that are blessed with prosperity, you live a life of good works according to a godly prosperous man, godly prosperous woman. It's not complicated.
Here's the thing, this is what I want you to get, not because I'm upset with you but because this is so transforming to your life and so utterly liberating: you do not have to become somebody else, speaking to Christians here, you do not have to become somebody else in order to live this life of good works that God calls you to. I realize that there are voices that sound really persuasive about do hard things and you see stories of pastors that leave their church because they want to go live with people in Thailand and it creates this sense that unless I do something really, really dramatic, really, really big that gets written up by Christian bloggers or in Christian magazines, then my life really doesn't, you know, I'm really not like that and you have the sense that I haven't done all that I could. No, no we utterly reject that and throw it out on the curb because of the false expectations and the false pressures that it puts on people.
What Paul says, what Paul has in mind when he talks about good works, can be seen in what he says. He says, look at verse 10 with me again, I need to pick back up on the text so that you can follow the string of thought here. Paul says, "Good works God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them." Well, he uses that word "walk" repeatedly in the rest of the epistle and shows us what kind of walk it is that he has in mind. Follow with me as we trace this word "walk" through the rest of Ephesians and you can see that I'm not making this up. Ephesians 4:1, "Therefore," based on everything that I've said before, now he says, verse 4, "Therefore I, the prisoner of the Lord, implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." Do you want to see a good work? Do you want to do a good work for Christ in response to your salvation? Live in the midst of the people of God in a unified, harmonious, supportive way, preferring them over yourselves and you're doing a good work according to the Scriptures. And yeah, no one's going to write a headline about it on earth. There will be banners displayed in heaven. There will be enthusiasm in the voice of Christ when we live this way and there will be enthusiasm in his voice when he says, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your Master." But nobody applauded me on earth. "I don't care. That's not what it was about. It was never about that to begin with. It was about you seeing what I laid out in my word and living according to that." For occasional rare exceptions, they will enter into prominence, most of us will simply fade into obscurity and that's the way, we don't mind that, let's say it that way. If Christ's name is lifted up and my name dissipates and people forget it, that's great and I don't care if anyone writes a book about it because, beloved, you see, and I'm not speaking just for me, I'm speaking on your behalf, I'm illustrating this for you. If somehow actually our name stays out of the way then the glory of God can be on greater display and that's what we want. Why? Because we are his workmanship created in Christ Jesus on the receiving end. He's been good to us and I just want people to see the one who has been good to me, that's all that matters. That's the way we think as Christians.
Chapter 4:1, chapter 4:17, Paul says, "So this I say, and affirm together with the Lord, that you walk no longer just as the Gentiles also walk, in the futility of their mind, being darkened in their understanding, excluded from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them," and he goes on and on. We live this life of unity in the body of Christ. We live a life of separation from the world, disengaged from its lusts, disengaged from its desires, disengaged from its priorities. Walking to the beat of a different drummer. Why? Because we're created in Christ Jesus for good works. We're his workmanship. He did something for us. He took us out of that and set us apart for something else and it's not surprising that that something else doesn't result in us accumulating or seeking glory for ourselves. We surrendered that. We gave that up. We sacrificed that. We were saved from that so that we might do the good works that God calls for.
Look at chapter 5:2, you can start in verse 1, "Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children; and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us," that sacrificial, self-effacing spirit that so many of you manifest day by day and in your walk with our church. Chapter 5:8, just a simple life of holiness, "Therefore do not be partakers with them; for you were formerly darkness, but now you are Light in the Lord; walk as children of Light (for the fruit of the Light consists in all goodness and righteousness and truth), trying to learn what is pleasing to the Lord. Do not participate in the unfruitful deeds of darkness, but instead even expose them," be separate from the world in which you live in. Chapter 5:15, a walk of wisdom, "Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil. So then do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is." Here is your good works, "And do not get drunk with wine, but be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody with always giving thanks and be subject to one another in the fear of Christ."
Now, in one sense, that's calling us to do hard things but it's hard because of the conflict of our remnants of sin, our indwelling flesh rather than hard things that the world is going to praise us for, even if it's the Christian world, so-called Christian world. And so, beloved, here it is this: your understanding what the Scriptures are saying here is morning, if you have a sense of release and liberation and a growing sense of gratitude coming upon you and realizing that this is different from what the world tells us to do, look at your current life in light of what we've said and realize that what God is calling you to is this walk of humility, this walk of separation, this walk of love, this walk of wisdom and, beloved, you can do that right where you are at. You don't have to drop what you're doing and go someplace else and make up a life that was never on your trajectory. God has brought you to this life today Sunday, November 2, 2014 that will date the message in the future, Sunday, November 2, 2014 right where you're at with the family, with the spouse, with the children, with the difficulties, with the prosperity, with the goodness that you have, right here is where you manifest this walk and it is for this exact life that you have now in Christ that God prepared you to live and God has good works for you right where you're at for you to do. This is wonderful. All of a sudden, everything about your life means something. All of a sudden, you no longer think, "Life passed me by." All of a sudden, you're no longer thinking, "I should have done it some other way." All of a sudden, you do away with that sense of saying, "I wish I was someone else. I wish I was like him. There must be something wrong with me because I didn't attain like he did." All of that gets wiped away and you see that it doesn't even matter because God prepared you for this life, saved you to live out the actual life that he gave you, not one that he didn't give to you. That's the implications of this verse. That's the implications of God's sovereign Providence.
Look back at chapter 2:10 with me. Let me just say just to be clear that these good works of which Paul speaks, they don't do anything to improve your standing with God whatsoever. Your standing, the legal basis on which you can come to God by which you are declared righteous with God, your legal basis is the righteousness of Christ and that is perfect and you can't improve upon it and so Paul isn't calling us to keep up our salvation by doing these good works and if we don't we're going to lose out and our status will be diminished. No, Christ has secured a perfect status for us with his righteousness. The righteousness on your account is perfect and so it's not that suddenly you're warned to do these things or you're going to lose this salvation if you don't, that's not the point at all. No, what Paul is saying here is that this is the purpose of your salvation.
Look at it again in verse 10 with me now, "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works." Now listen, let me state it this way: these good works of which we speak must necessarily occur not so that you can preserve your salvation and lose it if you don't but rather these good works necessarily happen because of the very nature of salvation. You see, salvation was more than a moment of you praying a prayer, it was a miraculous work of God's Spirit on your heart that changed you into someone new. You had a new disposition, a new nature imparted to you and now with that having been permanently done, you live according to your new nature. You've been changed and therefore your life changes because of the inner change that took place inside you. God designed salvation so that we would reflect the divine design. New things come from a new heart. That's why Paul can say this, "God saved you so that you will do this."
Now, and even in that, we're still giving God the glory. Look at verse 10 with me again where it says that we are "created in Christ Jesus for good works," I love this, "which God prepared beforehand." God appointed your circumstances ahead of time. God laid out the path for you to walk and so that gives us a sense of confidence as we move forward. We do away with anxiety. We do away with fear. We do away with doubting and say, "No, God has saved me. God has placed a path before me and while it's difficult and I may not be able to see too far down the path, these are the steps that God has ordained for me to walk in. Let's go for it. Let's rejoice in it. This difficult mixed-up life that I've got," you say to yourself if your life is difficult and mixed up, "somehow now I see clarity, this is the way forward. God intends for me to prosper, to glorify him, to respond with biblical attitudes and priorities right here, right now. I can do this right now. I can be grateful to God right now. I can rejoice in my salvation right now. I don't have to wait until things change." God prepared it in advance and I would go so far as to say: the more difficult and impossible your circumstances seem to be in light of this teaching, the more emboldened you should be. Say, "This is utterly impossible. This life life I have right now," you'd say before you hear this, "is utterly impossible." Now, you view it completely differently and say, "No, no, I'm a Christian and this life is somehow what God has appointed for me. This is not impossible. I'll take the next step forward trusting God, satisfied, content and glorifying him in it because I see right here, God prepared this beforehand."
You say, "I've been a Christian for so long and I've never heard this before and now look at all the accumulated stuff." Don't think that way, beloved. Just set that thinking aside and rather than saying, "What about all this lost time?" say, "Thank God, I understand this now and I've still got breath to live some of this out while I can." Be grateful for the opportunity that is ahead rather than regretting the lost opportunities that are behind. Forget it, "forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead," Paul says in Philippians 3. "I press on toward the goal of the call of God in Christ Jesus." And so, if you're in your 40s or 50s and you're just a new Christian, that's great. It's not a cause for regret. Now, look at life and live out the good works that God has for you right in front of you.
So as we go on in Ephesians, Paul is going to exhort us to godly living in our church, our personal conduct, our family, our work, our prayer, our dependence upon him but what we see is that God saved you to walk in precisely the life that you have now.
Look at the end of verse 10 with me, "God prepared this beforehand so that," here's another aspect of the purpose, "so that you would walk in them." There is a divine design at work in your life that God intends you to fulfill. You can do that without fear. You can do that with courage. And you do it all with a sense of glorifying God in the process. God saved you to walk in precisely the life that you now have, period. A true Christian delights in that life that God has given him out of gratitude and out of respect for the God who did such a great work to save him and, beloved, what I want you to see is that that delight, that response, that willingness shows that it is God that is at work in you both to will and to work for his good pleasure. Charles Spurgeon said, "God's choice of us was not because we were holy. God chose us to make us holy." So let's run the race that's before us pursuing the purpose of God which is to glorify him in precisely the life which he's given us both physically and the spiritual life that he has so graciously, abundantly given us in Christ.
Bow with me in prayer.
Father we are delighted to call you our God and our Father. We are delighted to be on the receiving end of unspeakably great mercy. We are delighted, Father, that we're able to live the life that you've given us rather than fretting over the life that we don't have.
I pray, Father, for these dear brothers and sisters in Christ in their sorrows and their joys and their trials and their opportunities in every aspect, Father, that they would so see and so rejoice and so delight in the reality of being on the receiving end of your work in salvation that the whole attitude and perspective on life becomes one of a grateful, eager response even if it's hard because we see, Father, that there is an underlying, hidden, divine purpose in it all whose outcome we don't fully know or understand and yet it is the flowing stream of water underneath that we can sink our roots into and find the vitality that lets us live. You saved us so that we would bring forth good works in the life that you've given us so that we would walk in them. You prepared it in advance. You saw it from the beginning. You saw the end before it started and said, "This is the life that I have for this one and he will glorify me there," and we say, "Father, yes, amen." In this life that you given to us individually, in this life that you've given us corporately as Truth Community Church, we say, "Amen, yes, hallelujah, we will glorify the God who saved us. We will walk in the works that he has set before us with joy, with confidence, with gratitude, with worship."
So help us to that end, our God. Thank you, our Lord Jesus, for being the one who paid the price to let us enter into all of these wonderful blessings that we now have. In your great and holy name we pray, Lord Jesus, and with humility in our hearts knowing that we did not save ourselves we pray. Amen. | English | NL | 43d9e5352b7afa685c5acff43b746cb02bbc3a2a1ffde437720b8c764b11c15f |
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Born David Henry Thoreau, Thoreau chose to legally change his name at the age of twenty, to make it the name that would later become the highly recognized and respected name of Henry David Thoreau. Thoreau chose a different path for his life than many other individuals during his time, he rejected the normal ideas of a democratic government and based his life on the ideas of transcendentalism. Thoreau is best known for living two years of his life at Walden Pond, but there are more aspects of his life that have reached the people of America. When Thoreau was a young child, he deeply immersed himself in nature. It was evident to his elders that he took a great interest in literature and writing. Thoreau began his writing at a young age, with his first essay at the age of ten, entitled?
The Seasons. ? Showing great intelligence, Thoreau was accepted to study at Harvard University at the age of sixteen, and with help from his family he was able to raise the money he needed to attend. While there, Thoreau had a good chance of being at the top of the class, but it was said? he went his own way too much to reach the top. ? (Foerster, 26). Thoreau graduated from college on August 16, 1837, and then began a teaching career in Concord, Massachusetts. Not long after he began teaching, Thoreau retired.
He had long been criticized for the way he punished his students. Instead of choosing to flog them, or to beat them when they did something wrong, Thoreau instead chose to deliver moral lectures to the children. The parents and elders of the community did not think this was enough to properly punish the children to let them know that what they were doing was wrong. It was for this reason that Thoreau resigned, he did not believe in the idea of physical punishment taking any part in education. It was at this time that Thoreau began to write and was first introduced to the idea of transcendentalism. Thoreau?
s sister, Helen, introduced him to Lucy Jackson Brown, who happened to be Ralph Waldo Emerson's sister-in-law. (Foerster, 35). When Emerson read Thoreau? s Journal he realized they had many of the same ideas in common, and Emerson requested to meet with Thoreau. The meeting resulted in a close friendship between the two, and Emerson later became Thoreau? s mentor.
During his time with Emerson, Thoreau became familiar with members of what was known as the? Transcendental Club. ? Transcendentalism is a newly founded belief and practice that involves mans interaction with nature, and the idea that man belongs to one universal and benign omnipresence know as the oversoul. (Edwards). Transcendentalism is described as a natural religion of democracy because it claims that divinity is in every human and therefore the universe.
This suggestion that the individual is potentially divine can also support the religion of aristocracy. (De Voile). The major influences are romanticism, idealism, self-examination, democratic individualism, nature, and mankind among others. Thoreau took this belief to straight to heart when his brother, John, whom Henry was very close to, died on March 11, 1842 of complications of lockjaw. After building a cabin on a plot of land that Emerson had recently bought on Walden Pond, and preparing it for the time ahead, Thoreau began his two year recluse from normal American society on July 4, 1845. For two years Thoreau observed, wrote about, and lived among nature at its fullest. When asked why he went to live at Walden Pond, Thoreau replied: I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
I did not wish to live what was not life, living is dear, nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life (Thoreau, 75 - 76). ) Thoreau immersed himself into nature, allowed his mind to create a alertness of divinity, and he? transcended? to spiritual fulfillment. As a true transcendentalist, Thoreau? s retreat to Walden Pond signified the start of his process toward his own spiritual rebirth.
Later, once his goal was accomplished, he wanted to share his exhilaration and findings with others who did not realize the rewards of his experience with true transcendentalism. When Thoreau returned from Walden Pond, he collected his writings, put them together, and edited them to be published in what he called? Walden, or Life in the Woods. ? Thoreau did not live exclusively in his cabin and the surrounding lands, as most people tend to think. In fact, Thoreau left frequently to make trips to Concord for food and other items he found he needed at Walden. On one visit there, Thoreau was questioned about a poll tax he had refused to pay in 1843 and 1844.
When Thoreau again refused to pay this tax he was apprehended and sat in jail for a night. Thoreau refused to pay the tax because first of all, he had never voted, and he knew that such a purely political tax had to be associated with the funding of the Mexican War and the continuance of slavery, both of which he strongly objected to. In the morning, Thoreau was released because an anonymous person had paid his bail, Thoreau believed this person to be his Aunt Maria. While Thoreau was in jail, he wrote an essay titled? On the Duty of Civil Disobedience. ? This essay reflected Thoreau?
s views on the American system of government. In it he states? I heartily accept the motto, ? That government is best which governs least; ? and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which I also believe, ?
That government is best which governs not at all; ? and when men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government they will have. ? (Thoreau, 222). This shows Thoreau? s belief that the government should stay out of the private lives of those they govern, for it is no concern of theirs. In fact, the government is simply there for stability, and when man can handle it, they will rule themselves on their own without a government always taxing them and ruling over them. He expresses his belief in the power and the responsibility of the individual to determine right from wrong, independent of the decree of society.
One of Thoreau? s main beliefs seems to be that the individual is stronger than the mass. A government can govern and rule, but? It does not keep the country free.
It does not settle the West. It does not educate. ? (Thoreau, 222 - 223). Thoreau did not necessarily want the government to disband and disappear, and he did not believe that man could handle if it did. But he did call for the government to become better at once, not sporadically and spread out over time. Thoreau believed that a man cannot be associated with the government without some touch of disgrace. It did not seem fair or right that his government was the very same government of the slaves in America.
Thoreau also believed that it could soon be time for a revolution. If a government was run by those who had previously overthrown another government because of unfair taxation and unequal rights to all men, then what was happening in America then? The American government was posing unjust taxes onto Thoreau himself, an example being the poll tax he was put into jail for not paying in 1845. The very same American government was forcing African-Americans into slavery while they let white men rule these slaves and run the land, which they themselves did not care for. Thoreau saw this to be very hypocritical and these were very definite signs of needs of improvement within the government at that very moment. Thoreau simply did not agree with most views the American government took and acted upon, and tried to persuade people to see things the way he did in some of his essays.
Overall, Thoreau did indeed have a positive and definite affect on people. While he was alive, his works weren? t accepted very well by the public, but over time young people became more interested in his ideas of transcendentalism and the government, and his works began to become more well-known and noticed. Today Thoreau is best known for Walden and On the Duty of Civil Disobedience. Thoreau is also seen as one of the first and most purely transcendentalists of his time, and of today.
Free research essays on topics related to: walden pond, poll tax, government is best which governs, civil disobedience, thoreau
Research essay sample on Government Is Best Which Governs Thoreau | English | NL | 00a684158590efe53ad36ed2e0bc18dba3b2712e2931eeac7609b46dbcb487e8 |
Gustavo, Contributor posted:
Hi, Adam619, and welcome to the Grammar Exchange.
In this old thread, Betty Azar herself explains that both the non-progressive (simple) and progressive uses of intend are possible, similarly to what happens with the verbs plan and think.
Now, in this case in which the present perfect is used in the first part of the sentence to refer to an action (the washing of dishes) that has not taken place up to now, I don't think it would make much sense to use the progressive form because that would suggest that the process of making a decision is under way (it would be like saying: I haven't done it yet but right now I'm thinking of doing it). The use of the progressive would be more likely in a context in which the person is taking some time to reach a decision, for example:
- I'm intending to volunteer to wash up every day to make things easier for my wife at home.
I think in your example it would be more logical to use the simple form to mean that the person has already made the decision to wash the dishes and it's just a question of time before he/she gets down to doing it.
Hello mr. Gustavo
Thank you very much sir for your reply
I was just thinking how does this compare to "going to"
so for example we'd say: I haven't washed the dishes yet, but i 'm going to. and we wouldn't say "I go to". that's what got me confused.
Does the progressive form only work with "go" but not "intend"?
thank you very much sir in advance. | English | NL | 1cbcaa35d83ea2e5107e9532587186813583b39c11027da37c0742f3830e956b |
The moveable blocks were in my opinion an amazing idea! Different sides of the blocks represented the scene that they were visible in: this set the scene exceedingly well. For example in the apple scene shown above the blocks had an apple and an ‘a’ on the front, the remaining blocks were stacked on top of each other to create trees… other blocks included a duck, jam jars and a squirrel, a barn door could also be constructed using the blocks.
The most effective use of the blocks was during the end scene where all of the blocks apart from 2 were constructed into a barn and pushed together by the children to symbolize them shutting the barn door on Donald and the fire… the remaining 2 were situated together showing an image of a fire and a burnt duck, these symbolized Donald burning in the fire. Although I believe the blocks were a great idea I think the movement was not executed appropriately as it often disturbed the performance: blocks were sometimes positioned incorrectly which sometimes changed the effectiveness
I believe a physical theatre piece would have made the movements and transitions more effective. I found that the costumes used were very appropriate to the era yet in some cases not to the characters. Raymond However I found that Peter and Willies costumes were the wrong way round. There were no masks or make up used, apart from a minute usage of character make up on Donald to create his scars and wounds, I believe this enabled us to visually see the neglect he suffers. As the play was set in a compact auditorium (Ron Barber Studio Theatre) there was only a small space in which the actors could perform. There were 2 areas of the stage shown below
The main area was extremely close to the audience. The cast had no audience awareness this was evident from them spitting apple and saliva over the audience, and also throwing an apple at the audience, hard enough to ‘knock them out’… it was a major health and safety issue! Between the main area and the back area was a transparent curtain: when Donald was in the barn at the end scene there was a blackout and a fresnel spot was shone onto the curtain so we were able to see Donald and his fire: yet from a distance; the curtain symbolized the barn wall. Another usage of the curtain was in my opinion the most disappointing part of the play: it made a mockery of the most pivotal part of the entire play.
A ‘circus’ style music was played whilst the most emotional and pivotal scene of the play was ridiculed. The scene which is a serious foreshadowment of what’s to come is transformed into a ‘stale comedy’…it was neither funny nor emotional. The staging used was a very bad choice as unless you were seated on the front row you had absolutely no chance of seeing everything: your view was blocked by other members of the audience, by the blocks or the actors themselves. At some parts in the play all of the ‘action’ was taking place in a corner where the majority of the audiences were unable to see it; if it was centralized many more would have been able to see and would have therefore got a clearer understanding of what was taking place.
As the stage was bare apart from the blocks, I believe that it looked rather drab; there was nothing interesting about the set apart from the blocks which at the start had no meaning to the audience: other than children’s toys, however as the play progresses their meaning was clearly understood and appreciated.
A major downfall of the production was the fact that they did not use any lighting: apart from a regular floodlight and fresnel spot. They used no profile spots, colours or special effects lanterns to set the scene or mood. I believe that as the staging was so bare it was relying on gobos and special effects lantern to make and set each scene…however this was not done. I believe a blue light on the boy’s when they were sad and a red light when they had killed the squirrel would have been really symbolic and effective. When the alert signal is sounded for them to hide, I believe a stropescope to set rhythm and pace would have been great and really effective: most of all I believe that gobos should have been used to help set each scene; for example leaves and trees the forest, and bars for the wood in the barn. A crossfade however was used at the end to crosscut between Donald and the others.
Sound was used both as an advantage and a disadvantage. At the beginning of the performance a medley of songs were sung: these included ‘You are my sunshine’, ‘Katie’ and ‘don’t fence me in’ all of which were totally unnecessary: to add to this there were 2 extra girls in the beginning scene… it later came to light that they were the producer and director. The song was yet another of the plays many ‘gimmicks’ to get the director and producer unnecessarily involved: it was highly confusing. None of the actors sung like 7 year olds would neither did they act like a 7 year old either…it was just a big disaster. Although it could be argued that some songs had there own meanings and connections to the plays characters; this created their own form of dramatic irony. For example the lyrics ‘k.k.k.katie’ could be in social reference to Raymond’s stutter; and ‘don’t fence me in’ could relate to Donald in the barn. It could also be interpreted that this was used to show historical context.
Recorded effects were fluent throughout, as they played the sound of chirping birds. This helped set the scene of the woods effectively. The sound effect of the alert alarm created a sudden climax, the volume and pith of this sound forced the audience to become alert to the situation and empathize with the characters fear. Multimedia was used to show the cultural and historical background of the play. For example during the opening scene a slideshow was shown with images from the war. This got us emotionally involved with the play’s background foundations and meaning, however this was under false pretences and we were easily led away from being emotionally attached by the unnecessary singing.
Overall I would only give this play 6 out of 10. Only half of the cast suited their characters which in my opinion ruined the whole performance. No lighting was used which clearly symbolized both the producers and directors lack of understanding for the drama median. Levels were totally he wrong way round as it is obvious that those with a higher status should be on a higher level.
Peter who has the highest status is sat at the lowest level, whereas the weakest character of Donald is at the highest point. The performance was savored by Angela ‘Julie Chapman’ whom kept her character believable throughout, all credit to her. The production team really needs to rethink their strategies before producing yet another ‘flop’ production. Gimmicks should be ‘out’ and more aspects of the drama median added. The production elements throughout the piece were not though through and were therefore a shamble… the lighting was none existing, sound inappropriate, costumes mixed up, and the staging absurd. An all round mess and a disgrace to its talented playwright. | English | NL | 4229471438f596b69148c9b984147008bc14e0b14dcc97b0d636e4447bf86697 |
As a secular, non-sectarian, universal notion of art arose in 19th-century Western Europe, ancient and Medieval Christian art began to be collected for art appreciation rather than worship, while contemporary Christian art was considered marginal. Occasionally, secular artists treated Christian themes (Bouguereau, Manet) — but only rarely was a Christian artist included in the historical canon (such as Rouault or Stanley Spencer). However many modern artists such as Eric Gill, Marc Chagall, Henri Matisse, Jacob Epstein, Elizabeth Frink and Graham Sutherland have produced well-known works of art for churches. Salvador Dali is an artist who had also produced notable and popular artworks with Christian themes. Contemporary artists such as Makoto Fujimura have had significant influence both in sacred and secular arts. Other notable artists include Larry D. Alexander and John August Swanson. Some writers, such as Gregory Wolfe, see this as part of a rebirth of Christian humanism. Share Your Faith Products
He made two cherubim of gold; he made them of hammered work at the two ends of the mercy seat; one cherub at the one end and one cherub at the other end; he made the cherubim of one piece with the mercy seat at the two ends. The cherubim had their wings spread upward, covering the mercy seat with their wings, with their faces toward each other; the faces of the cherubim were toward the mercy seat. Christian Gifts
“You saw, O king, and behold, a great image. This image, mighty and of exceeding brightness, stood before you, and its appearance was frightening. The head of this image was of fine gold, its chest and arms of silver, its middle and thighs of bronze, its legs of iron, its feet partly of iron and partly of clay. As you looked, a stone was cut out by no human hand, and it struck the image on its feet of iron and clay, and broke them in pieces. Then the iron, the clay, the bronze, the silver, and the gold, all together were broken in pieces, and became like the chaff of the summer threshing floors; and the wind carried them away, so that not a trace of them could be found. But the stone that struck the image became a great mountain and filled the whole earth.
Solomon made all the furniture which was in the house of the LORD: the golden altar and the golden table on which was the bread of the Presence; and the lampstands, five on the right side and five on the left, in front of the inner sanctuary, of pure gold; and the flowers and the lamps and the tongs, of gold; and the cups and the snuffers and the bowls and the spoons and the firepans, of pure gold; and the hinges both for the doors of the inner house, the most holy place, and for the doors of the house, that is, of the nave, of gold. Christian Gifts
1 Then the LORD said to Moses, 2 “See, I have chosen Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, 3 and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills— 4 to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, 5 to cut and set stones, to work in wood, and to engage in all kinds of crafts. 6 Moreover, I have appointed Oholiab son of Ahisamak, of the tribe of Dan, to help him. Also I have given ability to all the skilled workers to make everything I have commanded you: Christian Canvas Art
“Then bring near to you Aaron your brother, and his sons with him, from among the people of Israel, to serve me as priests—Aaron and Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar. And you shall make holy garments for Aaron your brother, for glory and for beauty. You shall speak to all the skillful, whom I have filled with a spirit of skill, that they make Aaron's garments to consecrate him for my priesthood. These are the garments that they shall make: a breastpiece, an ephod, a robe, a coat of checker work, a turban, and a sash. They shall make holy garments for Aaron your brother and his sons to serve me as priests. They shall receive gold, blue and purple and scarlet yarns, and fine twined linen. ... Scripture Verse Wall Art
Jacob lived in the land of his father's sojournings, in the land of Canaan. These are the generations of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years old, was pasturing the flock with his brothers. He was a boy with the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father's wives. And Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his sons, because he was the son of his old age. And he made him a robe of many colors. But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him and could not speak peacefully to him. Now Joseph had a dream, and when he told it to his brothers they hated him even more. ...
Throughout the history of art many great artists have been inspired by stories in the bible. On this site an ever increasing selection of their work is presented, with every painting linked to a related bible passage. The text is from the King James Bible, also known as the Authorized Version. You will find the full text online, including the apocrypha and the translators' preface. Christian Gifts
He also made two capitals of molten bronze to set on the tops of the pillars; the height of the one capital was five cubits and the height of the other capital was five cubits. There were nets of network and twisted threads of chainwork for the capitals which were on the top of the pillars; seven for the one capital and seven for the other capital. So he made the pillars, and two rows around on the one network to cover the capitals which were on the top of the pomegranates; and so he did for the other capital. The capitals which were on the top of the pillars in the porch were of lily design, four cubits. There were capitals on the two pillars, even above and close to the rounded projection which was beside the network; and the pomegranates numbered two hundred in rows around both capitals. Thus he set up the pillars at the porch of the nave; and he set up the right pillar and named it Jachin, and he set up the left pillar and named it Boaz. On the top of the pillars was lily design. So the work of the pillars was finished.
Our Gift Shop is full of amazing products that we think you might like that compliment many of our wall arts. All the items in our Gift Shop are made by other companies. When you click on one to purchase you will be directed to Amazon to make the purchase. Please note that those purchases are not covered by our guarantees. All purchases, refunds, exchanges, or service issues must be dealt with through Amazon. However, at no cost to you, we make a small commission when you purchase through our links. We greatly appreciate that support as it allows us to help keep the price on our wall arts down. Thank you in advance for any purchases you make through our Gift Shop. Christian Gifts
Now there were four supports at the four corners of each stand; its supports were part of the stand itself. On the top of the stand there was a circular form half a cubit high, and on the top of the stand its stays and its borders were part of it. He engraved on the plates of its stays and on its borders, cherubim, lions and palm trees, according to the clear space on each, with wreaths all around.read more. Scripture Verse Wall Art
Now when the wall had been built and I had set up the doors, and the gatekeepers, the singers, and the Levites had been appointed, I gave my brother Hanani and Hananiah the governor of the castle charge over Jerusalem, for he was a more faithful and God-fearing man than many. And I said to them, “Let not the gates of Jerusalem be opened until the sun is hot. And while they are still standing guard, let them shut and bar the doors. Appoint guards from among the inhabitants of Jerusalem, some at their guard posts and some in front of their own homes.” The city was wide and large, but the people within it were few, and no houses had been rebuilt. Then my God put it into my heart to assemble the nobles and the officials and the people to be enrolled by genealogy. And I found the book of the genealogy of those who came up at the first, and I found written in it: ... Christian Gifts
The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: “Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. Then the word of the Lord came to me: ... Christian Canvas Art
Scripture pictures focus on verses that apply to common situations. Love, faith, hope, family, truth, and belief are themes typically associated with these works of art. Much in the same way that reading the Bible is supposed to help believers understand God and affirm their faith, the artists that create scripture art want to provide a strengthening influence in the homes of believers in order to reassure them and act as an inspiration for living a godly life.
Early Christian art survives from dates near the origins of Christianity. The oldest Christian sculptures are from sarcophagi, dating to the beginning of the 2nd century. The largest groups of Early Christian paintings come from the tombs in the Catacombs of Rome, and show the evolution of the depiction of Jesus, a process not complete until the 6th century, since when the conventional appearance of Jesus in art has remained remarkably consistent. Scripture Verse Wall Art | English | NL | 529c391c9a7f32e28a57b1ec9a53ec0b8217e764a2332e1fcec3358be2403f5a |
They shaved my baby's head.
Not just a piece of it. I'm talking Rhianna/ Miley style... half of her hair is gone.
So, I did what any normal mother would do in this situation: I had a good, long, ugly cry and bought her some headwraps on Etsy.
The nurses at the hospital were precious and put her hair in a little bag for me and decorated a sign that reads, "K's 1st Haircut." But, I loved her hair. I loved the way it stuck up a little after a bath. I loved running my fingers through it to put her to sleep. I loved the way her hair somehow always smelled of powder and softness.
But I also know that they had to do it. She needed a PICC line, and babies simply have more cooperative veins in their heads. They had to do it so they don't have to prick her any more than is necessary. They had to do it for her own good.
But, I loved her hair.
I live in this tension between my logic and my sensibility. I know that we are doing what's best for her, but I hate that what's best for her sometimes hurts her. Or takes away one more piece of a "normal" babyhood.
So, I turn to some others who have lived also in this tension. Those who took frightening steps forward, knowing with certainty that all things-- even hard things, especially hard things-- lead to something better.
Hebrews 11. Read it if you haven't. It is Abel, it is Enoch, it is Noah, Abraham, Sarah and Isaac. It is Moses, it is Joshua, it is Rahab. It is story after story of people who walked through the proverbial fire and came out not burned, but refined. It is story after story of faith.
"Therefore," as Paul writes, "since we have such a great cloud of witnesses," we keep going.
We look to the right and the left and we see the ones who run this race with us-- the heroes of the stories of old, and the friends who hold us up when we are tired.
We look then to the finish line. We keep our eyes fixed on the finish line because our Jesus is there. And our Jesus has run the race ahead of us-- he knows about pain. But, he also knows that there is joy in refinement. There is joy in finishing well.
Prayer requests this week:
-That K would continue to heal well from her tracheotomy.
-That K would be able to safely come off her ventilator soon.
-That K would have the coordination to eat through her mouth with the trach. (If she cannot eat through her mouth well, she will need a G-tube for feeding through her belly. A G-tube is safe and easy, but I am hoping for one less surgery for her.)
-That A would have great quality time with my parents in Dallas.
-That Lee and I would continue to have strength, patience, and energy as we continue our time in the NICU. | English | NL | 1e0ac8ca4bebdcc96fca2c956ed67a96780171b129ef80c551feca8ad2bd5fca |
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