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Thirteen (Olivia Wilde)
Dr. Remy Beauregard Hadley (“Thirteen”) was a major character on medical drama House from season 4 onwards. In Season 4, episode 12, it was suggested that Thirteen didn’t share personal information about herself because she was bisexual. She refused to confirm or deny the rumor, but after that House and rest of the team teased her about it. In Season 5, episode 5, she had a one night stand with a woman in bar, but it was shown as being part of a self destructive, promiscuous behavior. While the (steamy) sex scene was featured in the previews, ironically, most of the footage wasn’t even shown in the episode.
In Season 8, Thirteen was demoted from the main cast and made a recurring character, and she only appeared in 3 episodes. In 8×03, Thirteen showed up at the hospital and told House she wasn’t coming back to the team, and was not a doctor any more. House tried to figure out why she was not practicing anymore, and figured she had fallen in love with someone whom she’s moving away with. At the end of the episode, she departed from the hospital along with her girlfriend on a trip to Greece.
She returned to the show in two further episodes at the end of Season 8 for House’s funeral, and in both episodes she was alone.
Her girlfriend only appeared briefly and never spoke, in both “Charity Case” (8×03) and “Everybody Dies” (8x21b).
In contrast, her relationship with main male cast character Eric Foreman lasted from Season 5 (when they also moved in together, in 5×10) until they broke up in late Season 6, though its ramifications extended well into Season 7. He appeared to understand her, and was the one who correctly figured out Thirteen’s secrecy was an attempt to keep her bisexuality private. Foreman clearly enjoyed Thirteen’s sexual nature, as is shown in “House Divided” (5×22) when Thirteen was about to do body shots off a stripper: Wilson: “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?” Foreman: “Are you kidding? I’d pay $50 to see this!”
- 81 episodes. 4x02 - 8x02
Female love interests:
- Unknown girlfriend (5x05 'Lucky Thirteen', off-screen)
Relationship story arc with a woman: No
Male love interests:
- Eric Foreman (Omar Epps, main cast 174 episodes)
Relationship story arc with a man: Yes
Filter Relationship Arc:
Storyline during sweeps? Yes, episode that confirms her bisexuality by showing her having sex with woman was aired during November sweeps period. Also episode where her bisexuality was first hinted was during February sweeps period
A relationship story arc is defined as explicit, developed on screen, and lasting more than 3 episodes. It is listed as questionable or subtext if romance is only implied, mentioned instead of shown on screen, part of a dream sequence, or otherwise not explicit for the viewer.
Sweeps episodes air in February, May, July and November, the periods when advertising rates are set. A character is marked as "sweeps" when there is a very limited number of episodes that address their sexuality, all air during sweeps period, and the storyline is otherwise ignore/dropped. | English | NL | 1beff6166be7724e6b355a3a001b2fbaf65faddce93e4ade302690c60a566a36 |
Title: The Empath Cell
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 53007
Author's Summary:Something is wrong in Leadworth: Amy remembers a trip that never happened, and a local man has won the lottery and aged forty years instantly. The Doctor's search for answers leads him across the universe to an ancient civilization of empaths, who may be harboring a secret about a Time Lord who came before.
Characters/Pairings: Eleventh Doctor, Amy, Rory, OCs
Recc'ed Because: I always love a good sprawling adventure, and this one is intriguing. It takes a while to build, and doesn't end up where you would expect. It explores the link between the Doctor and the TARDIS and the consequences of meddling with their shared psyche. It doesn't rely on particularly flowery language or style to tell the story, rather its understated prose lets the characters, plot, and world-building take its time and speak for itself. It introduces a range of cool new characters that are all three dimensional and not necessarily what they seem to be at first, that I want to know more about what happens to them after the ending credits. The range of new characters that are given enough room to flesh out beyond what you would expect, along with the mystery, danger and intrigue make this story read like a classic Eighth Doctor Adventure novel, and though the author's Eleven is mad and clever as ever, I can definitely see echoes of Eight in him as well.
As soon as Amy left the library the Doctor sank deeper into his chair and deeper into his thoughts. There was something he needed to find before he could go any further. What was the problem he'd been working on? Oh yes - the TARDIS. Everywhere they touched down, people were jolted out of their time lines. His thoughts were going in circles. There was a feeling at the edge of his awareness, as if something was swimming in his subconscious just below his reach, receding every time he got close to it. It reminded him of when he was a child and he'd had a fever. He'd been adrift in his own consciousness, warm and comfortable, unable to sense the passage of time. He'd felt like he was both floating above the atmosphere and sinking in the depths of an ocean. It was almost like meditating except that he had no control over it. He'd been suspended in a blurred, dreamlike haze until the fever had broken. That was the memory he'd been chasing, but what was the connection, and why was it occurring to him now?
He heard the soft click of the library door shutting, as if from far off in the distance, and then a quiet footstep next to him. A voice said, "Doctor. Doctor? It's Asha. Something's been bothering me. If it's true that...." He heard her voice trail off, and then she grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Doctor, it's here," she said. "I feel it in here. Doctor?"
His eyes popped open. "Patel, hello. What's that you're saying?"
They heard a furtive rustle and saw a shadow move in the corner of the library. | English | NL | 154ace68cfd8dee4f18cd0425a6e0436800d926110b0de88d03190647ff914cc |
Desdemona is a lady of spirit and intelligence. For all the claims of military straightforwardness of some other characters, Desdemona is the most direct and honest speaker in the play. Her speeches are not as lengthy as those of the men, but with Desdemona, every word counts.
For Desdemona, Othello is the hero of many exciting and dangerous adventures, who also has the appeal of the orphan child who needs love. Add to this the fact that he is now an honored and powerful man in her country, and what young noble woman would not find him attractive? As the Duke says, "I think this tale would win my daughter too" (I.3, 171).
In Cyprus, in charge of her own household, Desdemona continues to fulfil her duties, receiving petitioners as the commander's wife and being hostess at official receptions. Her marriage has brought her position and happiness, so much so that she finds it unbearable to think that her husband has turned against her. This numbness lasts until she sees that he actually intends to kill her; then she puts up a brave and spirited defense, insisting on her innocence. In despair at losing his love, she still defends him from the consequences of his actions, but he is past seeing what is clear to her and to Shakespeare's audience: that she has committed herself wholly to loving him; without his love, she cannot live. | English | NL | e9b7061f43e43e6d066f23d11be55dea8cd40282f792f9c9a7b703184df928d3 |
Do you have moments of doubt about who you are and what you were purposed to do? Are you plugging away in your business and life and suddenly wonder if this is what you are supposed to be doing? Often times we question whether we are capable of being a success, whether it’s in your business or personal life. The enemy plants seeds of self-doubt, fear and failure. He is a liar and a thief, the destroyer!
You were created in God’s image. He knew you before time began. God knew all of your messes and successes ions before you were conceived. Yet, he sent his only son to die for you anyway. That’s how much he loves you. That’s how important to him you are. When you start to doubt and question, I hope these bible verses lift you up.
90+ Bible Verses about Who Am I In Christ (I lost count)
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.
For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.
There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God,
For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own,
I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.
Little children, you are from God and have overcome them, for he who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.
For in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith.
No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
We know that everyone who has been born of God does not keep on sinning, but he who was born of God protects him, and the evil one does not touch him.
Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?
But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ,
Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.
By which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire.
Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.
But he who is joined to the Lord becomes one spirit with him.
For you are all children of light, children of the day. We are not of the night or of the darkness.
For you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.
For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.
I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.
And raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,
You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.
I can do all things through him who strengthens me.
And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.
And, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.
But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.
And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing,
For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father.
Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.
Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience,
You yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.
He predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will,
There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. …
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
For as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.
And who has also put his seal on us and given us his Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee.
He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son,
In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight
And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!”
Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.
That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life— the life was made manifest, and we have seen it, and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was made manifest to us— that which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. And we are writing these things so that our joy may be complete. This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. …
“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” But we have the mind of Christ.
And if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.
For we are God’s fellow workers. You are God’s field, God’s building.
And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.
Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.
Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
…“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.
Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.
As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace:
Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.
In whom we have boldness and access with confidence through our faith in him.
Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth.
For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
And he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.
But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.
“You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet.
In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
But in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect,
And it is God who establishes us with you in Christ, and has anointed us,
Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”
He has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him,
O Lord, in the morning you hear my voice; in the morning I prepare a sacrifice for you and watch.
Since you have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God;
I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call— one Lord, one faith, one baptism, …
More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.
If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.
All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness,
And you have been filled in him, who is the head of all rule and authority.
In whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.
Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
Who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory.
For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and all were made to drink of one Spirit.
To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints together with all those who in every place call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours:
Live Life Intentionally!
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Sources: Thank you to https://www.openbible.info and https://www.biblegateway.com
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Subscribe to get interesting stuff and weekly updates from Celene for a healthier and happier home and family. | English | NL | 50ee14d9b37ef679ff77724a9eb29b0c0dd2dedf6fd8e916abcb67d547ad57ef |
Leave It To Beaver:
The Complete Series
DVD boxed set
(Shout! Factory, $199.99 list.)
Television was still relatively young when, on Oct. 4, 1957, CBS broadcast the perfect sitcom scene:
A second-grader known as "the Beaver" and his older brother, Wally, ordered by their mother to take baths before going to bed, are kneeling beside a tub they have just filled.
They are fiddling in the water to make it sound as if bathing were taking place. As this goes on, the Beaver, who was given a note by his teacher to take home to his parents but has been too afraid to deliver it, asks Wally for advice: Should he open the note, to see whether he's in trouble?
"'Course not; that'd be dishonest," says Wally, who then grabs a handful of dirt and tosses it into the draining bathtub. Why the dirt? "It'll leave a ring," he explains as the boys go off to bed, unwashed.
There have been funnier sitcom scenes since, and certainly more frenetic ones. But has the craftsmanship - wonderfully believable brotherly chat as a foundation; sly incongruity laid on top - ever been bested? Doubtful.
Wally and the Beaver, of course, were the focus of "Leave It to Beaver," and that bathtub scene was in Episode 1 of Season 1: "Beaver Gets 'Spelled.'" There would be 233 more episodes during the show's six-season run, from 1957 to 1963, and they are full of small, knowing moments.
A new boxed set from the Shout! Factory collects the entire series, with assorted extras and annotated booklets for each season.
The real prize is being able to immerse yourself in the body of work, a time when American life stood blissfully still.
TV was slower
"Jokes get in the way," Tony Dow, who played Wally, said in a telephone interview, talking about the "Beaver" writers' reliance on placid, observational humor. "They get in the way of your concentration when you're trying to get at a story. We would throw jokes out at the table reading."
That is what hits you first when you sit down with a box of "Beaver": Television comedy was much slower then. You have to detox mentally to watch these shows.
That bathtub scene takes almost 31/2 minutes to unspool. In that time, Hannah Montana could have traded six insults with her father, tripped over a couch, lost her wig, dumped two boyfriends and had a crisis involving shoes.
Not that "Leave It to Beaver" was above using sight gags. Dow named as his favorite episode "Happy Weekend" (Season 2, Episode 13), a wise, wistful tale in which the boys' father, Ward (Hugh Beaumont), drags them to the cabin where he used to vacation as a child.
Like so many of the best installments, that one was written by the show's creators, Joe Connelly and Bob Mosher, men apparently obsessed with bathing. "Hot dog, Beaver!" Wally says as the boys are looking over the cabin. "There's no bathtub!"
A timeless appeal
Cheating on homework, being mortified by clothes or haircuts, running away from home, discovering the cruelties of the working world, feeling the stirrings of interest in the opposite sex: "Beaver" covered those and dozens of other topics that later turned up in "Family Affair," "The Wonder Years," "The Bernie Mac Show," "Hannah Montana" and everywhere else, and will turn up again in whatever family series comes next.
You might have thought kids had changed too much for half-century-old stories to still resonate. "Nah," said Ken Osmond (Eddie Haskell). "Kids are still the same as they were in 1810." | English | NL | 69503fc9631623ecf45a02126320f8ca9c2acf30fcb2aa156579336243b718bd |
An engineer and amateur inventor named Thomas Bromley at his home back in Hull created his Digitron Electric Clock in 1961.
He made it in his shed and has been sold at an auction.
It is considered to be one of the world’s first digital clocks.
For about three years he held the patent for the design. When he refused to renew the patent right for three years, it eventually cost him millions of pounds.
A UK buyer sold the first prototype for £460. It got sold in an auction in Beverley, East Yorkshire.
Thomas Bromley had received an award at the Salon des Inventors in Brussels according to auctioneer John Hawley in 1964.
He got the award for his prototype. Sadly, he would have been a multimillionaire if he had renewed his patent in due time.
According to Bradley’s son, David the inventor received a commercial order to “make 20 by Christmas but he didn’t have the facility to start manufacturing them”.
David had remarked after the auction, “I was a bit sad to do away with the master timepiece.”
The clock was always in the cupboard of his mother’s house. Him and his sister wanted closure after her death couple of months ago and thus decided to give it for auction.
The Japanese started manufacturing ‘virtually an identical clock and sold it in many thousands.’ They did so after a year of the patent ran out.
Mr. Bromley while reminiscing the memories of his dad said “An electrical engineer by day and an inventor by night.”
He further described how he was “always in his shed.”
He only came out of his shed when it was about 9 or 10 o’clock at night.
He said “He was like a mad professor in there.”
The equipment and gadgets he had was his life and there were all sorts of them. He used to go in the shed to sit and watch what his dad was doing and admired his dedication for the work.
Before Bromley’s death in 1990 he invented curtains.
The curtains automatically got closed when the sun went down. | English | NL | 0be559529699849add20c248413721cc2fc94d604759878bac00098d6bd1e877 |
In episode 8 of Seraph of the End, Yu and the rest of his squad make their first raid on a vampire enclave. As it turns out, the little girl they rescued in the last episode was more of a trap than originally thought. The vampires hooked her up with a listening device in order to learn the plans of the squad. They were prepared for battle when the squad showed up. Despite having the tactical advantage and having the advantage of larger numbers, they were no match for Yu and his comrades.
Mitsuba and Yu were finally able to reach an understanding after the battle at the vampire enclave. The fact that Yu is unable to leave anyone behind is the very characteristic that ended up saving Mitsuba’s life. In addition, the entire camp of children was saved. The fight scenes in Seraph of the End: First Extermination were complicated and full of excitement. It is good to see that the quality of these scenes has not yet been sacrificed. In addition, the backgrounds are quite detailed. It makes it easier for us to imagine an apocalyptic world.
Yu still has a quick temper and he is still very hardheaded. However, he has been able to show some compassion towards his comrades in this episode. He reassures other children and acts kindly towards others. It really seems as if the characters are starting to come together and work as a team.
Towards the end of Seraph of the End: First Extermination the squad runs into a vampire nobleman. This nobleman goes by the name of Lord Crowley. There have been many references to past figures of history and fiction. This includes Vlad Tepes, Elizabeth Bathory, and Aleister Crowley. He owns a first class weapon that is similar to the weapons the rest of the squad uses. However, Crowley knows how to use his weapon quite well. He cannot be defeated on his own. Unfortunately, he leaves suddenly and there is no fight.
I was disappointed that the squad has not encountered a real threat just yet. In addition, I am still waiting for Mikaela to show up. While this episode of Seraph of the End has not given us the drama that most of us are looking for, it did bring the characters together. The show has been struggling with building up the characters and making them likeable. I think we have finally reached that point. If some excitement does not happen soon, Seraph of the End might start going backwards. I still have hope for this show. Seraph of the End is definitely a show that takes its time. It has given us a backstory, decent characters, and bonding time. Now we just have to wait for the drama to unfold. There were quite a few jokes made in this episode and we were able to see more of how the squad handles stressful situations. In addition, we were able to see Yu excited about something other than killing vampires. | English | NL | e0e0ae9dd5ba60c8e5a77d824465a8fa04f496025d2597ae8795f7543f45ced9 |
Saturday, December 23
For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. And who is equal to such a task? Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, as those sent from God.
2 Corinthians 2:15-17
1. How are we made new?
2. How are we supposed to live?
3. What is something old that you need to let go of? | English | NL | 51df8a8423014c236f9aa987805ef03e92ceaf7bbb05d622cad2f0d9bdb601b8 |
Lilo Binakaj, MPA (Master of Photographic Arts)
Photography is my passion. It is my life – it is what I live for….
This passion was ignited over 30 years ago when I took my first photograph and discovered that my life and my passion coincided.
My journey to becoming a professional photographer began in 1979 in Split, Croatia, where I took my first photography course and experimented with my first roll of black and white film. From that roll of film, one image was chosen for Split’s annual photography exhibition. Later on, I enrolled in the advanced photography course where the studies of light and composition were the foundation of the course. After graduating from the advanced photography course, I continued my studies and entered the world of photojournalism and fine art photography. Here I discovered my ultimate passion: the power of an image to transcend words and its ability to make a difference in the world.
In pursuing my passion and taking it to a higher level, I went to Italy in 1983, and this became a bridge on my journey to immigrate to Canada in 1986. While in Italy, I worked as a freelance events photographer and also became a popular teacher of photography classes. During the next ten years of life in Canada I worked at a professional photography laboratory and also became more deeply involved in photojournalism and fine art photography. In 1999, I went to Pacific Design Academy and graduated in March 2001 with a diploma in Graphic Design. Soon after, I designed the cover and layout of the book “Promise Fulfilled” authored by Mike Wicks. This book was translated into three languages and has been sold worldwide.
In 2003, I became actively involved with PPOC (Professional Photographers of Canada). Since then, I have participated in numerous conventions and professional salon competitions at the provincial and national levels, as well as a large number of professional photography courses. I have also taught many courses.
I take pride in having received life-long credentials as well as numerous national and international awards for photography such as:
Throughout my career I have been privileged to photograph many special moments in people’s lives. This includes personal and business portraits, various areas of commercial photography, politicians, artists, Olympic athletes, weddings and even loved ones who have just passed away. After 30 years of learning, while also producing world-class images, I feel that I have reached the point of wanting to give something back – as a photographic instructor. In 2007, I started teaching at Pacific Design Academy, where my classes became one of the most popular subjects.
Lilo lives in Victoria, BC, Canada and operates Lilo PhotoDesign
MPA-PPOC (Master of Photographic Arts)
PPOC – Nationally Accredited Professional Photographer
Tel: Studio: 250-386-6089/ Mobile: 250-589-6089 | English | NL | 42ea983889db066d1d80323321e29e95f003b28fefeb25921b835a84fafb9bfd |
Mother's Day is tough. Father's Day is smooth sailing. You buy a tie or tie tack or one of those battery-powered tie carousels, the ones that hold more neckwear than a sane man will ever need in his lifetime, dozens of foulards and reps and regimental stripes endlessly rotating in the closet, a lifetime of haphazardly chosen and quickly forgotten presents spinning spinning, forlornly waiting for a glimpse of the outdoors.
Throw in a "World's Greatest Dad" T-shirt, half his weight in chicken wings, and a TV set tuned to sports, and Dad is blissful. Even the greeting card treads gently: "Dad, I love you more than you imagine. I am so grateful for your example, your counsel and your love" comes across as light and breezy when it's scribbled in a card comically celebrating flatulence or beer or chimpanzees playing golf.
Mother's Day offers no such safety. Mother's Day is that plate-spinning act from the Ed Sullivan Show, fifty wooden dowels topped by fifty whirling pieces of china, one beleaguered guy in a sequined jumpsuit frantically trying to stop the wobbles, trying to keep everything from crashing. Mother's Day demands our true selves: jokes or treacle or artifice will not do. It's the rye bread of holidays: the right amount of schmaltz makes it wonderful; too much, and you ruin it. It's a day for memories, but the right kind of memories, misty and water-colored, as the song says, and leavened with goodwill: We've all fallen victim to various incidents of maternal malpractice. Mother's Day isn't the time to harrow them up.
FOR THE first nine months of mortality we treat our mothers the way squatters treat an Airbnb rental, at last vacating the premises via a ridiculously invasive physical ordeal that someone (I'm guessing a man) decided to call "The Miracle of Birth." Birth is miraculous, but like most miracles, it's achieved with a lot of pain, a lot of excruciating work, and no small amount of messiness. This particular miracle is frequently accompanied by a trembling lipped fellow, dressed in borrowed scrubs and live streaming the ordeal with his iPhone, imploring "You can do it, honey!" while the childbearer does all the heavy lifting.
My mother, who is Keebleresque in stature, delivered eight babies, not a one under nine pounds. The largest tipped the scales at a robust 11 pounds, 13 ounces. That's a lot of baby.
Siring eight kids proves Dad had an acuity for placing the order. He wasn't so deft at deliveries. When Mom went into labor to deliver my brother Mitchell, Dad got so nervous, so agitated, so discombabulated, that Mom final said, "Jerry, why don't you go down to DeLuxe Lanes, and bowl a few frames?"
Which he gladly did. Mom abided.
Mom abided a lot back then. Once, Dad bought her a vacuum cleaner for Christmas. Mom reacted like he'd given her a diamond tennis bracelet.
It was a different time.
My parents were working class products of the 1950s, my father Hugh Beaumont in Wolverine boots, my mother a crinoline dress and pearl necklace shy of being Barbara Billingsley. Dad worked. Mom baked pies and brownies and prepared the meals and tended the house and raised the kids and went to the parent-teacher conferences.
She got to know our friends, every Eddie Haskell and Larry Mundello and Lumpy Rutherford we brought over. She filled our house with books, and encouraged us to be curious about the world. She did the shopping and paid the bills and got us to school, all without a car of her own: Mom didn't earn her first driver's license until she was 35 years old.
We loved Dad, but he was on the periphery of our childhood: not a shadow figure, but shadowy, just a tiny bit out of focus. Mom stood in sharp relief, the center of everything, the straw that stirred the drink. They had separate roles, separate tracks. And that was fine.
Dad was a construction worker, a drywall finisher by trade. On Sundays sometimes, after church, he'd drive us around town, pointing out the projects he'd worked on. "See that one there?" he'd ask, gesturing at a gigantic office tower. "I built that one."
Once, he took us out on into the country, to show us some custom homes his company had built. We walked on sheets of plywood, an improvised walkway laid out over muddy construction site, Dad jingling the keys to the show house in his palm. Inside, we gaped at the vaulted ceilings and the working fireplace and Dad said, "This is what your father does."
Mom was there, a baby on her hip, a toddler tugging at her dress, keeping watch to see that none of the older kids wandered into the mire outside. "Your father is the best drywall man in the city," she told us.
It was a good life, a comfortable, predictable life.
WHEN DAD died, a week before his 40th birthday, everything changed. There were no savings to speak of. Mom hadn't worked outside of the home in seventeen years. Huge hospital bills chewed up most of Dad's life insurance money. We went from being comfortably working class, to being broke, not in some slow, sad decline, but instantaneously. A few days after the funeral the lights literally went out, the electric bill unpaid, something that happened on a regular basis from then on. I was the oldest. I was 17. My youngest sibling was 22 months. Mom was 36.
I was working when Dad died, at Wegman's Supermarket, collecting emptied grocery carts while a miserable October sleet storm soaked me to the bone. The manager paged me over the PA system. Our clergyman was in the office, to break the news and take me home.
We walked into a house full of mourners, friends and neighbors and people from church, crying and talking quietly. I was cold and wet and tired. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Mom hugged me, close, closer than she'd ever hugged me before, and said, "I am going to be leaning on you really hard from now on."
It is a shameful thing to admit, but I hated her when she said that. I didn't want to be leaned on. I was a kid. I wanted to take a hot shower and put on some dry clothes and sleep for about six months. I wanted to listen to records and have a girlfriend and be a million miles away from that house and that family and all those crying people. I didn't leave, not right away, and I did help, but there was always a quiet resentment about my service, always an unspoken conviction that this was more difficult for me, than for anyone else.
When I could, I left, first for Utah, then for Houston, putting distance between me and a situation I thought soul-crushing and impossible to manage.
Mom couldn't leave. She buried her husband, and went to work. She took a cashier's job at Wegman's, and a second job as a church custodian, and a third job cleaning doctor's offices. She enrolled at the local community college, first studying to be an audiologist, later changing her major to elementary education. We didn't see much of her.
Mom became my father writ large, a figure on the periphery, someone never there. Years later, I teased her that all of that time away couldn't have been all school and work, that I suspected she was sneaking away for some fun time, too. She said that Dad's cemetery was halfway between Wegman's and school. Sometimes, she'd park near his headstone. She'd sit there for hours, "trying to figure out how I was going to do this."
IT TOOK Mom twenty years to get her teaching certificate, a class here, a class there, inching her way to graduation. She progressed from cashier and custodial jobs to tutoring positions and substitute teaching gigs, always working, never seeming to make enough money to pay the bills.
She moved to Houston, degree in hand, and took a job at Grissom Elementary in HISD. We helped her set up her first classroom. The only books were a 1971 World Book Encyclopedia, missing the "F" volume, and several copies of Jackie Joyner-Kersee: Sports Superstar.
Mom loved Grissom, a happy school filled with kids who knew a bit about overdue light bills and not enough money and needing to figure out how they were going to make it, and Grissom loved her.
She has enjoyed some sweet successes. Three of her sons are very accomplished attorneys. Her only daughter has earned multiple advanced degrees. There are bunches of grandchildren, growing up in homes filled with books and music and the freedom to be curious about the world. There have been some crushing defeats, too, divorce and drugs and disappointments bringing some of her sons to their knees. She has weathered it, the sunshine and the storms. She has figured out how to get through it.
Mom has never remarried, never, so far as I know, even dated. She still wears her wedding band. Dad has been gone for 38 years, 20 years longer than they'd been married. For her birthday this year, we all pitched in and booked her a trip to Poland, her ancestral homeland, a place she's wanted to visit for years. She's going alone. She's used to doing things alone, comfortable doing things that way.
WHICH BRINGS me back to the plate spinning. What do you do for the person who cocooned you and half killed herself to bring you to mortality, who nurtured you and sacrificed for you, who found a way to squeeze hope out of every hopeless situation, who joyfully let you leave when you couldn't take the pressure, and rejoiced in all of the good things that happened to you in the wake of that leaving? How do you say "Thank you"? How do you show your gratitude, how do you show your love?
We are not a sentimental family. Mom doesn't like the schmaltz. A greeting card featuring a pen and ink sketch of some swans below an extravagant word type asking, "What Is A Mother?" isn't going to cut it. The TV relentlessly implores me to show my love with some "chocolate diamonds," but "chocolate diamonds" sounds suspiciously like "brown rocks we can't sell, so we're calling them 'chocolate diamonds' and hoping some moron buys them." Besides, Mom is 75. The last gift she asked for wasn't jewelry; it was a nice hot pad for her hip.
I find my mother in everything I love. I see her humor and her curiosity about the world in my children. I hear her stories in the voices of my siblings. My wife, who is kind and inquisitive, creative and generous and indefatigable, is filled with qualities I first learned to appreciate by watching my mother. Who I am, I am because of that little brownie baking Polish woman who birthed me.
It's a humbling thing, a slightly uncomfortable thing, admitting how much one person has influenced my life. It is a humbling thing, saying "I love you." But I've said it, and it feels good, and the plates are still spinning.
Thank you, Mom.
Cort McMurray, a Houston businessman, writes frequently for Gray Matters.
Bookmark Gray Matters. It'll throw in a "World's Greatest Dad" T-shirt and half your weight in chicken wings. | English | NL | b1c322f7f17aec308cef61212c90d423d19a94370fc780d1ab2678df85a491f5 |
You may know Czech artist Jan Kaláb, aka “POINT” (used for his sculptures), aka “Cakes” (used for his traditional graffiti), and the founder of street art crew the “DSK”. He is credited as one of the first artists to bring urban art into Eastern European countries after the borders opened up in the early 90s. Kaláb’s work has seen an evolution since his abstract graffiti writing, where in recent years, he has translated his street art style onto canvas and hand-painted geometric sculptures. He refers to his sculptures as “3D Graffiti”, infinite spheres that break the two-dimensional surface of his paintings. Exhibited together, his paintings and sculptures illustrate an abstract world of forms and the relationship between those forms. Kaláb is currently showing a new series of eight paintings and a sculpture in his solo exhibition, “TENSION” at BC Gallery in Berlin, Germany. Here, the planet Earth is presented as a sphere itself, which has been constantly shifting and changing its surface since the beginning of time. The exhibit is an extension of the artist’s overall narrative about the relationship between this naturally occurring tension and that which occurs in our daily lives. “TENSION” by Jan Kaláb is now on view at BC Gallery through January 23rd, 2016. | English | NL | b85579344d1345f099fd5055fea5330e1384215e76bc7ebe4701ad61e3b7f5dc |
The 1956 Gottlieb Harbor Lites woodrail pinball is another great game made by Gottlieb. In this case the owner wanted their backglass to match the condition of the rest of the game. He was unable to find a reissue backglass – it is common that glasses get re-made, but then sell out, making the reissue impossible to find. For this reason we were contacted to fix his original glass, which was in fairly poor condition:
Most of the reds were either flaked or completely faded. Also there was a fair amount of delamination to the artwork in back lit areas. All this had to be re-created in the computer, so the glass could be re-printed.
The back mask on woodrail (non-score reel) games is also very important, since using light through the glass is how the game scores. Unlike games with score reels, which use clear windows in the backglass, 1950s woodrails require back lighting to allow the player to see the score. For this reason the back mask layer is very important in the restoration. | English | NL | f9dbf5e9e309741aa5035cc7193af03c6c3a7ec42917dde32d9ee59de2d13eb4 |
Fear of choking
Nobody likes going to the dentist. But for some people, the problems run deeper and form a phobia. The causes of dental phobia can be many and varied. This case study is of a patient who couldn’t relax in the dental chair because they were afraid of choking during treatment
There are a number of reasons why a patient may suffer from a fear of choking. For some patients, it can be related to the trauma of previous abuse or violence, or perhaps even a traumatic episode such as nearly drowning. For other patients, the cause is much simpler. For example, a person with a limited diet, with food aversions or food phobias will often suffer from a gag reflex if they taste something unusual.
Some patients may have a hyper awareness of swallowing saliva generally. Though this is a natural process that most of us do without thinking about it, many people develop a phobia or gag reflex because they become conscious of swallowing. This can make it difficult to them to relax and allow dental treatment.
For Lorraine, the patient in this case study, the phobia of choking had developed after a life-threatening episode of choking on food. Even though she had never suffered a choking episode in the dental chair in the past, she was now acutely aware of the possibility of choking, especially when gauze or cotton wool was in her mouth.
The fact is that having your mouth filled with unusual and strange tools can make you feel as though you can’t breathe. You also may feel that too much saliva clogs your mouth and you can’t swallow.
The problem for Lorraine, therefore, was that the dental environment made her phobia of choking much worse. First and foremost, the fear of choking made her react badly to treatment. Secondly, other aspects such as the way her dentist positioned the chair made her feel uncomfortable. Because the chair was pushed so far back, she was even more conscious of how difficult it was to swallow.
Finally, her phobia was reinforced by a sense of powerlessness. The positioning of the chair and the fact that she couldn’t articulate or communicate her fears left her feeling highly vulnerable. The result was that she began avoiding visits to the dentist. While even routine check-ups were difficult, the thought of having to undergo more complex dental work was even more problematic. The thought, for example, of her mouth being numbed would immediately increase her sense of powerlessness and fear.
Obviously, in this case, Lorraine is instinctively trying to protect herself against another serious choking episode and her symptoms were both psychological and physical. An overwhelming sense of dread at the thought of visiting the dentist was followed by reactions such as an inability to swallow, eat or drink. Because these physical reactions acted as a precursor to visiting the dentist, her anxiety increased the closer she got to appointments. This made visiting the dentist, even for just a routine check-up, very difficult.
As is often the case with phobias, the more Lorraine worried about the next visit to the dentist, the more noticeable her symptoms became. This meant that, in the lead-up to a visit, the symptoms increasingly played on her mind.
For Lorraine, the solution to managing her phobia had three clear stages. Firstly, she employed some relaxation techniques and therapies to help her relax before her visit to the dentist. Secondly, she worked closely with her dentist so that he understood how she felt and what her phobia involved. Thirdly, she discussed different techniques and products that her dentist could use to make her feel more comfortable while actually undergoing treatment. In terms of relaxation techniques, there are lots available that can help with phobias and each patient may find that something different and individual works for them. For a fear of choking, some patients have found that Reflexology or Hypnotherapy is beneficial. At the same time, other patients have found that relaxing can just involve finding their own routine that suits them prior to a visit to the dentist. This could mean listening to the right sort of music, taking a long walk or going to the gym. Often, whatever helps to relax your muscles will also help to relax your mind and distract you from what is ahead.
One of the major problems for Lorraine was that her dentist did not really understand her phobia. Therefore, he was making simple mistakes such as tilting her chair too far back, which made her uncomfortable. By approaching her dentist to specifically talk about her condition, Lorraine was able to undergo a full consultation during which she discussed every aspect of her phobia. It is important to remember that a lot of the tools, such as the vacuum, are held by the dental nurse during treatment. Therefore, the nurse also needs to understand clearly the needs of the patient.
In many ways, you should view your consultation as an opportunity, not only to talk about your fears, but also to ‘interview’ your dentist. If they are not flexible enough to work differently and to give you the level of care and treatment you need, it could be that you need to look for a different type of practice. The third aspect of the solution for Lorraine was to gain more control and to feel less powerless during the treatment. For example, as she was worried about choking on her own saliva, the dentist agreed that she could hold the saliva ejector herself. During more complex dental work, her dentist recommended a ‘rubber dam’ – a thin sheet of latex that protects the throat. This gave extra reassurance during treatments, which required drilling or other types of instruments.
Therefore, there are a number of options available to patients who suffer from a fear of choking. For many patients, however, it is simply enough to know that their dentist is understanding and knowledgeable about the subject. Increasingly, many modern dentists have the benefit of training with psychologists, which enables them to understand, manage and treat phobias in the right way. | English | NL | 6798c82a79b5debf4a0dbd2e5606e54d7f1981591b1a83ba8677748a390f0dd8 |
abandoned, but also soon
because of the harsh material conditions, and they
traveled to Romania, where they put together a small
troupe across coffee houses and summer gardens. They
were very popular, and their earnings were very good.
From here they were aroysgefodert to Lemberg,
where they also played one-act comedies and traveled
from there to play vaudeville in Vienna, where it was
forbidden to play legitimate Yiddish theatre.
However, not paying heed to the governmental
representative there they, for four years under the mask
of "fasen" played Yiddish theatre, then
vaudeville in Budapest.
In September 1906 they were
engaged for New York to Levy in his "People's Music
Hall," then they played with Mike Thomashefsky in the
Arch Street Theatre in Philadelphia, Newark's
"Metropolitan Theatre." In 1914 they went to guest-star
in Europe, and arrived in Bucharest, Romania, putting
together a troupe and did very good business.
characterized her acting in Romania as such:
"The wife was, Sarah Kaner,
was much superior to him, and she was tunklhoytik
to grinkeyt, and she often looked like a student
in a skirt. She had often enough played students. She
displayed many temperaments, but she coarsely and wildly
hit on the sexual. Jews had farkhliniet for her,
and they nevertheless feared that she would transfer her
daughter. ... There wasn't any lack of Zionist
ignorantn, who were content with the little
propaganda that the Kaner woman, they had presented
between one lewd song and another. For certain Zionistic
doktoyrimlekh was well such a punishment as, "I
want to return to this lendele with a blue-white
bendele,' or, 'I want to return to the makhele,
I want this Hebrew shprakhele' ...One must
concede that due to the beautiful choristers that the
theatre had had, here there was a mark of love." There
was no lack of choristers, who were simple street girls,
and they had forced such looks that Mrs. Kaner, who had
earned a lot of money, said that they could not
nakhhaltn, and she said that they had been
forbidden to go too much oysgeputst on the
The troupe also went to
perform to Constantinople, and preparing themselves to
return home to America, the First World War broke out,
and because her husband was not an American citizen,
they were forced to remain in Romania.
K.'s fight, however, wholly
soon changed when her husband passed away in 1919, as
"Then began the end of the
Kaner dynasty. [Her brother Leon] Berger returned back
troupe and a scandal erupted. Leopold Kaner had
his wife gelozt up front and kept him in the
shadows. Berger wanted to know from nothing, and his
sister-in-law 'went with the whole blanket [koldre],'
and she wanted cover. It once came to an open scandal,
and both parties before the curtain told the audience
what it had come to. Mrs. Berger had zikh ongenumen
for her husband, and the two sisters, who were much
alike, one to the other, stood and cried:
-- She doesn't let me play!
-- She doesn't let me play!
After her husband's passing
she finally was successful in aroystsugereysn for
Romania, played with Avraham Axelrod in Czernowitz, and
with Emil Gimpel in Lemberg had traveled around across
France, Belgium and Canada, where she played from time
to time, until 1926 when she again came to America,
where for several seasons she played in Newark with
Elving, in 1929-30 in Toronto, then in other theatres,
going over to character and mother roles.
On 8 June 1931 K. was taken
in as a member of the Yiddish Actors' Union.
on 14 February 1959 K.
passed away in New York and was taken to her eternal
rest on the grounds of the Yiddish Theatrical Alliance.
K.'s daughter Tina and her
sister and her husband Leon Berger, and their daughter
Rachelle Berger, have played Yiddish theatre. | English | NL | ecd3636066db26c435ee46a32bf6246109445d07dfdf8088251eb4e78b1aa3d2 |
The king of all the great yogis in the 20th century, Jigdral Yeshe Dorje, commonly known as Dudjom Rinpoche (1904-1987), was the reincarnation of one of Guru Padmasambhava's twenty-five disciples, Kyeo Chung Lotsawa. Incidentally, one of his previous incarnations was Lingchen Repa, root guru of the first Gyalwang Drukpa Tsangpa Gyare Yeshe Dorje.
When past incarnation, Dudjom Lingpa or Geley Terton, intended to leave his relative body and wanted to take reincarnated form, he told his disciples to prepare to journey towards Pemakod, where he said he would be going and informed them that this place in southeast Tibet was like a paradise on earth. Relatively speaking, he was very old, and people had a difficult time believing he would travel that distance, that is, until he started making a carriage for himself. Some of his aged disciples even started their journey ahead of him knowing that it could take them at least a year to get there. The size of the carriage that he made for himself to ride in was infant-size and people remained in a confused dilemma until the morning when they found him in his completed state of meditation that continued for a few weeks. The young reincarnated form of Dudjom was later found in Pemakod exactly where Dudjom Lingpa wanted himself to be reborn. He was recognized by Phukhong Tulku, a disciple of Dudjom Lingpa and Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo, according to Dudjom Lingpa's specific instructions on how to recognize his father, who was Prince of Kanam, a direct descendant of King Trisong Detsen, and his mother, Namgyal Drolma. Dudjom Lingpa's disciples were so pleasantly astonished to see him recognising all of them and communicating with them in the local dialect of the Gulok region where he had spent his past life. At the young age of fourteen, His Holiness became widely known as a scholar and meditation master. Many of his students have since shown signs of full enlightenment. There were no Yogis or enlightened scholars who exceeded him in the region at that time. He followed his own omniscience and decided to leave Tibet in 1958, before the difficult time in the country occurred. He then dedicated his entire time and effort to teaching and empowering millions of his devotees across the world. His Holiness told us that despite all the activities that he had engaged in back in Tibet, he found the empowerments with the teachings the most beneficial for others. He said that he did try almost everything else to help beings, but unfortunately, due to the lack of positive karma, not many of the activities became as beneficial as he expected. Subsequently, he said he was not interested in anything but teaching and empowering with the blessings those who wanted him to do so.
Dudjom Rinpoche passed into parinirvana on the 17th of January, 1987 at his residence in France. I was told by one of the masters who was there to serve him that relics of his body were left as a sign of dissolving his Nirmanakaya body into the pure space of the Dharmakaya. His relative physical body had also shrunken by almost 85 %. His remaining body that he purposely left behind for us devotees is presently placed in a stupa in one of his main seats, near Boudhanath, Nepal.
Although I believe that I have a magnificent connection with this great yogi from many past lives, somehow due to my lack of some particular positive Karma, I did not have much chance to be with him physically in this life. However, I have had the pleasure of receiving some direct instructions on mind and the entire Terdzod empowerment, among others. On one special occasion I was given a 3-word instruction on essential mind - and that was it! I could not explain what actually happened with me at that moment. However, I have no interest to mention these things. I wish these kinds of yogis and masters, in order to save all of us, would fill the entire world. May I reunite with him wherever he is now! | English | NL | dd5aa6282a7b218b28cb501cd545ef9827b130309720652107cc9e636b0c22d3 |
One of my slave boys made me very happy this evening. He presented me with a wonderful collection of bondage booklets from the sixties. I am just thrilled with them. He also gave me several black and white glossy original bondage photographs from what appears to be the fifties or early sixties. All of them are gorgeous. I love the lingerie, hair and make up styles and of course all of the tawdry stories. My favorite is the Truant Officer's Punishment. These little booklets are so raw and so very, very naughty.
The very volumes I posses now were probably hidden away in some husbands secret hiding spot, far from the innocent eyes of his decent and morally pure wife. If she only knew that her husband was a kinky pervert who dreamed of being tied up and tortured by an evil Mistress, she would no doubt sue for divorce. Or maybe not.....if she was clever, she might pretend that she never discovered his shameful treasure. Instead, she would study the materials and glean all that she could from them, studying and preparing for her grand move. Just when the mood was right, she would surprise him with a good old fashioned hog- tied spanking. She would then declare herself head of the household and enslave her husband, and they would live happily ever after.
Back in my other life, years ago when I used to be married, I would have been thrilled if my husband was capable of understanding or even accepting my kinky nature....but alas, his mind was closed shut to the delights of sadomasochism. He didn't deserve to have a woman like me! | English | NL | 17e795e99eefa273ad63fd69fbf9f4ff2350894f3d79940cdaa0cbe2e22d1f93 |
Extract from 1 – Poet in the Gutter
Extract from Poet in the Gutter
There was this freak in the men’s group. Well, Jesus they were all freaks, including Sam Turner, but there was this one stood out. Terry Deacon he was called, and he stood out from the rest because he didn’t wear an ear ring. He’d just turned forty. The time when all the guys who were younger than him were just going out and having it done, he’d been wondering if it was too effeminate. Then a few years later after he’d missed the boat, he was thinking he’d really like to wear an ear ring but if he had it done now people’d think he was trying to be younger.
Sensitive sort, that was Deacon. He was also rich. And that made him stand out.
Anyway, it was him told Sam Turner about Hemingway and the first true sentence which got Sam reading again. And after Hemingway he read Chandler, and they became his favourite dead writers. His favourite living writer was Elmore Leonard. He was only interested in class stuff.
Sam went to the men’s group because it was winter and cold in the flat, and because he was off the booze, and because another marriage had gone bust. There’s this place runs groups of all kinds, every night of the week. It cost ninety pence to get in, and that particular night Sam had the choice of Esperanto or the men’s group or going back on the booze. He walked in on them and sat down in the circle. They were talking about fairy stories and Iron John and about how women were in touch with the earth and men in the twentieth century were alienated. Sam thought about switching to Esperanto or walking fifty yards down the road for a beer and chaser. But he stayed put.
Two of them were gay, or playing with the idea, and bought their earrings together. That night they were wearing tiny silver and black guitars, but other nights they would wear large hoops or love hearts or a couple of J’s. They were called John and Jeffrey. Most of the others wore small gold rings, except for Deacon who didn’t wear anything, and a guy called Bock who had nine rings in one ear, three in the other, and two up his nose. The guy looked like a Christmas tree.
Before they started they all said their name and what they did for a living. When it came to him Sam said he was called Sam Turner and he was a private detective and they all said that was really interesting.
What Sam thought was interesting was where the name came from because he’d just plucked it out of the air some years before, while travelling round California. The bit about being a private detective was nearly true. He’d been thinking about it all his life. It was a song he knew well, no reason not to sing it.
The only Iron John Sam’d ever known had been in Hull Prison, serving twenty years of a life sentence for a cop killing. When Sam told them this they stopped talking about fairy stories and turned their earrings to him. This was really interesting, they thought. Their little eyes lit up like sparklers. What was he like? Did he show remorse? And the Hull Prison, what were the conditions like? Jesus Christ these guys were unbelievable. Forty five minutes and Sam had them eating out of his hand. Like the man said, you’ve got to serve somebody.
He went to that place nearly every night. Monday he went to AA. Tuesday was a Solo Club. Wednesday the Men’s Group. Thursday another Solo Club. And Friday an Electronics user group. When you’re on the wagon you can’t afford to stop.
Sam thought the Solo Clubs would help him keep up his sex life without much effort, but they were really hard going. People frightened of getting hurt again. Jesus, where’ve they been?
Brenda, his last wife, she used to say, If it don’t hurt a bit it’s not worth having. She found a guy running a Merc and three houses and it was love at first sight. Sam told her he wouldn’t stand in her way, and she said: “Who’s asking you?” and went. He still couldn’t remember all the best things she said. Living in Tadcaster with the Merc guy. But he didn’t mind too much. Life soon went back to normal. He drove to Sainsburys and spent a hundred and seventy pounds on their good whiskey. He packed a tent in the car and drove up to the moors, pitching about a mile and a half above the Blakey Head pub. Then he drank himself unconscious. Next day he walked to the Blakey and got a beer with a chaser. He stayed there until closing time and went back to the juice in the tent. It took about three weeks altogether. He lost twenty pounds, and stopped dreaming about Brenda.
Back in York he was dry for a month, then three weeks on the hard stuff. He was dry again. Hitting it again. Still managed to get a flat together, ground floor job of course, save himself breaking bones when he was on the juice. He’d go dry, feed himself up, take all his clothes to the launderette. He’d stock the cupboards with food, clean the carpets, do a month’s washing up, start shaving again.
Then he’d be in a bar with a glass in front of him and he might sit there all night and not touch it until closing time. The next time he looked in a mirror he’d have lost several weeks. After a year he woke up one afternoon in a pool of spew and said to himself: You’re worth more than this.
That’s when he went to the AA and the Men’s Group and. . .
Deacon rang him one night as he was going out to the Solo Club. “I think I’m going to need your services,” he said. Deacon spoke quietly, rhythmically. He was a composer and a Buddhist as well as a successful businessman.
“What?” said Sam. He didn’t have a clue what the guy meant.
“It’s my wife,” Deacon explained. “I think she’s having an affair.”
“Dump her,” Sam told him. “A woman starts an affair, she’s finished with you.”
“I don’t know for sure,” Deacon said. “I’d like you to check it out.”
“Oh, I see.” Sam did a double take into the telephone. He sat down and reached into his pocket for tobacco, papers. “Detective work.”
“Yes. I know you do commercial work. But I thought you might be able to help out.”
“Sure, Terry,” said Sam, rolling with one hand, lighting up, thinking fast. “I’m a bit tied up at the moment, but I think I can fit you in. When were you thinking?”
“Now,” said Deacon. “It’s happening now. Can I come see you?”
“I’m doing a surveillance job at the moment,” Sam said, still thinking. “I could meet you tomorrow. I’ll be in Bettys about two. And Terry?”
“This isn’t going to be cheap.”
“Oh, I know,” said Deacon, eager to smooth over any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean. . . I hope you didn’t think I was asking. . .”
“Don’t worry,” said Sam. “I won’t break you. But I have to make a living.”
“I really wasn’t,” Deacon continued. “I really wasn’t expecting you to work for nothing. I’m very happy to pay the going rate. I hope you don’t think. . . ”
“It’s Okay, Terry. Don’t worry about it. Bettys at two. Don’t be late.” Sam rang off and stubbed his cigarette in the ash tray. He looked at the phone. He’d been great. He’d handled it smoothly. Bettys was a nice touch. Bettys was a wonderful touch. Just the sort of place Deacon would fall for. Quiet, mirrors everywhere, waitress service, good strong coffee. And it would be money for old rope. Just following some woman about all day. Sam reckoned Deacon must be good for forty a day. Plus expenses, of course. You have to be professional about these things. He’d always known that life was ups and downs. This was the beginning of an up. | English | NL | 7075eb800503424508e1a1dceaa0ccd3299c91c1525a07fce7395b799d40e0f7 |
Whatever kind of event you might have lined up, it is often important that you are able to look your very best. Looking the part is a skill that a lot of men feel they are missing, but the truth is that it is relatively easy to achieve as long as you know where to focus and how to make it happen. As it turns out, there are just a few key aspects to looking the part as a man which you need to worry about, and as long as you have those down you can hope to make it really work for you. In this article, we are going to look at what those elements might be, so that you can hope to look the part for your next big event, whatever it might turn out to be.
Getting The Formality Right
Something that a lot of people struggle with sometimes is working out how formal or informal to be for a given event. This can happen with everything from weddings to funerals, as you never quite know what the people there are going to expect. The truth is that as long as you carry it off with confidence, you can make any level of formality work pretty well. But nonetheless, you do want to make sure that you are not completely standing out like a sore thumb, and this is something that you can achieve by just doing one simple thing: asking ahead. If you ask ahead about what to expect for the night, you can find out how formal to dress. It is far less embarrassing to just ask the question than it is to end up dressing in the wrong thing, so remember this if you are struggling next time around.
If you really want to look as though you have put a lot of effort in, you might want to think about your haircut and what it says about you. Most men don’t really think about their haircut at all, and generally this means that they are much less likely to make an impact in that manner. But if you want to look the part as best as you can, you will want to make sure that you put some thought into what your hair is doing as well. Luckily it is relatively simple to do this, and there are a number of extremely safe styles, such as the shaved sides haircut, which you can choose between. But the important thing is that you have considered it at all, as otherwise you will find that you don’t feel quite complete on the whole. Think about your hair and it will make a huge difference to your overall look.
We have already alluded to the fact that confidence is often enough to help you get away with anything, and in fact it is so powerful that it deserves a mention all of its own. Whatever you are hoping to wear and whatever kind of impression you want to make, you can make it much more likely to work by simply acting confidently. Confidence is one of those slippery things that people fail to properly understand because they are actually so simple. It’s no more or less than feeling completely stable and secure in yourself, without a care of what others think of you. But there is also the kind of bravado that goes with it, and this is what people tend to try and imitate when they are trying to appear confident. It can work to a certain extent to fake it til you make it, but once you’re there you need to find a real reason deep within to feel confident. As long as you can do that, it will matter much less what you are wearing – your confidence will just carry it through.
Looking the part is as much about the finer details as it is about the big picture. You need to make sure that you are considering everything from your lapel to the choice of shoes, as it is these which actually make up the overall look on the whole. Make sure you are not overlooking them if you want to really look the part as fully as possible. By paying attention to the little touches, you will be able to ensure that you are achieving whatever you set out to achieve with your look, and feel as though you are fitting in with your next big event, whatever the nature of it might actually be. | English | NL | 4c7fc51de88f4dbdc17c896b9b78ebdde0e9c894465b5ba5749530d6b07e4b41 |
The Diary of a Madman
February 13th - March 10th, 2013
Poprishchin is a disenchanted civil servant. He is single, out of money, losing his hair, and unable to secure a promotion. In the evening he vents his frustration in his diary. Entries shift from belittling reports of his superiors, to his obsession with his boss’ daughter, to a suspicion that dogs can talk. When Poprishchin reads that the King of Spain has died without an heir, he realizes his destiny and declares himself King Ferdinand VIII.
Direction and Set Design by Alexander Burns
Lighting Design by John Burkland
Costume Design by Jane Casanave | English | NL | c43e7760071146416fca0920ddb5e8bdb13664c93b11f016a898f7c55d0f50e2 |
|Name||Age||Place of Birth > Place of Death||Newspaper||Publication Date||Submitter|
|KUHLS, Joseph||60||Breese IL||Breese J||1931||John Ratermann|
Joseph Kuhls Passes Away Here Monday After Short Illness
Local citizens were surprised Tuesday, morning to learn of the death of Joseph Kuhls, whose death occurred at 10 o'clock Monday night.
Mr. Kuhls became ill Sunday, at which time a doctor was called. However the next day he was up and a round again and seemed to be feeling :well, having eaten a hearty dinner and supper Monday. He and his wife retired Monday night and Mrs. Kuhls spoke to him about 8:45 p.m., and at 9:45 p.m. she again wanted to speak to him but received no reply. She became alarmed and after notifying neighbors, a doctor was again called, but little help could be administered, and he died shortly after, probably from a heart stroke.
Mr. Kuhls was a well known man in Breese, having lived his entire life of 60 years, l month and 29 days in Breese. He always followed the trade of a carpenter and in his younger days, he was a very prominent man in this line of work. Even in his last days he found pleasure in doing this work, and this week had intended to make a cedar chest for his niece in Pierron, who visited here recently.
Deceased was born in Breese, May 24, 1871, the son of Frank and Gertrude Kuhls. He was born in the house (near the East mine) where lived his entire life, having also departed this life; there. He was married for the first time to Sophia Daniels, but she lived only 1 1/2 years after their marriage, and in 1903 he married Caroline Mayer. They were married by Rev. Reineke in the local St. Dominic's Church. No children were born to them.
Besides his wife, Mr. Kuhls leaves a sister, Mrs. Lizzie Donaldson, of Nokomis, Ill. and a number of other relatives, and friends.
Mr. Kuhls was a member of St. Augustine's Church. He was raised in a Christian way, and always lead an honest life. He was a very good carpenter, being particular about his work, and kept his tools in the best of shape, taking pride in his trade.
The funeral will be held Thursday at the St. Augustine's Church, and the remains will be laid to rest at St. Dominic's Cemetery.
Our sympathy is extended to the relatives in their bereavement.
John Ratermann reports he has not been able to find markers in the cemetery for either Joseph or his wife, Caroline. However, there is a marker for his first wife, Sophia.
Click on the letters below to see an index of obituaries starting with that letter
|Database table Obit_Index modified:||28 Jul 2019|
|Page modified:||15 Feb 2018| | English | NL | 31b751c56a96cb0895288c37e713ec6497137d52edd28879af32bbcbe7833d40 |
A few hours later I woke up to the sun piercing the windows. It hit my back feeling like a sunburn hitting the trampoline when you fell. I sat up and rubbed my head, probably had hit it when I was asleep.
"Morning Sleeping Beauty" Dean laughed. I rolled my eyes and looked out the window,
"How long until we get back?"
"About 20 minutes" Dean replied, not taking his eyes off of the road. I nodded, although he probably did not see me.
I got out of the car as Dean pulled into a stern hault. We walked into a motel and got a room.
"I'll sleep on the floor" I announced as I threw my bag down next to the spot I was going to sleep at.
"Haha, you're really funny Kay. You can have this bed" He picked up my bag and started to carry it over to the bed.
"Haha, ah no" I smiled and took my bag back from him. I grabbed a spare pillow and put it next to my bag on the floor.
"Sorry, but you can't force me out of my 'natural habitat'" I smiled at him and sat on the ground. My stomach growled, do to the fact that I refused to eat the food at the hospital. It looked like goo, who would want to eat that?
"Sorry, but I am" Dean grabbed my bag again.
"No you are not" I replied, yet again snatching my bag from him. This time, after I grabbed my bag I jumped on his back.
"What are you doing..?" He said as he slightly stumbled back.
"I'm making sure you won't take it again." I replied as I yanked him over to his bed and hopped off.
"You sleep here," I pointed to the bed, "I sleep there" I pointed at the pillow on the floor, "kapeesh?" I raced back over to my pillow with my bag and lied on the floor, resting my head gently on the pillow. I know I had just woken up, but I was still really tired. My eyes slowly drifted shut and my mind was filled with terrors.
I tried running away, desperatly tried to do anything to get away from him. The issued man I was forced to call my father. I grabbed my bag and raced toward the door. But was stopped when my hood was yanked back,
"Where do you think you're going?" My father announced as he made me face him. I looked at the floor,
"No- no where" I stuttered. He smirked evily at me and swung his giant hands across my face. I reluctantly yanked my hand to my cheek. Tears began forming in my eyes as he struck me yet again with a powerful slap. I tried to run away again. But no matter how hard I tried, nothing changed. I'd always end up facing the horrid creature again. Each and every time, he slapped me harder than the last. But this time, I ran. As fast as I could, out the door. But everything was silenced when he appeared in front of me with a glass bottle. He shook his head,
"I said you aren't going anywhere" He shoved me back inside and slammed the breakable item against the top of my head. The glass splintering inside of my head. In excruciating pain, I held the little bit of faith that I still had up. I stared him in the eyes,
"I'm not letting you get in my way" I shoved him back with all my might, racing towards the door. I slammed it shut and never looked back. But his face will always lurk in my darkest nightmares. I made my way to the hospital, I had learned a lot from my mother in the few years I had with her. I trailed in with the blood spilling down my face and back from the glass pieces still dug deep inside my head. Doctors came rushing out with nurses and took me into the emergency room. They painfully plucked out all of the glass pieces. But all but one of them fell to the ground with blood seeping through their shirts. I looked up from the bed, but not to see my savior. To see the man who hunted my dreams. Turned my life into treachery. My father..
I yanked myself out of the terrors people call dreams. Drenched in sweat, I stood up and walked over to the bathroom. But something was off
... I looked up at the window and the salt line was broken. I gasped and ran to Dean, continuously shaking him.
"Dean, Dean wake up!!" I slapped him, and that finally got him up.
"What? What is it princess?" He asked, you could tell he was partly asleep.
"The salt line!! It's broken!" I said as I quickly ran over to wake up Sam. But before I could even reach him, a heavy force was thrown at me and sent me soaring through the air. My body slammed against the wall sending cracks upon their ears. Dean finally noticed I wasn't joking and pulled himself out of his tired trance. He loaded his pistol and awoke Sammy.
"What is it Crowly?" Dean said as he held his gun in ready. I put my hand up against my head to try to get the pain down a little.
"Moose, squirrel. How are you?" He replied with a snicker.
"Crowly cut to the chace" Dean rolled his eyes. I tried stumbling to my feet, but my weight had not seemed to bare with me. Even the slightest bit I would move, it would pull me back.
"Right, right. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take your friend with me" He said as he took a sip of the Alchol sitting at his side. My eyes grew wide. Me, friend? You mean like me go with Crowly? Not a chance! Well it's true, I didn't have a chance against him at all.
"What? No!" Dean said as he looked at me then quickly back to Crowly.
"Well, tough luck boys" and in the snap of a finger. The scenery changed and Sam and Dean were no where to be found. I was surrounded with intensifying screams and demons. But my body seemed as if it was being dragged. I knew I wasn't dead, but was I in hell? With Crowly? And his demons?!
Gahh! I feel so bad! I said I was going to stay on top of updating but I've been so busy I forgot. Sorry!!
P.s. Please read my new book called Supernaturally Screwed
YOU ARE READING
The Life With the WinchestersFanfiction
*Under Editing* (Dean Winchester Fanfic.) Bobby's little girl, and the all too famous Dean Winchester. Doesn't seem like they would mix too well, due to the fact that they pretty much hate eachother. After lots of trips around the world, dirty motel... | English | NL | dc215c0eef32f950edc37df42902e005edcf0d4b68d25def97517ed1c936770a |
The original primary school in Ballinlough was co-educational and was situated in Churchyard Lane. In 1965 St. Anthony’s B.N.S. was built in Beechwood Park. The school had ten classrooms and Mr. Jack Corkery was Principal. Mr. Bart Whooley became Principal in 1974 and as numbers had increased in 1977/78 a new extension was built providing six new classrooms and a small hall. In 1993 Mr. Flor O’Sullivan was appointed Principal. Over the next few years a fund-raising initiative raised a substantial sum of money and in 1997 a new sports hall and six additional classrooms were built. Since then, further extensions provided thirteen extra classrooms, a computer room and a conversion of the attic in the original school.
At present, we have 817 pupils, 47 teachers, 11 SNAs, 2 secretaries and 3 caretakers. | English | NL | 751fe512f09599f455764b36a635b7206b1d5fc7da8bc04ec154f44c35097e46 |
When my father was crossing the back of the fifteenth crocodile with two more lollipops to go, the noise of the monkeys suddenly stopped, and he could hear a much bigger noise getting louder every second. Then he could hear seven furious tigers and one raging rhinoceros and two seething lions and one ranting gorilla along with countless screeching monkeys, led by two extremely irate wild boars, all yelling, "It's a trick! It's a trick! There's an invasion and it must be after our dragon. Kill it! Kill it!" The whole crowd stampeded down to the bank.
As my father was fixing the seventeenth lollipop for the last crocodile he heard a wild boar scream, "Look, it came this way! It's over there now, see! The crocodiles made a bridge for it," and just as my father leapt onto the other bank one of the wild boars jumped onto the back of the first crocodile. My father didn't have a moment to spare.
By now the dragon realized that my father was coming to rescue him. He ran out of the bushes and jumped up and down yelling. "Here I am! I'm right here! Can you see me? Hurry, the boar is coming over on the crocodiles, too. They're all coming over! Oh, please hurry, hurry!" The noise was simply terrific.
My father ran up to the dragon, and took out his very sharp jackknife. "Steady, old boy, steady. We'll make it. Just stand still," he told the dragon as he began to saw through the big rope.
By this time both boars, all seven tigers, the two lions, the rhinoceros, and the gorilla, along with the countless screeching monkeys, were all on their way across the crocodiles and there was still a lot of rope to cut through.
"Oh, hurry," the dragon kept saying, and my father again told him to stand still.
"If I don't think I can make it," said my father, "we'll fly over to the other side of the river and I can finish cutting the rope there."
Suddenly the screaming grew louder and madder and my father thought the animals must have crossed the river. He looked around, and saw something which surprised and delighted him. Partly because he had finished his lollipop, and partly because, as I told you before, crocodiles are very moody and not the least bit dependable and are always looking for something to eat, the first crocodile had turned away from the bank and started swimming down the river. The second crocodile hadn't finished yet, so he followed right after the first, still sucking his lollipop. All the rest did the same thing, one right after the other, until they were all swimming away in a line. The two wild boars, the seven tigers, the rhinoceros, the two lions, the gorilla, along with the countless screeching monkeys, were all riding down the middle of the river on the train of crocodiles sucking pink lollipops, and all yelling and screaming and getting their feet wet.
My father and the dragon laughed themselves weak because it was such a silly sight. As soon as they had recovered, my father finished cutting the rope and the dragon raced around in circles and tried to turn a somersault. He was the most excited baby dragon that ever lived. My father was in a hurry to fly away, and when the dragon finally calmed down a bit my father climbed up onto his back.
"All aboard!" said the dragon. "Where shall we go?"
"We'll spend the night on the beach, and tomorrow we'll start on the long journey home. So, it's off to the shores of Tangerina!" shouted my father as the dragon soared above the dark jungle and the muddy river and all the animals bellowing at them and all the crocodiles licking pink lollipops and grinning wide grins. After all, what did the crocodiles care about a way to cross the river, and what a fine feast they were carrying on their backs!
As my father and the dragon passed over the Ocean Rocks they heard a tiny excited voice scream, "Bum cack! Bum cack! We dreed our nagon! I mean, we need our dragon!"
But my father and the dragon knew that nothing in the world would ever make them go back to Wild Island. | English | NL | 500e6340b586e76fef43375443ecdb304520b1f4e636d2f50036831aea7d2b8c |
“If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content.” ― Leo Tolstoy
The Daily Post is whispering in my ear again asking me this time to – Tell us about a time when everything actually turned out exactly as you’d hoped – and – show us – PERFECT – in CAPS… what’s all the shouting about? You’d think perfect was somehow important to have such a fuss made about it.
And yes, I know they always put the word of The Daily Prompt in CAPS.
Well, I’m not showing you perfect. Things did not turn out exactly as I’d hoped… when I doodled these drawings and tweaked them in image tweaking software.
I did these a while ago when my creative juices started flowing again. They’d been trapped in a creative juice ice age for a long time, then there was a sudden internal global warming meltdown and I found myself revisiting an old flame of mine – Drawing.
As I child it was rare to find me without a pencil or pen and a piece of paper doodling away, talking to myself, telling myself a story and bringing that story to life in my doodles. I had no ambitions for my drawing. I certainly had no intention of being an artist. NEVER!!!
My father was an artist. He occasionally doodled with me. It was not a pleasant father/daughter moment. It was rivals facing off, only I wasn’t competing with him because I knew that he was better than me. It was logical… he was not logical. Somehow the fact that I was drawing without any training was an insult to him. So I asked him to teach me, train me. But although he said yes, he never did… just in case the pupil became a master.
I ignored his antics and kept drawing. It was my escape into a world of my own creation. It was fun and relaxing… as long as I didn’t try to colour within the lines. To this day I am convinced those lines move!
My mother was not an artist, she couldn’t draw to save her life. Her words, not mine. I would never have critiqued her drawings had she ever done any, but she couldn’t risk that kind of vulnerability. However she was an excellent critic, practiced constantly to refine her art until her ability to criticise everyone and everything was perfect and beyond reproach or argument.
I once created a comic strip of which I was very proud. I knew it wasn’t perfect, but I loved it. It had words and characters and all the things I adored about comics. It was perfect to me. I even had a moment of wondering if I should become a comic artist. Then I made the mistake of sharing my pride and joy with my parents. That was the end of that ambition.
I guess I wasn’t that determined… an artist must learn to deal with people minutely ripping their creations to shreds, must soldier on believing in their ability without support and encouragement, and must be driven by an overwhelming impulse to lay themselves wide open and bare to the world. I decided to pass on that. I was not ready to be that fragile and vulnerable.
I ignored my mother and her criticism and kept drawing.
Then, one day, I stopped.
I don’t know why. Or at least, I can’t remember why. Probably just life moving me on.
An age passed… during which all my creative outlets vanished one by one. I vanished them. I gave up my hope of being creative in an artistic way and pursued other things. Practical things. Even my mind stopped thinking creatively and became rather dull.
I’m very glad that age is over and the new age which I have entered is one big festival of creativity for me. I don’t care if it isn’t perfect, perfect is overrated and, frankly, a source of misery. I don’t even care if it’s not good or good enough, it’s not about if anyone else thinks it’s good or if I think it’s good… It’s good FOR me. Yes, I’m capping that word! I’m shouting… but the shouting is a howl of contentment at finally being free to just be and do.
“He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars.” ― Jack London | English | NL | d5f05d120e9ba74738e3bba5df02466322603659fe959cf1cb4eed56f382edfb |
Bloomsbury is famous as an area of garden squares and gardens.The residential square is a unique feature of London and is not matched by anything elsewhere in the world.
Although Covent Garden was built as a residential square and completed by 1631, the first site in London to be called by the name ‘square’ was Bloomsbury Square. It was first known as Southampton Square, as it was laid out in the 1660s by the 4th Earl of Southampton, who leased three sides of the forecourt of his London residence for building, before promptly escaping out of town from the plague.
In the following years, squares such as Queen Square (1716-1725), quickly grew popular as pleasant, airy places to live and houses around them were in demand. In Jane Austen’s Emma , Mr and Mrs John Knightley live in Brunswick Square: The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very different from almost all the rest. We are so very airy! Many squares like Brunswick Square, developed on the edge of the town, still had views of open country. The ideal was rus in urbe – to bring a feeling of the countryside into the town.The fields of the Duke of Bedford’s estate gave rise to modern-day Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia. The Bedford Estate contained 20 public gardens, all in the form of squares. The architect Thomas Leverton set a fashion in 1775 with the first of these, Bedford Square, where all the houses were united behind a continuous ‘palace front’, making the terrace look like a large country house. Russell Square gardens were laid out by Humphrey Repton in 1810; Gordon Square and Tavistock Square were developed as a matching pair with the same dimensions by Thomas Cubitt in the 1820s.
In the later part of the 19th century older squares began to deteriorate and in the 1920s, the garden squares were under threat. In Bloomsbury, a group of four squares at Endsleigh Gardens, south of the Euston Road, disappeared beneath Friends House. There was a public outcry which led to a Royal Commission in 1927 and resulted in the London Squares Preservation Act of 1931. The Act gave protection to 461 squares and other green enclosures, ensuring that they could not be built upon and were preserved for leisure and recreation. About one fifth of the enclosures protected by the Act were by this time in public hands.
However, the Act did not prevent alterations in the buildings surrounding squares over the rest of the century. In Bloomsbury, much of the original Bedford Estate housing disappeared in the 1930s beneath university blocks and modern hotels. Many houses were converted into offices, dramatically altering the appearance of many of these spaces.
During the Second World War, the railings of many squares were taken to be melted down and used for armaments. Their loss greatly affected the appearance of the squares, and pointlessly as most of the railings were thrown away unused. However, the removal of railings created greater access to squares, and after the war many remained open to the public. Some, like Bedford Square and Mecklenburgh Square, continued to be privately owned; others, like Russell Square, were privately owned but accessible by the public, while yet others, like Brunswick Square (which was originally part of the grounds of the Foundling Hospital), were leased or given to local authorities by landowners who could no longer afford their upkeep.
There were other green spaces. St George’s Gardens had been one of the very first burial grounds to be established away from a church, in open fields. The land was bought in 1713 to serve the parishioners of two churches: St George the Martyr, Queen Square, and St George’s, Bloomsbury, the latter (then still unbuilt) by the great architect Nicholas Hawksmoor. By 1855 it had become overcrowded and closed. It is now a small park, with some atmospheric chest tombs remaining.
Upkeep and maintenance of the squares and gardens was poor post-war and until the mid-1990s, when a massive effort to upgrade them was undertaken with the help of the Heritage Lottery Fund around the time of the Millenium. This successful and welcome regeneration is now under threat as a result of the cutbacks caused by the current recession. Nevertheless, interest in gardens and garden creation still continues, with the very newest to the Bloomsbury squares and gardens, the tiny Marchmont Community Garden, being developed in 2011, transforming an unloved and scruffy site into a green oasis.
For more information on individual squares visit their page on this site.
If you’d like more information on London Squares in general, go to http://www.londongardenstrust.org/history/squares.htm | English | NL | 15afd1232c145c5f273b959662ee806a834c487917f123c711aa47d732e17e49 |
“Josephine Allen Ware, 83, Lawrence, will be at 10 a.m. Monday at Trinity Episcopal Church with the Rev. John Macauley officiating. Burial will be in Mount Moriah Cemetery in Kansas City.
Mrs. Ware died Friday, July 26, 1991, at Lawrence Memorial Hospital.
She was born March 2, 1908, in Emporia, the daughter of Reuben and Eunice Johnson Allen.
She had lived in Kansas City, Mo., most of her life. She moved from Kansas City to Lawrence in 1979 and had lived for the past two years at Lawrence Presbyterian Manor.
Mrs. Ware was a registered nurse, having received her training at Children’s Mercy Hospital in Kansas City, Mo. She also had attended Ottawa University and Emporia State College. She was employed as a school nurse in the Kansas City, Mo., school system and later as a pediatric nurse at St. Luke’s Hospital in Kansas City.
She was a member of the Trinity Episcopal Church in Lawrence. Earlier she had been a member of the All Saints Episcopal Church in Kansas City.
She married Robert Hayden on June 6, 1936, in Kansas City. He died in 1961.
Survivors include a daughter, Judith Bevan, Lawrence, and a grandson.”
A & R Record added: Dec 08, 2007 | English | NL | 1252bd69a21e6ed1d642d3a962318e8258ca5b96bf69f144b3d6699e4cf012e6 |
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Immobilization of Jake, The
|My father was a world-renowned geneticist who, in the late 1990's, isolated and researched a gene responsible for muscle regeneration in mice. The gene produced a protein called IGF-1, for "insulin-like growth factor type 1". When introduced to the lab mice through gene therapy injections, the researchers found the supercharge rodents to surpass their untreated brethren in muscle mass by an average of twenty-seven percent.
This research was exciting, ground-breaking, and completely, utterly boring to seven-year-olds. My father, working nearly eighty hours per week, would often drag me, kicking and screaming, to his lab on Saturday mornings. I would sit in on the white linoleum floor, rolling my eyes, as my father digressed on findings not even a scientist's son could hold interest in.
My Saturday visits to the lab ended abruptly one morning in the winter of 1999. Dad had allowed me to explore the specimen room, so long as I didn't touch or disturb any of the hundreds of mice. As he walked off into his office, I strolled down the row of silver cages filled with the hyperactive, white animals. My eyes fell upon one animal that stood out from the lot - a huge rat sleeping alone in a cage.
Looking more closely at the animal, I realized that it was not a rat, but an overgrown mouse. Thinking back to my father's monologues, I wondered if this enormous beast was the recipient of a new treatment, as it far surpassed the results that previous specimen had displayed. As I bent down to stare at the mouse, the creature awoke, wiggled its mass around a bit, and looked up at me with curiosity.
Even as a young boy, I had always known better than to open the cages. This day, however, I was strangely compelled to free the animal. It looked friendly and was still watching me with an intense interest. I slowly opened the cage and reached in, allowing the mouse to sniff my hand. Just as my new friend began to lick at my fingers, my father walked into the room, saw what was happening, and shouted at me to remove my hand.
The mouse, understandably frightened by all of the sudden commotion, reacted by biting my finger. Now, an ordinary mouse wouldn't have even broken the skin. This over-developed beast, however, easily chomped through my skin, piercing my index finger to the bone. Screaming in pain, I pulled the mouse free, worsening my wound and injuring the animal. As our blood commingled, I felt myself passing out.
I awoke in what seemed like hours but was truly only minutes to find my father crouched over me, crying hysterically. I later learned that he had ordered his staff to destroy the mouse immediately and had already administered a cocktail of anti-biotics. Through his cries, he tried to explain that I would soon be taken to the local hospital for treatment. I didn't understand the gravity of the situation - my finger was in pain, but hospitalization seemed unnecessary.
My stay at the hospital was brief. The mouse that had bitten me had been the first recipient of my father's new form of gene therapy. Rather than injecting the mice with the IGF-1 producing gene, he had manipulated a harmless form of the Herpes Simplex virus to introduce the gene to the specimen's muscles. An unintended result of the modifications was the extreme increase in the virus' rate of replication and its apparent unresponsiveness to treatment. Rather than an expected twenty-seven percent increase in muscle mass, this mouse had experienced an incredible 800 percent increase. The analysis of the mouse prior to being destroyed revealed, curiously, unheard-of levels of growth hormones and testosterone.
Tests revealed that I had, indeed, become infected with the virus. My father extensively discussed the options with my doctors and came back to me with little good news. He was unable to tell me whether I would live to see adulthood, successfully fight the virus, or ever lead a healthy life. The best plan was to rest and expend little energy, staying in bed and hoping my body could battle the virus.
So that's what I did for fifteen years. I stayed in my room, often laying in bed reading. My father hired a tutor to assist me with my schoolwork, a nutritionist to tightly control my diet, and a number of physicians and scientists to monitor my body's condition.
My extremely sedentary lifestyle would have come to a shock to any uninformed visitor, as I had almost immediately begun to grow. Even my regimented diet couldn't keep the muscle off, as I slowly but clearly developed into a athletic-looking young boy. As I entered puberty at the age of twelve, I found my various doctors beginning to take note of what must have been significant development. I was oblivious, however - protected from reality and any true understanding of my uniqueness.
By the time that I hit the age of twenty two, we had all come to the realization that I was not, in fact, going to die. But by laying in my bedroom and hiding from the world, I wasn't exactly living either. Over a series of months, I succeeded in convincing my still-over-protective father that moving out and experiencing the world would be very good for me.
Through the years, my father's existing wealth, coupled with wise investment strategies, fed into a sizable trust fund designed to support his son. While I could easily live off of this money for life, I strongly desired to put my years of education and pent-up imagination to work. Dad and I discussed these matters extensively, coming to the conclusion that I would be best off by taking one step at a time. We settled on the initial step of finding an apartment. If that went well, I could then pursue employment, a relationship, and all that "life" implied.
My interaction with other people had been fairly limited through my youth, and I was still a bit nervous in crowds. I wasn't looking for a one-bedroom within some enormous apartment complex - I wanted something simple, perhaps the second story of a small store. We soon found a nice converted attic located above a quiet lamp shop in a funky-but-relaxed area of town. I happily signed the lease and took my father to the local furniture and electronics superstore to obtain the furnishings for my new home.
After arranging the furniture and shoeing my dad out of the apartment, I paced about the room, contemplating what to do next. I decided to go out and walk around the neighborhood. While this seems trivial, to me it was a huge step - to be out in public, surrounded by potential danger, unaccompanied. I examined the contents of my dresser, looking for clothing that seemed appropriate for what I was desperately try to make into a "casual stroll". I chose a plain, white undershirt and a pair of bluejeans.
I gazed at my reflection in the mirror as I undressed. At the age of twenty-two, I stood just under 6'4" and weighed nearly 230 pounds. My large muscles and thick torso made clear my body's disregard for the the sedentary lifestyle and constant undernourishment of my youth. My head was covered with a neatly-trimmed pile of straight, dark brown hair. Thick eyebrows perched above my steel grey eyes and my powerful jawline was shadowed, even this early in the day, by a field of quickly growing stubble. Despite the thick hair, full beard, hairy armpits and pubic area, my chest, stomach, arms and legs were all devoid of any significant hair. Chalk that up to genetics, I suppose.
The high levels of hormones had quite obviously affected my sexual development as well. Although I had never had friends or siblings with which to compare myself, I had guessed that my penis - which when erect easily exceeded a foot in length and ten inches in circumference - was beyond normal. I just didn't know to what extent. My testicles, driven by the virus to produce testosterone at exponentially higher rates, had grown through my teens to the size of oranges.
My sex drive, too, had been deeply affected by the virus' work. As I entered puberty, I found myself almost paralyzed by my libido and often became engrossed in hours-long masturbatory sessions. These sessions became more and more intense and frequent as the years passed, but my daily schedule had forced me into a routine of climaxing quickly before a session with my tutor, a visit from my doctors, etc. It was not unusual for me to engage and climax eight times during a day - my testicles had no difficulty producing copious quantities of ejaculate at every release.
My fantasies had always revolved around masculine, muscular men - the forbidden brutes who were aware of the world, exposed to the physical demands of nature and hard work. I looked the part, but my uncalloused hands betrayed my bedroom confinement. I imagined being with a man - and being a man - who worked for his strength, who showed no fear in a crowd.
I again looked at myself, now dressed for my outing. The tight t-shirt hugged my defined chest and stretched to cover my round shoulders. The seat of my jeans was filled with my muscular glutes and my thighs showed through the heavy denim. I was ready for my adventure.
I descended the outside, wooden stairway that led up to my apartment, stopping as my feet hit pavement. As I surveyed the street, trying to decide my direction, I noticed the faded sign of a gym - "The Iron Pit" - nestled between a coffee shop and a book store. My father had always warned me of the danger of a gym - I had been taught for fifteen years the hazards of physical exertion to my health. Despite these ingrained teachings, I walked straight across the street, through the door, and up to the front counter.
"Hey! Wanna work out?", shouted a thickly muscled bear from behind the counter. He sat perched upon a stool and looked to me working on a tax return. "Or, if you want, we can set you up with a full membership." The man was in his mid-forties, had a crewcut and goatee of salt-and-pepper black hair, and wore a tight red t-shirt with the logo of the gym on the front and the sleeves torn off. His arms were huge, and I was already getting excited.
"Uhm, yeah. I, uhm... I would like a membership but I don't really know anything about how to do this," I stammered.
The musclebear furrowed his brow and cocked his head, confused. "Don't know anything about what?"
"Uh, I mean I don't know anything about exercising. Do you have someone here who can teach me?" I replied, increasingly embarrassed.
"Well, sure. I mean, it's me and Eddie here. We're your guys for training. But looks like you've already been hittin' the weights pretty hard, man!" The musclebear leaned back on his stool, eyeing my torso inquisitively.
"Uh, hehe. Just genes, I guess." I shrugged my shoulders as I thought to myself how true that statement really was. "Anyway, I just moved into the neighborhood - right across the street, actually - and thought I should check out your gym."
"Well, kid, you've got a great base to work with, there. C'mon - I'll show you the place." The musclebear stood up, revealing his full 6-foot frame, and absently scratched his solid belly through the t-shirt. I would have placed him at 260 pounds. Coming back from contemplation, he outstretched his arm towards me. "I'm Mike Wakowski, by the way. I own the place."
I grabbed his meaty hand and shook it. "Jake Simpson. Nice to meet you, Mike."
Mike motioned for me to follow him as he walked down a path weaving between machines and benches that, to me, gave little indication of their individual uses. Looking past the piles of weights, I noticed a lone man in the middle of his workout. He stood near the back of the gym, lifting what I later learned were called dumbbells, watching his form intently in the wall-covering mirror. The pounding rock music was significantly louder back here, and the lifter was mouthing the words - probably singing along - while straining against the weight.
Mike pointed out numerous machines, benches, and collections of freeweights stuffed into the tight confines of the gym floor. We worked our way to the back of the room and Mike shouted at the lifter to gain his attention. The lifter looked over, threw his weights down upon the rubber-coated floor, and walked up to us.
"Jake, this is Eddie. He's the other owner of the Pit." Mike looked at Eddie with a half-smile. "Kid hasn't worked out a day in his life. Says its genes."
"Well, you're a lucky bastard, aren't ya?" Eddie was definitely the brasher of the two. He was younger that Mike - most likely in his late thirties - and was shorter than him by at least three inches, but probably outweighed him by a few pounds. His physique showed more pure muscle and lacked the thick-but-solid mid-section that Mike carried. His dirty blond hair was cut close and spiked up rebelliously upon his head. His bright blue eyes were indeed piercing, but were difficult to read when he quickly looked over my body. "You gonna join?" he asked.
"I'd like to, yeah." I replied.
"What is your goal?" Mike asked. When I failed to respond with anything more than an "Uhm...", he continued. "I mean, what do you want to accomplish? Do you want to stay fit, lose weight - although that doesn't seem necessary for you - or do you want to build muscle?"
Eddie jumped in: "We're all about building muscle here. Go to some goddamned fitness center if you want to do aerobics!"
Mike shot Eddie an angry look, but smiled as he turned to me saying, "No, that isn't true. We can set you up with a cardio workout, no prob. Eddie is sometimes too hardcore for our clients." He faked a laugh, clearly trying to do anything to earn my dollars.
"I'd really like to build muscle!" I said, a bit too enthusiastically. "I mean, I would love to look like you guys. I just need you to help me train." As I spoke and thought about the possibilities, I could feel an erection building. I nervously attempted to shift the hardening cock around in my jeans, but only ended up making it worse and being indiscrete.
I watched as Eddie raised his eyebrow at Mike. He looked back at me and explained the gym rules, the training regimen, and the price of the membership. I quickly wrote a check for the first year's dues, walked back to my apartment to change into shorts, and returned within half an hour to begin the first workout of my life.
After my first week of workouts - really just three 45-minute training workouts - I had gained 10 pounds. I caught the lifter's bug immediately. With the help of Mike and Eddie, I quickly mastered the concepts behind weight training. I graduated to the schools of high-intensity workouts but found my endurance to be nothing short of incredible. Soon, I was a fixture at the Pit, engaging in daily, three-hour-long screamfests with Mike and Eddie pushing me the whole way.
When selling me on the gym membership, Mike had failed to convey one of it's strongest assets: the place was nearly always empty. Aggressive competition from the fitness-focused gyms within blocks had depleted the Pit's membership and, despite the hardcore tilt, new members were few and far-between. As a result, I rarely saw any other members, especially by working out in the middle of the day.
Mike and Eddie seemed to enjoy working with me. Freed of any other tasks, they offered guidance and assistance throughout my workout - often far more than I truly needed. After my workouts, I would often return home to shower and change, and then cross the street back over to the Pit to hang around the gym.
Within weeks, I felt that I had earned the two's trust and respect, and that they saw me, already, as a good friend. I quickly came to realize that Mike and Eddie were partners beyond the business. They lived together in a small apartment above the gym and obviously cared deeply for each other. As our friendships grew, I became more open with them regarding my life. I told them of my childhood, my condition, and my fantasies. They responded with acceptance, interest, and enthusiasm.
In three months, thanks to my heavy lifting and the introduction to such terrific sources of protein as steaks and weight gainers, my weight had increased dramatically. I had swollen from just below 230 pounds to an incredible weight of 340 - a gain of over 110 pounds! I still stood at 6'4", but was growing wider at an alarming rate. At the three month mark, Eddie helped measure my body. My chest taped out at 63", my waist at 36", my upper arms at 24.5", my thighs at 34", and my calves at 23". I had gone from being a "big guy" to being a freak, had destroyed all of my t-shirts, and caused strangers to stop and stare on the sidewalks. But I was far from satisfied.
I had developed a lust for muscle. Muscle on myself, muscle on the men around me. I wanted to take advantage of my gift and explore the upper limits of the human body. I wanted to become a monster.
To celebrate my three month transformation, Mike and Eddie insisted upon taking me out for dinner. We went to a steak house, naturally. (I hadn't tasted a steak before the age of 22 - I was making up for lost time.) Over dinner, while avoiding stares from the other diners, I explained to the couple my desires. I knew the state of their business - the Pit was bound to go under within the next six months - so I felt confident in my proposal.
"Hey guys..." I said, with a tone that indicated my seriousness. "I want you two to help me."
Mike cocked his head in the way he did when confused. "Jake, I think that's what we've been doin', bud."
"Right, and thank you for everything. I want you to help me take this further." I watched their faces as I spoke softly in my deep baritone, "I want to hire you."
Mike and Eddie both expressed continued confusion. They knew of my situation, of my "trust fund kid" status, but they didn't understand the extent of the resources at my disposal.
"I know the Pit isn't doing so well, guys. But I know you still want to run a gym - just not a fuckin' fitness place. So why don't you let me hire you to train me...exclusively?"
The couple's expressions reflected the truth of my words and their dawning understanding of what I was about to propose. Mike looked over at Eddie, Eddie nodded in understanding, and I continued.
"I want to buy a warehouse. I want to purchase the gym equipment from you. I want to live in that warehouse, only training, eating, and sleeping. I want to become a fucking monster. Too big to go out in public. Too big to walk. And I need you to help me do it. I'll pay your living expenses, more that you guys have now, and when we're done, I'll make sure you both have enough to retire on."
After I finished speaking, the two muscle men sitting before me remained quiet for several minutes. Mike looked up at me and asked, "Isn't this going back to the life of isolation you hated so much?"
"Isolation isn't so bad if you're with people you love, and people who love you. You two have grown to mean more to me than anyone else in my life. I know with you around, I won't be lonely or unhappy. And I want to return to what I had growing up - someone taking care of me and watching over me."
Eddie, whose rough tone rarely let show the kind personality beneath, reached across the table and grasped my hand. "We'll do it!" he whispered.
We set out the next morning to put our plan into action. Time was precious, as my growth would soon make activities in public very difficult. We located an empty warehouse not far from the old Pit and leased the location. Mike and Eddie had agreed to live with me, so we moved the possessions and gym equipment from our respective homes into the warehouse. The few remaining members of the Pit were disappointed at the gym's closing, but understood the financial difficulties faced by the business. We purchased tremendous quantities of food and supplements. We were ready.
Only four months after moving out of my father's house, the warehouse was in full operation. We called it "Mission: Immobile" and took the process very, very seriously. Mike and Eddie pushed me to sadistically higher goals, and I loved every minute of it.
My daily schedule involved six full hours of extremely intense workouts, focusing on no more than two major body parts per day. My increasing strength quickly necessitated the purchase of customized weights and equipment - hugely overbuild freeweights became the only solution. My incredible stamina made it nearly impossible to wear myself out through repetition. Instead, we focused on destroying as much muscle tissue as possible on a daily basis, the guys pushing me to my max from the start of the day onward. If I wasn't crying or vomiting, it wasn't intense enough.
Four hours of my day were dedicated to meals. Mike had taken to preparing "wholesome" lunches and dinners in incredible volume. To feed the three of us, he often quadrupled the family-sized recipes. This was supplemented by a barrage of weight gainers, protein shakes, meal replacements, and any number of other products I was being fed at any given time. The exposure to hormones through my youth had significantly strengthened my organs, so I had no problems with the incredible amount of food I was ingesting. Nor did the vitamins, amino acids, and other countless pills I took do any damage.
I had maybe two hours of "free time" throughout the day, and then it was off to bed for my twelve hours of sleep. Mike and Eddie had at least a few hours of time to themselves before they, too, headed off to bed.
After six months of this regimen, the results were shocking. Both Mike and Eddie had put on a large amount of muscle - Mike was up to 295 and Eddie weighed in at 308. They were the hottest couple I knew, but they couldn't compare to me.
My body was a work of art. My face, with its yet-thicker jaw, heavy brow, and visible muscles, gave me the look of a male model crossed with a Neanderthal - handsome, yet brutal. The five-o'clock shadow had become impossible to contain, necessitating a goatee lovingly trimmed by Eddie every morning.
My neck, far thicker than my skull, grew out even above my ears, masses of flesh interwoven like braids, merging into the high, deep traps sitting upon my shoulders. My delts sat like beachballs at the ends of my ever-broadening shoulders and led into biceps and triceps that were thick enough to fill an large t-shirt - the CHEST of a large t-shirt. My forearms looked like a pair of 20-pound hams, and the palms of my thick hands were already too muscular to allow me to ball my fist.
The wingspan of my lats had already surpassed four feet and was well on its way to five, pushing my arms out of the way with thick, heavy muscle. The lats tapered abruptly down to my lower back, a striated battlefield of defined muscles and tendons. My pecs had swollen up and out, restricting my vision and making it impossible to cross my massive arms. Below the jutting chest, my abs had continued to become more defined, and my obliques had grown into steel love handles. All of the growth hormones floating my system were quickly inflating my "roid gut", which would have looked terrible on a man whose pecs didn't extend six inches past the gut.
Looking at my profile, you couldn't avoid my glutes. Resting uneasily atop my thighs, my ass was muscled thickly enough to make me appear inches taller when seated. My thighs had become a source of jokes for Mike and Eddie, as the amount of effort required to walk with the bulging legs increased for me every day. And my calves had only worsened the problem, rubbing and bouncing off of each other against my efforts.
My balls had continued to grow thanks to the exponentially increasing levels of hormones floating around in my body. They now sat precariously on top of my quadriceps, each the size of a cantelope, churning out testosterone like a factory. My cock had resumed the growth I assumed had ended four years before and now extended to an incredible 18 inches - with a circumference of 18 as well. I was still a virgin, and was bound to stay that way due to the impractical size of what we began calling "the fire hydrant".
I was a 610-pound freak, but still not a monster. I had gained 270 pounds in six months but was unsatisfied with my results. I could still walk, I could still brush my teeth, I could even move my head. We had a long way to go.
Mike, Eddie, and I decided that I was being held back by nutrition. I simply was not able to eat enough to fuel my growth at an acceptable rate. This was obvious - despite the thousands of calories I was ingesting, I had virtually no bodyfat. Every striation was visible and my vascular network was in plain view. Now, I had no desire to put on enough fat to cover up the garden hose-sized veins that snaked around my body, but I wanted to make sure I was getting enough to satisfy my body's needs.
We obtained a number of intravenous feeding units which I hooked into at any times I was sitting or sleeping. Mike worked with a lab to develop a special syrup containing as much protein and as many calories as possible. We ordered thousands of bags and I began hooking up to two units at a time, both set to their highest rates of dispension.
Mike began aggressively feeding me, forcing me to consume my food as quickly as possible to maximize the quantity for each sitting. He followed me around the gym area during my workouts, forcing me to drink my weight gainer shake, rather than water, between each set. He would wake me in the middle of the night to force down another shake, or perhaps a steak - often a shake AND a steak - all while still connected to the feeder units.
Eddie firmly believed that I wasn't working as hard on the weights as I could be. He laid into me with renewed vigor, pushing me past failure, past pain, and past fear. I looked death in the eye, and it was a loaded barbell. And I benched the fucker.
All of this increased intensity and intimacy was showing on the guys. Both continued to pack on muscle - although Mike was packing on a bit of fat, thanks to all of the taste testing he was doing - but beyond that, their relationship changed. Rather than running off to their walled-off section of the warehouse to cuddle or fuck, they spent more and more time with me. We showered together (they had to help me clean almost everything, now), relaxed together, and slept together. I would fall asleep after my 3:00 AM feeding, wake up three hours later, and find Mike and Eddie nestled between the masses of my body. I was as much a part of their relationship as Mike and Eddie were. But we had never had sex together.
I have been in this warehouse for 18 months as of today. I'm not typing this, of course, as I am no longer able to use a keyboard. I am not writing this because my hand is unable to hold a pen and, even if it could, my bicep is too large to let me bend my elbow. I am dictating this to Mike, a man I love deeply, in my warm, basso profundo. Mike is sitting to my side. I can see him faintly in my peripheral vision, but I am unable to turn my head to look directly at him - my neck and shoulders surround my skull, fusing it in place. I could sit up and turn my body to face him, but I am unable to sit up without assistance - my legs and my gut fight for space and keep me from bending at the waist. I could stand up and turn to look at him, but, even after I am standing, I cannot turn around easily - my thighs force my legs out at better than 45 degree angles, and its hard for me to move them. All of this would require two people's assistance, because even Eddie, who now weighs 345 pounds, couldn't alone lift me.
Instead, I know that Mike is there, sitting in his chair, his beautiful muscles stretching his tank top to the point of ripping. He is typing softly on the keyboard and, all the while, I know what he's thinking. He's dreaming about what will happen to him in the coming 18 months. He's scared of the results, but he's excited at becoming a monster, just like I have.
Mike is thinking of this because last night Mike, Eddie, and I became blood brothers. I shared my virus with these men because I love them, and I want them to become immobile like me. Will they ever catch up with my growth? Will they ever boast a 32-inch long penis? Will they pack on 1,140 pounds of mass in 18 months? We don't know...but we are willing to find out.
After sharing the virus, we made love together for the first time. I felt their heat and sweat as Mike and Eddie fucked each other while laying upon my chest. Eddie rested his head between my pecs, his back against my gut as Mike fucked him, slamming his muscular shoulders into my enormous chest. Mike bit at my nipples as Eddie stood behind him, pounding with all of his effort. The two muscle men took turns sucking and stroking my cock and both screamed with delight each time I came. The sensations were incredible - it has been quite awhile since I have been able to masturbate, and I've missed it. But sharing this experience with these men has been even greater than I had expected. I can't wait to see what happens next.
My name is Jake. I am not yet 24 years old, I weigh 1,480 pounds, and I'm still growing. I have 53-inch arms, but I want 54-inchers.
Well, maybe 55...
On second thought, 60 sounds about right...
But 72 would look incredible...
Fuck it, 84...
96. That's it, that's the biggest I'd ever want.
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Archive Version 070326 | English | NL | 80551262a4ec71e86873daa4309dff10ed42b22aa945c65997feccd63a2f5f0a |
|This plantation house was used during the Civil War as a hospital clinic. In the house there are
reports of several civil war apparitions that have been seen. There are several slave houses out
in the front where eerie feelings can overcome you. It has also been reported that in 70 degree
weather it sometimes feels very cold and there have been reports of water being found
completely covering the floor while it was still days away from rain.
Although stories of ghosts surround this house, it is still widely said that the house is not
haunted, and any type of ghost activity is completely unfounded.
Thanks to Gage for this info | English | NL | 5ba10d8363a5d1e5a20d3eca4f6c6ee9010da15c1996291bef81ff5fa0802a78 |
Kyrle Street, Ross-on-Wye, runs east to west from Brookend Street to Trenchard Street and currently mainly contains housing and only a couple businesses.
Kyrle Street looking west from where it meets Brookend Street.
Ross Gas Company Ltd
Kyrle Street was originally the home of the Ross Gas Works that occupied most of the south side of the street. This was built in around 1835 after an act was passed,
in 1830, for "paving, cleaning, draining, lighting, regulating and improving the Town of Ross". It was run as private venture and Town Commissioners, who were appointed
after the 1830 act, had no part in it. It was run as the Ross Gas Company Ltd. In 1849 the Gas Works was deemed financially viable so the Town Commissioners
made moves to buy it but by 1862 it was deemed too small to meet the demand and was sold back to a private investor. The gas works continued to run until North Sea gas
was brought into the town.
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This building, that is currently part of Gardner Butcher Garages, was the offices for the Gas Works.
This car park was the main part of the gas works that had two large gasometers for storing the gas in and various buildings used to produce, monitor and distribute the gas. By 1979 this had been changed to a single much larger gasometer at the most western end of the site which was in the far right of the photo beyond the black car (Ford KA). This was to take the new piped supplies coming into he town which replaced the supplies being made on the site.
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Another view of the gas site of the gas works.
This shows one of the Gas Holders before it was demolished in June 1985.
The gas holders would rise in telescopic sections, with a water trough at the top of each section helping to create a gas tight seal.
These slums on Kyrle Street were some of the final ones in Ross that were cleared and have been replaced with, what was at the time, modern housing.
True Heart Inn
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The purple house, in the middle of the photo, was the True Heart Inn.
The True Heart Inn was opened by Thomas Bubb in around 18511. Thomas Bubb was a carpenter, wheelwright and beer retailer and the business was taken over by James Bubb until 1890 when James moved to Birmingham to work on the railways presumably following the wheel side of his trade2. The inn then passed into the hands of George Hodges1 and continued as an inn until sometime around the 1960's when it closed and was converted into a house.
Gas Works Continued
This shows one of the arches that was part of the gas works that was built into the side of the bank.
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In this shot, you can see that the pavement changes from tarmac with curb stones to a cobbled area. This was one of the entrances to the Gas Works.
Kyrle Street looking east from where it meets Trenchard Street.
1 The Pubs of Ross & South Herefordshire
by Heather Hurley published by Logaston Press
Details supplied by Susan Bicknell (Great grand-daughter of James Bubb)
[Page updated: Feb 15 2011 13:31:58] | English | NL | c6d9debdbd1226c8049421858a1dc408c65f5a8ac5ca6b636e89efda3bc5fa7c |
…my wife, Carol [Bolles], is a well-known career counselor in her own right. She was meeting with a client who worked in the rubber industry — let’s call him George. George told her in their first session, “I’ve got to get out of the rubber industry.” So she gave him some homework to do before their next session. He came back the next week, and he hadn’t done a lick of the homework. My wife, rich with intuition, asked him, “What will happen if you don’t get out of the rubber industry?” George said, “My wife will divorce me.” Carol said, “Do you want your wife to divorce you?” He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. She knew then that he would never change his job until it had given him what he wanted: a divorce, with his wife taking the initiative — and the guilt. Based on his behavior, my wife named this “the doctrine of the prior agenda.” You can’t help people change or find their mission when they have a conflicting prior agenda.
Source: What Happened to Your Parachute? / Daniel H. Pink, Richard Bolles / Fast Company, September 1999 | English | NL | ddcad84906545da676c95feb4565bf1ef301c035e67c3c1a0b8c2c6e1f4fb409 |
The streets of Riasode were alive with laughter. People crowded the streets, shouting, laughing, cheering, drinking, dancing. The sounds of revelry echoed within the city walls, to the point where it was impossible to believe that just two days ago their city had been under attack – or perhaps it was precisely because of that fact, because their lifestyle had been under threat, and because they had somehow emerged victorious, that their joy and relief seemed appropriate. Soldiers mingled among civilians in the streets, laughing and joking, exchanging their doubtlessly embellished tales of valor in battle.
Looking carefully, it was clear to Tate that the overall tone of joy and victory was underscored by a subtle current of grief. Several soldiers were missing limbs. A good number of the brave soldiers wore eyepatches to conceal the sockets where their eyes had once been, either lost on the battlefield or later surgically removed to save their lives. The funeral pyre still smoldered in the centre of the town square, flanked by guards who stoically watched over the ashes of their fallen comrades, regarding the festivities with a guise of solemn abstinence. Yet when their shift ended and they handed their duties to the next watch, they immediately assumed expressions of joy and flung themselves whole-heartedly into the revelry, as if it were their solemn duty to thoroughly enjoy themselves. Meanwhile, those soldiers who replaced them, who might have been revelling and partying just minutes before, each quickly arranged their features into that same solemn expression as that which had graced the previous guards’ faces.
Respect for the dead, by mourning their passing. Respect for the dead, by not dwelling on their absence. Demon society somehow held these contradictory forms of respect in concurrence. While human society saw them as steps in a process – one is meant to mourn for the dead, and, following an acceptable period of grief, one is encouraged to move on – demon society exercised both these forms of respect at the same time. The result was this strange affair, a nexus of mourning and solemnity surrounded on all sides by unrestrained levity. Confronted by this strange mixture, Tate found herself considering how she would want herself to be respected, should she pass on.
“Naturally, I’d want those around me to move on, I think.”
The idea of having people grieve over her death made Tate feel distinctly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because of her nature as a shield. A shield was made to protect. A shield was made to sacrifice itself for its owner, if need be. It was a foolish thing to grieve for a shield. The time spent grieving opened one up to danger, invalidating the shield’s sacrifice in the first place. If a shield could have feelings, undoubtedly being able to sacrifice itself to protect its owner would be its greatest source of joy. As a half-shield, Tate’s feelings on the matter were clear. If she were to ever meet with death, her dearest wish would be for her owner to go on without her, ensuring that her sacrifice was not a futile one.
Tate sighed and turned away from the window. Her thoughts had taken an uncomfortably morbid turn. As much as she was a shield, she was still partly human, and it was thus uncomfortable to give such consideration to the possibility of her own death. However, she knew why her thoughts had turned in this direction. The seeming contradictory nature of the demons’ mourning practices aside, she relied on these thought experiments as a distraction, to keep her mind from dwelling too heavily on the multitude of possibilities that she could conjure up as to why Lily and Prei were taking so long.
It had been two days since they had left for the mansion, leaving Tate to keep up the barrier in Riasode. A wise decision, as it happens, since the human army had stopped marching once they noted the enormous dragon flying in the direction of the forest. As a sort of a show of force, Tate had briefly made the barrier surrounding the city visible, which caused the human army to resume its march past the city, towards the capital. However, as the hours passed, and the human army marched out of sight, and the funerals and celebrations began, Lily did not return, and this obviously caused Tate no end of worry. Prei took only three hours, at most, to fly between here and their mansion. That they were taking so long to return was a fact that could be taken to be either very good or very bad. The best case scenario was that they had made it in time, that Iris was unharmed, or otherwise not injured beyond repair, and they were taking so long due to the need to take care of the android. In the worst case, something had happened to them, causing them to be injured, or incapacitated, or otherwise delayed from returning.
Tate could still feel her connection with Lily, so she was sure that Lily was still alive. The question was, in what form? She had felt something through their link, a great emotional pain, and a slight shift. She could not quite describe it, but Lily felt…different, somehow. The uncertainty made Tate uncomfortable. Was Lily injured? Was she alright? And what of Iris? Tate had known from the moment of Vessel’s sudden appearance that Iris had been attacked. There was nothing else in that forest, aside from their home. Clearly, anyone who was coming from that direction must have had some business with their home. Considering that Vessel was an enemy, it was not unlikely that she had found their home and attacked it – attacked Iris.
Tate muttered the name of her friend under her breath and sipped away at the cold tea that was set on the windowside table before her. Tate and Iris had never really talked much. Tate was not someone inclined to talking, not since she had matured, at least. Iris, similarly, was not someone who particularly enjoyed conversation, unless it pertained to Lily. But despite their lack of conversation, they shared a mutual understanding, that they would both do anything for Lily. Iris would do so out of love, while Tate would do so out of duty and friendship. She briefly recalled that time on the ship, when Iris had taken the time to polish her, and speak with her. She recalled the numerous cooking lessons she offered the android, teaching Iris how to prepare food fit for human consumption. She recalled Iris quietly talking with her while she tried to decide how best to frame her decision to leave Lily’s side. She shared a bond with Iris. Something distinctly different from what she shared with Lily, or with Prei. It was different, but it was a bond she cherished nonetheless. A tear came to her eye as the memories of the few times they spent in each others’ company inadvertently rose to the forefront of her mind. She wiped the tear away, admonishing herself.
“What the hell, Tate. It’s like you’re sure she’s dead.”
Tate bit her lip. She knew that Iris’ chances for survival were slim, if Vessel had indeed attacked. Lily and Prei’s combined efforts were barely enough to hold the angel off. Iris, on her own, would not have been able to defeat her opponent. The likelihood of Iris having died was extremely high, but even so, Tate could not bring herself to accept that likelihood. Not until she had received confirmation, either from her own eyes, or from Lily’s mouth.
Tate downed the rest of the tea and got up to refill it, the rush of the tea hitting the base of the cup lending an almost ominous quality to the silence of the house.
Placing the teapot down, she turned to the window and glanced out. The revelry and celebrations in the street had abruptly stopped, the entire crowd looking in the same direction. Following their gaze, her eyes alighted on two figures, walking briskly through the crowds that parted before them. Two armor-clad figures. Prei and…Lily?
Tate rubbed her eyes and looked again. The figure next to Prei was Lily, that was certain. But her appearance had changed drastically. Most notably, she was no longer wearing the special armor that Tate had developed for her. Instead, she seemed garbed in some kind of silvery, metallic armor that bore an appearance similar to that heap of metal they had dismantled in the wasteland. Furthermore, her eyes were now differently-coloured, and her hair colour seemed slightly different. Furthermore, she had a pair of wings. Large, skeletal, metallic wings. Tate wondered where she had gotten the armor. More importantly, Tate wondered why Iris was not with them. Then her eyes landed on the pauldron that graced Lily’s shoulder. Her pupils traced the outline of the face that adorned it. Her eyes widening in shock, she let the teacup fall to the floor and shatter as she took a step back, her hand cupping her mouth. It was obvious what had happened. It was obvious, but she didn’t want to believe it. She crumpled to her knees.
She was still crying when Lily and Prei opened the door to her home. Both of them said nothing, instead quietly arranging themselves on either side of her, Lily placing one hand on her shoulder, while Prei sought out Tate’s fingers and intertwined them with her own. | English | NL | 50627ac120cf16367e30f5a4218b216091b06220ac83fd8c9ec97d160294c7d6 |
Here are some funnies that I got from email. Enjoy!
Children in Church...
"Our Father, Who does art in heaven, Harold is His name. Amen."
A little boy was overheard praying:
"Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it. I'm having a real good time like I am."
After the christening of his baby brother in church, Jason sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car.
His father asked him three times what was wrong.
Finally, the boy replied, "That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I wanted to stay with you guys."
One particular four-year-old prayed:
"And forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets."
A Sunday school teacher asked her children as they were on the way to church service, "And why is it necessary to be quiet in church?"
One bright little girl replied, "Because people are sleeping."
A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons, Kevin 5, and Ryan 3. The boys began to argue over who would get the first pancake.
Their mother saw the opportunity for a moral lesson.
"If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait.'
Kevin turned to his younger brother and said, "Ryan, you be Jesus!" | English | NL | 1d6e0e106db606c04994161a22135b00edefd449d250648fd2392ea4d4db8a47 |
“I grew up during the Cold War, when everything seemed tenuous. For many years, right up until the fall of the Berlin Wall, I had vivid nightmares of nuclear apocalypse – Justin Cronin.”
Monitoring Posts were underground structures which were placed at strategic locations across the United Kingdom. Their purpose was to serve as a Cold War nuclear reporting installation which were manned by volunteers from the Royal Observer Corps between 1955 and 1991. Monitoring Posts were in the main constructed to a standard design which included a deep access shaft which led into the monitoring facility and a toilet come store room. Internally the post measured fifteen and a half feet long and just over seven feet in width and height. Power for the installation was provided by 12 volt batteries located inside the post. The batteries were charged by means of a petrol generator located outside the post. Where possible it was desirable for each post to be located within seven to ten miles of each other. The main functions of the Royal Observer Corps during this period were five-fold, firstly to warn the public of any air attack albeit nuclear or conventional. Secondly to give confirmation of a nuclear attack and then alert the public of any. approaching nuclear fallout. Following a nuclear attack meteorological data was to be gathered in order to predict the fallout and finally to assess the path and intensity of the fallout.
The construction of the network of posts was overseen by the Works Department of the Air Ministry and the Royal Observer Corps with the actual construction work being carried out by local contractors. Initially the Home Office wanted one hundred posts constructed in 1957 and then two hundred and fifty every following year. This was a ambitious target as proven by the fact that by the summer of 1958 only ninety four posts had been completed with a further one hundred and ten posts still under construction.
Once a suitable location had been selected the first task was to excavate a nine foot hole inside which a structural skin of reinforced concrete was cast. Then the actual post was constructed, once again from concrete with walls which were seven inches thick, the floors twelve inches thick and the roof eight inches thick. The entire structure was then sealed with a bitumen skin in order to make the post waterproof. The next stage was to build a mound over the post which was made from tightly compacted earth, into which two shafts were inserted. At one end of the mound was an access shaft which also served as an air shaft. At the opposite end of the mound another shaft was sited, this consisted of two metal pipes, one with a diameter of five inches and the other one inch which again acted as air shafts. Above ground the air vents were protected with a covering of downward sloping louvres whilst below ground sliding metal shutters controlled the air flow in the event of a nuclear fallout. It was estimated that with the combination of the earthen mound and the concrete roof any external radiation would be reduced by a factor of 1,500:1. Depending on the circumstances of each post the cost of each post ranged from anything between £1,000 and £8,000.
Should a nuclear event ever occur members of the Royal Observer Corps would have to man the posts for a minimum of seven days, if the situation was severe this period could extend to a fortnight or more. Luckily the nuclear threat never came and members of the Royal Observer Corps were never asked to spend long periods underground. At the best of times conditions in these posts was cramped, cold and sometimes damp. Later years saw an attempt to improve conditions by insulating the concrete walls with polystyrene tiles and adding rubber matting made from National Coal Board conveyor belts on the floor.
By 1968 around fifty percent of the Nuclear Monitoring Stations had been closed due to the Royal Observer Corps being reorganised into a greatly reduced organisation. Over the next forty years or so other posts were closed because of structural damage caused by flooding and vandalism. Following the collapse of Communist Russia in 1991 all remaining active posts were closed and the Royal Observer Corps stood down.
Within the boundary of the Dartmoor National Park there are five locations where ROC Nuclear Monitoring Posts were located as can be seen above. They are in the parishes of: Christow, Drewsteignton, Lydford, North Bovey and Walkhampton. Others were sited just outside the park’s boundary at Sourton and Ashburton.
Located in a small clearing in the Barton Down Plantation on the eastern side of the forest track just 200 yards south of the road running from Trenchaford Reservoir to Lower Ashton. This installation was first opened in the September of 1960 and was decommissioned in the September of 1991 – (Ordnance Survey Grid Reference. – SX 8292 8297).
Located in a large rectangular compound some 100 yards south of the road running from Whiddon Down to Drewsteignton and is just NNE of Stone farm. During the Defence of Britain Survey taken between 1995 and 2002 this post was said to be in ‘fair condition’ with the surface feature intact. It was opened in the August of 1960 and closed in the September of 1991. – (Ordnance Survey Grid Reference – SX 7121 9091).
Located in the south west corner of a triangular field which is just above the track running from the Dartmoor Inn down to High Down Ford. This installation was opened in the December of 1960 and closed in the September of 1991 – (Ordnance Survey Grid Reference – SX 5273 8557).
The location of this post is uncertain but is somewhere in the vicinity of the reservoir which sits alongside the road from North Bovey to Bovey Cross and is possibly in the north east corner of a field? It was opened in the June of 1959 and closed in the October of 1968 thus making it the earliest of Dartmoor’s posts to be closed – (Ordnance Survey Grid Reference – SX 7412 8454?).
Located SSW of Sharpitor just off the summit of Peek Hill in open moorland. This was the earliest of Dartmoor’s post and was opened in 1957 and closed in 1991. Many of the features are visible today including the mound with its air vent and entry shaft which have now been sealed with sand and stones. – (Ordnance Survey Grid Reference – SX 5573 6995). | English | NL | 1721bd83925a84a54aa6d9c9efc1e993d6b282b9800e667d4c00d243ab524457 |
Settlement began in the 1870s when Georgia native H. H. Peaster bought 160 acres of land and built a house. The community that developed near the site of his home was originally called Freemont; in 1885 the name was changed to Peasterville. Postal service began in the 1880s. By the mid-1890s the town had over 100 residents who were served by three churches, a steam gin, a gristmill, a school, and a half dozen businesses. Throughout the twentieth century Peaster has served area farmers as a school and church community. During the mid-1920s the town had over 300 residents. After the Great Depression the population was below 100.
The gin at Peaster was built by C. W. McCarty, J.N. McCarty, George McKibbins and John Freeman. In the 1885, the first school house was built at Peaster. It was a small log structure about fourteen feet square. Split logs were used for seats. Just south of the school in 1886, the Methodist church was built. In 1882, the Baptist church was built one mile north of Peaster, but was moved by a man named Norcross. He put it on four wagons and twelve yoke of oxen to move it to the present location.
The first house was built for a man named Tank McGar, which was on a lot just east of the Baptist church. That house was built by Henry Peaster for whom the town is named. He lived just across the creek in a log house south of the old log school house.
The town was surveyed in 1890 and began to grow rapidly. The first merchants were Mr. Boykin and Mr. Barnhill. The first doctor was Dr. Howard, followed the next year by Dr. J.T. Lee. The first blacksmith was A.J. Smith in 1889. C. W. McCarty sold groceries and dry goods beginning in 1894. Parrish, Whitsett and Baxter were merchants followed by Guerry, Smith, Vardeman and S.S. Stevens. Later, Barham and C.. Johnson were merchants and by the 1930s G. W. Brewer, J.D. Lancaster and H.C. McClendon were the main merchants. These dwindled after the Great Depression.
In 1883, the first post office was built and the first Postmaster was Dr. Howard. Josh Freeman carried the mail from Weatherford on his back once a week on foot. His pay was fifty cents a trip. At the time of the first post office there were about fifty families living around Peaster. The names of some of these early settlers are: Charlie Dodson, Jim Howry, C. W. McCarty, J.N. McCarty, C.B. Bowen, George Mace, Rube Barnes, Mark Schultz, John Plumlee, the Demps, John and Issac Key, the Stevens, Henry Peaster, Bob Ferguson, Chalmer Ballinger, and Henry Measures.
In 1891, there was two acres of land donated to build a college on. One of the acres was donated by Henry Peaster and the other by Tom Hunt. A two story frame building was built. Many small communities had what they called “colleges.”
A bank was organized in 1906 with the first cashier D. M. Plumlee. He cashiered for two years followed by J.A. Wiggins who was with the bank for 21 years.
Although the early buildings, businesses and schools didn’t survive, Peaster today is a thriving community with few business, but a good school district. The close proximity to Weatherford provides ample shopping and other businesses for small communities like Peaster. It is a rural area with farming and ranching all around.
The Texas Pythian Home | English | NL | 8d508f0cb702eb41529c13b56be415522582ad452acb09bc97aab6d36299ce64 |
In 2013, Hollywood actor and director, Clint Eastwood directed the Oscar-nominated movie American Sniper. The movie was based on the autobiography of American Navy SEAL and national hero Chris Kyle, written the year before. As though he sensed his impending death, Kyle wrote his autobiography which gave a detailed insight into his life, his career as a military man, and his post-military pursuits. He was named the deadliest United States military sniper ever and was known by many nicknames, including Legend which he was fondly called by his Navy SEAL brothers.
Chris Kyle is kept alive through his book and its movie adaptation. He, however, didn’t totally need the book as his reputation in the Navy SEALs is known world over. Chris is widely recognized and celebrated, his act of bravery and valor is not one to be forgotten so soon.
Chris Kyle’s Bio
Christopher Kyle was the first of two boys born in Odessa, Texas on the 8th of April, 1974 to parents Wayne and Deby Lynn Kyle. He and his brother Jeff had a typical southern upbringing which included God, guns, and a cattle ranch.
The boys’ father Wayne, while a deacon, had no problem introducing the boys to firearms at an early age. Before Chris Kyle was ten years old, he had begun to handle different types of firearms which at the time, the family used for hunting purposes.
His upbringing was a relatively quiet and uneventful one and Kyle attended high school in the small town of Midlothian, six hours west of his birthplace. He was athletic by nature and while in high school, involved himself in baseball and football.
Chris wasn’t much of an academic and after high school, decided to become a professional rodeo rider. The career was short-lived as he injured his arm, so he decided to give college a try. In 1992, Chris Kyle enrolled at Tarleton State University in Stephenville Texas, but after two years he dropped out and went back to working on different ranches.
Bored with the mundane life of ranching, Kyle dreamed of a more exciting and fulfilling life, it was then that he decided to join the military, specifically the Marines. Kyle, seeking information on how to sign up, went to a recruiting office where he caught the attention of a Navy recruiter. The recruiter spoke to Kyle about the Navy SEALs, which are a more elite and exclusive unit than the Marines. Kyle was convinced and the process began.
He hit a minor bump in the road that almost cost him his military career. Due to the previous injury to his arm, Kyle was initially disqualified by the Navy. However, by some stroke of luck, he was reconsidered and allowed to complete the extremely rigorous training program. Upon graduation from the course, Kyle trained and became a sniper.
By February 1999 at the age of 25, Chris Kyle was officially an officer of the United States Navy. He served four combat tours in Iraq and earned a reputation as a lethal sniper, with the U.S. Pentagon confirming over 150 of his kills.
After retiring, Kyle with the help of investors and other Navy SEALs, went on to establish Craft International, a sniper training school and security company. He also started the foundation FITCO Cares, whose purpose is to provide training and recovery equipment to injured war veterans within the sanctity of their homes.
Chris Kyle met his wife Taya Renae Kyle nee Studebaker, in 1999 while out at a bar in San Diego. Their relationship got off to a rocky start, but things soon began to heat up fast and the couple was married in 2002. They have two children, a boy Colton and a girl McKenna.
Like his big brother Chris, Jeff Kyle also dreamed of being in the military and at the age of 21, he enlisted to join the Marines.
Born on the 29th of January 1974, Jeff fondly remembers growing up in Texas with his brother and pretending to be soldiers during play time. So it came as no shock to their parents when both boys enlisted.
Jeff Kyle served three tours overseas and finally left the military in 2008. He tried his hand at different jobs before finally starting his own company.
Jeff Kyle is married with no children at the moment.
Chris Kyle’s Death
While he was in, and after leaving the military with an honorable discharge, Kyle like many other war veterans, suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). The illness threatened his life and almost broke up his family.
With the help of his wife and a support group, however, he slowly reclaimed his life and began to work with and help other victims of the illness. It was during this service that he met Eddie Ray Routh.
Routh was a former Marine who suffered from PTSD and was mildly schizophrenic. Kyle had been mentoring him and working with him towards recovery.
On the 2nd of February 2013, Kyle along with his friend Chad Littlefield took Routh out to the Rough Creek shooting range in Erath County, Texas where all three of them could hang out and shoot rounds. While at the range, and without provocation, Routh shot and killed both Kyle and Littlefield.
Eddie Ray Routh was tried for the murders and sentenced to life without parole.
At his burial procession, hundreds of people lined the streets and highway to pay their last respects to Chris Kyle, America’s fallen hero. He was buried on the 12th of February, 2013 in Austin, Texas. | English | NL | fd5cdaf07686cf08a42d73fd687a0e6add4ffb81a168c3c2a10e9610eb4dc552 |
We have all been reliably informed that the ancient exercise ritual of Yoga is great for all things health, however an new study from the University of Sydney may give some pause to at least some of those claims. Yoga has become very popular in many western countries and is touted for its stress relieving and flexibility promoting qualities. Much of this may well remain as true, however the study has found yoga is associated with an increase in the incidence of some pain types and an increasing the recurrence of others. The rates were surprising. According to the university,
“Our study found that the incidence of pain caused by yoga is more than 10 per cent per year, which is comparable to the injury rate of all sports injuries combined among the physically active population. However people consider it to be a very safe activity. This injury rate is up to 10 times higher than has previously been reported.” (Emphasis added)
The main areas where pain was being caused is in the upper limbs. The study found that “new” yoga pain was in the upper extremities (shoulder, elbow, wrist, hand)”. This is actually not surprising when considering some of the yoga positions that participants are being asked to adopt. Positions may be extreme and involve some very awkward upper limb postures as well as frequent and significant weight bearing.
The good news is that the study did show that back pain was relieved by yoga. Indeed “74 per cent of participants in the study reported that existing pain was improved by yoga”.
All of this means that we should not assume the health benefits of any activity, particularly if claims are for widespread benefits to all areas of health. The situation is often more nuanced. Each exercise / stretch / activity should be considered with the individual in mind. | English | NL | 1ee7123f25f0d5b25f7c0c723706de00933a7fed542fbff7ee212089db410154 |
The issue picks up where the last one left off. When questioned about what happened to Gabrielle, Roland, who has a prime opportunity to lie to save his own skin, confesses to the crime. He explains the situation, but still takes his share of responsibility for the crime and is even willing to hang for it.
His ka-tet resolves to figure out how to get him out, and even Steven doesn’t want to lose another family member and gathers his men to hunt down Marten after some guards spot a raven flying away with a sack. When Alain finds a raven’s feather on the windowsill, Steven’s decision is made.
Meanwhile, the mystical poison is still working it’s way through Cort’s system. I figured he was a goner last issue, but it seems he’s still got some fight left in him. While he’s beyond the help of medicine, Cort has no problem with it as he thinks his death is justified in his belief that the book contains vital information.
It was good to see the slow mutants make an appearance. It’s implied that they’re working for Marten and that the whole thing was a trap, but you could just as easily see it as a random attack as the slow mutants seem to attack anyone they come across. It was also cool to see the gunslingers totally own their attackers despite being outnumbered. The narrator points out that the slow mutants are used to people just running away where the gunslingers stood and were true. Alas, one of the mutants does manage to pick off Cuthbert’s father as he pushes Steven out of the way to avoid a poisonous dart. The comic ends with them standing around his dead body.
I know that Marten has turned into a raven before in the comics, but every time it’s shown or mentioned, I always see it as a reference to The Stand. We’re only two issues in and this is becoming my favorite series of the Dark Tower comics.
Robin Furth provides another essay that talks about how she walks the fine line between maintaining continuity and providing new material. She mentions some minor retcons, like the circumstances in which Roland goes to his mother before he comes across the sphere as well as combining the cheater that Cort kills with Farson’s nephew. She really does care about the franchise and went to great lengths to show it the proper respect.
There is also more sketch art. It’s really weird seeing the preliminary sketches, which are almost childlike, in comparison to the awesome art that we see in the comic. There are some later sketches that are more detailed but there is a stark contrast. | English | NL | d756510120641567e5ab1af05010c1e74005a5cd67995ddd1e0c9792a62c0235 |
Occasionally it can be hard to find the right words about a piece of music, and today’s choice is one such example. So apart from a little background and a few thoughts, I will let the music speak for itself: when you’ve listened to it, I am sure you will see why I struggled. But the urge to share my love of this with you was more important than the need to discuss it at any length.
Beethoven (1770-1827) wrote five concertos for piano and orchestra. In its entirety, the fourth is my personal favourite, but the slow movement of his fifth, known as the ‘Emperor’, is surely amongst the loveliest of all slow movements of any piano concerto. Although the longest of the slow movements in Beethoven’s five (stay with me), it is not a minute, even a second, too long. Composed around 1809, the piece is deserving of its name by virtue of its length and magnitude, even if Beethoven would probably not have approved the term: at the time he was writing it, he was taking shelter in the cellar of his brother’s house while Vienna was being bombarded by the French under the self-crowned emperor Napoleon. It is believed Beethoven was about 60% deaf by now, so he was unable to play its first performance in 1810 as he had done with his previous four – and his attempt to perform it in 1811 had to be aborted.
And so to the music, which can only be described as sublime, one simple definition of that word being ‘of very great excellence or beauty’. It has a dreamy, introspective quality about it, unlike the majestic first movement and galloping jubilant last. It’s as if a deliberate reflective passage, by way of a rest, is needed between them. The two tunes are gorgeous, with lovely interaction between piano and orchestra, especially in its closing moments with flute and gentle strings, and in the opening I always find myself thinking of “There’s a place for us” from the song “Somehere” in Leonard Bernstein’s West Side Story. Bernstein was certainly a Beethoven fan, so maybe the idea is not so crazy.
The recording here is played by one of the great romantic interpreters, Alfred Brendel, who retired from public peformances a few years ago, and I don’t think it comes much better than this. As this second movement finishes, Beethoven unusually heads straight into the third (a device later used by Schumann in his only piano concerto) by letting the oboe drop a note to allow the piano to introduce the opening of a final romp…I hope your enjoyment of the previous six or seven minutes is not spoiled by being left tantalised at the end! | English | NL | d368fb31c892b78e4566c3c61cf89d192ba9339cd6efeac25fdff861047a7670 |
Tang Zi Chu was silent for a while: “Chief Song, do you think it’s a coincidence?”
Song Ting Yu also considered this: “How could there is such coincidence?”
“Then what do you think is it about?”
Song Ting Yu used his hands to massage his temple. He closed his eyes. He tried to recall everything that happened recently.
These matters unexpectedly would be related to Gu Dong Cheng, perhaps there should be his plan.
The period after Song Wei Xi underwent the surgery, Song company’s project of “hanging garden”….. that project also involved Gu Dong Cheng. Thought it was not really under his direct supervision but he also has a great effect in it.
Moreover, that DNA report, he also participated in it….
He was forced to leave Song company, all of Song family, also passed all the power and responsibilities to Madame Song and Gu Dong Cheng.
Because recently Madame Song recently was unwell, so basically Song company was handled by Gu Dong Cheng….
Song Ting Yu was willing to pass it because he didn’t have any doubt toward him, he regarded him as his own relatives, he wouldn’t do anything bad toward him and Song family. Suddenly noticed his assistant is related to this matter.
He couldn’t help but to think that those matters are related to Gu Dong Cheng.
This moment his face was darken.
Tang Zi Chu understood his mood, after all, who is willing to believe that the one that he trusted the most would be the one that hurt and scheme him over.
“Chief Song, I remember that in the past Mr Gu had a first girlfriend, but Madame Song and Mr Song opposed their relationship, at last the girl jumped to the river to suicide right?” Tang Zi Chu knew this from Tian Mi.
Because that time Tian Mi and Gu Dong Cheng were together but they fought greatly because there was a photo of his first love in his wallet and Tian Mi noticed it.
That time Tian Mi wanted to break up with Gu Dong Cheng, but Gu Dong Cheng looked for Song Ting Yu for help. Because he worked for Song Ting Yu, of course he heard about this matter too. Afterwards, Song Ting Yu helped him out. At last Tian Mi forgave him.
“Yes.” This moment Song Ting Yu also thought about that memory, so wouldn’t it ……
No matter what, when he tried to link it, it seemed to be connected.
“Go and investigate Gu Dong Cheng.” Song Ting Yu finally spoke out, his voice was hoarse.
“Okay, Chief Song.”
Song Ting Yu finally said: “Let’s leave.”
“But the reporter hasn’t come out yet.”
“There’s no need for it. We already get a very useful information.” Song Ting Yu said.
His face actually was strained.
He didn’t expect to meet Gu Dong Cheng’s assistant. There should have a clue now.
“Oh right, that reporter you also need to follow him for a while, and that woman….” Song Ting Yu instructed him.
“I know, Chief Song.”
“Chief Song, where will we go now?”
“I will look for Song Ming Xuan first.”
Tang Zi Chu drove the car back to the Song Ming Xuan’s current dwelling place. Song Ting Yu opened the door and said: “It’s okay, I will go inside by myself. You could go home first.”
Tang Zi Chu left Song Ting Yu and took a taxi.
Song Ting Yu looked around, this house was almost tore apart. He didn’t expect Song Ming Xuan to choose this kind of place for living.
Song Ting Yu pressed the bell, but there was no one coming out. He waited and knocked the door.
But still no one came out.
Song Ting Yu pursed hi lips.
The neighbor came out because he heard the continuous knocking sound.
Song Ting Yu looked at him and asked: “Hi, do you know is the one living here back yet?”
“He came back already. In the afternoon, I saw him back. You need to knock again and try.”
Since he knew that he was inside, then there was no need to knock. He took his phone and asked a person to open it.
Very quickly that person came and brought his tool. Then acted.
Probably for twenty minutes, the door finally could be open.
Song Ting Yu paid him and got inside.
The time he got inside, he could smell a thick alcohol smell.
Song Ming Xuan didn’t notice and hear about his knock. He should be drunk right now.
The room was very dirty and messy, it’s also very small.
Song Ming Xuan never cleaned it out, so it was really smelly too.
Song Ting Yu really didn’t expect that there would be a day for Song Ming Xuan to transform to be this kind of person.
In the small room, there was no Song Ming Xuan’s figure, there was no bed, no chair, there was nothing on the floor.
Song Ting Yu went to the bathroom, then finally he found Song Ming Xuan.
His clothes were wrinkled. His original white shirt had turned to gray color. His hair was in a mess, he was nothing like his previous self.
Song Ting Yu came inside and held him. He could notice it and finally regained his consciousness.
“What are you doing here?”
Song Ting Yu didn’t say anything, he just took him to the bathtub. He turned on the faucet and let the tube to fill in.
It was cold that night, Song Ming Xuan felt cold, he tried to snatch the shower from Song Ting Yu and threw it to the floor.
Song Ting Yu took the towel and threw it on his body: “Are you awake now?” | English | NL | 55fd840b21ef1de9eaf64702a3dbc695e96301b51ea50bb5861f459e4d36ff8b |
It was a PERFECT day to be out on the water with 23 awesome peeps!! LIQUID Canoeing Day Trip was a BLAST!! Here are a few pics to show you what we mean... enjoy =)
OUR DEVOS: "DIVINE DESIGN"
"As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." At once they left their nets and followed him. Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets. Jesus called them, and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him."
1) God has a purpose... a "Divine Design" for your life.
- It's a purpose that only you can fill
- It's something your soul longs to do
- You won't be fulfilled until your doing it
2) Most people never live out their purpose in life. They miss their "Divine Design". They settle for less than they were created to be.
- Some miss it because they're not paying attention. They spend their whole life being distracted.
- Some people miss it because fear has convinced them to avoid it.
- Some people miss it because they think past failures disqualify them. Regrets become these anchors that keep them from moving.
- Some people miss it because because they haven't responded to the invitation. They've made procrastination a lifestyle as they wait for the perfect timing that never comes.
3) Most people don't miss their calling in life by a mile; it's usually missed by only a few inches. It's within reach, but never grasped.
- Peter & Andrew, James & John were missing their calling by only 3 letters. They were fishermen, but God's Divine Design for them was to be fishers of men... 3 letters seperated them from their destiny... 3 letters kept them in a condition of surviving instead of thriving.
4) Jesus changes lives. He sees the 3 letters that we are missing... the few inches that we are off. He knows what you were created to do and invites you on a journey that will change your life forever and profoundly impact your world.
- Peter, Andrew, James & John went on to be a small group of men that changed the world. They were uneducated fishermen, but God turn them into wise fishers of men... and we all benefit from the fact that they took Jesus up on his invitation, left everything, and followed Him.
???) What about you?!
- Where are you at in this story? Are you casting a net when you were made to follow a king? Are you living out your Divine Design? It's a good question to ask ourselves as we celebrate Easter this weekend. | English | NL | e46875580d39dbf9cdcd835d31f11429063138e01b5c3b3959e28916577e8bdc |
Grimnars is part of the Runes series as well as being book 1 in the Grimnirs series. This book is the story of Cora Jemison, best friend of Raine Cooper and Eirik Seville.
Cora finds she can now see ghosts after being marked by a rogue Immortal called Maliina. Cora has recently spent time in a psychiatric hospital, but finds no-one has missed her because unbeknown to her Maliina has been impersonating Cora.
Whilst at the Supermarket with her mother Cora is once again faced by ghosts and is just about to deal with them herself when a hooded figure arrives, clad in leather, a maverick called Echo, Cora meets her first Grimnir or reaper of souls.
Maliina and Echo had previously had a relationship whilst she looked and acted as Cora, this leads to some confusion when Echo misses slight differences in the girls and falls fowl of Valkyrie Torin and Seeress Rain.
Soon Cora finds herself in the middle of a battleground as others see her as a direct line to Odin’s Grandson and Echo will do anything to protect her.
This is a series set around Norse mythology and I really enjoyed the introduction of Echo, his fierce independence and loyalty to Cora was delightful.
View all my reviews on Goodreads | English | NL | 895f19489eada9427996af43932f7701896918a820b7ac937b65c09a8970b0a1 |
At the age of 10, I was diagnosed with my first autoimmune disease.
I struggled to understand my own body, which didn’t work the way I had grown accustomed to. My heart raced too fast, my metabolism outpaced me, sleep evaded me, and I was constantly sick.
Medication sometimes helped control the symptoms, but more often than not, it didn’t. It wasn’t until I was 16 that we actually treated my Graves’ disease by irradiating my thyroid. It took five more years to balance my thyroid levels with the right dose of medication. Thankfully, my levels stayed normal after that, with fluctuations as expected during pregnancy.
I was in high school when I wrote the passage below, and the words still chill me now.
My heart aches for my teenage self and how difficult it was to make it through. I hope that other young teens who have to deal with thyroid disease or thyroid cancer know that there are many of us out there who can relate. The emotional and mental toll of the disease should not be overlooked, especially in teenagers who have a double whammy of puberty and teenage hormones.
Graves’ Disease, Personified
Mr. Robert Graves was the man who discovered Graves’ disease. Graves’ disease is a thyroid condition; it is a chronic illness that I have been dealing with for the past six years of my life. In my mind I have made up a terrible characterization, I have put a face, body and soul right along side of something I hate most about my life.
Mr. Robert Graves is one crazy old man. He’s big, tall and extremely cruel. He wears an ugly mask and only I know what lies behind it, a mean madman. Behind the mask his face is disfigured, each one of his facial attributes not quite fitting the other. His eyes are the color of ice, the iciest blue I have ever seen. His stare is colder, crueler and even less relenting than the frozen waters of Alaska. His cold glare chills you to the bone and will even make your teeth chatter. His complexion is pale and pasty. His forehead is long and deeply penetrated with wrinkles; his dark, mysterious thick eyebrows stick up and intertwine every time he grins. His dark, thin hair is slowly receding. His long thick nose is crooked towards the end, it looks as though it has been broken and glued back together again in little, tiny pieces. His cheeks are ghostly, pale and red, chapped by the cold weather and high winds. His ears stick out, appearing as though he could stick them in you like a cold, piercing knife. His lips are thin and rough to the touch; they feel like sandpaper against your skin. His teeth are slowly rotting away, half of them already in decay. His chin juts out appearing as a huge rock in the seawater; his cleft was put there to make him seem as though he were smart. He breathes on you whether you are awake or sleeping and surprisingly his breath is warm like the desert sun.
Mr. Graves is gigantic in stature; his chest is broad and wide in span. His enormous beer belly gut sticks out and hangs loosely far over the rim of his pants. Below, his legs hang and dangle as though he was a puppet, long and thick matching the rest of his body. His arms are big and doughy, his palms large enough to hold a small kitten. His fingers are long enough to wrap around someone’s throat in one solitary stroke. His fingernails are long and unruly and in many ways can all alone describe his personality. Underneath lie loads of decay, they get crustier day by day. His small feet do not fit the remainder of his body; they look like someone stuck them there by mistake. And a big mistake that was, Mr. Robert Graves uses them greatly to his advantage.
He sneaks up behind you like an insignificant ant and the worst part about it is that you never hear him coming. You never have enough time to protect yourself, let alone fear. He creeps up on you when you least expect it and he will pound you into the ground, beating you into a little pulp.
He is horrible, annoying, time consuming and dirty. He is hurtful, painful and dreadful. He is a dark, black and gray lurking shadow. He’s scary, unpredictable, nerve wrecking and sadly true. He is an unhappy man inflicting pain upon others to keep up his sick drive. Just when you thought you were having a bad enough day he will capture you and trust me you shall never get away. He does what he wishes with one thing in mind, to drive you crazy and make your mind go insane. He will curse your body and fry your brain; you will feel like an egg sautéing up on his silver platter. Before he consumes you though he will make you suffer for an intolerable amount of time, until you can no longer hold on in pain. You will feel as though you are nothing but butter slipping through his mighty powerful fingers.
He will speed up your heart and make it beat so hard you will feel it from your hair down your body through your toes. Mr. Graves is a two-sided devil inside so make sure he doesn’t take over your body. He is like a cosmic breeze that will tear you apart, he will give you a rush from finish to start. Your mind will rage and he will tear you apart like no other kind. He will candy coat his words and it seems all right but if you fall into his trap you will be lucky to make it through the night. He grabs, ties, thrusts you down like tape, that’s Mr. Graves, no hope for escape.
You never really know for sure when he comes or goes or which is which. Even though he might leave for awhile I can ensure you he will be back so beware, take extra caution and care, do not let him drag you to the ground. Run, scream, kick, and hold on to life just as long as you can. He may even come to you as no alarm, but when he does reach you he shall do you great harm and remember, he will not stop until the job is done. | English | NL | 214a1e359c1629c9d528fd16b036e922ea2de0bae4dfe1e62f5c94888a09f0e5 |
by Tom Saunders Read author interview September 15, 2005
A meteor shower hit the night of the celebration; an incandescence of billion-year-old rock. The guests saw only the firework display that crackled in the sky above the terrace, the salty smell of gunpowder mingling with the smell of the food on the tables. Partygoers on the periphery looked to the sudden light as if waking. Those at the centre of things talked on, rocket bursts in the amber and red of their drinks, sparks falling in their eyes. A band played in the house, the drummer too loud, the piano out of tune. A male voice shouted: “I want to hear my song,” and then again, after a pause: “I want to hear my song.” He did not hear his song. His demands joined the rhythm of the night, a descant to the laughter and clink of glasses.
The children watched the fireworks from upstairs. Their mother stood behind them. She, slightly breathless still, had left the party to share the show with them. She bundled all three together like an armful of soft toys as they knelt on the window seat. Their faces moved up and up with the skyward fizz of the rockets and then were illuminated. They were frightened and joy struck, pleased with their fear. Their mother held them tighter and shouted out, young in her pleasure, younger than they had known her. There was alcohol on her breath, the sweetness and warmth of adulthood, of goodnight kisses. She brushed her cheek against theirs and they were aware of her perfume and the smell of the grass in her hair and something else, something new, the scent of the sea they might have said, of rock-pools, of the slippery hidden life beneath the surface, creatures you do not want to hold.
Eyes fixed on the sky, they did not see her lift a hand to the shadows at the edge of the garden.
About the Author:
Tom Saunders is British and he writes short stories and poetry. He has an MA in Creative writing from the University of East Anglia. His tutors there were Angela Carter and Sir Malcolm Bradbury. Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Paul Muldoon was writer in residence at the time. In 1995 he was an award winner in the Ian St James International Short Story Competition. His work has been published in print and on the Net. His short story collection Brother, What Strange Place is This? is available on both sides of the Atlantic.
About the Artist:
A native of Ohio, Marty D. Ison lives with his wife transplanted in the sands of the Gulf of Mexico. He studied fine arts at Saint Petersburg College. In addition to the visual arts, he writes poetry, short stories, and novels. See more of Ison's work here. | English | NL | 34a70bdf78a78ffd79b135c91db2f2e5b71c64b23e255de686674d5eb0414df0 |
“Bully rebles in sight”: A Rochesterian in the Civil War
Rare Books, Special Collections, and Preservation (RBSCP) recently received a donation that shines a light on one Rochester man’s experiences fighting in the American Civil War. Dr. Julie Brown, her brothers Peter and Robert McGraw, and cousin Ted McGraw donated their great-grandfather John McGraw’s letters. McGraw was a private in Company E of the 140th NY Volunteer Infantry between September 1863 and March 1865. In addition to over 60 letters written by McGraw, the collection contains a glorious, hand-colored tintype of McGraw in his Zouave uniform. Zouave regiments in the US Civil War were based on French North African army units who wore flamboyant uniforms. In 1863 and 1864, three Union regiments, including the 140th New York, were issued with Zouave uniforms. McGraw had his photo taken in uniform in March, 1864.
The letters begin in Elmira, NY, where he was briefly stationed before heading south. They continue from eight different locations in Virginia. After being wounded in the shoulder, McGraw continued to write from hospitals in Washington, D.C., Maryland, and Philadelphia before being discharged in the spring of 1865. All of the letter are written to his wife Mary at the family home on Reynolds Street in Rochester’s 8th ward. John and Mary came from Irish families that immigrated to Rochester via Canada. The men in both families worked as masons and stonecutters and found work on the construction of the Erie Canal. The letters provide information about the movements and engagements of the 140th, but they are also valuable for the insight they provide into John McGraw’s hopes and fears during the war. He is open about his homesickness and the miserable conditions he and his fellow soldiers suffer from.
At the start of the war, John and Mary have a young daughter and son, with another son born to them a month after John enlists. He asks about his family throughout the letters, often closing by sending his love to the children and other family members, especially his father, who he refers to as “the old man”. In July, 1864 John and Mary’s son Willie dies and two months later baby Johnny dies as well. After hearing of Willie’s death, he writes to Mary “l receive your letter and was sorry to hear of poor Willes Death but l hope he is happy in heaven you mentioned in you letter that l would rether see him dead then live to go through as much as l have well l would rather see him dead then go through one half as much…”.
One theme running throughout the letters is John’s complaint that Mary does not write him frequently enough. While we have over 60 letters from John to Mary, her letters to him do not survive, possibly because of camp conditions and the fact that he was frequently on the move. An August 1864 letter from John reads “l Wich you would Answer my letters more reaugler than you do l received one letter in three weeks from you”. However, at the time of this letter, Willie McGraw had just died and baby Johnny was sick; Mary must have had her hands full at home.
Another theme in the letters is the food McGraw is served. From an initial meal in Elmira of “mush and milk” to a feast in Baltimore’s Garvis Hospital consisting of “butter fresh meat and salt meat and ham and Beets cabbage and turnips and Bred pudding and all the Bread we can eat”, McGraw consistently writes about the misery of hunger, treats he receives, and missing the food of home.
John McGraw’s spelling and grammar are often non-standard, but his penmanship is very precise. The letters are surprising easy to read considering they were written in tents, fields, and hospitals. The collection also contains transcriptions of the letters, which makes them even more accessible. The collection is fully processed and is open to researchers. The finding aid is available here. | English | NL | 0db0a3fb551861bae36ba21787841c99539db5ceb3488899e13492e96031bab1 |
Baluze, Etienne an eminent canonist and historian, was born at Tulle, in Limousin, December 24th, 1630. He studied first among the Jesuits at Tulle, and in 1646 was sent to the college of the company at Toulouse, where he remained for eight years. He soon acquired a high reputation in ecclesiastical history and the canon law. Not wishing to serve as a priest, but desirous of opportunity to pursue his studies quietly, he received the tonsure, and put himself under the patronage of Peter de Marca, who brought him to Paris in 1656, and made him the associate of his labors. Upon the death of De Marca in 1662, the chancellor of France, Le Tellier, took Baluze under his protection; built in 1667 he attached himself to Colbart, who made him his librarian, and it was by his care that the library of that eminent man acquired its richest treasures, and attained to such great celebrity among the learned. He left the family of Colbert in 1670, and afterward Louis XIV made him director of the royal college, with a pension. This situation he held until his eightieth year, when he was banished for having published the "Genealogical History of the House of Auvergne," in 2 vols. fol. (170-), by order of the Cardinal de Bouillon, who had fallen into disgrace at court. He obtained a recall in 1713, after the peace of Utrecht, without, however, recovering his appointments, and died July 28th, 1718. His library, when it was sold after his death, contained 1500 MSS., which were purchased for the Bibliotheque Royale. Baluze left as many as forty-five published works, of which the most important are- Regnum, Francorum Capitularia (1677, 2 vols. fol.; also, edited by Chiniac in 1780, 2 vols. fol. a superb edition): — Epistole Innocentii Papa III (1682, 2 vols. fol. This collection is incomplete, owing to the unwillingness of the Romans at the time to give him free access to the pieces in the Vatican library. Brequiny and De la Porte du Theil, in their Diplomatca, Charta, etc., 1791, have given the letters which Baluze could not obtain): — Conciliorum Nova Collectio (1683, vol. 1, fol. This work was intended to embrace all the known councils which Labbe has omitted in his collection, and would have filled many volumes; but Baluze abandoned his first design, and limited himself to one volume): — Vitae Paparum Avinionensium (" Vies des Papes d'Avignon," 1693, 2 vols. 4to, an admirable refutation of the ultramontane pretensions. He maintains that the holy see is not necessarily fixed at Rome): — Miscellanea (7 vols. 8vo. A new edition, considerably enlarged and improved, was published by Mansi at Lucca in 1761, in 4 vols. fol.). A complete list of his works may be found at p. 66 of the Capitularia. See Dupin, Eccl. Writers, 17th cent.; Vie de Baluze, written by himself, and continued by Martin. | English | NL | 8edb0e1357fc525e6040e31bdac502e45eb08f95f159474e28497921639fdd4f |
Pottery artist and painter Amy Giampoala has unique pottery and inspirational quote paintings on canvas. The Sparta, New Jersey-based artist honed her skills studying fine art education at Montclair State University. It was her time at school where she was able to experiment with different techniques and firing procedures and develop her unique style. Giampoala creates her own glazes, and loves to be surprised at how they turn out during firing in the kiln. Pottery from Amy's Flying Pig Studios includes bowls and vessels with ruffles and floral-like applications. Unique glazes also add detail to some of her pieces, as well as etched textures. The potter also paints on canvas, and has an offering of paintings with darling figures, as well as fun and inspirational quotes. | English | NL | be964da5d8bba7457cba113071390421a3afc82ca40497f7463880c9b302a8c4 |
Warren Feeney joined the Reds on the same day as Head Coach Kewell last week.
The former Northern Ireland international striker made 41 senior apperances for his country, scoring five times in both UEFA Euro and World Cup qualifiers, as well as international friendlies.
Feeney also represented his country at U16 and U21 level. The forward's playing career began as a trainee at Leeds United - he was initially loaned out to AFC Bournemouth before making the switch to the Cherries permanent in June 2001.
He subsequently went on to make 90 appearances for the south-coast club, scoring 33 goals in the process.
At the end of the 2003/04 campaign Feeney moved to Stockport County where he would go on to score 15 times in 31 league appearances. Luton Town acquired his services soon after in 2005 where he managed 11 goals in 50 apperances for the Hatters.
A loan spell with Cardiff City was then made permanent, before Feeney spent time on loan with Swansea City, Dundee United and Sheffield Wednesday. The forward moved to Oldham Athletic, Plymouth Argyle and Salisbury City before ending his playing career with Linfield.
It was with Linfield where Feeney combined playing with his managment role from May 2014 - he took charge 62 times and had an impressive win ratio of nearly 60% during his time in charge.
A move to Wales and Newport County came in October 2015 when he was appointed assistant manager to John Sheridan - he then became manager of the side after the sacking of Sheridan in January 2016. He parted company with the club in September 2016. | English | NL | e69b27f47158161775fa58c340e1601979415dbef21be5f4e11456fd9555dcc4 |
George’s war letters: The First World War seen through the letters of George Power OBE
Imogen Power’s Great Great Uncle George
Richard Power’s great uncle George wrote a letter home to his wife Marion virtually every day during the First World War.
Richard has created a blog and will “post” each letter on the centenary of the day it was written, with a brief explanation about the places, battles or things mentioned in each letter. There are over 300 letters. The first letter was written on 20th December 1914 and the last on 29th June 1919 when George’s Battalion, 2nd Battalion the Gloucestershire Regiment, finally arrived back in England.
The blog is at www.georgesww1letters.com and can be seen at Georges First World War letters
Here is selection of the letters already posted.
22nd December 1914:
“This, be it understood, is a Christmas letter. We wish you all a Merry Christmas. D. Burges and I are, this night, at a railway goods station rather cold and dinnerless and the prospect of being up all night for no reason at all. We had a very tedious journey in the train, also rather cold, but by filling the carriage up with hay we managed to make it very comfortable in the end. We stopped for a short time at a certain place you and I know. It was the terminus of a very pleasant trip we had just before we were engaged, when your Aunt Alys was so amusing. When this row ends we will go back and have tiffin at the same cafe. Now we are in billets in another town. The men are in barracks but the officers are in the town. I am billeted on a maker of paints; my arrival was rather comic. Knowing how much French I can speak you can imagine the scene, I expect. The landlady is very small and rather plain, wife of maker of paints. We had a long discussion as to whether she could give me some space to cook or not. It was eventually decided she could not, so we proceeded upstairs to view the chamber. Quite a nice looking room in which a charming-looking maiden, in an extraordinary dress, was making the bed. The room was evidently hers & she was very fed up at having to turn out, and when I could not understand a remark of the land-lady she repeated it at the top of her voice. I expect she will trot back again tonight as I am on this outpost job. Funny world. I took an hour to shave this morning not having to do so since we left England. I have come to the conclusion that a diary is beyond me, because (i) in this division we are not allowed to refer to places in a private diary until the event is a week old, therefore (ii) I should get horribly out of date and become inaccurate. I think that supplementing letters is just as good in the end. Please send me a refill for my oriflux lamp on receipt of this – The lamp is most useful…..”
3rd January 1915:
“…..Your letters 28th-30th have arrived and the parcel with the socks and re-fill for lamp. But I think that the groceries with the Quaker Oats & my half pound of chocolate & the change of underclothing you sent have got delayed somehow. We are still en l’air and shall be anyhow for the next day or two…. Very wet here. I expect Ion will be home soon. We are all very fit here and doing a lot of work, chiefly horticultural
10th January 1915 (Belgium):
“I wish I had time to write a decent letter, but since leaving our last resting place five days ago there has not been time really to collect one’s thoughts. We had an awful march of 16 miles over pavé – very trying to the feet. The Belgian roads are worse than the French a good deal. We are at present in a farmer’s cottage. The kitchen, where we all feed is very small and the whole thing very amusing, the place swarms with children, who howl all day long……. Please send me a complete change of underclothing – The ones you have sent have not turned up and are urgently needed! Also get me another pair of boots from the Stores – The chocolate has not arrived, I think that too has gone astray – Shelling goes on pretty well all day. Yesterday we watched them potting at a German aeroplane – Awfully interesting. Our trench is a perfect brute. Over our knees everywhere in mud and in some places nearly to your thighs! Tell Dad that the waterproof trousers he gave me are simply splendid and that I should like a pair of waders if he can manage it. Please send me another bottle of Mars oil, will you?……
14th January 1915:
“I have not had time to write for a day or two. We have just finished our first whack of trench work. It is not pleasant by any means. Our trench is an old French one and thoroughly bad. I have already told you about the mud. The day is the worst time and you sit and watch the blighters burst and have nothing to do. The shrapnel does not worry one a bit in a trench, but the high explosive is pretty bad. We were very heavily shelled all our first day, but they were all about 100 yards over so nobody was hurt. Thank you for your letters of the 2nd-9th, also for the 4 parcels of groceries which arrived last Monday. My underclothing has not arrived. Will you please stop sending rice in the parcels of groceries and substitute a pound of the Harrods chocolate – it is awfully good. We are all very fit, but rather tired. It is a sort of game that requires a good deal of getting used to! We are worried a good deal at night round our part by snipers. They seem to get all round the farm and pot everybody – so far we have not been able to catch them. I don’t think you would have recognised your husband when we came out that bally trench. Caked in mud up to his thighs – hands and arms thick with it; in a sou’wester with a cap on top, a muddy Burberry over a goatskin coat and a long willow staff! and last but not least, a beautiful beard. It is the pride of the company. We all use those staffs, they are very useful for sounding the mud in the trenches and spotting shell holes in the road at night. We have not seen any Zeppelins and only a few aeroplanes! I am going to try to write to Mother to-day, but in case I cannot, please thank her awfully for the sweets – They are most welcome especially the acid drops which are good when you are thirsty – Funnily enough, drinking water is scarce here……
19th February 1915:
“I have not been able to write for four days. We had our rest cut short by one day as Fritz began making himself a nuisance. We spent a very wet and muddy night in some sheds near here and then the following night moved up nearer. We have just come back from the trenches. They are in rather a bad state in every way. I had your letter of the 13th to-day. The Headquarters Mess has received your cake and thanks you awfully for it. Vicary is going to write to you and thank you. The D Coy one has not come yet. Please tell Uncle Frank that another parcel of baccy has arrived, but with this rush we have not been able to distribute it yet. Rain with bright intervals is what the lady in the Daily Graphic would say about the weather. What we want is a nice drying wind. I got rather a fright last night as my watch stopped! Happily it went on again after about 10 hours rest – like Master…… Damn Fritz & all his works, I say! One night we spent in rather a charming house or rather what remains of it. There was rather a lot of nice Chinese porcelain there. Three of us lived in a small kind of summer house hollowed out in a mound, on the top of which was a small temple, very like the Trianon one. Quite comfy, but Fritz began dropping shells into the garden rather close to the temple, so we hopped into the cellars of the Mansion. Much to the disgust of the Regimental H.Q. whom we found in the kitchen. It was rather a crowd but safer. In these trenches the Germans are pretty close. About 30 yards from one of mine. I prefer them further off. Alas I never saw Ion. I am so sorry. I shall be glad when the next consignment of chocolate arrives as I have only got local stuff which is rather sweet. I think there are some parcels waiting to be delivered here. Of course our quick move absolutely spoilt our fine dinner party – The hen had to be left behind, but the curry powder was saved. We had bought a bottle of starboard light, that also was saved and drunk in lieu of whiskey! Before all these excursions and alarums, we used to look on our little rests as certain & almost as sacred as the Thursday holiday abroad, but now we have no sooner got in than we prepare to go out again! Most disturbing. If the mail comes in to-night I will write again……
18th March 1915:
“Your letter of the 14th has come. Ion told me he was sending home a rifle. I am glad it has arrived. Quite a fine trophy, isn’t it? Once more I am a member of C Coy and will partake of the things you send out……….Poor Peter, I hope he won’t be bad. He is rather liable to have colds and things. We have got a funny little billet. A very small room in which it is just possible to lay three valises. The kitchen is quite impossible owing to an old man of disgusting habits. They have got a milk churn worked by a dog which runs round and round inside a big wheel outside the house. Just like the donkey wheel at Carisbrooke Castle. This morning, while performing my ablutions, I placed all my gear on the churn not knowing it’s evil ways, and suddenly the dog outside started to run round and the whole lot was deposited on a very dirty floor. Very annoying, wasn’t it?…..The boots you sent me are lasting very well indeed & are awfully comfortable. I have had the first A & N S pair resoled and so I have two thoroughly good ones now.”
20th March 1915:
Your letter of the 15th has come. Alas, poor dear old “Father” Harrison was hit in the head the night before last, when we were digging behind the fire trenches & the poor old man died yesterday morning. Although I had not known him for long he was a good friend and a jolly good subaltern to me. We buried him this morning. I am afraid it will just about do for his wife, as she is so ill that they could not tell her that he had been ordered out.
All yesterday it snowed and blew great guns. In fact a regular blizzard, the wind is bitterly cold and we seem to have gone back to the bad old days of January, except for the appearance of several little primroses. To-day is a bit better but the wind is still bad. There have been a lot of German aeroplanes over here today & guns have been popping at them without any success that we could see. It is nice being back in C Coy.
“More aeroplanes, this time the Germans are doing the popping. The worst of it is that you can never really tell what they are, as they say the Germans have little blinds – that they pull over the black crosses – which have the allied circles painted on them. One that dropped a bomb here one day had the rings on it. Old Dinham was not very far off and he ran like a hare to his billet. Yes, it is all clouding over again & it looks rather like rain. We are in quite a nice billet, with a little garden behind, nothing much in it. Apparently the people here grow a heap of parsnips; great big fields of them. Some of the fields are quite green now, but the trees have not come out at all yet. I suppose it is rather early. Do you know that the birds were singing all through that show last Sunday? It was rather extraordinary. Old man Fritz was putting them into our wood pretty thick, but the birds did not mind. The pheasants and hares were a little bit worried about it, but they were the only ones. Now I must close – there is no news – Bye bye till tomorrow”
24th March 1915:
“Things are moving in such queer ways now that I have not been unable to write since saturday. We were pulled out to go into the trenches on Saturday night and have been there until early this morning: now I think we are trekking, but where nobody knows. Such a lot of letters came to-day……. It is beastly wet again, although the last few days have been heavenly, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Sunday was a wretched day. I sat in a new trench all day & night. Very wet and not much shelter. New trenches very rarely have. Dug outs & other luxuries gradually spring up after some time of occupation. The most uncomfortable part was when our anti-aircraft guns opened on the German aeroplanes. There were a whole heap up and we got all the stuff coming down; distinctly annoying. It is bad enough being shelled by Fritz, but the back splash of your own guns is the limit, isn’t it? One more alas – Poor Croft was shot that night and died the next morning – He and Harrison were shot on almost the same piece of ground. It is very sad, isn’t it? We are getting rather short in “C”! as Rummins has gone sick with water on the knee or something. We are at present in a wooden hut in a wood a little way back. Where we go or when nobody knows or if they do they do not say so. We are doing a kind of rest now, but not at our old spot,which is rather a shame, as it was quite comfortable. Heavens we were dirty when we turned up here. Nobody has had a bath for three weeks and I have not shaved for 6 days now. A beastly sight. I think I shall try and get a bath somehow to-day, but where remains to be see.”
25th March 1915:
“Your letters of the 21st and 22nd have come. Awfully wet again. The hut does not leak much, which is something to be thankful for indeed. Last night we sang, why I cannot think; perhaps like Tommy A we were all feeling sentimental and it certainly was raining horribly hard. The Colonel did not like it! We started with the ”Preacher” for Major Corner’s benefit! Several deputations were sent from the Regimental HQ Tent to know if it would soon be over, but they had no effect. I think people, who have the rough time of it, when we are in front, should be allowed a little latitude when we get back; don’t you?……. This afternoon I am going to make a desperate effort to have a bath. The shave was accomplished yesterday and your husband looks a little less piratical than he did. So they censored one of my letters did they? They do open a certain number, I know, but apparently, they have escaped so far……..” | English | NL | c427aebcd0e6aed7b7e2831cbea55d74cab6636659dd114143602fc363e878d6 |
Professor Shaun McNiff has a significant international following. He is author of Imagination in Action; Art as Research; Trust the Process; Art as Medicine; Art Heals; Depth Psychology of Art; and numerous other books. His works have been translated into many languages and he has lectured and taught throughout the world. In 1998 he wrote Art-Based Research, documenting his work with artistic knowing beginning in the early 1970s, and the book helped spur fast growth of the discipline. The recipient of numerous prestigious honours and awards, he was appointed as the first University Professor at Lesley University, USA, in 2002. | English | NL | c8d8a94a6e1232140bdfc44a641319acffcefd91cb63a8ca779ec26fb4038b34 |
Bradshaw, Amzi a Presbyterian minister, was born in North Carolina, July 12, 1800. He studied under Reverend Geo. Newton, and was licensed by Shiloh Presbytery in 1826. In October of the same year he was ordained pastor of Spring Creek Church, in Tennessee and in 1831 became pastor of Fayetteville and Union churches. In 1858 he removed to Texas, and became principal of a female school at La Grange. He died July 15, 1859. See Wilson, Presb. Hist. Almanac, 1861, page 79. | English | NL | 257c60fc4d785cb758362044c6efdf5f56f9abccc0694c02c639a20c1fb6aa40 |
In 1564, the manor of Butlers was passed from Richard West and Elizabeth Lyon to Thomas Andrews and Edmund Wiseman. By 1569, it was held by Thomas Peacock from Sir Nicholas Bacon of Gorhambury. It was sold in 1603 to Henry Axtell for £640. It consisted of 158 acres then, but it was quickly bought back, in 1618. It was in John Underhill’s hands by 1641 (husband of Lady Bacon). Money must have been in short supply, for in 1647 he sold it to James Nicholl of Welwyn for £1,000. By 1669, the estate was in the hands of Sir Harbottle Grimston and reunited with the rest of the Gorhambury estate. In the 1851 Census it is described as having between 140 and 150 acres. | English | NL | 287e899c75540e7de55f1d2d5afe16ffc79357fd631d7b1d032539b55962dffc |
In the World, Not of the World
Dan Wuollet | 2013 September Voice of Zion
In the World, Not of the World
Believers might wonder: With the world being such a sinful place, and seeming to grow worse daily, how can we actively live in today’s society and still maintain a good conscience as a believer? The narrative of Daniel and his friends in the Old Testament helps us to consider this question.
All in God’s Plan
The first chapter of Daniel relates how King Nebuchadnezzar, of Babylon, led his army of conquest into Jerusalem and sacked the city. Daniel was a young boy in Judah when this happened, and God’s Word explains that Nebuchadnezzar took Daniel and the other boys, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, away to serve him in Babylon. These youth were selected, as the Bible explains, because they were “children in whom was no blemish, but well favoured, and skilful in all wisdom, and cunning in knowledge, and understanding science, and such as had ability in them to stand in the king’s palace, and whom they might teach the learning and the tongue of the Chaldeans” (Dan. 1:4).
These boys were chosen because they had demonstrated their ability to learn. We could say, perhaps, that they were “straight-A” students. King Nebuchadnezzar wanted boys who could learn the language of his people and serve in his government, so his country would flourish. Thus, he selected the best and the brightest youth and taught them how to be successful in his land. They were taken against their will as spoils of war; but this was God’s plan for them. With this special trial of being taken from home, they were also given a great opportunity to succeed in the world.
Today we have great opportunities for schooling. Access to education is, in North America, better than ever, with public schools, student loans, grants, Internet-based instruction, veteran’s educational benefits, and more. Many believers have been able to take advantage of these opportunities, learning to be productive members of society. Believers graduate from vocational schools, universities, medical schools, law schools, and others. Many choose to use their gifts to serve fellow citizens as police, firefighters, and other public positions in government. Others work in the private sector. Like the boys in the Old Testament, we are given opportunities to use our gifts in our temporal endeavors, and it is clearly not wrong to do so. Indeed, it is good and proper to do so.
They Faced Challenges, Too
But the boys were confronted with challenges. The king prescribed a certain diet for them. He wanted them fed with the best food, the same food that he ate, with his wine and meat. The king thought this wasbest for the boys, and that it would support them in their studies and work. But the food and wine offered by the king upset Daniel’s conscience. Old Testament dietary laws forbade many of the foods offered by the king, and Daniel did not want to drink the king’s wine. He did not want to disobey God’s Word, but he also did not want to disobey the king. Daniel explained the matter to his superior and confessed his faith openly, and worked to find an alternative that satisfied both the king and his conscience. The text continues:
“But Daniel purposed in his heart that he would not defile himself with the portion of the king’s meat, nor with the wine which he drank: therefore he requested of the prince of the eunuchs that he might not defile himself.
“Now God had brought Daniel into favour and tender love with the prince of the eunuchs. And the prince of the eunuchs said unto Daniel, I fear my lord the king, who hath appointed your meat and your drink: for why should he see your faces worse liking than the children which are of your sort? then shall ye make me endanger my head to the king.
“Then said Daniel to Melzar, whom the prince of the eunuchs had set over Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, Prove thy servants, I beseech thee, ten days; and let them give us pulse to eat, and water to drink. Then let our countenances be looked upon before thee, and the countenance of the children that eat of the portion of the king’s meat: and as thou seest, deal with thy servants.
“So he consented to them in this matter, and proved them ten days. And at the end of ten days their countenances appeared fairer and fatter in flesh than all the children which did eat the portion of the king’s meat. Thus Melzar took away the portion of their meat, and the wine that they should drink; and gave them pulse. As for these four children, God gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom” (Dan. 1:8–17).
Obedience and Blessing, Then and Now
Daniel’s diet confounded his superiors. To them it made no sense. So it is for believers today. A believer’s life choices often make no sense to the unbelieving world and to the rationale of man. The king’s diet could be seen as the extra-curricular activities often associated with the educational and workplace environments: the sports teams, athletic games, dances, dinner parties, and other social activities the world deems as important as the classroom learning or job performance, but believers choose not to participate in.
In Daniel’s time, as well as in today’s sinful society, people often respect the decisions of a believer when faith is freely confessed. God blessed the believing boys. They were able to complete their studies. They prospered in their work for the king, and were so successful that the Bible relates, “in all matters of wisdom and understanding, that the king enquired of them, he found them ten times better than all the magicians and astrologers that were in all his realm” (Dan. 1:20).
Jesus prays for His own in this way, “I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil” (John 17:14). He does not ask God to remove them from the world. He does not pray that His own should be isolated from the greater society. Rather, He prays that God should keep His children from evil. We can freely participate in our earthly calling at school, at work, or in our hobbies. We can fully strive to do our best in all that we do. We can trust that God will still protect us from evil today. Daniel simply confessed his faith, and humbly desired to fulfill his duties. God provided Daniel a way to accomplish these things while maintaining faith and a good conscience. So we trust that God through His Word provides a way to actively participate in the world without accepting the ways of the world.
September 2012 Voice of Zion | English | NL | 8f22abe653bf97e2f0b7985ac667bd685af338046c1b14a25ca1c56feac48175 |
Several days ago,
I was in a hurry, walking fast through people on the sidewalk while looking for my paperworks. I didn’t see people’s eyes, only noticed that I wasn’t alone and there were a lot of people around me, walking fast, to their own destination.
I had a little bump with some people, but we look fast to each other and giving simple smile while saying, “sorry” and keep walking fast.
and after everything that week, I think there’s nothing could stop me.
until his arms (suddenly) wrapped around me.
he’s about 7 y.o., dark skin, with hairs cover some part of his eyes,
and hands looked idrty. I didn’t notice where he came from, but he suddenly hold my body with his little arms and gently looked upon me,
smiling nicely and hold my body even tighter.
I didn’t know what to do, but I stopped walking and (don’t know why) just let him hug me. After a while, I touched his hands and let him stay for a while more, until people looked at us as if they never see this happened before.
I looked down, and I saw him closed his eyes, laid his head on my stomach,
while he hold my long skirt in his little hands, don’t want to let go.
for a second there, I touch his hair and hold him tight too, as he is my angel.
I touch his hands and he hold my hands, let go off my body, and continued to walk again, behind me. As he walks behind me, opposite my destination, I can’t think of anything.
I turn my head back and saw his little shoulder from a distance.
the wind blows and made my hair looks messy.
and his hair looks like a little wings on his shoulder.
slowly he turned his head, look at me and smile, sincerely.
I can’t think of anything, and smile back to him,
as he keep walking away from me, I knew I just met my angel.
in a pair of little hands, wrapped around my body tightly,
in those little eyes I saw twice and still warm my days up til now,
in those second when he hold me,
at that very little moment.
Thank you my little man,
hope you can find what you’re looking for.
Because when your arms around, when I can’t think of anything,
I felt safe, even more than before.
Thank you, you saved my spirit.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008 at 8:47pm | English | NL | 34ae3cc670311bf068a2b0f4de365595a6a77ea777d3b45c7d7c4862f862b6b6 |
2016 Vinyl Reissue!
'More' is the first full-length soundtrack album, and Pink Floyd'sthird studio album, originally released in 1969.
More contains some acoustic folk ballads, a genre that appeared sparsely on later works. It also contains some of the band's "heaviest" recordings, such as "The Nile Song" and "Ibiza Bar," as well as several instrumental tracks, featuring their experimental and avant-garde approach.
This is Pink Floyd's first full album without founder member Syd Barrett, who was ousted from the group in early 1968 during the recording of 'A Saucerful Of Secrets.' It is one of the three Pink Floyd albums to feature David Gilmour as the sole lead vocalist, the others being 1987's 'A Momentary Lapse Of Reason' and 2014's 'The Endless River,' and it is also the first album to be produced by Pink Floyd without assistance from Norman Smith.
'More' was recorded at Pye Studios, Marble Arch, London and engineered by Brian Humphries.
Two songs can be heard in the film that were not included on the album: "Seabirds" and "Hollywood." | English | NL | 5702f50b2c12661f84c05c5fd2fe4bf24d7f20c860572b39844a9c49f4bedc9a |
SMALL FOOT BONE
Chelas Kelly had just transferred to Oxford, Utah as an investigator from Henderson, Maryland. She decide it was time for a change after gowning up in Henderson and moving to Oxford, Utah would offer her a chance to widen her skills as an investigated. She had no family ties to her home town after her parents was killed by a drunk driver at an early age and later lived with her grandmother who has past recently from a long term illness. There where no family or very close friends and only her job associates at the precient she had work for almost ten years.
Fortunately, Chelas had developed an unmanned sense as an investigator and was very good in solving many cases whereas other colleagues’ had overlooked the smallest of evidence. She had sharp abilities in looking right at the least object that seems to carry no clue to what had happen at the crime scene but the end results had help her to solve the many cases.
After settling in Oxford, she notices this was a medium size town but still there was serious crime on the west coast as well as the east coast. As she
became familiar with her new environment she discover that their was and unsolved case of a missing child age 10 who was never found and now five years later with no new evidence.
Chelas ask her supervisor if she could work on this old case in her spare time to see if she could find any new evidence into solving the case and his reply was positive and she began using her unique skills in trying to solve the missing girl case.
Later Chelas went to the old farm house where their was an extensive search and as she venture into the house she notice their was a small decaying opening that was once a boarded up basement and she further preceding into the basement which she shone her flashlight around some old pipes in the basement. Chelas could feel the little girl Carolyn crying out to her for help
For a final closer to her mother. She began to shine her light behind the old
furnace and their she notice a tiny opening that Chelas was able to squeezed her petit body through and on that unfaithful day she began pushing through the door she shone her light on little Carolyn Anderson Skelton and the
Her small left foot was caught in an animal trap were she had cried out
In agony and died and no one heard her cry.
Chelas just stood there and weep for little Carolyn Anderson who had suffered so much pain and agony trying to get out of the trap and no one heard her cry for help. She immediately telephoned the police department and Carolyn Anderson was identified. Later the old farm house was torn down so that no other small children would wonder into the abandon
Chelsea’s captain was enthralled with her success in solving the old case that he allowed her to start re-investigating others and she was also promoted to a special unit of unsolved cases. | English | NL | 2471a42dee48c540b3237e3cf672c2348a712be1c94ea5098de8ca1e1236814f |
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
In memoriam...Ode to Lola.
Lola was a beauty. Her “calico” coloring, random patches of grey and tabby stripes made her unique and particularly beautiful. She had bright green eyes that flashed when she was angry…more on that later. She was a sweet and loving cat to a few choice people…on a few choice days. She was exceptionally clean and never had an “accident” like so many other cats are known to have. She never hocked up a hairball, not even once. It’s a good thing she was beautiful and clean and hairball-less because her other qualities were not so redeeming.
She had a particular dislike for people who...well…for people. She only loved four of the five members of our family for the longest time and only learned to love the fifth when she was the last kid left after the other two moved away. She loved my parents…mostly…usually. She did not love anyone else. No one. She learned to tolerate a few people, but only if they visited alone. Where some cats see large groups of people as opportunities to be stroked and loved, Lola saw large groups of people as malicious invaders…they had to go! She did everything in her power to make our guests feel unwelcome. The flashing green eyes followed by guttural growls and angry hisses. That Lola could put on a frightful show. My mantra when company came: “The cat’s feelings about you are not a reflection of our own…truly…” (Friends, it’s safe to come over now.)
Once when we were out of town, our neighbor fed Lola in our absence. We learned upon our return that she felt the need to bring a golf club with her for protection. And that’s when we bought a self-feeder for our trips. Lola hated it when the self-feeder came out of the closet, but she brought it on herself.
Lola did some cute things too…She spent every morning in the bathroom having a loud, mad conversation with the “mirror cat”. Perhaps I should have given her coffee…it sure helps me.
She had the cutest way of looking up at us when we’d fill her inconvenient bowl with cold refrigerator water. (The inconvenient bowl was a small bowl of water placed on the kitchen floor in the way of everything.) She got antsy if the staff failed to fill it immediately upon descending the stairs…but our reward for doing her bidding was her cute little upturned face.
Lola had a very loud purr - it’s what drew us to her in the first place when we rescued her from the animal shelter. She would crawl in our lap every evening and purr…then get annoyed and nip at us when we’d pet her too much. But that purr…
And she had a sweet way of letting us know that she was getting low on food….she snuggled. She was her cutest when she was hungry. If I’m honest, we sometimes postponed filling her bowl to imagine what life with an affectionate cat could be like. She had no use for that sweet nonsense until her tummy growled.
Alas, we will miss Lola…she’s been manipulating us for almost 15 years. If cats go to heaven, and I seriously doubt they do…let’s be honest…cats…I hope we’ll see her there. | English | NL | 9657f48445067af2628c5f59452e01cade095a1e331b9cea9b43565dad16b1d6 |
When Amit Peled was around 10 years old, his parents gave him a cassette recording of the great cellist Pablo Casals. Peled had been studying the cello, but was more interested in basketball than music (he grew to be six-foot-five)—until he listened to the recording. He considers the cellist “the grandfather of classical music of the 20th century.”Many nights he fell asleep to the tape playing on a boombox by his bed.
Today, more than 30 years later, Peled is not only a renowned concert cellist but he is playing the instrument that enchanted him as a kid. Since 2012, he has been entrusted with the 1733 Goffriller cello that Casals played the most. Casals died at age 96 in 1973, and his widow, Marta Casals Istomin (a onetime student of the cellist, she married him in 1957 when she was 20), lent the cello to Peled, who calls it “Pablo.”
Peled vividly remembers the first time he played it. “How can I, a simple man, son of farmers from a tiny kibbutz in Israel, hold now the instrument that helped Casals redefine cello history,” he writes in Opus magazine. “This cello made the journey with the Maestro from Spain into world fame. All the major recordings of Casals were created with this instrument, and so many musicians have grown up, and have been musically shaped listening to that sound. Simply no words!”
Since last year, Peled has been playing the Casals cello, which he had restored to bring out its full sound, in a program called “Homage to Pablo Casals.”The tour began last February at Johns Hopkins University’s Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore, where Peled is a professor. Including a Bach suite and Handel sonata, it’s the same program that Casals played in a concert at the school in 1915.
Peled recently released his first recording on the Casals cello, performing the Schumann Cello Concerto with the Washington Chamber Orchestra. —John Fleming | English | NL | c463ef5a207993af352d0d7b432b7c60ac415772e0f24d7509a8d716c9d242cc |
“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: From now on there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness” (2 Timothy 4:7-8).
“For to me to live is, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).
I believe many brothers and sisters must be quite familiar with these two classic sayings spoken by Paul. And the words “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: From now on there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness” are even seen by many brothers and sisters as maxims of wisdom, and have become the force that drives them to toil for the Lord. It was the same with me. I had always taken Paul’s words as the basis by which I sacrificed and expended for the Lord. It was not until the other day, when I read a fellowship concerning Paul on awebsite, that I achieved a new interpretation of the two sayings. I have summarized it in the following two points.
1. Paul’s Original Motive for Suffering, Paying a Price, and Preaching the Way of the Lord Was to Gain Blessings
Paul said, “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: From now on there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.” These words gave voice to Paul’s thoughts, and revealed his motive for his preaching the gospel: rewards and the crown. Paul had unreasonable requirements for God. In his belief, as long as he worked, ran about, and suffered, then God should bestow the crown of righteousness upon him. He ran about, worked, and fought the good fight in exchange for the crown of righteousness and to achieve his aim of being blessed. Everything he did could basically be considered as a business transaction between him and God; it was not to satisfy the Lord’s will, and moreover was not to fulfill the duty of a creation of God.
Then were Paul’s motivations and pursuit correct? And could they receive God’s praise? The Old Testament says, “For I am the LORD your God: you shall therefore sanctify yourselves, and you shall be holy; for I am holy …” (Leviticus 11:44). God is holy, so He requires us to be holy. We should work and expend for God without any intentions or ulterior motives of our own, and we shouldn’t do it in order to make a deal with God or to obtain God’s blessings. This is the sense that we should possess, and also is what God demands of us. Preaching the gospel is God’s entrustment, and also the mission and bounden duty of every Christian. There is no correlation between fulfilling our missions and obtaining blessings. As a creature of God, we enjoys the sunlight, air, and food supplied by God, as well as the truth and the life that God has bestowed upon us. Besides, the Lord was nailed to the cross in order to redeem mankind. So, even if God does not bestow blessings on us, we should preach the gospel and bear witness to God to pay back God’s love—this is what a man who has humanity and good consciences should do.
Take Peter, the disciple of thefor example. He spread the gospel far and wide, running down many paths and enduring lots of suffering, but he never asked the Lord to reward him or bestow a crown upon him. He knew that the Lord Jesus had come from God and was the Savior who had redeemed mankind. He experienced God’s love and salvation for man, and knew that spreading God’s gospel was what the Lord had entrusted to him, that it was the Lord’s will for more people to come before Him and gain His salvation. So he spread the Lord’s gospel with deep gratitude and love only to fulfill His desire. He expended himself for the Lord without transactions or intentions, and regardless of whether he received blessings or suffered misfortune, he continued as always spreading the gospel to witness for God. Therefore, he was the one who was possessed of humanity and sense.
However, Paul did not have such knowledge, nor was he possessed of such humanity or sense. All that he paid was for the sake of his own destination and of obtaining God’s blessings. He was so selfish that he was full of deceit and transactions. God’s disposition is righteous and holy; how can He allow us to deceive and make a deal with Him? So, as to whether Paul’s faith really obtained God’s approval, and whether his pursuit conformed with, I believe that as long as we think about this carefully, we will get the answers.
2. Paul Never Bore Witness to the Lord Jesus, but Merely Testified to Himself
Paul said, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). This sentence shows that although Paul preached the gospel for the Lord, he did not know the Lord Jesus or the work of the Holy Spirit. Further, he did not exalt or bear witness to the Lord Jesus to bring people before the Lord. Paul believed that the work he did was done by relying on his own abilities and what he spoke of was his real knowledge; he thought his hard work was meritorious, so he said that for him to live was Christ. In saying this, he wanted to make people worship him and treat him as Christ, and to bring people in front of him. In addition, it can be seen from Paul’s letters that he never mentioned what the Lord Jesus had said or how much truth Jesus had expressed, nor had he ever mentioned the Lord Jesus’ loveliness. Paul never bore witness to the Lord and said: “We believe in the Lord Jesus because He was nailed to the cross for the redemption of our sins and has redeemed us. In addition, the Lord has expressed many truths to guide us onto a correct life course. So we should follow the way of truth expressed by Him and put it into practice. Only by doing so can we be after God’s will, and this is also a manifestation of the true obedience to God.” Paul’s letters had never said any such important things, this shows Paul did not love the Lord Jesus.
Paul never testified to the Lord Jesus, nor did he love the words spoken by the Lord Jesus; instead, he only bore witness for himself. This is sufficient to prove that he was arrogant and conceited, and did not have a heart of reverence for God at all. He was so arrogant that he said for him to live was Christ, but could he really become Christ just because he said so? We all know the Lordcame from God; He is the incarnate God, the embodiment of the truth, holy and unblemished. How can a man who has been deeply corrupted by Satan and does not get perfected say that for him to live is Christ? Even if one is perfected, he cannot become Christ, because the difference between Christ and those who have been made perfect is heaven and earth. Man’s substance is man, whereas the substance of Christ is divinity. Man can never become God—even if man is perfected, he will never be able to become God. This is the knowledge we should have. However, Paul dared to say that for him to live was Christ. What is the problem here? Isn’t this too arrogant and absurd? Is this not vying for status with the Lord Jesus and opposing God?
Through reading the fellowships online, I have had a new understanding of what Paul pursued as well as his humanity and character. He worked and preached for the Lord with the intention to become blessed. Besides, in the course of spreading the gospel, Paul did not exalt the Lord Jesus or bear witness that the Lord Jesus is Christ and the Savior, but instead exalted himself and testified that he himself was Christ. All this proves there was not the slightest change in his life disposition. He did not gain the truth and the life from the Lord Jesus, much less did he know God. Meanwhile, the fellowships also made me examine anew the path I had taken in my faith in God: I have always imitated Paul and made Paul my exemplar. If I continue down this path, can I really win God’s praise? It’s really worth reflecting.
Dear brothers and sisters, now have you gained a new awareness of the path you have taken in your belief of God, just like me? May the Lord lead us to understand His intentions. Amen! | English | NL | 886128c18ad5b1a343ae72f34dfc2248b994b609bf028226a546cdb66ce0f8b5 |
Seven Victorian tunnel-like magazines were built on the Benfleet waterfront near Jotmans in the late part of the 19th Century. They would have been used for the storage of explosives by barges possibly on the way to London or nearby explosives factories (where is now Wat Tyler Country Park and Coryton Refinery).
The Benfleet Community Archive first introduced Beyond the Point to ‘the mags’ at a community event on Canvey. We were told it was rumoured they were used as storage from barges carrying explosives down the Thames. There was definitely a heavy explosives industry in South Essex around the turn of the 20th Century, so this was not an unreasonable idea. I looked this up when I got home, and listened to an audio account on this website which mentions them and their location. We visited the area numerous times between 2012 and 2015, finding a wartime pillbox and ruins from the old sewage works, yet were unable to locate the ‘mags’. Below is an artists impression of how they may have looked.
Unsuccessful Search Using the Map September 2015
Myself (BTP Liam) with the help of friends Jack Swestun, Michael Clark, and Nick Gosnold, decided to investigate the rumours, following a 1895 map from http://www.benfleethistory.org.uk showing the location of the magazines layed over modern satellite imagery. Simple eh – or not! The entire area south west of the sewage works was overgrown and it became very difficult to work out exactly which parts of the area the magazines were in. We covered what we believe to be the entire area however and only found rectangular mounds/earthworks, perhaps covering something? Either the mags were buried at a recent date, or we could have just missed the magazines. We did however find an old concrete drain access in the woods with a huge iron lid, probably from the first half of the 20th Century, but it revealed only a small channel inside. There was also some concrete broken up near the bike track south of the sewage works that corresponded with the map, so the magazines could’ve been demolished. We did find a small brick section which dated from around the correct time period so perhaps this was a piece of the mags. To conclude I’d say it is likely traces of them remain, but unlikely they are intact somewhere in those woods as the audio account suggested.
We would later realise the earth mounds and broken brick/concrete was all likely to have been part of the mags, but this didn’t come together properly until our visit in early 2016 below.
Breakthrough January 2016
After explaining about the mounds and brick wall that we found to the http://www.BenfleetHistory.org.uk archive site, we were put in touch with Dave Cowan who has lived in the Jotmans area since he was a child and gave the initial audio account of playing near the mags as a child that prompted our investigation.
We met up with him and he took us to where he saw one of the mags around 2012/13 guided by a picture of the area on his phone, using a tree as a landmark. After some looking in the bushes we finally uncovered the ruins of one of the entrances (mag 1,2, or 3).
Right you can see the remaining entrance area of either magazine 1, 2, or 3 alongside an artistic reconstruction. The other two of the three are somewhere along this stretch although they could either be overgrown or gone without trace. Dave explained how the sides and entrance facing were made of brick, yet the interior was buried in earth and was concrete from what he could remember. We found the two walls that would’ve formed the entrance although the actual doorway was covered in soil; presumably it had collapsed at one point. Dave recalls seeing the magazine turn off left and right inside, going down about 10-12 feet either way. He remembers several along that stretch which corresponds to the old map, although the other two were probably hidden in the undergrowth hence why further investigation could be done. Below are the brick remains of the one we found closer:
Magazines 4 & 5
Below are photographs of reinforced concrete broken roughly on the site of either of mags 4 and 5. This must be part of them as Dave remembers reinforced concrete being used to form the inside of magazines 1-3, presumably of the same design. A section of brick wall was also found near here in good condition, although seemingly isolated from any kind of greater structure. Still it was probably part of the entrance to magazine 4 or 5.
Magazines 6 & 7
These magazines are both further north-west along the bike track in the wood area west of the current sewage works. They remain only as earth mounds at first glance, although it could be likely that the magazines remain underneath and were simply covered over at one point, or demolished and churned. The photos below only feature mag 6, but 7 is a similar mound of smaller size further north along the bike track/footpath.
We posted our article over at Benfleet Archive in credit to the help of Frank Gamble who helped us contact Dave Cowan and told us about the 1895 map. Several other individuals remembered the magazines from their childhood like Dave, as below: | English | NL | 1ef952146c654e0054aef3f9d1714299d9fe273fb3cc7a2bd5dc85563c59e7b7 |
Following with my trend this week I'm continuing on with my Valentine's Day posts. Have you ever looked up why we celebrate Valentine's day? I thought today would be a great day to see how it all began and share it with you.
Early Christian martyrs were named Valentine but it originated from Valentinus of Rome.
This over commercialized holiday began in Rome by a saint names Valentinus. The most popular account of Saint Valentine of Rome states that he was imprisoned for helping solider's marry ~ that were forbidden to marry. He was also charged for ministering to Christians who were persecuted under the Roman Empire. While in prison it is said that he healed the jailers daughter and would later sign his final letter before being hung as 'Your Valentine'.
While Saint Valentine's day is a 'feast day' for the Anglican communion, as well as the Lutheran Church. It is believed that Geoffrey Chaucer started the flourish of courtly love in the high middle ages. In the 18th century, in England, it involved into an expression in which lovers presentend flowers, offering confectionery, and sending greeting cards.
There is a great deal more on more martyrs that were named "Valentines" in Rome; Dublin, Ireland; Europe and Africa. The 14th of Feb is celebrated as St Valentines day in various Christian denomoninations because it is said that it has 'rank' over all other Saints in the Calendar of Saints. it is also said that Saint Valentine was bureid in the Via Flaminia on Feb 14th and the feast day is till celebrated in Balzan (Malta) | English | NL | 423e16260011f0cc16883c5975a98d2b5b78dc197669626712e16d59ee46d48d |
Paolo Veltri's wish to emigrate to North America was met
with resistance from his father.
Paolo Velti was known for his excellent wine-making in Italy.
However, at one time in Alberta, making wine at home was
Mr. Veltri was also known as a great gardener. To satisfy his
love of growing Italian vegetables, his sister would send him
seeds from Italy.
Read Short Biography | Read Summary of | English | NL | 1064238eafa53a192d76f1579d2f705936d4312a47539257a109efcf8a916e98 |
A GENEALOGY IS NOT IMPORTANT!
Under the new covenant that was ratified with the blood of Jesus Christ, your family history or national origin doesn’t matter; nor is a genealogy needed for you to have a relationship with God and serve Him.
No tribe on earth is excluded from entering the kingdom of God through faith in God’s only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. For we have the promise that “whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” See John 3:16
“He [Jesus Christ] was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.
He came unto his own, and his own received him not.
But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:
Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.” John 1:10-13
“And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men* unto me.” And, “No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him: and I will raise him up at the last day.” John 12:32; John 6:44
All the citizens of the kingdom of God are a new creation. They have faith which worketh by love, and keep the commandments of God.
* “All men - I will incline all kinds of men; or will make the way open by the cross, so that all men may come. I will provide a way which shall present a strong motive or inducement - the strongest that can be presented to all men
to come to me.” Barnes | English | NL | 7208f09ccf15c0126521d9e20a27805685b788e93a72b541ef59bc16e48bd793 |
Maja’s hair was a black curtain. Like a child, she imagined it protected her as she sat on the train, her hand cupped over her stomach. For the first few months, she had spent most of her time prone on her bed, the pillow damp.
She prayed to the Virgin, muttering the words like talismans.
Once she tried to tell him at a party. He had stared at her as if she were a phantom, a figment of his imagination as he took a swig of beer.
‘It’s your baby,’ she said, her fingers intertwined in her hair, her dark eyes imploring. His image blurred as tears wedged in her throat.
‘No, it’s not. I heard you were with someone else. Leave me be.’
He had sauntered away; his brown curls haloed in the light. Maja knew he did not stay with anyone. Girls fluttered to him from all directions, and she was no different.
The rain formed glittering constellations on the window as darkness fell. Maja leaned against the wall, and her baby moved, maybe flinging out an arm or covering her eyes.
Sara would know what to do. She would look after her. Her sister had written and demanded she come. They had never been away from one another until the previous year. Maja had traced the blue loops of her handwriting, sloping away from the lines on the paper. The endearments in their language, the row of kisses at the bottom.
‘Papa is calm today. He paces the house, but he doesn’t speak. We wait for his storm, but it hasn’t arrived. Mama is embroidering a landscape, and I’ve cleaned the house and fed the chooks. Mama misses you. I know, because she touches your face on your photograph every day. Come home, Maja. A baby is a gift of life like Father Ivan says. Mama and I will care for you, but then you must give the child away.
Maja remembered the day she was late home from school. She had gone to Jenny’s house, wide-eyed at her posters of pop stars and the plate of Teddy Bear biscuits on the kitchen bench. Her mother’s nails were painted red, and she wore jeans.
Her father stood on the porch as she approached, his stance was rigid. The creases on his trousers were as sharp as knives. Maja risked a glance at his face—it was flushed purple. His shirtsleeves were rolled up his sinewy arms, the veins bulged. She knew not to defend herself with words or actions. She knew to follow him to the shed out the back and submit to his belt. She knew not to cry out and prolong the punishment. Leaning over his workbench, she unbuttoned her skirt and let it drop to the dusty ground.
Maja read the name of the station. It was the one before her home. She stood and walked to the doors. A young man yanked them open, and she stepped out, the concrete chilled beneath the soles of her shoes as she eyed the opposite platform. Fluorescent lights made her squint, and she edged, crab-like, down the stairs to the tunnel beneath.
The city would protect her with its rules and processes and anonymity. The city was her home. | English | NL | fb48c437ba77c8631a15d8a361236d694175443c1d60cd223fc8aa207a5412e9 |
Loren Chasse is a man of many guises, while his recent solo releases being issued under the moniker Of for the past couple of years, his constant output via Jewelled Antler related projects has continued with his revolving presence in Thuja, Blithe Sons, Softwar, Ov, Kyrgyz, and many others. The work that Loren produces under his own name tends toward the sound art end of his aesthetic spectrum, closer to his work with Id Battery and Coelacanth than the field recordist approach to rural psychedelia found in those Jewelled Antler efforts. Editing and mixing magic and offering douceur to those records. Falsely minimum and ghostly, evocative and beautiful. Recommended for sensitive souls.
Loren places his ear upon the earth and begins his journey. we’ve all wished at times that we could present our dreams, or other complex things inside of us, to others exactly as we can see or hear them within us. in this case, loren has given us access to this little listening space inside his head, for we hear things we could only hear if we were inside him – it is the sounds of the world, sometimes manipulated by his hands, resonating through the earth and moving into us through his ears.
— S teve Roden | English | NL | ef1402a26c03ac198a0e07f2d2608915a18e76c2b08cde19f78d1bd063eaedde |
Chapter 781: Crushing Defeat
This question made the alchemist contemplate for a moment. The group came together again for another exchange and finally, the alchemist mused: “In our, very conservative, opinion, Virtuous Paragons shouldn’t use this longevity medicine. One should at least be of the eternal existence level to use it, or else it would be too much of a waste.”
“How many years will a God-Monarch gain?” A voice came from the distant ancestral ground of the Alchemy Kingdom.
These words shocked the crowd. Without a doubt, even the kingdom who was known to have the best alchemy dao had a God-Monarch who was tempted by this medicine!
“As I have said, for a God-Monarch who has never taken longevity medicines before, it should be able to increase their lifespan by six to seven hundred years.” The alchemist answered.
In reality, this was an impossible notion. Those who had reached the God-Monarch realm would have already taken countless longevity medicines. It could even be said that this type of medicine was completely useless for them.
“This is an alchemy Longevity Fruit that we have never seen before. Referencing past records, our conservative estimate for a God-Monarch who is taking this type of medicine for a second time is four to five hundred years because this is a Longevity Fruit, the ultimate form. If it is the third time, then it is hard to say. Perhaps one hundred years, or maybe only seventy to eighty years.” The alchemist explained quietly.
“What if it is the fifth time?” Another ancient voice came from the ancestral ground. Needless to say, another God-Monarch coveted this medicinal batch.
After all, an alchemy Longevity Fruit was exceedingly rare. Even for the kingdom, they only had one person capable of refining such medicines. However, he had stopped refining pills for some time now!
“Hmm… we have no answer for this.” The alchemist spoke: “In fact, until now, few people have had the chance to use an alchemy Longevity Fruit.”
“For the fifth usage, three more years is absolutely no problem.” When the alchemists here couldn’t come up with an answer, Li Qiye leisurely said: “Unfortunately, my longevity medicine is not for sale to you!”
Everyone went silent after hearing Li Qiye. They all knew that he and the Alchemy Kingdom were like fire and water and understood why he wouldn’t sell his medicine to the kingdom!
The God-Monarch did not respond. He knew that opening his mouth would only bring about further humiliation!
“A medicine specialized for God-Monarchs…” An ancestor from an old family asked: “Young Noble Li, what is the price for this medicine? Just set a price.”
A few great ancestors were moved and salivated when thoughts of this type of medicine surfaced in their minds. Although they would not be the ones to use it, they had even more powerful ancestors back home.
Li Qiye leisurely said: “What’s the hurry? The bet isn’t over yet.”
These ancestors didn’t dare to say anything after these words came out. Li Qiye’s longevity medicine refinement had astonished them. They wanted to ask him for more help, so they didn’t dare to offend him!
“Now then, who is the victor?” Li Qiye stared at the white hair alchemist.
The alchemist went pale and could no longer maintain his standout demeanor. It seemed that his soul had left his body, resulting in a sluggish state. This was too big of a blow for him. He actually didn’t even care for his life at the moment, such a defeat was too difficult to accept!
He had always been a heaven’s proud son, an alchemy genius. Although he was not as proficient as Yuan Caihe when it came to plant cultivation or Cao Guoyao in pill refinement, he thought of himself as being untouchable in longevity medicines among the younger generation. He was confident enough to dare challenge Legendary Alchemists of the previous generation!
However, he had suffered complete defeat in the field he excelled at. His single imperial warning was enough for him to take pride in, and he was very satisfied with such a result. However, Li Qiye refined a medicine that had four warnings!
Such a blow was unbearable and simply shattered his pride. Losing to Li Qiye's might would have been fine since even Immortal Emperors lost when they were young, let alone him. However, losing to Li Qiye in longevity medicine refinement was beyond his tolerance because it was his best area, his source of pride! This defeat completely shattered his confidence!
“Why did god give birth to me after creating you!” The paled alchemist leered at Li Qiye with forlorn eyes; his confidence was completely shot.
This quick shift in mentality from confidence to nothingness left him in despair.
Li Qiye simply shrugged: “Isn’t this the nature of life? There is always a higher mountain, a broader horizon, a greater man.”
“I see… A broader horizon and a greater man...” The alchemist chuckled with a mournful look: “Li Qiye, you are capable. I accept my loss today. This White Hair Alchemy God can stay true to his words even in defeat!”
Having said that, his body quivered, blood dripping down from the corners of his lips.
Eventually, he fell straight down as his eyes slowly closed. There were no complaints; he had no fear of death as it had become a form of relief for him.
“What a pity.” Li Qiye lightly shook his head while looking at the alchemist’s body. In fact, if the alchemist accepted his loss earlier, Li Qiye would have spared him. In his eyes, this alchemist was much more likable than Cao Guoyao.
Unfortunately, the alchemist was even prouder than Cao Guoyao and couldn’t handle defeat. He preferred the peace of death over bowing down before Li Qiye.
Many people emotionally sighed while the scene remained silent. The Stone Medicine World had lost a great alchemist.
“Excessive pride leads to one’s demise.” An older alchemist gently sighed: “There are times when even emperors taste defeat, so why bet with your life?”
Many here still viewed the alchemist as an extraordinary genius despite losing. They all knew of his arrogant attitude, and many didn’t like him when he was alive. He was too difficult to get along with.
However, after losing his life, even those who didn’t like him felt mournful. The world had lost a great alchemist.
After a period of silence, a great ancestor had to inquire: “Young Noble Li, is your longevity medicine for sale?”
In fact, Ming Yexue also wanted to buy this batch of medicine for the God-Monarch in her sect. However, she didn’t say anything since she understood that it would only make things difficult for Li Qiye.
Li Qiye took the two batches of medicine because the alchemist’s portion had become his spoils of victory. He then shook his head as a response to the ancestor’s question: “Don’t ask me about this, you should be asking Fairy Yuan.”
Having said that, he handed the medicines over to Yuan Caihe: “The materials were from the Serene Garden, so these two batches belong to the garden as well. Take them, it is up to you whether to sell or not.”
Yuan Caihe was a bit hesitant, but under Li Qiye’s gentle, insistent nod, she eventually accepted the two batches.
“Fairy Yuan, are they for sale? Just name the price.” Many ancestors were happy after seeing the change of owners. This was because many great powers had friendly relationships with the Serene Garden. Moreover, Yuan Caihe was a very amiable person. Buying from her would be much easier than buying from Li Qiye.
Yuan Caihe announced to the covetous old ancestors: “Gentlemen, for the sake of fairness, the medicines will be entrusted to the largest auction house in the Stone Medicine World. The highest bidder will walk home with them.”
Some were happy while others were worried after hearing this decision. A few immediately left to return to their sects so that they could tell their seniors to prepare enough funds for the upcoming extraordinary auction.
“Let us go.” Li Qiye boarded his carriage to return to his quarters.
Not long after their return, many people came to visit. There was no lack of ancestor-level characters among them.
It was understandable for so many sects and even ancestors to visit. With the death of the white hair alchemist, Li Qiye had become the new alchemy prodigy. Moreover, his longevity medicine refinement skill was even better than the white hair alchemist’s!
Which lineage didn’t want to have a good relationship with a genius like Li Qiye? This was especially true for the ancestors. They hoped to build friendly ties with Li Qiye since they would eventually seek his assistance to refine medicines when the day that they require them came.
Li Qiye let the madam see to the visiting sects. According to his plan, the Giant Bamboo Country’s status became much more prestigious.
This made others realize that in order to ask Li Qiye for help in refining medicines, they must establish ties with the Giant Bamboo Country. If the madam could put in a good word for them, then the situation would change completely.
The endless stream of guests continued for the next couple of days. Eventually, Li Qiye stopped the madam from seeing more guests and announced his closed cultivation session along with a new boundary line at the base of the mountain. No one was allowed to climb the mountain to bother them.
No one dared to make a fuss about this approach. At the moment, everyone wanted him to refine pills, so who would want to make him angry?
What’s more was that they understood that Li Qiye was not the same as before. With one word, how many people would be willing to help him? Because of this, who would want to offend him?
Previous Chapter Next Chapter | English | NL | 698c57af0bfc03ba72cf1162653cceb1c4a2f8c93423a317d2d3ba2f26652ddf |
Christie Ann Hefner (born November 8, 1952) is the former chairman and chief executive officer of Playboy Enterprises, the company created by her father, Hugh Hefner. She stepped down from her position at Playboy on January 30, 2009. She has often worked with the progressive political organization Center for American Progress. Their site describes her as having “long been involved in electing progressive candidates, advancing women, First Amendment issues, and advancing treatment for people with HIV/AIDS.” She is currently executive chairman of Canyon Ranch Enterprises, chairman of the board of Hatch Beauty, board member and strategic advisor of Luminary Digital Media, and global editorial advisory boardmember of Reuters.
Hefner was born in Wilmette, Illinois. She is the daughter of Mildred (Williams) and Hugh Hefner. Her parents had separated by the time she was five. When her mother remarried, she moved to Wilmette, Illinois. There she graduated from New Trier High School. She attended the National Music Camp at Interlochen during the summers from 1964-1969.
She graduated summa cum laude from Brandeis University with a bachelor’s degree in English and American literature in 1974. She was elected to Phi Beta Kappa in her junior year.
After college, she started working at Playboy. After four years, she was promoted to vice president.
In 1982, she became president of Playboy Enterprises, and was made chairman of the board and CEO in 1988. The company acquired adult-oriented businesses such as Spice Network and ClubJenna.
In 2008, she released a memo to employees about her efforts to streamline the company’s operations, including eliminating its DVD division and laying off staff.
On December 8, 2008, she announced her plans to step down as CEO of Playboy as of January 31, 2009.Hefner said that the election of Barack Obama as the next U.S. president had inspired her to give more time to charitable work, and that the decision to step down was her own. “Just as this country is embracing change in the form of new leadership, I have decided that now is the time to make changes in my own life as well,” she said.
In May 2011, she was named executive chairman of Canyon Ranch Enterprises, a resort company that operates six premier spa destinations and an online website providing health and wellness advice.
Hefner created the Hugh M. Hefner First Amendment Award in honor of her father, and has helped to raise $30 million to build the CORE Center in Chicago, the first outpatient facility in the Midwest for people with AIDS. | English | NL | 5e02df057e71ace9a252be0d819317a48bf8f9e91d0d7bd880a2937e2d7149f1 |
You might assume that you want a heavier heifer to ensure that she reaches puberty as soon as possible. Ensuring puberty then leads to a higher birthing rate in the herd in year but also greater efficiency as it allows for the greater possibility of more calves born within a 21-day period. (Why is that important? Read that here.)
As described in the research summary from the Western Beef Development Centre, mature cow body weight from cows 5 years and older is 1410 lbs.
In this trial, which allocated cattle in two different years and studied them both over the course of 3 years, heifers were bale-grazed bromegrass-alfalfa round bales and supplemented with barley grain. Trials were completed in a drylot pen and in a field paddock, but no notable differences were found between the two feeding areas. These heifers were also split into two other categories: those who were fed to reach 55 percent of their mature weight, (770 lbs), and those who were fed to reach 62 percent of their mature weight (870 lbs). It should also be stressed that both of these groups were well fed – their rations were designed to reach the recommended protein and energy requirements for pregnant beef heifers.
As expected, during the winter development period, heifers fed to gain only 55 percent of their mature weight had a lower average daily gain. This resulted in lower feed costs for these replacement heifers compared to the heifers provided with more food to reach 62 percent of their mature weight within the winter development period.
But did it affect their birth rate? Pregnancy rates were very similar for both groups. The replacement heifers fed to reach 55 percent of their mature weight had a pregnancy rate of 86 percent, while the replacement heifers fed to reach 62 percent of their mature weight had a pregnancy rate of 88 percent. The pregnancy rates between the two groups leveled off even more within the next two years, with rates between 94 and 96 percent for both subsequent years.
So, if there’s wasn’t a big difference in pregnancy rates, which group had a greater benefit for the producer? The group that was only fed to gain 55 percent of their mature weight had a significantly lower cost. Without a loss in reproductive performance, the smaller replacement heifers reduced their development cost by $58 per animal.
As you keep in mind the number of replacement heifers you’ll need this fall, which are likely just calves now, also keep in mind the costs you could reduce in this coming year as well. How much feed will you have available, and how much is necessary? Did you have healthy replacement heifers? Could you have reduced your feed costs this past year? Answering these questions could improve your herd and your costs next year. Talk to your nutritionist to determine a ration that will lower your costs, but still provide the necessary nutrients for your replacement heifers. (In Saskatchewan, contact your Agricultural Knowledge Centre at (306) 694-3727 for more assistance with your feed rations)
Would you like another point of view? Check out this article from the Beef Magazine. | English | NL | bff333782e5fd2d6a35bbc27dd3c8a7137edfe35699c301b0e29cb66dfd17a76 |
Home care agencies who have received additional development requests (ADRs) are experiencing an ever-increasing ALJ backlog. The following is the final part of a 3-part series on the current state of ADRs and the ALJ backlog.
This past September, I had the opportunity to attend the National Quality Outcomes and OASIS-C conference presented by Decision Health. It was my first time attending this conference and I was very impressed with the speakers and the presentations. The presenters were from various home health agencies and consulting groups throughout the country. The topics... Continue Reading → | English | NL | 8237a3bfef52e29432f6c9845966764d955c8ecf382a581bff648efafa02103f |
She lay in bed, curled slightly, with the duvet wrapped tightly around herself. The room was dark and though she was awake, she did not bother to turn on any lights. She liked lying in the darkness. She’d need to get up soon, but had little interest, after all, there was nothing she really had to do today, there was no one waiting for her to get up, she wasn’t meeting anyone. All she’d do was laze around her apartment, maybe go out for errands but really who were they for? It was only her so it’s not like she would be missing out on anything. She had food and books, she could go out to buy more but would it just so she had something to do? Her to read pile was large and always growing larger, she’d had enough to read for at least the next three years.
She hated times like this, when she couldn’t ignore it, when she was made acutely aware of how alone she was. She could go weeks, sometimes months, without feeling this way but it was unstoppable when it hit. Oh she always knew she was lonely, but it was so easy to push it away, to ignore it. She’d go to bookshops and browse, go food shopping and buy something tasty, something that looked delicious and smelled amazing, she’d sit in a restaurant or coffee shop, happy enough to be alone, but when these feelings appeared all those things became pointless, trivial. She was always convinced people were staring at her, talking about her, about how alone she was and how she had no friends.
She untangled herself from the covers and stretched before standing. She was tired, she always was at times like these. She dressed in pyjamas, not bothering to put on proper clothes. She told herself she’d change into something after she showered, knowing that she might not bother today, after all, it’s not like she was going anywhere or seeing anyone. She went into the kitchen to decide what to do for breakfast, the apartment was bright after the dark confines of her room. She glanced at the fridge and, though it was full, she did not want to cook anything. She abandoned the kitchen and went to the sitting room, trying to decide between books or television. She scanned the shelves and pulled a book out, then sat on the couch, television remote in hand. She’d have a choice of both if one failed to hold her attention. She’d probably switch back and forth between the two for the rest of the day.
It was a few chapters and mindless TV shows later when the grumbling of her stomach forced her out of the chair. She didn’t really want anything to eat, but knew she should. After a few moments of indecisiveness, she pulled out a few take away menus she had lying around. It was easiest. After placing her order she went back to her books and television, going back to the other lives they presented. They made her feel less alone, and until this feeling passed, as it always had and always would, she would consume them in copious amounts.
The brief interaction with the delivery boy was awkward, she didn’t enjoy personal encounters when she felt like this, sometimes she thought it might help but it only reminded her how poor she was with people. She had taken the food and tipped him, trying to engage in banal pleasantries, but it was draining. He didn’t speak too much, probably thinking she was hung over. She took the boxes and returned to her sanctuary and prison. The food would do her for the entire day, she didn’t eat much normally and she had ordered a large amount of food. It might even do for tomorrow if she was still feeling this way. She knew she probably would but didn’t acknowledge it.
She sat at her table, which was by the window, sometimes on nice days she’d go out onto the small balcony and eat there, but though it was bright she didn’t really feel like going to that effort. She opened the door slightly to allow the smells and sounds of the city to enter. She was lucky, there was a nice view for her here and as she ate, she looked out at the people passing by, the couples, the friends, the families. She stopped when she was full and carefully wrapped the food up, leaving it on the counter. She closed over the door, shutting everything out and returned to the couch.
Though it was getting late, she did not bother to turn on lights, allowing the pale flickering glow of the television to light the room, it was too dark to read but she had stopped reading her book a while ago, instead opting to flick through the numerous television stations. She turned off the television, momentarily plunging the apartment into darkness before her eyes adjusted to the lights coming from outside. She closed over the blinds and turned on two lights. She was tired, but felt like having a shower. She gathered towels and a dressing gown. She turned on the shower, allowing the water to adjust, she placed the dressing gown onto the radiator, the room was warm and steam would soon fill it. She stripped and stepped into the shower, allowing the warm spray to cover her body. She tipped her head back, moving into the water, she closed her eyes and let it run down her face, luxuriating in the warmth it provided. She started her special routine, the one for when she was feeling down, using only the most expensive body washes, shampoos and lotions, washing and scrubbing her skin. She enjoyed long showers and did not hurry this time.
When she stepped from the shower, her skin felt clean and soft, slipping into the warm dressing gown she wrapped a towel around her hair, normally she’d use a hair dryer but she was still tired though she did feel better. She left the bathroom, clouds of steam billowing around her. She dried herself and changed into a new pair of pyjamas, she felt better, so much better now. She sat down and ate some more of the takeaway, eating slowly, enjoying the taste and texture, she’d finish off some of her book then go to bed, tomorrow, she’d go out, there were some things she needed to do. This spell had passed quickly and though she felt different she knew, though she pushed it away, knew that there would be a next time and next time it wouldn’t go away so easily. | English | NL | 2edef1d1cc22341292ccaceef5a54b91f02f0fb314c1327129c26a6f6f774686 |
I can’t help wondering if perhaps Charles Dickens’ inspiration for “A Christmas Carol” was not just looking back over his life. Was there just that moment when he wished that all he had lived through was but a dress rehearsal for the real thing? Was there not the slightest hope that it was all just a dream from which he learned what he needed to know. He then awoke, and instead of it being Christmas Day, it was actually the first day of the rest of his life.
My first real understanding of this Dickens’ tale was the animated Mr. Magoo version. I could never forget his relief and utter jubilation upon realizing the horrors he had seen were but a dream. The spirits had done it all in one night, and he had not missed Christmas Day. He was given a second chance to make everything right.
As someone having a bout of wisdom once told me, “The worst thing about life is the learning curve.”
If only life could be like Ebenezer’s bad dream, from which we could simply wake and begin anew.
Now, for the proverbial “call to action:”
If you liked this piece, please click “Like,” leave a comment, “Follow” my blog, – better yet, share the link with friends, family, or colleagues you think would enjoy it. It’s the only way a writer can gather an audience. Thanks very much! Nancy 🌹 | English | NL | bbf0e3cc6078a124cd3b188100f49d0c7e8b8fde19606a6871a45abc7e48b5e5 |
Sometimes it pays to miss a flight.
Watching the plane take off from his seat in the terminal, he didn’t think he would be surprised to see the explosion. But he saw it, and was surprised. It was large, white and yellow, and it was because of him. He knew it. Ever since he was a child he had dreamed of airplanes exploding. Because of him. He had magical powers –- mystical, otherworldly. All he needed to do was stare at a plane in the sky and it would explode.
He knew this.
He knew that there was nothing he could do to stop an airplane from exploding except not look, so he spent his life not looking. He would enter an airport as young children enter graveyards, holding their breath, afraid to look too far in either direction. The only thing he would see, when he did open his eyes, were the laces of his shoes.
He knew he should not take it seriously, these thoughts, this imagined power. Yet, he was afraid. Yet, he was nervous. For what if the power was real, what if it was true. He could not live with that on his conscience. He could not live, knowing that he had been responsible for the murder of innocents. It was simply safer not to look.
Today, he had been late. He was thirty-seven, a businessman. Usually, he worked from his office, in the city. Sent lower-management types to meet with clients in their home offices. But this client, this one was important. This client, this one was the real deal. He knew he had to do this one himself.
Although he was a high-level businessman, it had been seven months and thirteen days since he had last stepped on a plane. He had counted. He had a calendar, in his bedroom, where he kept track. In his corner office in the city, he tracked the trajectory of the airplanes he refused to look at in their shadows on the Hudson. He spent a large portion of his time and energy looking down.
Still, although this was an important client –- perhaps the most important client of his career –- he was late to the airport. By the time he had arrived, the flight was minutes from taking off. He struggled through security, relinquishing his belt and shoes, flooding the line with his haphazardly towed baggage, rushing to the gate only to be told that it was closed. The plane had already left the terminal. He was as good as fired.
He sat in the seat of the terminal –- the seat from which he would soon watch the plane explode -– and thought over his options. He could call the office, tell them he had missed his flight. But, when was the next flight to Japan? Could he possibly make the next one? He stood up, scanned the departures board. There was nothing else, nothing for hours. The client wanted results, information, on time or not at all. That was why they paid him. That was why he did his job. Without this, he was as good as useless. He could not be late.
He sat back down.
It would be one thing, he thought, if the delay was through no fault of his own. Traffic, he could say, in the Holland Tunnel. But no, that wouldn’t work. His flight had left the gate before six a.m. He could tell his client he was delayed, sure, but his client would doubtlessly check with his office to confirm. His client was thorough. No. It wouldn’t work.
He had a thought. There could be a delay at the airport. A security threat. His mind immediately went where he knew it should not go.
An airplane could explode…
An airplane could explode.
It was surprisingly easy. Once he had put his mind to it. He knew it couldn’t be his plane. He needed to get to Japan, after all. But any other plane would do. At first, he thought he would choose a smaller airplane, figuring the smaller the plane, the less passengers involved. But then, after a little thought, he changed his mind. Some small planes fly quite full, he knew, and the bigger planes could be nearly empty. Besides, who was he to be playing God, saying the people on this plane should live and this should die.
No, he decided, it was easier –- it was fairer –- for it to be entirely random. He glanced out his window. His plane – what should have been his plane – was fourth in line for takeoff. The second plane then. The second plane would be the one he would explode.
The first plane went down the tarmac. He glanced at it quickly as it flew by. He knew he would have to focus if he wanted to make it explode, and he wasn’t ready, not yet. He turned away. The plane arched gracefully, although he didn’t see it. He only watched its shadow getting smaller and then fading away.
The time had come. He focused his eyes on the airplane. He thought he would be hesitant, fearful, conscious of the havoc he was about to cause, but he was none of those things. His mind, his body, his very being took on a sudden urgency, as if he suddenly knew what it was to be alive.
He focused his body, his mind, his being on the airplane. The airplane and he were one. It started moving down the tarmac. The runway was getting shorter and the airplane was getting faster and still it was intact. It was lifting off, it had liftoff and it was free of the ground and his eyes were piercing like magnets into the airplanes’ skull and still, still it was not bursting into flames and he realized that his youthful dreams, his evocations of power and strength and miraculous terror were nothing but fancies, that the plane would fly away and nothing would explode and the world would move on and there was a flash of blinding light and where the plane was was thousands of pieces of metal and orange and yellow in the morning sky.
He could not believe it. He could not help feeling a tiny bit of joy. Not only was he going to have an excuse for missing his flight –- the flight that he would now make, once the plane returned to the gate -– but he did have the magic after all. The magic was real.
The flight to Tokyo was a pleasure. He spent the hours on board – hours that were his by right, hours that he had created –- staring out the window, looking at the clouds below and the nothing below that. He thought about the time in the airport, the chaos, the commotion. His flight would not be leaving today, he had thought, then, not when an aircraft exploded in the sky right above the tarmac, but he had been wrong. In this, post-September 11th world, it turned out, the nation was ready, the nation was all too willing to move on. It was blamed on terrorism, a faulty mechanism, anything other than what it really was, that is, on himself. He himself carried the power. He himself was the reason for the explosion. And only he knew it.
The next day, when the flight arrived in Tokyo, when he landed and was met by a delegation from his client’s firm, expecting him hours earlier, having called and been told it was by no means his fault, having seen it on the news, on CNN.com, he knew he had nothing to worry about, he had nothing to be afraid of. He was forgiven. The world could move on. He kept the client.
Bezalel Stern’s work has been published or is forthcoming in McSweeney’s, MonkeyBicycle, Wigleaf, The Literary Review, SmokeLong Quarterly, Contrary Magazine, Revolution House, kill author, and other places. In 2013-2014, he was an Emerging Writer Fellow at the Center for Fiction in New York. | English | NL | 0a5b5f0b1e32266e6b0ed0ef2b126df192b498586a165440d25ce0da0311304d |
Diagnosis in Alexander’s writings refers both to medical diagnosis, and to people’s own diagnosis of their own problems. Alexander also uses it to refer to the assessment of a person’s use and functioning.
In UoS, in the chapter ‘Diagnosis and medical training’, Alexander argues that no diagnosis can be complete without considering the influence of use upon functioning, and that since medical training does not include such considerations, a medical diagnosis alone is incomplete.
He is further of the opinion that there is a connection between disease and wrong functioning, and that wrong functioning is always associated with ‘undesirable use of the mechanicms of the organism as a whole’.
Alexander was a keen observer of people’s use and functioning, and he observed his pupils very carefully, as is revealed in an aside by Alexander in a 1925 lecture:
Consequently, as we must all of us sit down a number of times, it occurred to me long ago that it would be a very good idea if we could apply some technique to the act of standing and sitting during the day. The consequence is that my first attention is given, when the pupil comes into the room, to the different little things he or she happens to be doing, walking and so forth, and then when he comes into my room at first, I ask him to sit down in the chair – and we all do that, it is a matter of etiquette – and when he has sat down in the chair, I have the history of his life’s use of himself. It is all there.
Walter Carrington testifies to this in Explaining the Alexander Technique:
Another important aspect of FM’s character was that he was extremely observant. He was very, very sharp-eyed indeed. From the moment anyone walked into his room or if he encountered them in the waiting room, he’d be watching very closely and noting everything he could.
Sometimes Alexander would share his observations with his pupils, as Sir George Trevelyan reported in first meeting with Alexander in 1928:
He [Alexander] looked at me, felt me with his hands and said, ‘Young man, what have you been doing to yourself?’. He made me make some movements as in fencing (a sport in which I indulged a great deal and with much skill) and to my surprise raised his hands in horror. Then he expounded: I was using myself abominably; I had cultivated unconscious habits which felt quite right but in fact were pulling my poor body out of shape and creating pressures and tensions, pushing organs into the wrong places and so forth. I was stiffening my neck and pulling my head back; I had got my back pulled right in and it had fixed there as if the framework of the lung was battered in. This in itself threw out of gear the great and strong muscle sets in the back; throwing the strain onto the wrong sets, notably those of the neck, which resulted in the head dragging back even more and the wretched vertebrae being ground down one upon the other. He pointed out to me a thing I’d never thought of before. I was doing these things myself.
Dr Wilfred Barlow
Dr Wilfred Barlow was the only teacher who developed the idea of making a formal diagnosis of a pupil’s use. Pupils would undress and stand – in front, side and rear poses – against a grid so that any asymmertries, deviations from the upright, etc., would be easy to identify and record. For his research papers he (or research associates) would take photographs, some of which are reproduced in his books, The Alexander Principle, More Talk of Alexander, and Postural Homeostasis.
Whereas almost all teachers observe their pupil’s use, teachers differ as to the extent they share these observations with their pupils. Because of the medical connotations almost no one would use the word ‘diagnosis’ today for such ‘use assessment’.
See also Prevention, Cure, Observation work. | English | NL | 88cefdaddda3848efadbaa0682656fd59b452854439785d630b1705d62357d74 |
At noon on the next day the direction of lines was changed; we were then thrown forward into an open field, where we remained all night. As the night was wet and cold, my men made themselves comfortable by building large fires.
The next day was occupied in maneuvering to the front and right until about 2 p.m., when we were moved to the left across the river at the ford, formed in line of battle, and moved forward, the right resting on the river bank. The line moved steadily onward for about 600 yards, when my regiment fell under a heavy and well-directed fire from a large party of the enemy, who were in ambush among the timber and rocks directly on the bank of the river. My regiment, being in the open field and unprotected by any cover, I thought it best to order a charge, which was done by moving by the right flank and then to the front. In this charge I was wounded and was brought off the field. The charge, as I afterward [learned], was successful. The enemy were dislodged and the position held by my men until night.
In this engagement my officers and men acted well, obeying every command with alacrity.
I cannot close without expressing my high sense of gratitude to General Preston for the care he took of his men, and the skillfulness he displayed in maneuvering us on the field and in bringing us into action.
I am, very respectfully, captain, your obedient servant,
T. B. SMITH,
Colonel Twentieth Tennessee Regiment.
[Captain] R. W. WOOLEY,
No. 240. Report of Major F. Claybrooke, Twentieth Tennessee Infantry.
CAMP NEAR TULLAHOMA, TENN., January 11, 1863.
[The following is] a report of the part taken in the recent battle near Murfreesborough, Tenn., by the Twentieth Tennessee Regiment:
Saturday, December 27, 1862, orders were received to cook rations and be ready to move at a moment's warning, as it was well known that the enemy were approaching in large force. Officers and men were certain of an engagement, and each man felt we would be victorious. Indeed, so far as my observation extended, I have never before seen soldiers in higher spirits than were ours on that occasion. Nor have I ever seen men better bear up under the long-continued privations and hardships incident to every battle.
Very early Sunday morning, orders to that effect having been received, all the camp equipage was packed ready to be placed in the wagons, the regiment formed and marched to the headquarters of General Preston, where the brigade was formed, our regiment taking the position previously assigned us, on the right of the brigade. General Preston marched us through the town and out upon the Lebanon road about 1 1/2 miles. Here our line of battle was formed; we-the right of the brigade, and, indeed, the extreme right of the front line of the army-were formed, our right resting on the road, our left extending in the direction of Stone's River, which at this place runs nearly from east to west. In this position we remained for several hours, when we ordered to advance a few hundred yards to a skirt of heavy timber, where we bivouacked | English | NL | a819ef7b18ed8a51ddab731bb60ffe3f76ac9ee8b388d14becc271ea592154a9 |
TRIBUTE TO JULIE-ANN THORBURN-PADULA
I am honoured to speak on behalf of the Thorburn family and to pay tribute to Julie-Ann.
Julie-Ann was born on July 31, 1962, at the Catherine Booth Hospital in Montreal, Quebec to Martyn and Joan Thorburn. Being raised in an Anglican church, Julie-Ann was confirmed in her faith in 1974, at the Church of the Transfiguration in St. Catharines, where the family resided. Julie-Ann grew up in the privileged position of being the lovely rose amongst three thorns, namely, Stuart, Ian, and Blair. At an early age Julie-Ann took on many responsibilities and soon exhibited great maternal instincts. It was evident Julie-Ann was going to be a high achiever and blossomed during her high school years.
Just about six weeks ago, Julie-Ann and I were talking about this and she mentioned that her high school years were some of the best years of her life. I will fondly remember her charging through the halls of Laura Secord Secondary School, weighed down with a load of books, and always on a mission somewhere important. Julie-Ann was a fabulous student, scoring high marks effortlessly, and she was a natural leader in extracurricular activities. She was a member of the Church Council at the Church of the Good Shepherd, representing the Youth. She also enjoyed being an Altar Server at this very church.
She ran for high school President in one of her senior years, and of course, won. I believe she was the first female President that Laura Secord ever had. Because of her elevated status in the school that year, she had the opportunity to meet Prime Minister Trudeau, and not only did she charm him on stage at an assembly, but she also acquired his signature lapel rose in front of the entire school. It’s my understanding that Julie-Ann’s mother still has that rose.
Joan enrolled Julie-Ann in Girl Guides, and it was through Guiding that she and Heather Tucker became friends for life. As one of a handful of recipients of the prestigious Canadian Cord, she was proud of her Guiding experiences, and never ceased to remind us of her superiority as a Girl Guide. She claimed that there were only two types of people in this world, those who were Girl Guides, and those who wished they were. Of course, her campfires were made effortlessly, and usually roared to life despite the rain, despite the cold, and despite the lack of adequate firewood. She continued to seek out camping opportunities throughout her life, spending weeks on end with her mother and Jack in Port Burwell every summer, with enthusiasm, and with a love of the outdoors. Even covered in a dirty t-shirt with grimy knees; she was still more glamorous than I could ever be in my best ball gown. I believe that she instilled this love of the simple life in both Matthew and Emily.
Julie-Ann never took herself seriously, and was constantly interested in making others feel at ease in any situation. She often claimed that she could talk to anyone; in fact, she boasted that she could have an intelligent conversation with a brick wall if necessary. I think that the confidence she had in herself made her the life of every party; she was the individual that the entire room gravitated to at an event, whether it was while she worked at the Juno Awards, or at a fund-raising function for Matthew and Emily’s school, or whether it was at one of our 40th birthday parties. Julie-Ann’s name was a synonym for excitement.
Julie-Ann had a relatively brief but enviable career with VideoFacts after she finished her Bachelor of Arts degree in journalism at Ryerson. We’ve all listened in awe to the stories of the Canadian stars she hob-knobbed with, and the exciting work that she did. She embraced Toronto and all it had to offer. She developed a love of the arts, which she instilled in her children at a young age. She took Matthew and Emily to every funky festival she could find, including kite flying festivals, dragon boat races, fire works displays, pumpkin festivals, and of course, the Renaissance Festival in Milton. She always invited one of her high school friends and their children to attend these events with her; "the more the merrier" being her motto. Heather, Patrick Secord and I all have fond memories of our adventures with the Mud Men or with "Zoltan the Adequate," thanks to Julie Ann.
Julie-Ann was married, and soon after, left her glamorous career behind without a backward glance when her children were born. She embraced her new role as a mother with enthusiasm and grace. To say she was devoted to Matthew and Emily was an understatement. Julie-Ann spent her days gloriously catering to their needs, whether it was helping them with homework assignments, or organizing fabulous parties to celebrate successes or seasonal events. She had a natural ability to work with children; moving them along effortlessly to another task before they could become bored. This probably came from her days as a Day Camp counselor in high school. I never once heard her raise her voice to her children; it just wasn’t necessary in her home. Julie-Ann once said to me that in raising children "the days are long, but the years are short" and that sooner than we knew, we would miss these days. She always had great wisdom.
Julie-Ann loved to take pictures, and labeled herself as the "unofficial paparazzi." Over the years, she captured every memory and every event of her children’s lives, and she put together incredible photo albums for each of them, documenting every year in an individual album. She also captured memories of all of her friends on her camera, and was constantly handing out copies of the photos for our own albums.
In the last five years, Julie-Ann developed a great love of gardening. Of course, this was a hobby she could undertake while her children swam or played nearby. She quickly became an expert in perennials and annuals, and was proud of the backdrop she created with her gardening efforts. She never ran out of energy, and was looking forward to getting back into her garden this spring.
In closing, I wish to say that I feel Matthew has inherited Julie-Ann’s gentle spirit and her sense of humour, and Emily has inherited her incredible beauty and her love of entertaining. While they will always have their own memories of their mother, one day, Matthew and Emily may knock on your door, and it will be your responsibility to tell them exactly how marvelous Julie-Ann was as a person. I challenge all of you to keep your memories of Julie-Ann alive and vivid, so that you can share them with these children when they are ready.
May God rest Julie-Ann’s soul. | English | NL | 2f5d944f52f625f1a9516659a698c9881efbbb371b8181ab146f0dcf1f80c184 |
The Caves of Steel
1: Conversation With A Commissioner
Lije Baley had just reached his desk when he became aware of R. Sammy watching him expectantly.
The dour lines of his long face hardened. “What do you want?”
“The boss wants you, Lije. Right away. Soon as you come in.”
R. Sammy stood there blankly.
Baley said, “I said, all right. Go away!”
R. Sammy turned on his heel and left to go about his duties. Baley wondered irritably why those same duties couldn’t be done by a man.
He paused to examine the contents of his tobacco pouch and make a mental calculation. At two pipefuls a day, he could stretch it to next quota day.
Then he stepped out from behind his railing (he’d rated a railed corner two years ago) and walked the length of the common room.
Simpson looked up from a merc-pool file as he passed. “Boss wants you, Lije.”
“I know. R. Sammy told me.”
A closely coded tape reeled out of the merc-pool’s vitals as the small instrument searched and analyzed its “memory” for the desired information stored in the tiny vibration patterns of the gleaming mercury surface within.
“I’d kick R. Sammy’s behind if I weren’t afraid I’d break a leg,” said Simpson. “I saw Vince Barrett the other day.”
“He was looking for his job back. Or any job in the Department. The poor kid’s desperate, but what could I tell him. R. Sammy’s doing his job and that’s all. The kid has to work a delivery tread on the yeast farms now. He was a bright boy, too. Everyone liked him.”
Baley shrugged and said in a manner stiffer than he intended or felt, “It’s a thing we’re all living through.”
The boss rated a private office. It said JULIUS ENDERBY on the clouded glass. Nice letters. Carefully etched into the fabric of the glass. Underneath, it said COMMISSIONER OF POLICE, CITY OF NEW YORR.
Baley stepped in and said, “You want to see me, Commissioner?”
Enderby looked up. He wore spectacles because his eyes were sensitive and couldn’t take the usual contact lenses. It was only after one got used to the sight of them that one could take in the rest of the face, which was quite undistinguished. Baley had a strong notion that the Commissioner valued his glasses for the personality they lent him and suspected that his eyeballs weren’t as sensitive as all that.
The Commissioner looked definitely nervous. He straightened his cuffs, leaned back, and said, too heartily, “Sit clown, Lije. Sit down,”
Baley sat down stiffly and waited.
Enderby said, “How’s Jessie? And the boy?”
“Fine,” Said Baley, hollowly, “Just fine. And your family?”
“Fine,” echoed Enderby. “Just fine.”
It had been a false start.
Baley thought: Something’s wrong with his face.
Aloud, he said, “Commissioner, I wish you wouldn’t send R. Sammy out after me.”
“Well, you know how I feel about those things, Lije. But he’s been put here and I’ve got to use him for something.”
“It’s uncomfortable, Commissioner. He tells me you want me and then he stands there. You know what I mean. I have to tell him to go or he just keeps on standing there.”
“Oh, that’s my fault, Lije. I gave him the message to deliver and forgot to tell him specifically to get back to his job when he was through.”
Baley sighed. The fine wrinkles about his intensely brown eyes grew more pronounced. “Anyway, you wanted to see me.”
“Yes, Lije,” said the Commissioner, “but not for anything easy.” | English | NL | 1606dadc189e245a093face6a0efa4d2f7ed81a48aa72768147196b9473ec743 |
also named by his signature Jacobus Traiectensis (born c. 1479 - dead after 1525) was a Flemish early Renaissance painter who worked in Antwerp and Lebeck.
Jacob van Utrecht's life is still very much in the dark. Research on this important Flemish artist did not start before the end of 19th century. He was probably born in Utrecht, although it is not certain. It is assumed that he became a citizen of Antwerp around 1500 and he is recorded as a "free master craftsman" of the Guild of St Luke there from 1506 to 1512.
From 1519 to 1525 he is recorded as a member of the Leonardsbruderschaft ("Leonard's Brotherhood"), a religious confraternity of merchants in Lebeck among whose ranks the leaders of the Protestant Reformation in the 1530s could be found.
From then on no traces of his life have been found. | English | NL | 7d5aadebe4f02c60f6ec390d9cf39d5d0a8ab79bb50b859a721f85a0ee1923c7 |
Lately I’ve been doing a lot of research into the gods of continental Europe, of the areas once known as Gaul and Germania, as well as those British gods we know from history and archaeology more than from literature and myth. I have a real fondness for these deities, along with other gods who traveled.
This makes sense, honestly, for me as someone who lives a good way away from the regions my gods first made themselves known. I’m similarly interested in the ways that communities introduce new gods, and the ways that deities accompany colonists to a new region. Gods and their migrations is clearly a topic of some interest.
A lot of what little we know about the gods of Gaul and (apart from Ireland and Wales, where a mythic literature survives) Britain is based on archaeology and linguistics. What this means is that much of our knowledge is dependent on what has survived and been discovered in and on the ground, usually in the form of imagery and (Latin) text inscriptions. This included not only temples (some gods had several, most had none that survived) but also such things as votive offerings which might have inscribed on them the name of the deity receiving them, altars raised in fulfillment of a vow made to a particular deity, and place-names that appear to honor a deity or indicate the presence of a worship site. Sometimes the linguistic and archaological evidence doesn’t match up–for example, the goddess Nantosuelta’s name would indicate a river connection but her strong association with symbols of abundance and prosperity (along with her large number of likely worship sites) suggests that she is far more than a river spirit. It may be that other gods we are familiar with from fewer sources originally had a wider range of associations than we know of as well.
In some cases a god was known across a wide geographical area. Epona was one such–the Romans themselves adopted her and there is, uniquely, evidence of her worship in Rome itself–but other gods were known in different regions as well, such as Belenos, Sirona, or Rosmerta. Others were most well-known in a particular area–for example, as goddess of the river Seine, Sequana tended to be worshipped most often near that river. Still others, tribal deities, have been attested primarily in regions where those tribes existed, although tribal territories sometimes moved and their gods did likewise. There are also gods we know of only from a single inscription or other archaeological find.
Here I’m going to talk a bit about Rome. I’m not myself (at least at this point in time–I’ve learned over the years to never say never) a follower of the Roman gods. Partly this is a conscious choice in that the Romans were very particular and detail-oriented about their worship, and I don’t think I’m personally a good match for that sort of system; partly I suspect it’s because I am already so connected with the Greek gods, and the Greek and Roman pantheons have a very complex relationship.
But about Rome. The Romans were travelers, that is one way to put it. On their travels they encountered many people, and along with these people they encountered their gods. And when it came to gods, the Romans had this thing called the interpretatio romano, which means, essentially, that they saw the gods they encountered as being their own Roman gods under different names. So if they ran across a Celtic god who was a healer, they figured that he was Apollo; if they found a war god, they assumed he was Mars, and so forth. So, Apollo Grannus is the Celtic god Grannus by way of the interpretatio romano. Mars Leucetius is the deity formerly known as Leucetius. And so on. (So, if this is the way your polytheism rolls, there is certainly precedent for it. :))
This was more common with male deities, although sometimes a Celtic goddess was associated with a Roman one (such as Sulis Minerva, patron goddess of the healing springs of what we now know as Bath). But often the Romans would take a Celtic deity couple, such as Borvo and Damona, and only the male deity would be given a Roman name to add on–thus, at some sites Borvo might become Apollo Borvo while Damona remained simply Damona.
To some extent the interpretatio romana is helpful to us in that it provides a bit of context that would otherwise be missing, since we lack a lot of information on Gaulish gods; knowing that, say, the Celtic Cissonius was known to the Romans as Mercury Cissonius lets us know that the Romans believed that Cissonius had something in common with the Roman god Mercury. On the other hand, we have no way of knowing exactly why the Romans thought that Cissonius was Mercury–Mercury has many associations including commerce, communication, and travel, and we don’t know which of these attributes may also have applied to Cissonius.
On the other other hand, it’s certainly arguable that becoming identified with Mercury made some changes to Cissonius’ character, and that Mercury Cissonius was a subtly different entity (or, at least, took a different role) than the “original” Cissonius. But that’s not quite what I meant to write about here, so I’ll let it pass for now.
Another thing the Romans did on their travels was grow their empire. Over the centuries the Roman Empire expanded from Rome itself all the way to Britain, on the way taking over great parts of Gaul, adding their lands to the Roman territories, and taking their citizens as part of their army.
These Gaulish soldiers took their own gods along with them when they travelled with the Roman army to other parts of the Roman Empire. Thus, when we have evidence of gods being worshipped in a variety of regions, we don’t necessarily know how that came to be, although in some cases (for example, when a god known to exist in what is now Germany is also attested at a Roman military site in northern Britain) it does seem to indicate that a soldier may have brought his gods along with him to his new posting.
So the issue here, for me, isn’t whether a god can move from one geographic region to another. Clearly there is evidence that the ancients believed that they could. It’s more a matter of how this happens–and of what happens when a god who was once strongly associated with a place is honored in a different place. For example, it seems likely that a healer goddess retains that ability whether or not she is called on at her own healing springs–the British Coventina, known for a spring near Hadrian’s Wall, is also attested in what is now France and Spain.
My own sense is that gods may begin as gods of place, but they don’t necessarily stay that way. | English | NL | 831e8e766f82c24e2d419c50de0ae64b8df76113159b58f728222d27300f2596 |
Roy Turner was a boy when World War Two started. He lived in Lowercroft within view of the Lowercroft Army Camp. He still lives in the area and in 2017 we interviewed him asking about his recollections of Bury during WW2 and the camp in particular. We have a seperate page about the camp HERE.
The following page is based on our interview with Roy in his own words.
Where the camp was:
“A lot don’t realise how big that camp was. As you went down Lowercroft Road, there was a row of stone houses, Woodside Terrace it was called. Opposite that there was an edge and then there was a wall carried on to the first detached house coming from The Bull. About the middle of that row, the fence went down the fields right to Dow Lane, fencing it off. And then it carried on the other side down to the bottom Lodge, up to the path that comes right round to where Haslam Hey was. And it must have come down, round under the gardens of Haslam Hey to the top of Dow Lane."
(See Roy's Map for his outline of the camp further down the page)
"There was a guard at Lowercroft end and a guard at Dow Lane end at the top. We couldn’t go through. If we wanted to go to Four Lane Ends where my Grandma and Grandad and Uncles lived we had to walk over the fields or the long way round. The only time I came through was in the Summer of 1946 when I had been to the Palais with some of my Uncles and we got off the bus at Walshaw, and there were some of the Army there in their civies. And they said “Where do you live?” and I said “Other side,” and they said, “How you getting there?” And I said “Walking all the way round,” they said “Walk through with us!”."
"I was born in the first house of Woodside Terrace (No.1, later Renumbered No.41). Then we moved a bit further down. We moved back into the house I was born in, I’ll never forget, it was D-Day."
See No.1 (now No. 41) Woodside Terrace, Lowercroft Road Below: The original black & white photo at the top of the page is taken from the house at the other end of the row (No.63).
Above: The only known photo of the camp in operation (courtesy of Roy Turner). Below: The same view today. According to Roy there was a sentry box and guard on this corner.
The perimeter of the camp followed Lowercroft Road then on the bend, went straight on (BELOW) following the course of the Roman Road
Below: the camp's most western perimeter.
Below: The Middle Lodge - its bank was used as a firing range. On the horizon in the trees - the water tower - where the Bren Gun carriers practiced.
Those that used the camp:
"Before that, the first lot I remember coming through were the Yeomanry. It seemed to be that it was all different lots coming in and out after they built the camp. They had paratroopers there once. And there were ATS down there at one time.
There were Bren gun carriers all over the top, training near the water tower. It all used to be heathland that, heather, and it set fire to it. Fire brigade was up all night.
There was a lot of talk about them [the Army], they’d been out the night before going away and I think they shoved a few garden walls over, things like that, coming from Bury.
But I never really took much notice of what went on in the camp. You could see in but you couldn’t see a great lot of what was going on. I know they had a firing range and they used to fire into the bank of the middle lodge.
I can remember them building the huts they seemed to go up quick and then there were the air raid shelters they built, they were like tunnels – dug down then dug it over. They were dotted amongst the huts. There were buildings both sides (of Lowercroft Road) as you went down. The old buildings are on the left at present – for the mill. On the other side there was old buildings too. There was a fire hole on the left hand side too with a big chimney and there was a fire hole where the garage is on the left hand side with a big chimney. And I am sure there was a walkway across at one time from side t’ t'other. They seemed to use the mill at the beginning. They must have put them in there while the camp was being built. The mill had been closed for a long time.
We did have one or two of the soldiers coming in sometimes for supper. And we had one come in regular. He lived in St Helens. He always seemed to be on guard, but off duty he used to come in."
Other recollections of the war in the area:
"I remember they dropped incendiary bombs (August 31st 1940), my wife’s father was in the Home Guard and they were at Heights Barn and he rushed down. They [Roy's wife to be's family] were in the cellar because the cottages where they lived before you get to the cross roads used to be part of the pub, the Dog and Partridge. And they’d left the trap door open and they thought there was one coming in and it was her father – he dropped straight in!"
Ref:Tottington V1 rocket and the threat of bombs generally:
"You could hear the flying bombs coming and you would see them shut off. ... But being young you never thought much about it. We stood on the banking, saw Manchester blazing away, but you didn’t just realise there were folk there that had been killed."
Our thanks to Roy for taking the time to talk to us and to our Uncle Jim for suggesting and then organising the whole thing.
Above: A map showing the rough area of the camp according to Roy's recollection. The red circles mark where the sentry box and guards were.
The base of this map is reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland - SEE LINK HERE
It is an excellent FREE resource.
More of Roy's recollections:
"The army dug us out in 1940 when we had that very bad snow. Then one Sunday morning we were going up to my Grandmothers and they fetched them back from Dunkirk. And I remember there were still some acting the fool at night, having fun, even though they’d been through all that. And I think that people were bringing them cups of tea and that. And I am sure my mother had a Seargent’s wife staying with her. I don’t know if it was anybody who had relatives near …some of the people seemed to take them in. Only for a couple of days."
Many of the soldiers who came back from Dunkirk were housed in the mill (Right and Below)
Top Left photo - The Sentry Hut would have been just above the lamp post on the right hand side at the crossroads of Dow Lane and Lowercroft Road.
Bottom Left photo - Part of the stone for the Fire Hole can still be seen (to the left of the yellow skip), outside the modern garage.
Bottom Right photo - the lodge behind the mill.
Below: The cross roads of Dow Lane and Lowercroft Road where one of the two sentry boxes and guards would have been.
Our main Lowercroft Camp page link:
Alice Graysharp has written a book which features Lowercroft Camp in it.
It is called The Keeping of Secrets and links to it are below.
Above & Below: The North Eastern perimeter. | English | NL | 3d23e2e47578aec304a758a0186c10e0059a4dc60ee309ef09b6c3a59d55b670 |
Before I get into the meat of this post, I'd like to point out that I have removed my novel, Of Fish and Swimming Swords, from B&N and Smashwords (and all of the markets fed by Smashwords) so that I can participate in Amazon's KDP Select program for the next three months. I didn't have any significant sales through those channels, so I'm not losing much by doing this. I'll make it available for free on the Kindle every once in a while, including all day tomorrow, Monday, 5 March (Pacific time). Take a chance on it when it's free and, if you feel like it, write a review or tell a friend. You don't have to own a Kindle to buy a book for Kindle, especially if the book is free!
A couple weeks ago, I was on a first anniversary cruise through the Caribbean with my husband. We had taken the same cruise last year for our honeymoon, and I loved getting away from the Internet and having time to relax and read while watching the water churn up behind the ship. This year wasn't quite as relaxing because I had just recovered from a flu and had an awful sounding cough that ended up being bronchitis, but we were able to relax and get some reading done.
I loaded my Kindle with several Stephen King novels from his Dark Tower series. I had read the first in the series years ago when I was a kid and enjoyed it. I'm now on book four, Wizard and Glass. I also read his book, On Writing. I highly recommend it. If I teach a straight creative writing course again, I'm tempted to assign parts of it.
When I wrote Of Fish and Swimming Swords, I worked from a rough outline. It was my masters thesis, so it didn't need to be over a hundred thousand words. I aimed for sixty thousand. Respectable, but a bit short for the commercial market. Everything I had written before had been short stories for workshops. The first few chapters of Of Fish and Swimming Swords that concern Barbara grew from such a short story.
I wanted some way of unifying the book. I already had decided to make it revolve around fours. There were four cardinalities and four Muses. Four colors and four symbols. My writing notebook had a lot more groupings of four than made it into the novel (fodder for a future novel, perhaps), but I tried to put fours in as many places as I could. There were four family members who worked in a single job as a detective.
I ended up dividing the sixty thousand words into eighteen chapters (roughly 3,333 words per chapter). I assigned each chapter to a member of the family while making sure no two chapters next to each other were assigned to the same member. I started with Barbara and Charles and then moved on to other members as the plot dictated before returning to Barbara in the last chapter.
The other organizing principle I used was that the action should take place in a single day. I timed everything so that it could happen in twenty-four hours. This was before I wrote more than a few chapters.
I ended up using something like the snowflake method without realizing. I plotted out where I wanted to go and then forced the characters to follow. The result is not bad at all, but it could have been better. One person who read it said she enjoyed it more than some of the traditionally published books she was reading at the time.
The main criticism seemed to be that the first few chapters needed some editing.The irony is that those were the chapters that received the most editing. The first few chapters with Barbara had been through a workshop already. I had cut the story up into a few chapters and removed much of the text to make it fit a novel. I liked the feeling of Barbara as she descended into a fugue state.
The later chapters were each written in a weekend or two camped out in a coffee shop. I edited them lightly, letting the words just flow as they needed to. Those ended up appearing to have been edited more than the first few.
The lesson is that too much editing can be worse than no editing once you find your voice. That's the irony of editing: too much will make it look like too little. Editing masks our voice. We need to edit a little, but only to strengthen what we've written, not to rewrite it.
This experience reinforces for me what Stephen King said in On Writing and in his introduction to the rewrite of the first Dark Tower book. His first Dark Tower novel was the product of too many creative writing workshops. It was years later that he had enough confidence in his own voice to return to the first novel. In the process, he gave up outlining or planning ahead and just let the words flow as the characters required.
Creative writing workshops are still useful. They teach you how to accept criticism. If that's all you ever learn from a workshop, you will have your money's worth. The second most valuable thing is to be objective about criticism and judge it, figuring out which criticisms to accept and which to throw out. The third most valuable thing is how to give useful criticism. At that point, you are on the road to providing yourself with self-criticism. How to write a sentence or how to use similes and metaphors are the last things that you should be getting out of a workshop.
I started discovering this half way through Of Fish and Swimming Swords. The first half is influenced by the workshops. The last half is much more me writing for my advisor. At one point, he said that he put my chapters at the end of the pile of stories he was grading because he knew he'd enjoy my chapter. He could end grading on a high note. That was when I knew I was getting something right.
I didn't go back and rewrite the first half because I needed to move on. We all get to that point in our work. We need to wrap it up, put a bow on it, call it done. Submitting my thesis was one step in that process. I went back afterwards and cut about five thousand words. I also added another five thousand, so the length of the novel didn't really change. After a bit more tweaking here and there, I finally decided that if I was ever going to start another project, I'd have to publish Of Fish and Swimming Swords.
Someday I will go back and rewrite the first few chapters, I'm sure. I want to find out what happens to Adam, Barbara, Charles, and Dora. There are some things Adam is going to do that tear at me because they are so wrong yet honorable. I want to write a few more novels first. I want to make sure I have my voice. In some ways, the Muses and the family of four are my Dark Tower and Roland.
My current project is a horror novel. I'm aiming for 150,000 words before I start cutting. Stephen King recommends flat out writing about two thousand words a day until the novel is written and then going back and cutting ten percent.
We'll see if I can make a more modest nine thousand words in a week while working a full time job. If I can write a 1,400 word blog post in an hour, I should be able to get at least that much in an evening. I'll post here with updates on progress and perhaps some teasers on plot and characters. I've also put a progress meter in the sidebar. There will be a young man or boy and his dog. He started out around twelve, but I may need to make him a bit older since he's figuring out a lot of things that might not make sense for someone so young.
If I can keep pace, then the 150,000 words should be done by mid-June. Then I'll go back and edit in fifteen or thirty thousand word chunks, but not edit too much. I can do that on the bus to/from work. Much easier than trying to write on the bus. | English | NL | 9b292b0deca94ac28fa4709fcf10537fb6fe38f8f2c5a3e9c286d6976037cf6c |
Booger at Mammaw’s
It was Mississippi and August and miserably hot, and the boy was stuck at Mammaw’s house again.
The boy had gone to Kmart with his mother and aunts as a last resort, which had been dull enough, but then they had all met back at Mammaw’s to sit around the air conditioner and talk some more.
The boy hated being at Mammaw’s. It was boring and long, but mostly he hated being there because all his aunts called him “Booger.”
The boy hated being called Booger, but he had given up trying to get them to stop. He was the first baby of all six sisters, and they had called him Booger ever since he had almost died of pertussis in his crib. It had been their way of making light of a heart-wrenching situation, and when he survived, the name had stuck as a life-affirming term of endearment, as in “I tole you that little Booger was too mean to die.”
Sometimes his aunts actually had to hug him when they called him Booger, but in general they used it casually like it was his given name.
“How you doing Booger? You want some Sprite?”
Sometimes hearing the name seemed blackly humorous to the boy, as in what kind of ignorant and thoughtless person in a low-brow comedy movie would say such a thing.
But mostly the boy winced inside when they called him Booger. There was always the terror of what would happen if the kids at school ever found out they called him that. At school, the boy was Joeron the Moeron, or Moeron for short. That was bad enough, but he didn’t know how he would bear it if they started calling him Booger.
The boy was always careful to stay away from his aunts in public in case someone from school might hear them. At Kmart, there wasn’t much chance of anyone from school being there, but the boy didn’t take any chances. He had gone to the book section and stayed there the whole time while his aunts shopped and talked. He kept one eye on the registers so they wouldn’t have to page him –“Paging Booger. Booger, please come meet the loud group of gum-smacking idiots at the front of Kmart.”– but he didn’t come out until they were ready to go.
That had taken over two and a half hours.
Now he was trapped with the same bunch of women and their bratty kids sitting around and talking about shopping.
It was noisy and obnoxious, and there were at least three different conversations going on all at once, four if you counted Aunt Tammy yelling back and forth with her four-year-old in the bathroom.
“Don’t forget to wipe good like we talked about Lou-Bug!”
“I want Mammaw do it. Mammaw do it.”
“Don’t be silly. “You let Mammaw finish her cigarette in peace.”
To which Mammaw blurts out, “Lord, ain’t that the truth. I done walked all over that store with you this morning, girl.
You wipe your bottom and come see your Mammaw.”
Everyone was talking at once, all the sisters. They smacked gum and brushed little girls’ hair and reset pony tails and talked about the cute outfits they would put on lay-a-way if they could afford it, but they still hadn’t paid the light bill this month, and Lord honey, don’t I know it, etc.
The boy was so bored he was angry. Why did he have to come here to Mammaw’s and listen to idiotic talk and be called Booger? Why couldn’t he stay home in his room and read his books when it got this hot? It was all his damn father’s fault.
Last Saturday, he had tried staying home from Kmart, but his father had come in and said, “Boy, get your work clothes on.”
Then he had spent the next four hours cleaning welds with a hammer and wire-bushing the rust off another three-wheeler trailer his father had fabricated from scrap steel and the back axle of a Dodge pickup.
It pissed him off so bad he could barely do the work. They already had two trailers when they only could ever use one. Why did they need another spare?
It was always something pointless like that. They were always doing something like fixing the brakes on the home-made school-bus camper that never went outside the yard or repainting the deer stand with a ladder welded from schedule-80 high-pressure piping and therefore too damn heavy to pull by hand to any tree.
“The high-pressure plow” his uncle had called it, and it was totally useless in the mud of the Delta. The harder you pulled it, the deeper a trench it dug into the mud. The junk wheel-chair wheels his father welded to the side had warped under the weight and been replaced twice. It had never been used once, but his father had decided it needed to be repainted. That was just last year, and already it was getting scratched up again from stacking other junk on top of it.
It made the boy curse in his head.
Spend six Saturdays in a f#cking row sanding and painting some three-wheeler ATV trailer they used four or five weekends a year tops. Then after he’s had five or six beers, he stands there and sways and talks about how much fun they gone have come deer season. What an ass.
Why couldn’t he stay in his room and read his books? Why did he have to get called out to breath dust and cut his knuckles on rusty steel just to help his father build more unneeded and seldom-used hunting equipment?
The man already had so many trailers and shit that just changing and patching the flats and keeping up with that took up a few weekends a year. Damn it made him mad. The school-bus camper had three flats changed since it had last been out of the yard. What an idiotic waste of time.
The boy smiled a hateful smile just thinking about how he had somehow managed to escape helping with all three flats.
But the smile faded quickly. Now he was stuck at Mammaw’s crowded noisy house and just as angry if he had stayed home and his father put him to work in the hot-ass junk yard.
Everything was annoying. His cousin Cindy had a full diaper and was whining about wanting another ice-cream sandwich. His aunt Gina was trying to talk over Cindy’s whining and raving about some new desert she had thought up from Cool Whip and instant coffee.
“Yall should just see Little Ronny eat that stuff. He loves it, but they been beggin me down at the day care to keep him off it. They say he’s just too hyper.”
That was when Aunt Tammy remembered something that she had been urgently trying to remember since she arrived, and she screamed it out suddenly and with no warning like a game-show contestant.
“LORD GINA!” she screams. “Did you not see them chips they had on sale for eighty eight cents?”
Aunt Gina froze mid sentence like she was dumb struck.
“Gosh Darnit!” she screams. “I did! But I forgot to go over there! And a great big ole bag for only eighty-eight cents!”
“How did you forget?” Aunt Tammy demanded. “I tole you. We were standing right there.”
Aunt Gina looked at Tammy like she was crazy. “You done forgot somebody peeing in their pants right there in the middle of the Kmarts?”
And then they all laughed and looked at Lou-Bug sitting in Mammaw’s lap. The shock of everyone suddenly looking at her and laughing made the tiny girl cry.
“That’s ok,” Mammaw said and hugged her tighter. “Hers just wanted a new outfits, so hers Mammaws boughts hers one.” Mammaw smooched Lou-bug on the ear and tickled her softly until she was laughing in spite of the tears in her eyes.
That was when the boy suddenly jumped up from the floor so quickly that it startled everyone around him.
“Where you goin Booger?” Aunt Sheila asked.
The boy didn’t answer her. Instead he threw his empty plastic cup at Lou-bug and smacked his own sister on the cheek. The cup didn’t hit Lou-bug, but as soon as he threw it, she began to squall bloody murder.
The boy’s sister slapped him on the back as hard as she could, but the boy didn’t turn around.
“Lord have mercy! I swear…” Mammaw said.
“What’s wrong with you Booger?” Aunt Tammy asked.
The boy didn’t answer. Instead he continued toward the front door. His mother was calling his name from the kitchen, but he ignored her as well.
The boy ran out the door and into the heat of mid afternoon. There really wasn’t any shade, but he stayed out there for the rest of the afternoon until it was time to go home. | English | NL | 66a42cf3f35bf459032143701d13218c0c0c96a328514788c41d4806da546025 |
It was a sunny afternoon in New York City. It was April 20, 1919, and it was my birthday! I was finally turning ten years old. I was so excited because my mom got me tickets to Mr. Houdini’s magic show. Mr. Houdini was the most famous magician in the whole world. He could escape from a locked chest in under twenty seconds, and he could walk through a brick wall! I tried to lock myself in a chest and to escape under twenty seconds but it took my mom two hours to get me out of there. Mr. Houdini was my hero. I was probably his number one fan. I was finally going to get to meet him! I quickly threw on my sky blue checkered dress and threw my hair up in a ponytail. I felt like I was ready but there was one thing that didn't look right. Of course, my blue ribbon. I wrapped it around my hair and I was ready to go. I ran down the stairs with the feeling my heart was going to explode out of my chest. I shouted to my mother.
“Come on mom.”.
I could hear the click-clacks of my mother’s heels coming down the stairs. She walked into the kitchen with a smile on her face. She kissed my forehead and wished me a happy birthday.I thanked her and ran around the house looking everywhere for my lucky shoes until I finally found them. I had so many butterflies in my stomach, I was so excited and nervous at the same time. I started practicing what I would say to him. Hi, I’m Harper? No that seems too energetic. Your majesty? No to 1600s. I'll probably stick to the first one. As I slipped on my shoes I heard my mom yell.
“Harper, Harper, come on it’s time for the show.”.
I ran down the stairs like it was Christmas morning. When we got into the car I couldn't stop moving. I was so anxious to see Mr. Houdini. As the car came to a full stop I looked around to see if we were by Mr. Houdini’s big signs in the front of the hall, ut we were in a dark alley. I asked my mom where were we and all she told me was close my eyes. I closed my eyes and felt my mother hold me tight. I heard a door open and then close.
“Okay honey open your eyes.” my mother whispered in my ear.
I opened my eyes and there I was in front row seats. I hugged my mom thanking her rapidly. As I sat in my seat waiting impatiently I was so excited. This was it. As the announcer told us that Mr. Houdini was coming, my heart beated faster. Then Mr. Houdini popped out of nowhere and I cheered. He looked so magical and amazing. As he completed tons of tricks I couldn't stop smiling. It was about time for him to do his final trick.
Mr. Houdini smiled “The girl with the lovely blue ribbon in her hair please come on up.” he demanded.
I got up and heard everyone clapping for me. I felt like a celebrity. I walked toward him and he had the biggest smile on his face. He extended his hand out to me and shook my hand. He asked me my name and I replied.
“I’m Harper White.”.
Mr. Houdini looked at me like I had three heads. I was a bit confused. Why did he look at me like that? Then he shook his head and ask me if I like magic. I told him I was a huge fan of magic. He placed his top hat on my head and his cape around me. He told me I was going to make someone appear. I was so scared I never performed that trick before. I took a deep breath and said the magic words and I heard a poof under the closed curtains. Did I do that? Mr. Houdini looked down at me and smiled.
“Open the curtains, sweetheart.” He told me.
I walked towards the curtains to figure out who it was. I opened the curtain a little bit and saw my mom. I jumped into her arms and smiled. I heard Mr. Houdini say goodnight and he walked backstage and his crew surrounded him. I couldn't believe it. I was so smiley and was so excited. Then Mr. Houdini looked at me and walked towards me and my mom. My heart started beating out of my chest.
“ I pardon the interruption, but can I talk to your daughter Daisy?” he begged my mom.
My mom gave him that look she always gives me when I don't clean my room. She rolled her eyes and hissed.
“10 minutes Harry, and that’s final.”
Harry? Who was Harry? Mr. Houdini grabbed me from my mom's arms and held me tight. He took me to where all the rich people sit. Mom told me she had been up there so many times. I always wanted to sit up there. He sat me down on the comfy chair and sat next to me.
I told Mr. Houdini how much I loved him and that I’m one of his biggest fans. He chuckled and smiled.
“ You have the eyes of a true magician my Blume.” He stated.
Blume? That word seems so familiar. Maybe it’s a German word. He took something out of his pocket and smiled.
“Can you do me a favor?” he asked me
I nodded my head yes and smiled so wide my face started to hurt.
“I want you to have this, and when the time is right ,open it for me okay,” he explained.
“ Of course, your royal magical leader,” I said.
I covered my mouth and turned bright pink from embarrassment. He laughed and hugged me tightly. I never felt so happy in my whole entire life.
“Mr. Houdini, can I have your cape and hat?” I begged.
He smiled and nodded and brought me back downstairs to my mom. When we got back to the stage exit I could see my mom with her arms crossed and looking glad and sad. I waved goodbye to him and he waved back. When I got into the car I couldn't stop smiling. There was one thing I was curious about. I always wondered who my real father was. Was it Mr. Houdini? Over the years I did more research on Mr. Houdini and my mom but also practiced my magic tricks. While other kids were having the time of their lives, I was hard at work researching and working on my magic. When I was seventeen I decided to ask my mom the truth. I went down to the kitchen and begged my mom to tell me if Mr. Houdini was my father but every time she trembled
“What? You're crazy.”.
This time I decided to open up the letter. I ran up to my room and locked it tight. I started to read the letter out loud.
“ Dear Harper,
I know you know me as your hero and as Mr. Houdini but there is a huge secret your mother hasn't told you. I’m your dad. Back before you were born your mother and I were madly in love and she became my assistant and helped me perform all my tricks. One day I fell in love with another girl and when your mom found out she quit and took everything from me. But when I met you for the first time I knew from the look of those eyes of yours they were just like mine. You have one green and one blue. I know deep down you are a magician. So today please come to my house so I can give you something so you will remember me.
Love, your loving father.”.
I wiped the tears from my face and took lots of deep breathes. I climbed out of my window and ran down the street. Kids everywhere were dressed up in fun colorful costumes. It was Halloween. I finally reached his house and it looked old and abandoned. Was I too late? I knocked on the door and crossed my fingers hoping my dad was still there. Then the door peeked open and a women with lovely blonde hair came out.
“ What are you supposed to be?” she asked.
“Um, I’m a magician,” I replied.
I asked if Mr. Houdini was home and told her I was his daughter. I gave her the letter and as she started to read it tears started to drip from her eyes. She invited me inside and went up to the stairs. I looked around and everything was so old and felt magical. The woman came down again with a box. She told me to go home and open it. So I rushed back home to open the box.
A newspaper headline made me get chills. It said “Famous Magician Dies on Halloween”. I trembled and cried my eyes out. The dad I just knew about is dead.After a few hours of crying I pulled myself together and looked through the box and there it was, my dad’s magic book. That book held all my dad’s tricks. I knew at this point my life was going to magically change. | English | NL | 87a5a7207473aaabc4212e6cb4f004597222f029934fca4ca47a8bf4d3355ac6 |
Perfect Like on TV
Dolores was the boy’s mother. Dolores was always either incredibly happy or incredibly sad. Dolores was unstable like this because of what had happened to her as a little girl.
Dolores and her sisters had been kidnapped when they were girls and taken to a secret location over a thousand miles away by their alcoholic father. Dolores’ father took the girls just to spite his wife for being unfaithful, and they were gone for a year or two, almost two years. The boy could tell it had been traumatic for his mother Dolores and her sisters in the end, but Dolores always talked about how much fun they had all had in California and how wonderful it was.
Dolores had only been five or six at the time her father drove away with them out of the blue one day, and southern California must surely have seemed wonderful and remarkably different to a child taken from Mississippi before air conditioning. Suddenly it was wasn’t sweaty or humid or cold any more, and it was sunny all the time, and there were all these places to swim, and no mosquitos, and there were fruit trees everywhere and rolling hills, and everything else that “you kids just wouldn’t believe, and it was just perfect like on TV.”
Dolores always described California to the boy and his sister that way, “perfect like on TV,” and she really believed it. No matter what the boy’s father might have to say, Dolores knew the world wasn’t dumpy and poor like the Mississippi Delta, drunk and beat down, all mosquitos and humidity. She had actually seen it. She had actually been there. Through her six-year-old eyes, rural California had been a type of paradise in real life, and not just the weather or the landscape or the trees growing everywhere with fruit you could just pick and eat. Everything about California had been how life should be.
First there was the ongoing adventure of constantly bouncing around between different families while their father worked oil and construction jobs. Then there were all these melodramatic reunions when he would get fired for drinking or laid off. Dolores and her sisters got to stay with their cousins for weeks at a time during these reunions. There was even a cousin the same age as Dolores to pal around with, and all the girls slept in the same bed and stayed up all night talking anyway. In terms of diversions and excitement, it was more like summer camp than real life. At least it was to six-year-old Dolores, who didn’t have to fight the strange men off the way her older sisters did at every new house they boarded in.
Over the years, time and all the television shows set in southern California had magnified these happy memories in Dolores’ mind to the point that they warped her perceptions, and warped them to an extent that was clinical. In Dolores’s mind, television shows became less fictional and more like a glimpse of what was really possible, a world she really remembered, a world that she knew existed, no matter how impossibly perfect. In terms of relationships and lifestyle and material success, life really was like the TV shows portrayed it. Or at least it was for women who hadn’t married the boy’s father.
The boy hadn’t yet figured out why his mother Dolores tended to believe nearly everything she saw on television, but he was painfully aware that his father was the exact opposite. His father’s big break in life had been getting hired on as a welder for the pipeline company. He worked in a loud-as-hell tin building full of giant compressor engines. After sweating all day in the tin building, he would come home and drink about five or six beers while he welded “jobs on the side.” The boy’s father welded these extra jobs in the open shop that stood between their house and field full of junked cars hid in head-high weeds. By the time the boy’s father sat down to the dinner table, his ears would be ringing, his face would be sunburnt, and his shirt would be off his sweaty pot belly.
Dolores cried a lot at the dinner table. Dolores would look at the boy’s father, and sometimes the boy could actually see the devastation coming into her face. | English | NL | 148e0455d07ff390bf38ceb96e7fd217d3bf3acb06420b0992ddbe49c6e07cb9 |
In 1939 Mervyn Peake inveigled his wife-to-be, Maeve Gilmore, to his room in Battersea. It was a damp, run-down place on the first floor with few facilities. But it had a bed, which was the important thing. In the middle of the night, however, they were woken by noises from beneath, and when they lit the candle they saw the floorboards were moving. Peake leapt up, and threw back the rug to reveal a trapdoor. He threw that back too. While they were asleep a circus had moved into the ground floor, and an elephant was scratching its back against the beams. For the rest of the night they fed it buns. | English | NL | bbcfdd41dafa04c31c1389d43f434486be98e3a3206345010070ac9c5fee899e |
Jeremy Warren, born and raised in North Little Rock, AR was heavily exposed to music growing up. His mother is an organist/pianist where she played at his grandfather's and now currently his father's church in Little Rock & North Little Rock, AR. Upon graduating from high school in 2003, he received a full jazz scholarship to The University of Memphis in Memphis, TN. He received dual Bachelor Degrees in Jazz Studies and Music Education with license in May 2012. Memphis is where he credits his musical growth as a musician performing with many local/national artists as well as leading his own band whom performed every Saturday night on the famous Beale St. for two years. Jeremy received his Master's Degree in Music from New York University in May 2015. While juggling a busy performance schedule, Warren teaches music in the Plainfield Public Schools at Clinton Elementary School in Plainfield, NJ. Jeremy has performed and/or recorded with artists such as Deanna Martin (Daughter of Dean Martin), Andy Milne, Lenny Pickett, John Scofield, Don Braden, Tom Scott, Brad Shepik, and many more.
Dermel Warren was born and raised in Memphis, TN, where she grew up singing in her mother’s church. At church, she received her vocal training from Kelley Muller-Smith, first lady of Miracle Temple Ministries, Inc. She has performed background and lead vocals for Donald Lawrence, Richard Smallwood, Karen Clark-Sheard, Yolanda Adams, Ernest Pugh, and more. Dermel has toured with Blues artists, Sergio Davis and the late Mel Waiters (“Hole in the Wall Man”). She also opened up for Jill Scott, Anthony Hamilton, & Mint Condition as part of the Budweiser Summer Fest Tour in 2011 | English | NL | 0e04cc9f5d99bbce798b9ac4d910c15a37a05e1a3e19e06f2bf9615528b6fdb4 |
IT’S often the case when researching local history that other lines of inquiry open up.
Peter Marshall of Honley Civic Society put together a book on the history of Yorkshire Traction Honley Band, which was published last December.
“When researching the book, I was delighted to receive a number of photographs from a lady in Kent, Mrs Gillian Hartle, who has Huddersfield connections,” said Peter.
“She was able to supply a photo of her great grandfather William Henry Longden, who was the prize winning band’s drummer, which we included in the book.
“Mrs Hartle had a query about another great grandfather, Charles Henry Best. Her own research showed that he was born on March 3, 1863 in Almondbury.”
Charles Best, it turned out, was a contemporary of William Longden and was also a musician – but Charles’s interests lay in handbell ringing.
“Charles’s mother died when he was two and his father re-married a few years later, providing Charles Henry with nine half-siblings,” said Peter.
“Charles married Mary Stables in 1887, lived at Green Side, Dalton and was shown in the census as a house painter.
“In 1901 he was still living in Dalton at Banksfield Road and his profession was house and church painter and he was an employer. He died in 1921.
“It is probably not unusual to have had two members of the family who were prize-winning musicians around the end of the 19th century, but it would still have been some claim to fame!”
Peter was wondering if Examiner readers might recognise the Best name, and would be delighted to receive any information.
He can be contacted via firstname.lastname@example.org | English | NL | 2c586afc4648b6738ffdde158cc1068501eb6cf694618bb6329eb63a6202090a |
Orlando "Rube" Robbins
Born August 30, 1836, Phillips, Maine
Died May 1, 1908, Boise, Idaho
"The Man most responsible for bringing law and order to the Idaho Territory," is the way many of his contemporaries described Rube Robbins. Perhaps best known for his 25 years as deputy U.S. Marshal under several different marshals, he also was Boise Chief of Police and Sheriff of Ada County.
Robbins served the Idaho State Penitentiary as warden, traveling guard, and was work foreman at the time of his death at age 71.
Leaving his Maine home at age 17 after a quarrel with his father, Robbins spent several years in the California gold fields before moving to Idaho after the discovery of gold in the Salmon River area. From there he moved south to the Boise Basin, and was soon appointed deputy sheriff by Sheriff Sumner Pinkham. After Pinkham was defeated in the following election, Rube went to work on John Hailey's stage line, riding "shot gun," to prevent robberies.
He became so adept at discouraging would-be robbers, and capturing stage robbers, bandits and miscellaneous unsavory characters over his long career, that William McConnell wrote of him in his Early History of Idaho: "He was feared, yet respected by every bad man and 'gun-fighter' who ever sojourned in Idaho, and it is doubtful if any officer made more arrests of that class than he."
Robbins achieved the rank of colonel in the Idaho Militia while serving as a scout during the Native American Wars of the 1870s. He was twice a member of the Idaho Legislature from Ada County. He owned a ranch where he raised cattle and race horses.
Robbins married Corilla Brassfield, a widow with four young children in 1882. She and two of her grandsons are buried beside him. | English | NL | daff555185bef30a1f799aeecf58012ca6b85c98d173b59f2eeb47c8ebb16df4 |
H G Wells award winner
Congratulations to Adi in year 4 who came 3rd in the above competition.
Ronald’s Space Adventure by Adi
Ronald is an eight year old boy who lives in a small village with his family in the countryside. He has black glasses and brown hair. One evening, while he was reading in his bed, he suddenly heard a rustling sound just outside. He had no clue what it was.
The next day he went outside, to his back garden, to find out what the sound was. Inside the bush, was a common orange fox .The fox said: “Can you keep a secret?” Ronald was surprised that the fox could talk but reluctantly agreed.
The fox explained to the boy that she was not a fox but an alien from a planet called Supptune. She came to earth to ask for help from him. Ronald agreed to assist the alien whose name is called Supga. She led him to her space ship which is called Slave1. Inside the ship were buttons and levers lights and more. The alien transformed into her normal self, she could shape shift because she is an alien. Supga had three eyes, one leg and four arms and was yellow in colour.
Zoom! The space ship hovered and in a blink of an eye it accelerated and flew past Comets, Mars, Jupiter and many stars including the Sun. They finally arrived at planet Supptune .As soon as they landed on the planet, the Supptians worst enemy Migan comes to their planet to invade .The only weapons that the Supptians have are sticks.
”Follow me “exclaimed Supga leading him to her workshop, she was a scientist .Ronald saw some jet engines, a drill, some screws and many more tools.
”I’ve got an idea” said Ronald
He grabbed the jet engines, drill and screws and flew out of the workshop borrowing Supga’s jet pack workshop. Ronald flew home and collected his dads bow and arrow. His Dad uses them when he goes hunting in the forest.
Ronald gave the bow and arrows to the alien .The Migans were scared of the pointy arrows so they retreated to the mother ship. Ronald raced towards the mother ship and attached the Jet engine using his screws and the drill. Ronald secretly turned the jet engine on and then the engines started to buzz .The mother ship flew all the way back to Migans home planet and they never returned
The Suptians made a party in honour of Ronald .Every one thanked him and he left Supptune. Supga let Ronald keep her jet pack and remembered him forever. | English | NL | 101c1047093df6ceab72f647f299301d3f185853158e024ae797e47857330325 |
Title: Then There Was You
Author: Miranda Liasson
Welcome to Angel Falls, a town so delightful even enemies can't help falling in love!
Angel Falls is the last place Sara Langdon wants to be. Her hometown may be charming, but it's also filled with memories of her "wedding-that-never-was." Yet Sara's grandmother needs her, and joining her dad at his medical practice gives Sara time to figure out what she wants for her future. But when her first patient turns out to be Colton Walker, the man who sabotaged her wedding, Sara starts to wonder if she'll ever be able to escape her past.
As police chief, Colton Walker is devoted to his small town, and he's equally determined to avoid its newest resident. He and Sara have always gotten along like oil and water, and since the bachelor party incident, he's her Enemy #1. But after sharing an unexpected--and unexpectedly hot--kiss, Colton starts to wonder if the woman he's always fighting with is the one he should be fighting for.
A really cute love story!
I'm a sucker for hate to love romances and this one fits the bill. I also enjoyed small town romances and the setting in Then There Was You is just that.
Sara Langdon is back to her hometown of Angel Falls. She's a physician and she has come back home to help with the care of her grandmother who's suffering from dementia. In the meantime, Sara has joined her father's small-town medical practice after training at Columbia.
Sara left town after her engagement dissolved when the groom-to-be, Tagg, sleeps with the "cake girl". Since then, Sara can't eat any type of cake. She blames part of her debacle on Colton Walker, her ex-fiancée's best friend. She has known Colton for a long time. He used to make fun of her when they were teenagers which explain Sara's dislike of him. So when she learns, he's her first patient she has a mini meltdown but in the end, she does her job. Sara might dislike Colton but she's also not blind, he is H.O.T. But nothing can happen there, right?
Colton Bentley Walker is the police chief in Angel Falls. He had a hard time growing up after his parents pass away. He went to live with his grandmother and he had to take care of his younger sister Hannah, He had a lot of responsibilities from a young age and now, as the police chief, his responsibility is even bigger now that the whole town depends on him. Colton is a family man and he knows his behavior as a kid towards Sara was awful, He was a moron but maybe now, they can become friends except his reactions to her are all completely unexpected.
Then There Was You is perfect for someone who enjoys romances in a small town setting. It was engaging from the beginning and above all, sweet and cozy.
I was left wanting to read more books about other interesting characters I liked in this novel. I hope maybe we get a book or two. | English | NL | 3fb0aa50b5fa427202c3643f44f4e0c8cf214cfb852f7d9eda96ff91a339073f |
It’s way too cold to outside today so I came up with a bit of fiction for the day. I hope you enjoy it.
The Myth the Legend the Truth
The story goes like this; a long time ago there was a story about this mythological creature. The creature was rumored to wander the streets at night searching for a mate worthy of the creature’s efforts. The creature had a keen sense of smell and could sniff out the slightest hint of fear. The creature was also blessed with the vision of a hawk and could see through the best lies. But most of all, the creature had the ability to touch a man’s soul and change it forever.
One night while on the quest for the perfect mate, the creature came upon a man standing alone at the edge of a cliff looking out over the vast void that dropped down into a deep gorge. The creature spoke to the man and asked three questions.
The first question was, “What has brought you to the void?”
The man looked at the creature, sucked in his breath at the terrifying figure and answered, “I came to search my soul and find forgiveness for my sins.”
The second question was, “Were your sins against another man?”
The man raised his gaze to the creature’s eyes, and with an eyes wide open stare answered, “No my sin was much worse. I lost faith in myself.”
The third and final question was, “How will you restore your faith in yourself?”
The man bowed his head, reached his hand toward the creature and answered, “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m worthy of a second chance. Who will believe in me if I don’t believe in myself?”
The legend of the story is that the creature reached out and touched the man’s hand and gave him the strength to find forgiveness in himself, so he could become a man worthy of the creature. The truth of the story was much different.
What really happened was that the creature so incensed at the man and his whining she pushed him over the edge into void and watched with a smile on her face as he dropped a thousand feet to be crushed by the rocks below. She then turned and walked away without a hint of remorse. There were many more men to pick from and surely there was one that was worthy of her. | English | NL | 3d5dcba823ceef50ba5efbdfdc1f5b678d7979fe094eb588e5f649ddde9e5861 |
Tim Brown proved to be everything that the Los Angeles Raiders had hoped for after selecting the Heisman Trophy winner out of Notre Dame in the first round, sixth overall, of the 1988 NFL Draft.
Over the next 17 seasons, all but one year spent with the Raiders in Los Angeles and later Oakland, Brown developed into one of the greatest receivers of his era.
He managed to haul in 43 receptions and score 5 TDs as a rookie but it was as a kick returner that he received accolades.
Brown was named first-team All-Pro and to the Pro Bowl after leading the NFL in kickoff returns (41 for 1,098 yards, 26.8 average, and 1 TD) and setting a rookie record for combined net yards.
Starting in 1993, Brown recorded nine straight 1,000-yard seasons and 10 consecutive years with 75 or more catches.
His best season came in 1997, a year in which he became the Raiders’ all-time receiving leader. He caught 104 catches for 1,408 yards to win the NFL receiving title. He set a team record with seven 100-yard games and tied a NFL mark with five games with 150-plus yards receiving.
He retired after one final season with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in 2004 as the third all-time leading receiver with 1,094 receptions for 14,934 yards, and 100 touchdowns. | English | NL | 12bcb0b6163e75126cb3fca4fb8fbef18b93471bfca71ba3a1aa55c3d006022f |
God’s Word to Bosses
Topic: Sunday Sermons Scripture: Ephesians 6:9
It's striking to realize that the eternal Son of God, the second person of that blessed Trinity who had all authority, stepped into earth in order to purchase our salvation. Scripture says and our Lord Jesus said that the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life a ransom for many. It's always striking, it's always humbling, nothing is more calculated to draw you to worship the Lord Jesus Christ than to remember that from his position of authority he stepped down and served humanity, sinful, separated humanity, all the way to the point of giving his life on the cross in order to purchase our salvation. The stark contrast between his great authority and his willingness to serve and the fact that he laid his life down on our behalf, brings us to a point of worship and it brings us to a point to recognize that there are consequences to that. There are implications to that and to the way that we live life and the way we think about authority and the way that we approach everything about our existence, and it has a particular application for those of us that have authority. Maybe you're a boss in a workplace, maybe you're a husband and a father with a family under you, maybe you're a government official or something of that nature, there is something that we must understand about authority from God's perspective if we are going to view it properly and if we are going to hold it properly even in an earthly sense. God gives authority to you in whatever realm you might have, be it small or broader. God gives authority to you for a single purpose and it's that you would mediate the blessing of God to those who are under your authority.
That is so crucial to understand and when you understand the position that Christ holds and that he stepped into the world and exercised his authority by laying his life down in order to be the Redeemer of sinners, you see the pattern that all of us who hold any manner of authority should think about our own. Authority is given to you not to aggregate things to yourself, not for you to be served, but for you to take that authority and turn and exercise it like Christ held his greater authority to the blessing of those that are under you. That is foundational and anyone who aspires after leadership in Christian circles, those who desire perhaps church leadership, a pastoral office, those who desire to be leaders in business or in community must understand God's perspective on authority, that it is given for you to be a channel of blessing, not for you to become a king over servants to you. That's essential and that is absolutely countercultural to the way that the world thinks about authority. When you see how politicians wield their authority in our day and age, when you see the way that leaders in families abuse their authority and use it in wrong ways, when you see workplace leaders using things to aggrandize great wealth to themselves while misusing and abusing those that are under their authority, you see the great contrast between Christ and the world. And we have to admit, we have to acknowledge that the way Christ handles authority is far more attractive to us as believers in Christ than the way that the world does and he who had every right to command obedience and service says, "I'll come and I'll serve you." That ought to make the Lord Jesus Christ exceedingly sweet in your affections, to realize that he who could have wielded the gavel of the judge over your life gave his life in order to see you saved and reconciled to God, and that informs our perspective as we come to our text today.
Come to Ephesians 6 with me, if you would. Ephesians 6 as we open God's word once more. We're going to look at a single verse this morning because we're kind of in a closing section here before Paul moves into a new section of instruction. Ephesians 6:9 is our text and with a background thinking about our lovely Lord Jesus as we approach this text, you have a perspective on why this verse says what it says. Ephesians 6:9 says,
9 And masters, do the same things to them, and give up threatening, knowing that both their Master and yours is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him.
Paul in this verse is closing a long section about household relationships. Beginning in chapter 5, verse 22, he addressed wives and husbands; he went on in chapter 6 to address children and parents. Last week, in the past two weeks actually, we saw how he addressed slaves, those who are in the workplace under the authority of masters, and now he comes to this final section, this final verse, to wrap up this household code given to the people of God for them to know how they are to behave in daily life. We have been struck, we have marveled at the fact that Christianity plays itself out in the ordinary daily relationships of life. Paul, as he's expounded the great salvation that Christ gave us in Ephesians chapters 1 through 3, and he has expounded on the election of God and the redemption of Christ and the sealing work of the Holy Spirit in the first chapter, and he has prayed that we would appropriate that into our lives, and he has rejoiced in the fact that God raised us from spiritual death with the same resurrection power that raised Christ from the dead and he goes on and he says, "Now in light of that, I call you," chapter 4, verse 1, to live a life that is worthy of that kind of great salvation. He says in chapter 5, verse 15, "You walk wisely." Chapter 5, verse 18, "You walk being filled with the Spirit." Chapter 5, verse 21, "Be subject one another in the fear of Christ." Then he lays it out in exceeding detail, "Wives, you do this. Husbands, children, parents, slaves," then he comes to masters.
And last time we so that when he spoke to slaves, he said, look at it with me there. We need to read these verses just to kind of give us momentum going into verse 9. He says in Ephesians 6:5, "Slaves, be obedient to those who are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in the sincerity of your heart, as to Christ; not by way of eyeservice, as men-pleasers, but as slaves of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart. With good will," verse 7, "render service, as to the Lord, and not to men, knowing that whatever good thing each one does, this he will receive back from the Lord, whether slave or free." Those of you that have jobs, you're working under masters, working under supervisors or bosses, whatever word you want to use, Scripture came to you last week and said you work with respect; you work with integrity and honesty and cheerfulness. That's the kind of worker that Christ calls you to be, someone who is reliable, dependable, submissive, obedient and faithful to the task, knowing that you're doing all of these things ultimately not for your earthly master but for your heavenly Lord, the one who gave himself for you.
Well, Paul in his very balanced way spoke to wives and then husbands, children and then parents, spoke to slaves, now in utter balance, he speaks to masters and he gives us God's word to bosses now. And we realize as we are saying this, oh, it's so important for you to understand this so that you don't click your mind off and say, "Well, I'm not a boss and so this doesn't apply to me." No, no, no, no. All of God's word applies to all of God's people in one manner or another and what we're seeing here is how God views authority that he entrusts to human leaders and so this informs the whole way that we should think about authority and you young people who aspire to grow, your future is still ahead of you, your opportunities in the workplace and in church leadership, perhaps in government roles, all of this informs the way that you should think about your future. It informs the way that if you say, "When I become a man, when I become a leader, this is the mindset for me. This is the way that I'm going to handle it. I'm going to embrace what God's word says about this now before I even get the role so that when I have the role, when I have the position, I'll handle it in the way that God wants me to do. Why? Because I love Christ and I want to do what he tells me to do." It's pretty simple, really, and so we look at this in chapter 6, verse 9 and we'll read the verse once more and then we'll get into three aspects of what God says to bosses, chapter 6, verse 9, look at it with me again. What a privilege for us to open God's word together, God's holy, inerrant, infallible word open before us in a language that we can understand. Isn't that wonderful? Don't ever lose sight of the value of what you have on your lap. Don't lose sight of the value of what we are able to do week by week in security and peace and in the land in which we live. We get to come to God's word and hear it and know the mind of God through what he has given to us through his apostle. It's awesome. This is a holy, reverent, joyful, wonderful time for us to spend together and in that perspective, Paul says, "Masters, you do the same things to them, and give up threatening, knowing that both their Master and yours is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him."
I want to give you three words that God gives to bosses and we'll structure it all from this single verse here, and the first thing that I want you to see is that there is a reciprocal obligation on bosses that applies also to slaves. The reciprocal obligation, the mutual duties that exist in the workplace. Now, as Paul writes this, he's writing to Christian bosses because he's writing to the church. He's writing to those who know what it means to have repented of sin and turned to Christ for forgiveness, and Paul writes to bosses like that, those who have been born again, those who are under the authority of Christ themselves, and he writes to them and he does something that is a striking blow against the existing culture of the time. Remember as we said that while slavery was comparatively moderate in the first century, there was still an aspect in which the masters owned the slaves as property. One man owned another man and the slave was subject to the will of his master. And what does Paul say to the master in that relationship? Well, he says, "Just as slaves have duties to their master, masters have duties to their slaves." This was revolutionary at the time.
Look at verse 9 with me again and realize what Paul is saying here. It's so easy to sweep through this and miss the whole implication, the whole force of what he's saying. He says, "Masters, do the same things to them." He says, having addressed the slaves and said, "Slaves, you be obedient and you be respectful, full of integrity, cheerful as you do your work," and he pivots and he says, "Masters, you do the same thing." Rather than leaving the slaves in a subjection and the masters high and exalted on a throne that rises above all others, he puts the masters, in one sense, at the same level and says, "You do the same things." He links the duties of the masters to the slaves with that opening word in verse 9. Look at it with me, "and"; there's a collective reference to the workplace going on here. "Slaves, you do this and, masters, you do this." These things are to be viewed together, and what God calls on you if you're a boss, if you're an owner, if you're in leadership, what God calls on you, look at what it says there, he says, "you do the same things to them."
What same things? The things that he had just been talking about. Not in giving obedience to the slaves, that would create chaos. Having established authority and saying, "Slaves, you obey your masters according to the flesh," he didn't suddenly turn that upside down and destroy everything that he had just said. No, he's talking at a greater level of attitude and relationship, that you as a boss, you as a leader in your home or in the workplace, understand this, that just as God has called on those under your authority to give you honesty, integrity, and those qualities of respect, he says, "You are to treat the people under you just in the same way." He says, "You give them the same things. You give to your slaves, you give to your employees, those qualities of respect, of integrity, of a sense of service and honor that is fitting with the fact that they too are created in the image of God and if they are Christians, they have been redeemed in the same way that you have been." There is no intrinsic earthly superiority that belongs to a boss that allows him to dispense with the basic aspects of Christian character as he interacts with those that are under him. The 19th century commentator, Charles Hodge, says this, he says, "Masters are to act toward their slaves with the same regard to the will of God and with the same recognition of the authority of Christ and with the same sincerity and good feeling which has been enjoined on the slaves themselves."
You see, Paul is addressing the workplace in particular but, again, this just applies across all realms of authority. Those of you that have authority, those of you that are bosses, owners, supervisors in the workplace, understand this, you're employing a contractor maybe, understand this: that your attitude toward that one under you by way of earthly authority, your attitude and your action toward that person is ruled by, is commanded by, is governed by a greater Master who is over you. You call Christ Lord and it's well and good that you do, well, understand that as you hold that position of authority, you're not a sovereign. There is one sovereign in the universe and it is the Lord Jesus Christ and he is over you and he says, "This is how I command you to handle your authority over those that are under you on earth." It's striking. It's humbling. As we are going to see, there's even an attitude of fearfulness about it.
You see, and I've been in both places. I've been under people, I've been over people in a supervisory capacity and so I've lived both sides over the course of the life the Lord has given to me, and what you have to understand is whether you're under or over, that the same Christian character is required of you vertically toward Christ and horizontally toward others. You act with integrity. You act with respect irrespective of the lines of authority that are there in the workplace. That's what God commands because, you see, ultimately it's a vertical matter. We've said this so many times, haven't we? Ultimately it's a vertical matter. We're talking about the kind of character that you are, the kind of man that you are, the kind of woman that you are, and you frame your understanding of your earthly authority by understanding that, first of all, you're a man or a woman under the authority of Christ himself and that you are to reflect the Lord Jesus in the way that you live and exist and move and breathe and have your being, and you understand that if Christ was loving and gracious toward you when you were a sinner toward him, you say, "Ah, what can I do but be loving and gracious toward those that are around me irrespective of authority because, do you know what? Christ didn't exercise his authority against me, he used it to serve me. Now that I have authority, I use it to serve." So God, to the extent that you have authority, God has given it to you so that you could have a realm in which you could more effectively serve, not to be served.
Now, this relational dynamic doesn't change the lines of authority. Slaves still have to obey their masters but masters receive this and hold their position realizing, "I'm under a greater authority. I'm under the authority of Christ." So let's sum it up here, this first point, these reciprocal obligations: employers rightly expect and require performance, respect and good service from their employees; that is their rightful due and those of us that are employees, we recognize that, we don't resent it, we honor it, we realize that this is the structure that God has established himself and we obey our bosses out of a sense of obedience to Christ. Well, those of you that have authority, understand that God holds bosses to the same standard of character and you don't suspend, oh, this is so very important, you don't suspend your Christian character when the clock starts at work. It carries on. It's a 24/7, 365 day a year rule of Christ over your heart and it should be your desire to say, "I want to be godly. I want to be a Spirit-filled Christian throughout all of my life and I want that to permeate in the workplace that I have responsibility for."
Some, many actually, commentators have noticed that really this verse here, Ephesians 6:9, it's simply an application of the golden rule that we find in Matthew 7:12, "you do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Well, if you want your employees to treat you with respect and kindness and integrity, what can you do except extend integrity, respect and kindness back to them? It's mutual. It goes both ways because the aspects of character are independent of the authority in the workplace. So you treat them the way you want to be treated. Their status under your authority doesn't diminish the ultimate fundamental position that Christian employees are brothers and sisters in Christ, and even if they are not Christians, it doesn't abolish the fact that they are men and women created in the image of God and therefore have an intrinsic dignity by their status as human beings themselves. So we honor our employees as those made in the image of God and we honor the image of God in them. We honor those who are believers under our authority and say, "You're a brother and sister in Christ. How can I serve you with the authority that God has given to me?"
I've often told the story, I hadn't planned on it but I'm going to tell it here today. Going back, I learned this principle 30 years ago in the law firm that I worked at and I know that for some of you, first of all, the idea of a Christian attorney is an oxymoron. I get that and I also understand that the idea that an attorney would treat their employees well is probably a pretty stunning thought to you as well, but that's exactly the privilege that I had to see played out. I worked for two Christian attorneys named John and Tom back in my earlier days, they owned the firm at which I worked, and as happens in any business, the firm had its times of prosperity and times where things went down a bit, and John and Tom probably had, I don't know at the time 15, 20, 25 people that were working for them. Well, it was an extended down period of time and revenue wasn't coming in like we wanted and there was, you know, the belt had already been tightened and now jobs are on the line with what's there. That's the way it works in business, you know, the place where you can save the most money and a lot of places it's salaries. So John and Tom, as the full owners of the firm, having full of authority over everybody there and in a time of fiscal crisis, Christian men, do you know what they did? I love them to death for this to this very day, they taught me some things about leadership that I learned nowhere else: those Christian attorneys, those godly men, do you know what they did? They cut their own salaries in order to spare the jobs of those that were under their authority. That's the picture of it. To have the authority and say, "I'm going to exercise the authority to the benefit of those that are under me even at the cost of personal sacrifice." And in time, the firm recovers, people still had their jobs and everybody enjoyed the prosperity that followed.
That's the way a Christian boss does it. Not through hiding things with hidden agendas; not through just commanding people because you can; not to gather it all to yourself. God gives you that authority in the workplace so that you can secure the blessing of those who are under your authority. That's why you have it. That's what Christ did, isn't it? With all of his authority, with all of his spiritual authority, with his perfection of holiness in heaven with the worship of angels his right and entitlement, he, as it were, laid aside the cloak, the mantle that was his in heaven and said, "I'll come to earth. Do you know why? Because there are lost sinners everywhere that I need to save and I'm the only one who can do it." And with that servant mindset, holding all authority, he marches the road to Calvary and lays his life down and spills his blood for sinners like you and me. This is revolutionary. This is completely countercultural. This is not the way the world thinks. This is what marks those who are in Christ.
Look over at James 5, in a negative way you can see this. You can see, James 5, you can see that the way God views this and the accountability that goes to those. Before going to James 5, just stop over at James 3 on your way. You know, this is like stopping at the rest areas as you're going down the interstate. "Well, we'll just stop here at this rest area for just a moment and see the scenic view"; that those who have authority are those who are going to face a stricter judgment. Those of you that are under authority, don't be too quick to be jealous of the position that you see someone else holding because God is going to hold them to a greater level of accountability than he will to you. James 3:1 in the realm of church leadership says, "Let not many of you become teachers, my brethren." Why? Why wouldn't everyone want to teach? Why wouldn't everyone want to be upfront and be explaining things for others? Why wouldn't you want that? Well, I'll tell you, it's right here in Scripture, don't let many of you become that way, my brethren, "knowing that as such we will incur a stricter judgment." Greater responsibility brings greater accountability and a stricter judgment at the hand of God. That's how God views it. When he positions you with wealth or authority, he's positioning you with responsibility that he expects you to discharge faithfully and you'll give an account in the end. Wow, if you're thinking about it rightly, this just strikes fear in your heart to realize those things are true.
Now look over at chapter 5, verse 4 in James as James rebukes those who abuse their authority and says God isn't pleased. God is not amused. James 5:4, "Behold, the pay of the laborers who mowed your fields, and which has been withheld by you, cries out against you; and the outcry of those who did the harvesting has reached the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth." He says, "God has heard their cries as they suffer under the injustice of being under your authority and you have taken advantage of them and you have not done what you should have done; you have not done what you said you would do. Their pay is still in your pockets. God is not pleased."
So we realize that God views this matter very seriously, that there will be an account that is given and that what God calls those who have authority to is the same standard that he calls slaves to: respect, integrity, cheerfulness, godly interactions, and to use that authority for their benefit just like Christ used his authority to save your soul. There is no escaping this, is there? There's no getting around this. There is no arguing against this. If Christ has gone this way first, then what can we do except follow in his footsteps? By what principle of righteousness would a boss say, "That doesn't apply to me"? There's nowhere to go with that. So there are reciprocal obligations: the employees serve you, you in a slightly different way, serve your employees with your authority.
Now, secondly, Paul goes on. He has laid out the reciprocal obligations, now secondly, he gives a restraint on the oversight. The restraint on the oversight we see here in verse 9 as well. Look at verse 9 with me again, he says, "And masters, do the same things to them," there is a reciprocity that goes on in master/servant relationships and then he adds to his instructions to the boss, God's word to the boss has a second element here and he says, "and give up threatening." And give up threatening. The present tense of this verb, "give it up," indicates that, oh, watch this, this is to be a defining aspect of the way that the boss operates. This is an ongoing responsibility that Paul lays on bosses and says, "This is to be the character, the tenor, the mark of the way that you lead in the workplace," if you're a master and he says, "give up threatening." In other words, the Christian boss understands something really basic, he understands that he does not operate, he does not oversee those under his authority by intimidating them, by instilling craven fear in them; te doesn't seek to control them through manipulation and threats that, "You're going to lose your job if you don't do this right," maybe back in the day, "I'll beat you if you don't do this right. There is punishment just ahead if you don't get this straightened out." Paul says, "Stop that. That's not the way that a Christian boss operates is to intimidate through fear."
Now, in today's climate where labor relations have perhaps swung in an opposite direction of the pendulum, it's very much worth saying that Scripture certainly doesn't forbid a boss from exercising his authority. It is perfectly appropriate for a boss to discipline and correct a wayward employee and if necessary, to dismiss them from their employment because of their dishonesty or their incompetence. That's not what he's saying is to forbid an appropriate exercise of bad employees. What he's saying here is that the Christian boss cultivates an atmosphere of fairness free from arbitrary control and suspicion. He can require performance but he elicits that performance through his own character in leadership, not through fear and intimidation. Paul says, "Give up the threatening. Set it aside. Don't do it that way because that's not how a Christian boss operates."
Look over at Colossians 4:1, a parallel passage, directly parallel. It says, "Masters, grant to your slaves justice and fairness, knowing that you too have a Master in heaven." So taken together we see that the Christian boss understands, "Okay, I establish a culture in the realm of my authority, one that is fair, one that is just and one where I'm not inflicting fear on people simply because I can." You see, here's the thing, if you're a boss, if you're an owner, you've got to understand something: you do not have absolutely unlimited, unfettered discretion to do absolutely whatever you want with what you have. Why? Not because there's an earthly authority that can restrain you, it's because as a Christian boss, you are under the authority of Christ and Christ says, "This is how you shall do it: justice, fairness, fair payment, prompt payment. Not fear. Not intimidation. Not a grouch. But rather operating with the same spirit of integrity, honesty and cheerfulness that were enjoined on your employees four verses earlier." It's wonderful. It's a great way to be.
Now, why is it that a Christian boss would respond to this teaching? If there's no higher human accountability in your realm, why would you do this? What would motivate you to do this if it might be in your financial interest and to control things a little more tightly, to operate the other way in an ungodly way? Well, you remember the reciprocal obligations and you say, "Okay, I've got that." You see the restraint on your oversight. You're not a free agent in your position of authority. You have to do it the way Christ tells you to do and then Paul gives a concluding reason for obedience, the reason for obedience.
Turn back to Ephesians 6. Ephesians 6:9 again. Why would you do this? A more important question is why would you not? How could you not in light of what Paul says here in verse 9 as he gives the reason for obedience? Do you know what motivates you to be an exemplary Christian boss? Theology. That's right, biblical theology drives you to be like this. Theology motivates the Christian boss to be exemplary. Look at verse 9, he says, "Masters, do the same things to them, and give up threatening, knowing that," here's the basis upon which you operate; here is the heart understanding from which everything else flows; this is where you set aside the horizontal aspect of things and you see yourself alone in the presence of God. You're mindful of the vertical dimension of a Savior who redeemed you, a Savior whom you will one day see face-to-face, knowing that vertical dimension, all of a sudden there is a spiritual force in your heart to conform your character to what Scripture has called you to here. Knowing what? Verse 9, "knowing that," look at it with me, verse 9, "knowing that both there Master and yours it is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him."
Whoa, all of a sudden you realize, do you know what? My earthly position is actually pretty insignificant in the big picture. Rather than seeing my employees separated from me by a vertical separation, I realized that it's really a lot closer than what it might otherwise seem if I just looked at it horizontally. "I belong to Christ," you say to yourself. "I have a Master, in other words. I am under the authority of the Lord Jesus Christ in every area of my life." Someone who doesn't submit to the authority of Christ is not a Christian. So you have your own Master telling you what to do and then you look over at your employee, you look at your Christian employee in particular, and you say, "Wow, do you know what? She/he, has the exact same Master I do. Christ is Lord over me and do you know what? Christ is Lord over them as well. I'm in the same position that they are ultimately. I'm under the authority of Christ. They're under the authority of Christ. By what means would I carry myself in the workplace with an egotistical air of superiority?" Bosses have an authority over them; a higher, heavenly rule abides over them.
But it goes further and this is so humbling to those of us that hold measures of authority. Verse 9, look at it with me again. This is so humbling because it's so unearthly. Paul says, "there is no partiality with Him." Follow what he's saying here. He says, "Okay, on a human level, boss, underneath them, employees. Master/slave. Lines of authority. Slaves, obey your masters." You're feeling pretty good about yourself if you're the boss in that role. You get a little bit of swagger going. "I am king here." Well, not really. Not really. Not at all because over you is another Master and the commonality that you hold with your employees is not a distinction of authority, the commonality is there is one Lord over you both and that Lord Jesus does not distinguish in his mind so as to give favoritism to the boss vis-à-vis the employee. There is no partiality like that. There is no receiving of face. There is nothing that says, "Oh, he was a CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Whoa, get back!" Christ doesn't deal with anyone that way.
No, you see, the way Christ looks at it is this way: boss and employee alike will one day stand before him. Christ will evaluate employees for their obedience to what was revealed to them in Scripture, and in like manner, bosses will stand before Christ and give an account to him for their obedience to what Christ commanded to them. The judgment will not be based, the judgment that comes when believers stand before Christ on that final day to received their reward, the judgement will not be based on, You were the boss and therefore you get a bit more lenient curve." Just the opposite as we saw, employee and boss alike will stand before Christ and Christ will say, "And how did you obey me in the course of your Christian life?" And he will have no regard for the fact that some were bosses and some were only servants, the question will be, "What did you do with my word to you?"
And those of you that have authority, bosses, Christian business owners, understand that you will answer to God for your privileged position here on earth and that should motivate you and humble you to conduct yourself with fear and trembling during your time on earth. If you've been given privileged status here in this life, how much more so should you work out your salvation with fear and trembling? You say, "There is a higher accountability here. I've been given privileges that I'm going to answer for to Christ." Then how much more with that mindset would you come back and search your heart and say to yourself, "Am I doing the same things? Am I extending the integrity and the cheerfulness and the honesty in my dealings with those under my authority that Christ calls them to give to me?" And all of a sudden you're walking in humility before Christ because you realize the weight and force of the theology that's behind the position that you hold.
So what does that do for all of us? It puts our earthly distinctions into perspective, doesn't it? God holds us all accountable. The Christian boss looks at his employees and he cares for his employees because he understands that their well-being to the extent that it's within his sphere of opportunity, the well-being of those under your authority is a stewardship from God to you. Period. That's the way we are to think about it.
So what Paul has done here is he has closed a long discourse on human relationships that began back in chapter 5, verse 22. He walked through marriage. He walked through parenting. He walked through the workplace. Beloved, once you exhaust those areas, there's not too much left on the margins that isn't covered by what he has already said. And what can we all take away from this? What should you take away from this? Something really fundamental, basic, simple. I like simple things. I like basic things because I think the basic things define the details for us. Speaking corporately now, body of Christ, local church, Truth Community, those of us that were either spouses or parents or children, I mean, that pretty much covers everything and most of us have worked with one kind or another even if it's just in the school ground, do you see what God's word is claiming over you? God's word is claiming, the Lord Jesus Christ through his word is asserting comprehensive authority over every detail of your life; that God is calling you to submission to whatever realm and role he has given you in life to submit to his word and to recognize that it covers the totality of your existence. In family, in the workplace, in the realm of the church, there is a fundamental view of life that's in play here that says, "Christ is over all," and that there is not an aspect of your life that you should think about that is separated, divorced and unaffected by the Lordship of Christ over you. And when you recognize that basic principle and then you step into the realm of the church and it says live in harmony, be diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace, you say, "There's a fundamental principle under God's word that applies to me because I'm a Christian when I enter the realm of the believers." You go into your marriage, "I've got responsibilities here. Parenting, here. Workplace, here." There is this comprehensive assertion of authority of Christ over all of your life and then you realize that in God's word he has given you the provision for you to know what that is. He has given you that which equips you to do it, and then he has gone further in his gracious provision for you as a Christian, he has put his Holy Spirit inside you to empower you to live this way. So he saves you out of sin and separates you unto God, he secures your salvation forever through his shed blood. He says, "In the short time of earth, I assert my Lordship and here's how I want you to live. I have given you a completely sufficient word to define it all for you." Then he goes further and he has given his Spirit in order for you to have the power to live that out.
So on the one hand, we're really, really grateful, aren't we, to be in Christ? And on the other hand, we're really, really humbled to realize that God has called us to a particular kind of life and expects us to follow. Is that the life that you're on? Have you taken up your cross? Have you laid down your life, taken up your cross to follow after Christ? That's the call. Do you realize, beloved, I say this a lot, I don't say it nearly enough, if I were to do it right, I would say it every single time we're it together to remind you because you're prone to forget: do you realize that you're all moving inexorably toward a time when you will stand before Christ and give an account to him? Those of you who are not saved, you're not ready for that day at all. It would be, for you it would be a day of judgment and, oh, how I plead with you to turn to Christ, to repent from your sin, to repent toward God and to put your faith in Christ for salvation because I don't want your soul to be destroyed in hell forever. That would be bad.
For those of you who are Christians, do you understand that Scripture says that we'll all stand before the judgment seat of Christ and give an account for the deeds in our body whether good or bad? Not that he's going to review our sins, he paid for our sins, he has covered those, they're never going to be held against us again. God is going to call you before the judgment seat of Christ and hold you to account to the life that you lived that he gave to you in Christ during your short walk here on earth. You're moving toward that day whether you see it or not, and beloved, don't you want that day to go well? Don't you want Christ to approve of you and say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Master." That you would enter into his heavenly kingdom with a wondrous resounding trumpet announcing your arrival, "Another faithful one has come into glory." Don't you want that? Well, you see, it doesn't happen by haphazard approach to life. You have to be intentional about seeking it. Oh, beloved, remember the wonderful face of Christ that you will soon see face-to-face and let it motivate you to come back to his word afresh and say, "What was it you wanted from me again, Lord? Speak, your servant listens."
Let's bow together in prayer.
Father, we commit all of these things to you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. We ask that you would help us recognize and understand the respected roles that you have given us in life and to discharge our duty with a proper sense of fear and trembling as well as gratitude for the privilege that you have given us to be in Christ. Father, I pray that you would take each man and woman, each boy and girl that is here in the audience or that will hear these things later over different media, I pray that you would take them and apply this with power by your Spirit to their hearts that their lives would reflect Christ here on earth and that they could stand before you on that coming day of judgment where there is no partiality, to stand before you without shame, to receive a full reward and enter into the joy of Christ for all of eternity to come. We pray in Jesus' name. Amen. | English | NL | 20afed08becbd94ad887694b916480ff4c0664b3108e3321a4214fa48a16ec47 |
If you’re a pro knuckleballer who didn’t start out as one, you probably switched to the pitch after reckoning you had no other way to ascend to the next level of play. We’re not sure a full-time knuckleball has to be a pitch “borne of desperation.” (David Lennon’s words, recorded in the documentary “Knuckleball!”) But it can’t hurt to be hungry for advancement—or just to be convinced, despite injury or other obstacle, that it’s way too soon to toss in the glove.
Here are just a few of the ball players who have joined the knuckleball fraternity over the years after starting out as a different kind of player. (See also IKA’s history of knuckleballers.) The dates indicate the beginning and end of their pro ball careers:
Ted Lyons (1923-1946). Lyons included a knuckleball as part of his repertoire early on, but it became a more important pitch to him after a 1931 arm injury. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1955.
Wilbur Wood (1961-1978). In 1966, Wood was traded to the White Sox, where super-knuckleballer Hoyt Wilhelm suggested that he specialize in the knuckleball. Wood took the advice, and became well known for his durability. He once finished out a game being continued from a couple of days earlier, then, on the same night, pitched a regularly scheduled game. He won both games.
Jim Bouton (1959-1978). After an arm injury in 1965 ended the reign of his impressive fastball, Bouton developed his knuckleball, a pitch he had used since his high school days. Bouton penned a controversially candid memoir of his 1969 season that angered many in baseball and may have precipitated his exit from the game in 1970. After stints as a sports anchor, though, he returned to the diamond a few times before retiring for good in 1978.
Joe Niekro (1967-1988). The knuckleball became a more important pitch to Niekro, though never his sole pitch, after he began playing alongside his brother Phil Niekro as an Atlanta Brave in 1973. The Niekro brothers had first learned the pitch from their father.
Charlie Hough (1967-1994). Hough broke out of the minor leagues after taking up the knuckleball in 1970, becoming master of a “dancing knuckleball pitch.” A top relief pitcher for the Los Angeles Dodgers from 1973 to 1980, he became a starting pitcher for the Texas Rangers (1980-1990). He is another knuckleballer who became known for durability, pitching many complete games each season, 17 in 1984. Post-retirement, Hough has coached many players in the mysteries of the knuckleball.
Tim Wakefield (1988-2011). Wakefield left the game in 2011 as the Boston Red Sox’s longest-serving player (he’d been on the team for 17 years) and the MLB’s oldest active player—a longevity of career made possible largely by his reliance on the knuckleball. Wakefield didn’t start out as a pitcher, let alone a knuckleball pitcher. But he began developing his knuckleball skills early on, after a scout told him he would never get very far as a position player. “I just want to be able to say I tried everything I could to make it,” he said at the time. He did well in his first few years as a pitcher in the minors; then, after being signed by the Sox in 1995, honed his skills under the tutelage of Phil and Joe Niekro.
Next: Dickey et al. | English | NL | 1585b9b62845976979d6c40064f3646220c4d17c0fd63c3fdf0f0a2e281f831b |
Mary Benton: How To Buy Property In Your Self Managed Super Fund
On today’s episode,
Bernadette is going to share with you an exclusive sneak peek into one of the recordings of the monthly training inside our membership. Mary Benton is the presenter, a financial planner and a student in The School Of Renovating is going to discuss How To Buy Property Into Your Self Managed Super Fund.
A super fund is a Trust with no end date. Holding assets for beneficiaries with lower tax but with restricted access.
Listen to Episode 15 Mary Benton: How To Buy Property In Your Self Managed Super Fund
Podcast: Download (Duration: 47:04 — 86.15 MB)
- Why would you own a property inside a self managed super fund?
- How much do you need to get started?
- The process: With or without borrowing.
- How does it help when you are in a renovating business.
- The current landscape and other issues.
- Why property in super can work
- How to acquire a property in a super fund
- Advantages of a self managed super fund
- Steps in self managed super fund borrowing
- The life cycle of a self managed super fund
- Which clients are the self managed super funds suitable for?
01:30 - Self managed super funds are a bit of a minefield
02:33 - The things that work or don't work
02:58- A super fund is just a trust structure so it's not the actual legal entity
04:52 - Why should you own property inside superannuation?
05:56 - The banks are very happy to lend against property, against bricks and mortar
07:40 - The most important rule in any self managed super fund is called the sole purpose test
08:23 - The advantages of a self massive super fund itself is that it does give you control.
10:25 - How much money do you actually need to get started
14:51 - You cannot borrow to renovate
18:30 - The purpose of the property has to be for commercial purposes
20:37 - A thing called Safe Harbour rules within the Tax Act land
23:10 - Obviously the lenders, the bank etc... hold security over the property
25:14 - There's a minimal risk to the bank effectively.
26:38 - Super fund can run a business in certain circumstances
29:35 - A lot of uncertainty and that uncertainty is actually slowing down the whole housing market
32:54 - If labour gets in and start changing some of the rules, we might not be able to borrow
34:23 - It makes complete sense to have to buy and hold properties inside a super fund
36:26 - Can you buy with vendor finance through your self managed super fund?
39:55 - Can you buy a unit with borrowing?
40:45 - Banks make their money out of lending. What's going to happen?
Get "Episode 15: How To Buy Property In Your Self Managed Super Fund" Show Notes and Transcript
Transcription“What happens psychologically is people they'll sell shares in a moment's notice because they're liquid, that they won't sell property. So you hear about a lot of property millionaires but you don't hear a lot about share millionaires. And that's because of the psychology when we actually go about purchasing that type of asset. So a property to getting in has high costs stamp duty etc... Is chunky capital gains on the way I can't just divvy it up and very liquid. You can't just sell at a moment's notice unlike shares.
The difference is banks love property. So the banks are very happy to lend against property, against bricks and mortar.”
Well hello it's Bernadette Janson back with she renovates the podcast for women who want to create an income and a life they love. And today we're doing something a little bit different.
So basically the topic is buying property in your self managed super fund and what I've done is I have brought in a recording of one of the trainings from inside our membership. And this the presenter is Mary Benton who is a member of our community. She's also a financial planner and chartered accountant.
Now self managed super funds are a bit of a minefield. You really do need to work with someone who knows what they're doing and. And so Mary is going to shed some light on what's possible at the moment with them. Important to note that this information that is general in nature and should not be taken as personal advice. You need to get advice from your own specialists your own financial planner or accountant. That relates to your personal circumstances to make sure that you make the right decisions in your property journey. So thank you. So I'm going to hand you over to Mary now and I know that you're going to really enjoy this.
Bernadette: OK so we've got Mary Benton on. I think for those of you who didn't read the intro. Mary is a renovator first and foremost. She is a financial planner and she has her own business and she is also a mortgage broker. Have you got any other strength in your boat Mary?
Mary: I'm a chartered accountant as well. In Wales and Australia.
Bernadette: There we go. So yeah she's the full package based in Melbourne and she's on a steep trajectory to improve her own financial position with renovating. But tonight she's gonna be talking about buying a property in a self managed super fund. And I'm really looking forward to it. So thank you Mary.
Mary: All right. So guys let's get into it. So self managed super fund, some of you might already have a self managed super fund. Some of you might be thinking about a self managed super fund.
But generally with the community that I'm talking to each night, the reason we've been looking at it is to buy property and hold property through it. So I'm going to take you through some of the things that work or don't work and why sometimes super fund might be good for you. If there are things that I don't cover we get questions at the end you can always ask. Or as I'm going through any questions on any slides please ask me. Some of that I will go through quite quickly because they don't matter too much and it's not so important and some of it will be going through individual detail.
So for those of you don't know a super fund is just a trust structure so it's not the actual legal entity super fund it's just a trust, but unlike normal trusts which have an 18 year life a super fund has no end date.
If you could make it that the beneficiaries keep changing over it. So it never quite says it can keep going. All right. So what we're going to go through today is why would you own property inside super fund in the first place.
What are the benefits of that? We're gonna look at how much you need to get started. That seems to be the big question on everybody's lips as well. How many dollars does it take. What's it cost to actually maintain it as we go along. And then I'm just gonna take you through the process if you buy property and renovate with and with bank borrowings.
Some people actually have enough investments already inside that super fund to not have to go to the banks, but either way let's talk our way through what happens. And obviously because I'm talking to a community of renovators we want to look at what can we do in terms of renovating, if we want to renovate property that's inside someone's super fund. Do we like to or not. Because it's a few questions around that and again I'll give you some guidance and then of course we've got a looming election which has slowed up the market which we all know. I've got my house up to sell at the moment on the streets up to sell etc...
We know the market's going really slow and that's because of the pending elections and the changes that are likely to come if suddenly a federal labour gets in. So we'll have a quick look at that as well to see what might happen in the future.
We're kind of a company called Plan4wealth we're based in southeast Victoria but I travel all over the country and I have to give you advice warning I'm going to be talking to you today in general terms if you've got specific questions I'm supposed to not answer those specific questions. But I can just send you a link we can cut telephone chats and then we can go through it personally anyway.
All right. So let's take the first or why should you own property inside superannuation in the first place. Well those of you who don't know property itself actually has a lot of advantages over shares when you look at properties. I'm talking to who converted to a real property investors. We know that anything that you look at statistically that says here's the returns on property purchases the returns on shares show pretty much that the returns are about the same. If anything shares might actually have a slight advantage it actually make more returns on the property.
But what happens psychologically is people they'll sell shares in a moment's notice because they're liquid, that they won't sell property. So you hear about a lot of property millionaires but you don't hear a lot about share millionaires. And that's because of the psychology when we actually go about purchasing that type of asset. So a property to getting in has high costs stamp duty etc... Is chunky capital gains on the way I can't just divvy it up and very liquid. You can't just sell at a moment's notice unlike shares.
The difference is banks love property. So the banks are very happy to lend against property, against bricks and mortar. You know sometimes you have to look at the banks and wonder why they do half of what they do and at the moment they're definitely tightening it up. That's one of the advantages of property even inside super. So that's why we love property we know we can get extra value out of it.
But inside secret sales, members inside someone's super fund can own. In Australia can own direct property. There's certain restrictions but you can pretty much own direct property inside the super fund, which means you get access to all of the tax advantages and you can borrow from some of them still to buy property. The reason that you wouldn't buy obviously is that when you do buy property you're going to use all of the cash to buy a property or most cash anyway so you're going to use your portfolio if you imagine it should be balanced across cash shares and property.
There's gonna be a time where it's overweight property but if you buy really well and you know what you're doing that's not going to be an issue for those of us invest in property anyway. We love property so we know exactly what we can do that you do have restrictions is how you can use energies in liquid etc.. We know that say you must make sure before you buy property inside a self managed super fund that it's going to work for all of the members.
So I'll give you an example where me and my ex-husband split up and we have two properties inside our super fund at the time. And we decided it was any of the services members who wanted to sell or close down the super fund, because he didn't want anything to do with any of my investments and more we had to sell the property that was in there before we actually closed end funds that took a number of years to go through all of that.
You just have to be very careful how you do it and there's some rules around that you must watch. The most important rule of anything in any self managed super fund is a being called the sole purpose test and that's where you have to make sure that the purpose of the goal of the asset investment is for the sole purpose of providing for your retirement.
Now if you're in a fund that's got adults and children, then it might be that the property works because it's liquid it might work for the children it might not work for the parents if they want to draw income off it etc.. So you've got to make sure the assets will actually work for people in the fund. If you are maintaining a property as well you know that you would have a lot of costs of repairs and maintenance as you go along and you've got to make sure you've got cash flow in place and liquidity to be able to move all along.
The advantages of a self massive super fund itself is that it does give you control. It gives you flexibility over exactly what you invest into and anybody that already has a self managed super fund will have gone into that deliberately. So that they can have more control over the investments they've got and over the timing of assets and what they do with their money.
It does potentially have less tax over time and it has lower costs over time as well. And with a self massive super fund you can invest into direct property and definitely business property and residential as well. So you've got those extra advantages and holding real property is suited to real estate investors in particular but be very careful if you're planning to buy for instance residential properties. You cannot let related parties use or lease that property. You've got to be really careful that.
You can't purchase off what's called the major parties and can't sell it to a related party. The business real property on the other hand you can actually deal with yourself. You can sell your own property or your factory or something to your self managed super fund and that works really well with traders and people who are in business real property so that things like shops and offices and farms, you can also still borrow to buy that property too.
If you're fed up with paying rent for your business and you want to come by the office for instance and you've got money inside your super, inside your self managed super fund choose the money in it to be the deposit. You can go buy your rent office space and then what you do is you've got the other advantage that you're still renting it. You went to an office to sell and you can rent yourself still upping the amount of money you get it. So if you are in any situation where you think that owning commercial property works for you it's a real little bonus to have a self managed super fund.
All right. So that's just why I would own property, I'm talking preaching to the converted because you only know that you love property as an asset and you know you can make money from it inside the super and tax refund. So you know all about it.
But how much money do you actually need to get started when you're putting money into it? Because the current rules allow trustees to borrow and that has not changed even though the banks have decided to be a bit stupid. It's actually known as what's called limited recourse lending. So when the bank lends money into the super fund they have to lend not to the super fund itself but to a what's called a bare trust that holds the property on behalf of the super fund. So it's a trust which was below the super fund trust and the banks if they lend or whoever lends into a super fund is limited to the assets of that separate trust.
Let's say you default on it, you borrow a million dollars and for whatever reason you default on that loan. All the bank can do is go after the property that they secured against they cannot go after any of the other assets of yourself in the super fund.
And this is the way that the governments end up so they could protect themselves against having their assets taken away in case for whatever reason markets go bad or things turn around and they can't make the payments they didn't want to jeopardise everybody's retirement. So the bank takes extra risk in that case when they lend into a self managed super fund because of the extra risk the banks tend to charge a higher interest rate at the moment ridiculously high. You see them reading that tweet and send used to be there around 6 - 6 1/2 %. But at the moment there's a lot of banks that are pulling the rates up because they can cause.
They lend as well as a very low Loan To Value ratios or LVR and most banks some lending below 60% but most of them are around 60%- 65%. There are still some lending 80% but you will not get above that. So commercially they will lend less capital to their risk in case you default and they will charge you more for the purposes and they will also charge you very high fees twice as you set the loan up.
For example if you go to buy against your home you might pay $350, $600 to the bank for setting up your loan. If you go into self managed super fund it could be $5,000 so you need to know those extra costs of getting in and borrowing a lot higher. The good news is you can borrow from a bank or a related party. So mom and dad can actually go and borrow against their home and then put that money into their self managed super fund and the mom and dad can actually become the bank to the loan and so on.
But even then the tax office just said that we need to be very careful commercially about the interest rates that we're lending, growing up. And the repayment terms that we lend or borrow for. But it's a way of making sure we would use that as well.
So that's where borrowing sits at the moment like in terms of what the banks are looking for when they go to lend you against that property. They still want you to have around $200-250k in cash before they'll lend you money on top of that. They don't have to use all of that for the property but they want to see that you've got a certain amount of money left over even after you've bought property.
I've always said to consider if you haven't got between you around $200,00 or that you've got the capacity to get to $200,000 very quickly. Then let's not look at doing self managed super fund just yet, because it can cost you at least you $2,000 a year from the fund even if your borrowing from property.
That would be about 1% fee if you got $200,00 which you really want to try and stay around 1% as possible, but the bonus of a self managed super fund is that you can have up to four members and there's talk of increasing that as well.
Across all 4 members that's $750,000 each. So it's easy to get together with a few of the people and put your money like moms and dads and the kids put money together and get to $250,000 to get started.
You really need to allow in that, enough money that whatever property you're planning to buy you've covered off fuel. Let's say 30% deposit that same 5% stamp duty and then about 2% on top of that for anything. The banking system has never been one to charge you.
On top of that you need to have a little bit of money left over so that you can pay for ongoing costs of the fund also be current and assets in the tax offices every year. Now the one thing about the boring rules and regulations in the very tightly controlled. Is that you cannot borrow to renovate. So if you're going to improve a property you have to already have that cash sitting inside the super fund. So let's say pops is going to cost you a $1,000,000 and you've got to put $300,000 and you've got another $50,000. Stamp duty would have cost another couple thousand, $20,000 save for borrowing costs or both. You might therefore need to have about $370-$400,000 thousand in the fund. But it's going to cost you a $100,00 to renovate you need to have that as well. So you need to have another $100,000 or $200,000 in terms of sitting there.
And the reason I put 110% here under renovations is that tension contingency number because nothing ever cost us what we think it's going to cost us. We always reliable. So we have another 10 percent to cover off those contingencies as well. So that's pretty much what you'd need. You cannot be seen to be borrowing from renovations.
That's how much dollars you'd need, again anybody's welcome to visit the sites to recalculate if you want to. The process that you go back buying property inside or outside of a super fund. If you've got a commercial property. You can buy it from a related party, you can buy it from somebody external and you can obviously lease it to an external party or to a related party.
But if you've got residential property you can buy it by a super fund, you can use it to an arm's length person but and you can borrow against it. But you cannot buy it from a related party, you will live in it or have anybody living it. So quite often I get asked the question, I've got teenage daughters and will go to university, I've got money in one super fund. I'm thinking of buying an apartment in the city so that they can live there. Whatever you need that's fine in your own name but you can't do anything and you've got to be careful. But inside a super fund it's nuts. You just can't and don't think that they won't find out, because it's not something you want to raise.
The penalties if you get it wrong and you breach the sole purpose test or one of these tests. If the tax office can actually charge you 47% of the value of the assets of the fund as a penalty. So if you've got $5M self managed super fund it doesn't matter that you've only breached your $10K. They can come after you for pretty close to $2.5M of that $5M as a penalty.
If you want to go about acquiring what we call business real property so commercial property and want to acquire it from a related party. You can as long as it is commercial property in the same test somewhere. It has to be the dominant purpose is that it's used for commercial use. So for business purposes it doesn't matter whose business lease it could be yours it could be somebody else's.
But it has to be dominant purpose and this is one of the things that the Royal Commission brought up and I was completely confused by because they talked about bed and breakfast and said that it was able to be owned anyway by itself on super funds because the owner was actually going to need to move over breakfast. Well that's perfectly acceptable under the Tax Act. The person living there would be using say a managers like one bedroom over the five or we have got and if they're living there is incidental to the management and the ownership of the property. So that's actually in light of the Tax Acts that initial well because afterwards about that I think that was more about the fact that was the start of a line to be honest.
The purpose of the property has to be for commercial purposes and then anybody can rent it whether it's related policies or an external policy windfall. So that's whether it's office, shop, factory or farm section.
Just as an example lets say we were renting something because again this matters with Airbnb a property for instance. If we've got a block of units and there's 20 units in the block and that block of units is basically being managed as a business, because the rental is the full time property rental business then that actually is a commercial property. It's in the business of renting out a property it could be we're Airbnb it on a large scale.
But even said these examples the units in that block. And even if the manager and then the manager is rentals that's more like a passive income so that's like an investment property, that's not commercial. So the property itself like the residential but it's not going to operate as a business therefore it's not commercial property. So if you're in debt with any of this you can go to the Tax Office and get a private unit.
The last one, the bed and breakfast there's one bed and breakfast but four bedrooms in that out of five member one lives full time. It's just incidental use still considered to be commercial so can be owned by acquiring self managed super fund from who yourself and it can obviously be then borrowed against it.
I think I said this before but obviously banks lending but they're just getting out of it quite rapidly at the moment. For some other reason. Following the royal commission I wouldn't be surprised if it gets inside knowledge of what the hell's going on.
Because the whole Haynesville commission report just didn't make a lot of sense on a low scale so it sounds like the government banks are in cahoots but will find them out. But even if the bank lends or it's borrowed from a related party like yourselves there's those related parties or the commercial loans have to be announcements on commercial terms.
There's a thing called Safe Harbour rules within the Tax Act land that spells out what those arm's length terms are and the arm's length terms include the terms and repayments as well as the interest rate. If any loan does not meet those rules then it's deemed, well they can just shut it down straight away and they can penalise you. You just need to make sure you're meeting the Safe Harbour rules and that includes even if it means back pain interest etc... Be very careful when you do this just make sure it complies.
But again if a mom and dad is lending in, let's say you borrowed at 4% and you lend to your super fund and you have to charge your super fund 7% for instance because that's the right loan something like 5% it just means that the super fund is paying you back quicker. It's not a problem with the fact that you're having to restructure your loans that way if you're lending because your cost is actually still lower.
Here's how it works the bank makes a loan to the self managed super fund itself, self managed super fund already sitting on loads of cash in a bank. So the super fund will add that loan money to its own cash goes through what's called a security trust or bank trust which only is set up. So who owns this property on behalf of a self managed super fund because a super fund itself is not legally allowed to buy. So put some money on a bare trust figuratively it does mean that the bank account is all on paper.
The bare trust then goes and buys direct property and the security trustee owns legal ownership of the property and after the loan is paid off the property goes back to the self managed super fund and so bear trusts it disappears.
Its sole purpose is to own that property for the period of the loan and then it just like dissolves and the property goes back to the self managed super fund. And that can cause some issues in some states particularly Queensland where when the property changes from the ownership of the bare trust back to the ownership itself the self managed super fund the State Revenue Office decided that it wanted to tax it again for duty purposes.
So there are some very clever lawyers up in Queensland who have managed to get around that. So if you're going to buy property in Queensland then you must contact somebody before you do it before you even get to signing an offer or a contract to sell not even before signing up to full sun contracts sale. Otherwise you can be up for double duty. Be very careful about that.
And then obviously the lenders, the bank etc... hold security over the property. Only limited recourse alone cannot go after any of the aggressive self managed super fund, so it's all good. If you were going to buy a property and borrow to do it you'd need to make sure that the property itself still went through the normal borrowing requirements. The bank still has to like the property, has to think it's worth the money, has to think it's a good value, you would have to think it would be able to sell etc etc...
Then you have to make sure that your trust deed is going to land borrowings otherwise you just have to. You set up your trust, your security will bare trust and then and only then you went in the contract of sale.
Because in Queensland in particular you have to have the trust in place before you can sign and execute a contract sale. Otherwise it's deemed contract to sell at some point because the trusted deed put at the time. Places like Victoria you can just sign and or nominate and set the trust up later, but you can't do that in Queensland. Then you execute all the land documents, settle on the property as per normal and you just be careful of stamp duty in different states.
So the actual purchase of a property is no different. If you find it in your name you just buy it with the trusts that you own. So what do the banks want? As per normal, they look at you to see whether or not your trustworthy or a credit worthy customer. They're looking at either you because you are borrowing against your own home or they're looking at the self managed super fund as the borrower.
And this is where it used to be really good for the tightening at all because then all we had to do was show that the self managed super fund or your super funds had been receiving super contributions at a certain level for the previous 2 years. Those new super funds and they were going to receive contributions and you just had to show the current assets and then what the rental was on the property and so was all of that combined to support the amount of the repayments and the borrowings by what happened it was a really simple expense.
There's a minimal risk to the bank effectively. Because their only lending somewhere between 60% and 80% and they charge a really high interest rate. From a liability point of view this is a safer bet for them to service you than it was to even lend you money against your own home or something because it's mandated knows about how much has to go into super long enough and what you're getting et cetera. So there was a really good track record.
It's good if it's true, but the banks since seem to have tightened up on all of this and obviously they've demonstrated the savings just like normal is. Shows the liability to service the loan and the like to a certain amount of cash left over so I know we could get into difficulties.
You've got enough money say to pay the 1st year's worth of loan repayments so let's get back into the current landscape rather being backwards. But let's just talk about renovating per say because we are The School Of Renovating and what limited recourse borrowing does or within a superfund.
Super fund can run a business and in certain circumstances, but what it can't do when it's got a borrowing arrangements in place. It's got very strict restrictions on what it does. It has what's called a single acquirable acid test. So if you buy a 3 bedroom residential house for instance there are rules that say that it has to stay in residential hands. You cannot change the nature so you can’t bulldoze the house and sell the land to a second land. You can't buy vacant land and build a house on it because you've changed the nature of the asset from mum to house of nice to land that you could for instance renovate from 3 bedroom to 4 bedroom. You could put a swimming pool in the garden you could put on a double garage because it's still a house, a residential house.
When the tax office talks about the nature of an asset they're actually quite good.
When you talk about it it's actually really good and there's sections in the ACT superannuation that in some sections A & B which actually goes through all of the examples of what they mean by this. It's a really good section. Lots and lots of information. If you're confused just go through that section. The only thing is you can't borrow for those renovations. So if you were buying a place and you needed to repair it then potentially you could repair it with borrowed money at the time but you can't improve the asset with borrowed money. You have to have enough savings and are enough when you get an extra contributions and to keep it to be able to do those carrying out those improvements.
That brings us to a slightly different issue and that is that getting money into super in the first place can also be an issue. If you've maxed out your contributions in super and you need to get the money in there to do the renovation you've just got away.
Because if you renovate it with your own money outside super it will be a deemed contribution and exceeded the caps and you won’t be able to get the tax deductions you could actually be penalised. So if you don't have any lines whatsoever you can just go ahead and renovate. No problem because you got money in again you can just do the renovation not worry about it. But if you have got borrowing against it make sure that you aren't borrowing any more money and aren't going to renovate. As I said go through the sections of the ATR regulations as well 2012 and just check the changing nature of the assets.
I’ve put in there the business side because I know that's one Bernadette that you like to look up in Queensland. If you bought yourself a double block that was a split earning then took the property moved it to one side and they got block land and you've got a house you've just changed the nature of the assets finds itself one circumstance. So that one wouldn't work through super but you could buy any other property. And like many for instance you could improve it and then sell it that will be okay through super as long as you got the money inside your super fund to improve it.
Just on the current landscape I have gone half an hour so I'm going to start bringing it to a close. I just want to go through some of these and have some time for questions. At the moment with no bill on the sidelines waiting champing at the bit to get into government. It's a lot of uncertainty and that uncertainty is actually slowing down the whole of the housing market not just it's actually slowing down to be honest.
There's been no change whatsoever to the legal rules about what's going to land on self managed super fund. We can still have what's called limited recourse borrowing arrangements, we've still got the single equitable asset restrictions while the bones in place and we know in Australia we have a growing need for housing etc... so it's not like anything's changed. Nothing's changed but the whole housing market slowed down because not only is Bill climbing to potentially remove negative gearing which could crush the whole housing market it is talk of them stopping the ability for super funds to be able to borrow at all anyway so to do this we need cash and we need quite a lot of cash to buy properties.
And because of that banks are pulling out of the lending space. That's after Sydney after the gold commission. They're very very gun shy in terms of borrowing. And like I say the stuff that came up in the Commission ran itself and seek funds. Technically they were allowed to do that.
That was done only for those of you don't know the story of the people I heard as I heard it and that was a Scottish lady in tears because she went to her financial planner first and we've done it and she approached the bank, a lot financial planners suggest no problem. You can borrow inside.
You can set up a cell phone and it’s different to a bed and breakfast which is which kids do. And you can borrow for that purpose. So his planner apparently told you can't. I tell you no. His planer was wrong. He was correct. That's not the way it was painted in the commission. The problem was she then went away and sold her house and gave up her job and then went to buy the bed breakfast. And at that stage the bank which in this case was Westpac said well why would we lend to you? You've got no income.
We don't know how you're going to run this business. And so they said no to the loan. So she's in tears then because by then she sold the house can't start with business etc... Wherever this stuff came up which is probably a breakdown between the bank borrowing and the approval that the technical thing about she could have bought herself a bed and breakfast with something different and borrowed to do so was which was correct. She could.
But anyway, partly because of that I think banks are withdrawing their funds lending space is seen as too risky. They never understood it. I'd have massive arguments with their legal departments. When we were going through it to explain to them the rules set in them somewhere. And I think that's basically why they're withdrawing its hold snow level commission. Just don't want to do that on top of that we are getting things like 15 year terms or higher interest rates so it is actually damping down on the whole property market anyway.
And if as you say if labour get in and they start changing some of the rules we might not be able to borrow any way it's going to restrict a lot more. But you will still find that where people run businesses and they have plans to move commercial property into something safe and it makes absolute sense and it's a good thing to do. But I can say it's causing a lot of uncertainty in the whole housing sector. Those of us sitting on the sidelines won't sell which is stimulating.
I think if you organise sort of self usage from this sort of thing is going to do. Obviously setting up a self managed super fund is among the things that go into that in the first place. If you then decide you want to buy a property and one for borrowing you've got a so-called borrowing and that's a separate stage. Buying the property and a lot of things to do it now and then obviously you start your investing and you've got your own ongoing as well with a super fund.
You've got a lot of things on that basis to look after but look at it this way if you are a property investor and you already have a property you used to rent that you used to renovate etc... You're going to be putting in tax returns in a year anyway you're going to be collecting rent because you're used to paying rates and repairs and things. It's no different it's just you're doing it in separate legal and saying you're responsible for keeping the books. There are some people walking my doors that I would say you should not be setting up a cell phone system because it coming into their own personal tax return or pay any employee but anybody that's got a nice middle eastern women owned business is definitely suited to connect to run itself. So suitable for clients have enough money and are happy to take legal responsibility for looking after the books.
You definitely have overseas legal capacity and if you decide that you want to own property and you have to renovate you can make rules by holding property inside and someone to ship and make absolute sense. When I'm looking at clients and I'm talking to less about 20 year olds that are coming to my office and they want to do it. They can set this as a goal for later when the 13th is they can use this to look after 6 long term investment properties long term investment.
It makes complete sense to buy and hold properties inside a super fund especially if you've been content to buy, this makes a good income option. It's not so good if you want to be churning it or using it to develop because you got to be really careful about the rules on rent money on the super.
It's definitely not suited for people who are time poor who don't understand the legal complexity and you don't even want to be involved. So yes. We've got lots of paperwork and copy time or you just got to be careful are possible to do that. So just be careful of how you get money and how you access money and of the penalties.
If you're getting close to each well these dates really sure we know people for July 2015, 2016, 2017, so up to anybody born before basically June 1962 at the moment or anybody really. For June 1964 was so close to Canal to access your superannuation and having it in itself and the interest and property that you make.
So don't get it wrong because it's not worth it penalties up to 47% of the fund's assets. Just keep a check through your accountants as you go along but otherwise we're looking at its long term tax effective investing. It can be complex but at the end of the day if you are the least competent you could just navigate carefully and just know that it's not for incompetence.
Bernadette: Awesome. Great. Thanks so much Mary. Actually I've got the first question. So can you buy with vendor finance through your self managed super fund?
Mary: Well because it's super fund pretty much. You can only sign one contract. You can't have more than two payments so you couldn't have more than a deposit. And secondly. So if you think then to finance normally that's where you would do it more than two payments so you might have a large deposit and that's okay. And the balance paid like 2 years or 3 years later or something. But if you can set it so that it’s 2 payments to pay something that, yes if you set it so it's more than 2 payments. But if you're by borrowing from the bank the bank will be paid payments.
That's loan repayments because you get owner. So when you do it then also you will say not say not instalments. You have a lot of farming clients around me. So I have my farming costs will sell a farm knife or down payment and then they'll have two or three installment's over the next five or 10 years and they'll sell them for you know two million each time and every time you do it you have to go back to recalculate your original price additional capital gains tax. So if you're buying through a super fund you wouldn't be able to do it that way. But what you're saying is if the vendor wants to be the lender yes and then yes the vendor can absolutely.
They just have to meet those possibles probably I have to say what that me interest rate and they have to meet the terms and make sure it's less than 15 year term and they're charging interest at the proper commercial right. Yes fine. Anybody can be a lender.
Bernadette: Right. I found that really helpful. I know of some people who are doing renovations who are doing flips and they're self managed super fund. And I always wondered whether that was how they were doing that because I know you're not meant to be conducting an enterprise and clearly they're breaking the rules because you support that.
Mary: So the way that I do it, a super fund can run a business you just have to be really careful like a company to actively trading. So you just have to care for not always go and get advice or get an actual private ruling on it just to be set.
But if you say you're flipping and you're flipping every year or 2 years or something then you could say it's just an investment, normal just turn over profits.
If you're flipping every 3 months, I think I'd be a bit careful because you are a developer and you crossed the line and you have to be really really careful on showing that you're not using borrowed funds to do certain things, you're not using assets inside super funds etc... It's where you mix borrowings and anything you have to be really super careful.
But here's how I usually advise clients is quite simple. There are some properties we buy which we intend to hold on to for a long time. And there's some properties we intend to flip. So if you're going to flip them or do them in your name or adjacent to the company because that's showing the income. And that's good for when you want to service debt. So the things you’re going to flip you want to have a little personal company and withdraw from it. But if you're planning to hold it long term and even if you Airbnb it if, you're going to hold it long term and keep business because way you can always change your mind. Say really get a really good office so you decide to sell it doesn't mean you got to keep it forever. I just distinguished my property portfolio between what's going to generate income and turnover quite quickly I'm keeping the company and what's a long term hold I'm putting my super funds.
Bernadette: Can you buy a unit with borrowing? Renovate yourself within your super fund say within six months?
Mary: Yes. So you can buy a unit with that borrowings, renovate and sell. Yes you can. If you did it a few times over to the Tax Office and say you're definitely running a business then they might try and tax you differently. But if you do that once and then the next when you hold for 5 years or something they're not going to think you’re running a business by doing that.
Bernadette: Yeah. So that's not something you could do on a regular basis.
Mary: You just have to be careful because they're going to come back and say they want to tax you differently on revenue.
Bernadette: Yeah. So just another question been around the environment at the moment. So banks make their money out of lending money. What's going to happen?
Mary: Well at the moment banks have decided and they're making crazy decisions at the moment in the whole of this financial space. They've decided that the risk is not with the profits. They know that they made the money that they were lending it, that they decided it's not worth it so they've just a lot of them have backed out.
Now having said that I still got really good banks that lend. I've got six at least on this list that are lending still into solvency funds are not all right. Let's include one big tier but it's just that there's less of them. It used to be that you could go and talk to anybody and as long as you're buying the property they lent against like say and people since lent against residential property so you could buy that in your own name and interest in the company or in super.
And now they're backing out of lending to super which it just takes belief because a super fund is just a trust. But anyway that's what they say some of them are just getting out. But they'll still make enough money. Let's not let's not cry about the banks losing money. But I think they're going to go broke.
Bernadette: No actually I had some a group that I'm working with at the moment. They're doing a joint venture. They got a loan approved for a property in the sort of cooling off period. The property they bought with less than 50 sqm and in the cooling off period they decided that they were going to whack an extra $5,000 penalty because it was under fire. I was actually saying to them that I think they need to go to the financial ombudsman. Because the other thing is, that they actually didn't tell them that until the 11th hour. They went ahead it's not good.
Mary: Yeah. Well I know at one stage because that could change the rules all the time. This isn't accurate. This is just bank deciding making decisions.
But I could change the rules at one stage about how much the banks hold between what was investment properties and what was I remember. And they just came out with a straw and said overnight that your bank books have to be balanced at this level. And there were some banks for instance that were over. They'd been over lending against investment. And overnight they had to not make any more lending even if they had contracts of about setting the next day.
So then the banks would go and not having to compensate clients because they couldn't legally settle money for them. But they weren't allowed to leave clients out of pocket. They have to compensate them. But there was nothing they could do because the government overnight just changeable. We've gone through a couple of years with this stuff which has been pretty awful and hard to navigate.
But this latest study it does make you question are they starting to pull out because they know something that we don't? Like obviously they can't tell what the outcome of the election is going to be and we're all hoping that. Excuse me I'm not in public political here but because I vote all over the way. But nobody at the moment wants to vote labor because of the fact that potentially a kosher market. So it's gonna be interesting to see how this happens.
But do the banks know that regardless of who it is that both parties are moving towards some middle ground of stopping borrowing and super funds or something?
Bernadette: It's funny because I used to work with a financial planner from the Hunter Valley. He was always really great and really pro property and then all of a sudden he said look, I am not recommending any of my clients invest in property in a self managed super fund anymore because I'm just too concerned about what the government's flying at. And he’s concerned that they are going to retrospectively legislate.
Mary: Well they should take what's already in place. They usually do. So I'm not worried about that. But I did start advising clients about nearly 12 months ago not to buy at the moment.
I'm not talking about renovators that could see a deal and could work it out or split with it. But just people who were just going to do a buy and hold normal investment property. About 12 months old last June-July. Just wait another 12 months or so until this settles and then you can work out what to do.
Because properties are long term investment if we get it like you know me etc... we can see that we've got extra volume to release from it. But people that just buy these and as is and put long term tenants that was riskier beyond last June. So I should say just hold off of it. But I'm telling them now on time 1st time homeowners in particular I'm ready to get back in the gun and start doing a deal because it's going to be happening.
Bernadette: Oh! Great time for 1st homeowners. Well it’s really a great time for everyone.
Mary: Yeah it is. For buying. And those of us that are going to property and then selling it as long as we're buying again at the same time. Still okay.. With my home it's still all right. You with Rennie St bit different. Hold on to it. Well I just don't see that. I just. I'd be very surprised if I expect to see labor do a backflip if they want to get it because I think people will vote for them when they think the house will go down.
Bernadette: Yeah I agree with that. That was really really awesome. Thank you so much. Very methodical in how you've gone through it. So thank you Mary. Really great having you.
Mary: Thanks. Thank you so much. Take care.
Bernadette: Bye Mary. | English | NL | 178a07086892810f042c72a3300f41e797b5b3d4718133cad9ce5e347e0b34ba |
An eighteen year old boy, Akpobome Samuel, has confessed to killing his fifty-eight year old mother for money rituals. He also revealed that he had sex with her dead body hoping that money would gush out in the process of the bizarre act. This insane incident happened on the 29th of October, 2018 in Ikpoba-Okha LGA of Edo State.
Akpobome Samuel is reported to have strangled his mother, Gift Samuel, then had sex with her dead body.
His grandmother (victim’s mother), was the one who discovered the ugly incident after she went to her daughter’s house in the early hours of the next day and saw her lifeless body. She immediately raised an alarm, which alerted neighbours, thereby apprehending her killer-grandson, Akpobome.
Consequently, the killer son, Samuel, was said to have swiftly opened the door and attempted to escape but was held by neighbours who handed him over to the police at Ologbo.
Police investigators recovered semen-stained pants belonging to the suspect and his late mother from the room as exhibits. When being paraded, today, Samuel said: “I wanted to use my mother for ritual. I am 18 years old.
My father is dead. It was one man called One Love that told me to use my mother for money ritual. He promised to give me N50,000 if I killed my mother and sleep with her.
He said I should cut my mother’s ear and fingers and bring them to him. I wanted to cut the ears and fingers before the people came in. I slept with my mother only once.
I pressed my mother’s neck to kill her while she was sleeping. The One Love sells drugs. He put something inside the drink he gave me and he told me to go and kill my mother.
The day I went to his house with policemen, the man had run away. I hail from Oghara. I work in a pure water factory. I now feel very bad because I was beaten badly by people. I did what the ritualist told me.
The native doctor told me to kill my mother and sleep with her corpse, but he did not tell me the number of days to sleep with her. .
He told me to keep her dead body inside the room for two days but I was caught when I could no longer keep it. My mother did not offend me. I killed her because of the money.”
May she rest in peace.
Most Viewed Today | English | NL | 430980daf7692e8a0c6a294552af48636520ef3db40e6596741d5f8ba4161726 |
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Katherine Rebecca has always done exactly what was expected of her. Her prim and proper upbringing taught her the importance of family, sacrifice, and social stature. She has followed in her parents' footsteps, being trained and groomed daily almost from birth, to take over the family law firm. It was never a question of IF she wanted to but WHEN she would take the reins of the company. She worked rigorously toward that predetermined goal her entire life. She gave up friends, boyfriends, and an exciting social life in order to propel herself through school and college. Katherine Rebecca strives to please her parents. More than anything, she basked in their praise and approval. But now, at 21 years old, she finds herself leading a life that is nothing like the life she imagined for herself. | English | NL | a23e6444ad8c9241acd3348b49bb06396b122b22d3b19b094538b7b166b2c887 |
More detail on this person: The label of hero is often overused, but in the case of Pinckney Cullen Cochran Junior it was entirely appropriate. PC Cochran, as he was known to his friends, was a real American Hero. While at Clemson Agricultural College, PC responded to a campus advertisement for helicopter pilots. It was just a whim, an amusing diversion from agricultural studies, but he was surprised to find himself accepted into the Army Aviator program. PC Cochran graduated from Clemson in 1958, and married Linda Cochran in 1959, a marriage that lasted 58 years. Showing keen avionics skills, one of PC's first jobs was a military test pilot for Bell helicopters. He was one of the very first people to fly the Bell UH-1B Iroquois, popularly referred to as the "Huey," and one of the only people in history to survive a crash landing of the aircraft. PC's piloting and feedback led to the final design of the UH-1C. His son Craig was born in 1964, and his daughter Kim came in 1969. During that time, PC served his country as an Army Aviator during two tours of Vietnam. This service resulted in the Legion of Merit Award, Army Commendation Medal, Meritorious Service Medal, 3 Bronze Stars, 16 Air Medals, Purple Heart, and the Superior Civilian Service Award. In 1969, PC also received the Order of Civil Merit (5th Class) from the President of South Korea for rescuing 200 Korean women and children from a flash flood. Additional leadership posts include serving as a Battalion Commander for Basic Training, Inspector General, and DOD Executive Agent. In all, PC served over 30 years for the Federal Government. In civilian life, PC was a doting and patient father and grandfather. He assisted in his wife Linda's career as a real estate agent, served as a volunteer for the Boy Scouts of America, was a substitute teacher, and a founding sponsor of National Museum of the United States Army. PC was a kind and generous man who took every opportunity to teach the lessons of life in his own quiet, understated way. Never one of boast or draw attention to himself, PC's Legion of Merit Award (given for exceptionally meritorious conduct) was found in the bottom of a box, a surprise to his family members. PC Cochran had a deep and enduring Christian faith, and this guided him throughout his life. His dignity, strength, and values continue to inspire all who knew him. PC Cochran is preceded in death by his wife Linda O. Cochran and son-in-law Brett Saks; and is survived by his children Craig Cochran and Kim Cochran Saks; his daughter-in-law Muriel Cochran; and his grandchildren Brynn Cochran, Cullen Cochran, Aaron Saks, and Ana Saks.
This information was last updated 02/18/2019
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Date posted on this site: 08/05/2019
Copyright © 1998 - 2019 Vietnam Helicopter Pilots Association | English | NL | e19efcff217dcdce12e46adfb34ab003772c0e410e354f87dcbbedee7600ad0c |
This newest perspective is what is now in full alignment of alnesses. It has towards and to its own a newness where its full effectuousness has brought upon each one a newness as to its own. It has formulated a new discourse where its full templates are of to its alnesses a full one self of this alness and a template of to its own in full revealed matters of to its alnesses.
So indeed when a soul has this newness of self positioning where it can soul fully contemplate its full effectuousness and fully regard its wholeness just as to most, it is then fully being as to its alness and towards and unto a full effectuousness.
So indeed we are of deeply felt ideological side show where all are of towards and unto a full effectuousness so as to fully encounter its reigning side show of towards and unto its own solidarity of extreme potentiality.
So to evoke towards and unto its full effectuousness a soul must and to behold its own solidarity as to its own and unto its full effectuousnesses.
So this whole role of self has to most an eternity of to its alnesses and unto its own soul full potentiality. It is of its own ad unto its full effectuousness.
So to role play and to fully concede its full effectuousness a soul has to fully agree into and towards its own soul full effectuousness so as to fully bring about its own solidarity as to its own and as to its fullnesses in full effectuousness.
So indeed we are to course its own and unto its full effectuousnesses.
~ PS ~ | English | NL | 2baeabfc05f8ae243b336a489460cb78ddabae7a0d86604cc302be98629f92a9 |
It’s November 1st, which means there are only 25 days until the release of my Christmas time-travel novella The Gift of Time. I had so much fun writing the story of a modern-day heroine learning to cope with life in a medieval castle.
When I started writing the story, I tried putting myself in my heroine’s place to work out what she would find difficult about castle life. The lack of running water and sewage treatment is an obvious issue, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised my heroine, who has a fear of heights, would have a major problem: stairs. I know what I’m taking about - I suffer from acrophobia myself, and as much as I love visiting castles, going up and down spiral staircases turns me into a trembling wreck.
As soon as I knew Kat, my heroine, would have trouble with stairs, I wrote this scene:
He was halfway up the donjon staircase when he heard the rustle of clothing above him. Then the same sharp-sweet scent he’d smelled on Katherine teased his nostrils. Gritting his teeth, he sprang up the steps until he rounded the curve and saw her feet level with his eyes. Bare feet. Delicate bare feet with shapely toes and a high arch. He lifted his gaze, skimming a leaf-green gown, up past the flare of her hips. Her gown was ruckled awkwardly around her waist, and the girdle that should have sat low on her hips was knotted about her waist, bunching the cloth above it. The lacing down her side sagged instead of pulling the bodice tightly to her body. She looked like a child who’d dressed in her mother’s clothes.
It was impossible to remain angry when faced with such a sight. “In a hurry?” Then he looked at her face, and his breath caught in his throat. “God’s blood, woman, cover your head.” Did she have no shame? Her glossy hair fell in waves to the middle of her back, giving her the look of a woman who had just risen from a lover’s bed. His mouth went dry as images of her sprawled upon his bed seared his mind.
He gripped her arm. “Come back to your chamber before you’re seen.” The last thing he needed was tongues wagging about his liaison with the mysterious Katherine Beaumont. Not when the future of Whitwell depended upon his marriage to Lord Hywel’s daughter.
He tugged her arm, but she resisted. It was only then that he noticed how her hands shook, her neck cords standing out from her neck as taut as bowstrings. One hand gripped the central pillar with clawed fingers as rigid as the stone they clutched.
“I can’t move.” Her voice contained no trace of the defiance that had so riled him earlier.
He looked past her to see if her gown was snagged upon anything, but as far as he could see she was free to move. “Why not?”
Crimson blotches bloomed upon her cheeks. “I’m scared of heights.” Her gaze was fixed on the narrowest curve of the stairs, as it spiraled into nothingness.
“Don’t look down. Look at me.” He positioned himself against the column, blocking her view of the stairs. With agonizing care, she raised her head.
Her lavender-blue gaze speared straight through his chest. It contained no lie, no concealment, just a direct plea for help. It chipped the shield he’d erected around his heart and awoke a deep urge to protect. From herself if necessary.
So does she get down the stairs in one piece? You’ll have to read the book to find out!
The Gift of Time is out on Monday November 26
Pre-order from Amazon: mybook.to/GiftofTime
Hoping to escape her dismal life, young widow Kat Beaumont throws a treasured coin into a lake. But how did a wish send her back in time? Now she's in a snowbound medieval castle complete with vertigo-inducing staircases and smelly drains. While participating in the Christmas festivities, she continues to search for a way home and fights her attraction to the castle's lord, Ralph d'Eyton.
Ralph needs an alliance through marriage to protect his lands and live up to his father's legacy. But Kat, with no influential family, would not make a suitable wife. He resists his fascination with this mysterious and beautiful woman who appeared out of nowhere.
Can Ralph reconcile his dawning love with his need to protect his people, and can Kat let go of her fear of loss and surrender to love?
My writing, research and any other randomness that seems like a good idea at the time. | English | NL | c7b0c77fd46b678ed911f88953eb2c9a6b758624d412a8fa2b7a663a894fc5a8 |
Basil joined what was then Marconi Wireless Telegraph Company in 1939 just after war had been declared and worked in the Installation Design Division that had recently been transferred from London to the research centre at Great Baddow. Here he started a Mechanical Engineering course at Mid Essex Technical College but this was interrupted in 1941 when he volunteered for the RAF. Here he gained his wings and flew various aircraft ending up in Burma before being demobbed in 1946.
He returned to MWT in the drawing office and completed his college training. In the DO he moved up eventually becoming head on the Installation Drawing Office at New Street before retiring in 1989.
His funeral was at Chelmsford Crematorium on Wednesday 30th May and afterwards there was a wake at Little Channels Golf Club. | English | NL | 2ce458d997c32e3b690f622db66e64322da168bf87231bb5af7a7b1be0ee15ce |
Random Lazy Summer Thoughts
July 27, 2012
July has simply exuded heat and busyness and more heat and laziness and hotness and more busyness. And that is probably one of the most boring sentences you have ever read. But that just kind of exemplifies the month–not much happening in the middle of lots of activity in the midst of sweat. One exciting event that the whole month has hovered around is the big move for daughter Amy, her husband Chris and baby Charlie from small apartment to their very own house with a yard. Bret and I have been making two trips to Lexington each week to help with the packing, cleaning and baby bouncing. The glorious day has finally arrived and they will be spending their first night in their new home in Wilmore, just outside of Lexington, tonight. What a joy it has been to be able to help out with this major milestone in their lives. Spending more time with little Charlie has been an extra bonus!
The constant heat has slowed my brain down to a crawl. Not a stinkin’ deep or profound thought is coming to me. I haven’t even had any more goofy kitchen mishaps to relate in this sacred space. The only item of any possible interest concerns an odd little topic that is near and dear to my pitter pattering heart, but perhaps not to many others who might happen upon this bloggy swamp of randomness.
I was reading my devotionals the other day and a verse from Acts 17 and its accompanying study note grabbed me by the collarbone and shook me. Paul was making a speech in Athens. He referred to all the altars and statues to their various gods that he saw as he walked through the city. One was inscribed with the phrase, “To An Unknown God.” Paul used this as a jumping off point to share with the Greeks who this unknown God was, namely the creator of the universe who had come to live among us in the form of a man, Jesus, who died and then rose from the dead. In the midst of this discourse, Paul quoted a couple of their own Greek poets (verse 28) in works where they were extolling the virtues of Zeus. I had read this passage many times before, but for some reason on this particular morning, it really struck me between the eyes that if Paul could quote these lines from poetry, he must have READ the poetry. The study note mentioned two other places where Paul quoted lines from Greek literature, one from a Greek play in 1 Corinthians 15:33 and one from another poem in Titus 1:12. Obviously Paul, a former Jewish Pharisee who lived his life by the laws of the Pentateuch was a well-read man. All of a sudden I thought, “If a legalistic Jew saw nothing wrong with reading a wide variety of secular literature and then as a converted God-loving Christ-follower he quoted it in order to assimilate into the culture of the people he was trying to reach, then maybe it is fine and dandy that I like to read great works of literature that aren’t necessarily Christian in nature!”
This made me very happy. I have indulged in a decades long discussion with myself about this very topic. Sometimes depression has set in as I listened to other Christians talk about secular literature, music and activities as something that committed Christians should avoid. Some of it I would agree with, but I’ve never felt that all secular creative works should be shunned just because the author isn’t a Christian or because the themes of the works are not all about God. I happen to find God in everything I read and experience, even if it is anti-God. Reading or listening to the opposite of what I think and believe forces me to study my beliefs more and in the end strengthens them. So I have decided that I will mark this little frustration off my list and move forward in the joy God has placed within me! He made me this way, so I think that means He has a reason for it. Yippee!
Thank you for listening and I hope you too are living life as the person God created you to be! | English | NL | d1bfde31ce14491962c9e724ff7a74104e462eebe26e6156e31e7300ff9e537a |
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