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Israel Provides Wives for Benjamin 21 1The Israelites had vowed at Mizpah, “We will never give our daughters in marriage to a man from the tribe of Benjamin.” 2Now the people went to Bethel and sat in the presence of God until evening, weeping loudly and bitterly. 3“O Lord, God of Israel,” they cried out, “why has this happened in Israel? Now one of our tribes is missing from Israel!” 4Early the next morning the people built an altar and presented their burnt offerings and peace offerings on it. 5Then they said, “Who among the tribes of Israel did not join us at Mizpah when we held our assembly in the presence of the Lord?” At that time they had taken a solemn oath in the Lord’s presence, vowing that anyone who refused to come would be put to death. 6The Israelites felt sorry for their brother Benjamin and said, “Today one of the tribes of Israel has been cut off. 7How can we find wives for the few who remain, since we have sworn by the Lord not to give them our daughters in marriage?” 8So they asked, “Who among the tribes of Israel did not join us at Mizpah when we assembled in the presence of the Lord?” And they discovered that no one from Jabesh-gilead had attended the assembly. 9For after they counted all the people, no one from Jabesh-gilead was present. 10So the assembly sent 12,000 of their best warriors to Jabesh-gilead with orders to kill everyone there, including women and children. 11“This is what you are to do,” they said. “Completely destroy[E] all the males and every woman who is not a virgin.” 12Among the residents of Jabesh-gilead they found 400 young virgins who had never slept with a man, and they brought them to the camp at Shiloh in the land of Canaan. 13The Israelite assembly sent a peace delegation to the remaining people of Benjamin who were living at the rock of Rimmon. 14Then the men of Benjamin returned to their homes, and the 400 women of Jabesh-gilead who had been spared were given to them as wives. But there were not enough women for all of them. 15The people felt sorry for Benjamin because the Lord had made this gap among the tribes of Israel. 16So the elders of the assembly asked, “How can we find wives for the few who remain, since the women of the tribe of Benjamin are dead? 17There must be heirs for the survivors so that an entire tribe of Israel is not wiped out. 18But we cannot give them our own daughters in marriage because we have sworn with a solemn oath that anyone who does this will fall under God’s curse.” 19Then they thought of the annual festival of the Lord held in Shiloh, south of Lebonah and north of Bethel, along the east side of the road that goes from Bethel to Shechem. 20They told the men of Benjamin who still needed wives, “Go and hide in the vineyards. 21When you see the young women of Shiloh come out for their dances, rush out from the vineyards, and each of you can take one of them home to the land of Benjamin to be your wife! 22And when their fathers and brothers come to us in protest, we will tell them, ‘Please be sympathetic. Let them have your daughters, for we didn’t find wives for all of them when we destroyed Jabesh-gilead. And you are not guilty of breaking the vow since you did not actually give your daughters to them in marriage.’ ” 23So the men of Benjamin did as they were told. Each man caught one of the women as she danced in the celebration and carried her off to be his wife. They returned to their own land, and they rebuilt their towns and lived in them. 24Then the people of Israel departed by tribes and families, and they returned to their own homes. 25In those days Israel had no king; all the people did whatever seemed right in their own eyes.
New Living Translation® / © 2007 Tyndale House Publishers About | English | NL | 4ef4cc81fa47f75c933fde3abaa2c681555e444994e6da67becfa722f5bdf8d2 |
Our text reminds us that we can’t overcome in this life by our own power. We need Jesus close-by to be conquerors in this life.
Is your load of worries getting too heavy to handle on your own? The Bible tells us specifically what to do for us to cope.
Romans 6:4 NCV
When we were baptized, we were buried with Christ and shared his death. So, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the wonderful power of the Father, we also can live a new life. | English | NL | 2c9c3085104313666eb7bf6e17b6b38f98a49728efbcccd266ebfeffae4b458f |
In May 1676, London's upper crust headed to the theater to see playwright Thomas Shadwell's newest work: The Virtuoso. The play's central character, Sir Nicholas Gimcrack, had spent 2,000 pounds on microscopes to learn about "the nature of eels in vinegar." He had transfused sheep's blood into a madman who then bleated like a lamb, observed military campaigns on the Moon and read his Bible by the light of a rotting leg of pork (some savants had recently discovered the phenomenon of bioluminescence). Shadwell's play took a swipe at all London's 17th-century savants, but the central character bore particular resemblance to one individual: Robert Hooke, longtime curator of experiments for the Royal Society of London. Tipped off by his coffeehouse buddies that he was probably the butt of Shadwell's jokes, Hooke went to see the play for himself. A more jovial man than Hooke might have laughed along with the crowd at his own expense. A more modest man might have doubted whether the play was necessarily about him. But Hooke was neither jovial nor modest. He was livid. "Damned Dogs," he wrote in his diary. "People almost pointed."
Shadwell had a razor-sharp wit, and he had something of a point. In its early days, the Royal Society above all valued the rare and weird. World-class science would come many years later, but in the society's early, spectacle-fixated days, Hooke managed to advance science on several frontiers, paleontology and biology being just two of them.
Hooke was born on the Isle of Wight in 1635. He was the baby of the family and his health was delicate, so his parents tutored him at home instead of sending him off to boarding school at a tender age. He likely spent some of his free time walking along the beaches and perhaps collecting the odd seashell or fossil. His calm world began to crumble with the fall of King Charles I. England's Civil War and the rule of Oliver Cromwell followed — rough times for a royalist like Hooke. His father died when Hooke was just 13, and the boy moved to London with a modest inheritance, enough to keep him afloat until he found employment. He quickly impressed his elders with his keen observational and mechanical skills. After a brief apprenticeship with a portrait painter, he enrolled in the Westminster School then moved on to Oxford. He became a lab assistant first to Thomas Willis, then to Robert Boyle, and eventually became a professor at Gresham College, London. He served as a city surveyor and an invaluable assistant to his lifelong friend, Christopher Wren, in rebuilding London after the Great Fire of 1666. Like Wren, Hooke endured lean years before the Restoration of Charles II. Afterwards, both men rebounded, but Hooke never achieved the same level of recognition or financial stability as his more famous friend. He did, however, work with Wren and others to establish the Royal Society of London (science's most elite club at that time and still enormously prestigious today), where he became the society's curator of experiments and eventually a member of its governing board.
In the 17th century, most savants believed that fossils were made by "plastick virtue," a creative force within the Earth capable of fashioning any shape out of stone. Hooke accurately observed that, depending on where they were found, fossils varied in hardness and color, and also noted that while some fossils were complete and pristine, others were badly broken. Perhaps the first person to use a microscope to examine the origin of fossils, Hooke identified microscopic "snail" shells, though he didn't give then the modern name of forminifera.
Fossils gave Hooke another learning opportunity in the form of petrified wood. Ancient wood collected by the Lincean Academy in the early 17th century was eventually relayed to Hooke for study. By repeatedly soaking and drying it or exposing it to flame (both methods worked) he exposed pores similar to those of living specimens. Hooke recorded the similarities and differences between modern and petrified wood, and explained those similarities and differences with a description of the petrifaction process still respected by scientists today. He rejected the "plastick virtue" hypothesis. As he put it, "Nature does nothing in vain."
For all Hooke learned from fossil wood, however, the shells of modern and extinct cephalopods may have had an even greater impact on his views. Hooke saw how much the modern nautilus and the extinct ammonite resembled each other. He didn't just observe the physical appearance of these animals; he also experimented on the fossil ammonites, showing that the thin walls between their chambers could dissolve in acid, just like modern shell material. Yet Hooke also saw the differences between smooth-shelled nautiluses and corrugated-shelled ammonites, and this raised a nagging question: Where were the ammonites now?
That any of God's creations could perish from the Earth was untenable to 17th-century natural philosophers. Cuvier was more successful in promoting the concept of extinction in the late 18th and early 19th century, perhaps because the Enlightenment and French Revolution had made society — or at least some savants — more willing to accept unorthodox ideas.
As for Hooke, he recognized that geological processes could petrify fossils, and transform the crust of the Earth itself. He came under fire from many of his contemporaries for his radical ideas. He reminded his colleagues that they had observed changes within their own lifetimes. Why couldn't the Earth change even more on a larger time scale? (Science historian Martin Rudwick contends that the larger time scale Hooke was thinking of could still be measured in just several thousand years, as was commonly believed in the 17th century.) But Hooke's most provocative insights about fossils weren't published until after his death.
As a curator of experiments, Hooke may have been one of the first people to "curate" in the modern sense, i.e., oversee a collection. As an experimenter for the Royal Society, he participated in some of the 17th century's most important discoveries about physiology, though his methods now seem pretty shocking. He deprived several animals of air to see the results — namely that the animals went into convulsions and then died. He conducted an experiment to observe the beating heart and inflating lungs of a dog while the animal was still alive. When asked to repeat the experiment, he refused, citing "the torture of the creature." Yet he later carried out experiments that deprived dogs of fresh air, and it was through these experiments that he learned the importance of oxygen. Hooke's methods were often cruel, but his discoveries were important, and he didn't have many other options for learning what those experiments told him.
In between experiments involving hapless animals, Hooke set new standards in instrument design. Behind his lifelong quest to develop observational instruments like the microscope and the telescope were his religious convictions. Using the best instruments, he believed, people could regain the perfect senses that humanity had lost after the expulsion from Eden. He mused that mechanical inventions might "improve our other Senses, of hearing, smelling, tasting, touching."
By the time he started tinkering with microscopes, they had been in use for decades. Yet working in the field as early as he did, Hooke may have been the first person to see such a magnified view of much of what he studied: the surprisingly blunt tip of a needle, the minute-mushroom shape of mold. Before the 19th century, the world's most powerful microscope was the tiny single-lens microscope. Hooke may have been the first person to make one of these, and he was the first to describe its manufacture. Through a single-lens microscope, one could see objects so tiny they truly were invisible to the human eye, but the device strained Hooke's own eyes. He left it to the Dutch microscopist Leeuwenhoek to discover things like bacteria, and moved on to the compound microscope.
Good microscopic observations require adequate light, but when Hooke started using microscopes, no one had figured out a satisfactory method for providing it. In his own observations, he discovered that, depending on the light source, a fly's eye might resemble a lattice, or a surface covered with pyramids, cones or "golden Nails." He eventually learned to amplify light to his microscope by placing a brine-filled glass globe between the light source and the microscope. He called this invention the scotoscope.
Some modern researchers have been skeptical of how much Hooke could really see through his microscopes. A televised attempt at recreating his observations resulted in such poor quality magnification that one might as well use a naked eye. But Brian Ford, who specializes in the history of microscopy, defended Hooke's reputation. The microscopes of Hooke's day were indeed difficult to use, but Ford found that careful adjustments of light and focus reveal the same level of detail as Hooke documented.
In 1665, Hooke shared his new views of tiny things in his book Micrographia. Noted diarist Samuel Pepys ordered a copy, stayed up reading it until 2 a.m., and characterized it as "the most ingenious book that ever I read in my life." It wasn't the first book about the microscope; Pierre Borel beat him with a slim volume, but Micrographia was far more substantial, and a best seller that had to be reprinted in two years. It was only the second book published under the imprimatur of the Royal Society. Hooke wasn't yet 30.
Hooke actually took over Micrographia from Wren, whom he credited for the original work. Many of the illustrations were, if not Wren's own work, certainly inspired by his drawings. Micrographia covered the newly magnified terrain of flies, fleas, fossils, fungi, fish scales, razor blades, snowflakes, stinging nettles, lice plucked from his own head, Kettering stone and bodily fluids. On many occasions, he found objects of human invention — the uneven splotch of a magnified printed period, for instance — far inferior to the intricate work of nature. The details Hooke discerned in the smallest organisms he examined convinced him of God's ingenuity, and spawned doubts about spontaneous generation. And the tiny could be just as impressive as the big, the flea, mite and gnat meriting comparison to the horse, elephant, and lion. One of the most commonly used terms in biology — "cell" — was actually coined by Hooke. The magnified chambers he saw in cork and other specimens reminded him of monastic living quarters. When it came to wriggling specimens, he applied the same ingenuity he had used in improving light sources to getting his tiny subjects to lie still. He had particular trouble with the ant:
This was a creature, more troublesom to be drawn, then any of the rest, for I could not, for a good while, think of a way to make it suffer its body to ly quiet in a natural posture; but whil'st it was alive, if its feet were fetter'd in Wax or Glew, it would so twist and wind its body, that I could not any wayes get a good view of it; and if I killed it, its body was so little, that I did often spoile the shape of it, before I could throughly view it . . .
He soon found a solution: putting the ant in brandy to make it "dead drunk." Hooke enjoyed the ant's drunken cooperation for about an hour, then it "suddenly reviv'd and ran away."
He might not have had the best sense of humor about himself, but even the royalist Hooke was willing to make the occasional witty pun aimed at people in high places. The lowly louse, he quipped, was "so proud and aspiring withal, that it fears not to trample on the best, and affects nothing so much as a Crown."
Hooke's opportunities to see and write about so many natural phenomena came at a price. Over the years, the pressure that the Royal Society placed on him was alarming. In a three-week period in October 1663, for instance, his assignments from the Royal Society included using a concave glass to project an image in a lighted room, making a device for measuring the force of gunpowder, preparing a paper on what must be recorded for the history of weather, preparing a thermometer made of tin, preparing a thermometer made of glass, preparing a device for taking soundings at sea for demonstration to King Charles II, making a device that shows changes in atmospheric humidity from the beard of a wild oat, displaying microscopic observations of both a fly and a bit of moss growing on a brick, labeling every single object in the society's curiosity collection at Gresham College with its name and provenance, manufacturing an artificial eye, removing and reattaching a piece of dog's skin to see whether it would grow again, and grafting feathers onto a rooster's comb. All of this in just three weeks.
Even after Hooke took on substantial duties as a city surveyor, the Royal Society remained just as demanding of his time, even though it was lax in compensating him. The fault lay partially with Hooke; throughout his life, he wanted one of his fingers in every pie in his vicinity. He loathed Henry Oldenburg, who preceded him as Secretary for the Royal Society, for lax minute-taking that deprived Hooke of proper credit for some of his inventions. Yet when Hooke took over the responsibility, his own note-taking suffered serious lapses. Hooke's relationship with the larger society was stormy, and more than once he vowed to leave, though he never did.
Hooke's paid position put him in the uncomfortable situation of acting as a servant to other society fellows. He probably needed (or at least felt he needed) the money, but may have resented taking orders. And despite delegating tasks that required a near-Herculean effort on his part, the society voted to eschew any responsibility for any controversial thing he wrote. In other words, he could carry out experiments for the society, but if he wanted to philosophize on the results, he was on his own. The society's limited-liability stance may have been one more thing that grated. So, perhaps, was the relative luxury of his fellows' country estates, where they could retreat during heat waves or epidemics. No matter how bad things got in London, Hooke had nowhere else to go.
It may have been in response to the constant pressure from the society (and himself) that the experimentalist Hooke performed plenty of experiments on his own body. Many of his adventures in self-experimentation were dangerous; almost all of them were pretty disgusting. At various times, he medicated himself with botanical purgatives, botanical emetics, mercury, steel filings, tobacco, absinthe, and mineral water so foul that he found ammonium chloride preferable to it. Hooke obsessed over getting a good night's sleep and clearing out his lethargic digestive system; he often found his home remedies violently effective. He authored a recipe for turning urine into phosphorus salts, including an intermediate step of letting the effluvia sit "till it putrify and breed Worms."
Some of Hooke's self-experimentation happened for an audience. At one of its meetings, the Royal Society demonstrated the effects of a vacuum pump that removed the air from an enclosed chamber for a cousin of the king. Hooke later recounted, writing about himself in the third person, "A man thrusting his arm upon exhaustion of the air had his flesh immediately swelled, so as the blood was neere breaking the vains, & unsufferable." Royal Society fellows scrutinizing his arm immediately after he pulled it out found it "speckled."
Hooke's self-experimentation wasn't that unusual for the time, but over the years, his self-medication took its toll. Full of energy when young, he became in later years, in the words of one acquaintance, "nothing but Skin and Bone, with a meagre Aspect." His situation wasn't helped by a sheer terror of outliving his estate. Despite owning a treasure chest stuffed with money and precious stones, he began living like a miser. According to some rumors, he almost starved his live-in maidservant along with himself. In the words of historian Lisa Jardine, "Some men mellow in later life; Hooke was clearly not one of them."
Hooke's passion for developing the best observational instruments, as well as his possessiveness about his ideas as a natural philosopher brought him into frequent disputes. One of the disagreements was with Christiaan Huygens over who deserved credit for inventing the balance-spring watch. Hooke's long-time nemesis Oldenburg also played a role in stirring up a controversy between Hooke and a French virtuoso, Adrien Auzout, who wanted to know more about grinding microscope lenses. Oldenburg translated correspondence between Hooke and Auzout. Oldenburg's translations both omitted niceties and added an edge each savant's criticisms of the other, letter after letter. The result was that Hooke emerged with a worse reputation on the Continent than he really deserved.
Hooke also butted heads with Isaac Newton. About the same time he built a telescope that rivaled any of Hooke's inventions, Newton submitted a paper on optics, which was given to Hooke for review. Hooke, perhaps smoldering over his own upstaged scientific instruments, poured scorn on Newton's paper, writing a scathing review in just hours. Newton was so humiliated that he refused to try to publish the paper again until after Hooke's death. Beyond likely irritation over the telescope, Hooke differed with Newton on the nature of light and color. While Newton argued that colors combined to make white light, Hooke was sure that colors resulted from distortions of white light. The savants eventually shook hands, and it was in a conciliatory letter to Hooke that Newton wrote one of the most famous passages in science: "If I have seen further it is by standing on ye sholders of Giants." The statement may have inspired generations of scientific collaborators, but the Newton-Hooke truce didn't last nearly so long. The two quarreled again when Hooke claimed to have inspired Newton's theory of the inverse square law of celestial motion. In fact, the old man was not imagining; he had made impressive intuitive leaps, and he wrote Newton to discuss the hypothesis, but admitted it would take Newton's far superior mathematical abilities to prove the concept (and it did). For his own part, Hooke remembered his own intuitive leap, but apparently forgot Newton's superior math skills.
In many ways, Hooke and Newton clashed because of their similarities; both men had endured hardships growing up, both took themselves seriously, and both guarded their discoveries jealously. One could argue that Newton was in many ways even pricklier than Hooke. However, Hooke divided his time and talent among many different tasks, running after each shiny new endeavor like a magpie, and gossiping about his exploits in coffeehouses. (Garraway's was one of his favorites, and the meeting place of a Royal Society-offshoot "philosophical club" he started in the 1670s.) Newton meanwhile possessed the single-minded determination — and financial resources — to isolate himself and follow a problem to the end. Newton was like Leeuwenhoek in this respect; he stuck with an endeavor for years while Hooke's interest waned. A contemporary Royal Society member, Thomas Molyneux, described Hooke as "hated and despised by most of the Royal Society, pretending to have [made] all other inventions, when once discovered by their authors to the world." By the time Hooke had his final dispute with Newton, the aging savant had claimed credit for someone else's idea or invention once too often. Even Hooke's coffeehouse buddies didn't quite believe him.
In January 2006, a remarkable find vindicated at least one of Hooke's priority claims. An auction-house representative realized he was examining a 320-year-old volume of Hooke's notes, which included detailed accounts of Hooke's work on balance-spring watches. Unsurprisingly, the notes also revealed a few more of Hooke's spats, even one with his patron Robert Boyle.
Not every remnant of the cranky old man's life survived so well. After Hooke died, Newton quickly became president of the Royal Society of London, and Hooke's death presented his nemesis with an ironic problem: While Hooke had resided at Gresham College, the Royal Society had been able to use the college's facilities. Once Hooke died, college trustees told the society to leave. It fell to Newton and fellow members to move the Royal Society to new headquarters, and among the many items to be relocated was Robert Hooke's portrait. During the move that Newton oversaw, the portrait simply disappeared.
Narrative text and graphic design © by Michon Scott - Updated August 13, 2019 | English | NL | dae318a4ddeaaa33ee070d3fc9b98698fec06de10b917dd1a3081fa9a22e1489 |
I may have a nice talk with people, whom I don`t know. It`s wonderful to share a delicious dinner with the colleagues. Spending a weekend in a mountain cabin with the friends would be fun. As social beings we love company and fellowship.
But with whom would you be ready to go out of your comfort zone, to places you perhaps don`t like, to meet people who perhaps don`t like you, to face unexpected and even dangerous situations?
The more you trust and love somebody, the more willing you are to follow him/ her.
Once Jesus said to Peter and John and some other guys, follow me, and they followed. Where ever Jesus went, they went, too. Well, they had seen the miracles Jesus did. They had heard Him talking about the Kingdom of God. And they believed He was the Messiah. He became their Rabbi, the Teacher, the Coach, if you like. Sounds very simple.
But they were ordinary people, they had their feelings, jobs, families, friends. Maybe it wasn`t that simple after all. Think about yourself: would you be ready? Going to church, when we like, does not yet mean we are followers of Jesus.
Maybe there was one important thing that assured the first desciples to join the Lord: He was full of God, His Father`s presence, there was a passionate love in His eyes and words and deeds. The more they got to know Him, the more this passionate love grew in their hearts.
They learned to love Jesus, their Rabbi so much that they were even ready to follow Him into wastelands and deserts. They hurried after Him in a cloud of dust and sand. All this just because there was this passion, this deep love that made them one body.
Thinking about this picture I start understanding the old Jewish wisdom: ” May you be covered by the dust of your Rabbi”.
May the coming new year take us deeper into this kind of closeness with the Lord and His followers, to the fellowship of passionate love. This love will attract people to come to the Lord and receive the passion which will change the world. | English | NL | f485f0d437506fedbd6dc974a19f46877faa2abc09c4dced7ff4e97506e4eaa8 |
Henry Corbett was born in Westborough, Massachusetts, on February 18, 1827. Of English descent, his parents were Elijah and Melinda Corbett. He was the youngest son, the fifth child, of a family of eight.
Corbett’s family had settled in Massachusetts in the seventeenth century. His great-great-great-great grandfather, Robert Corbett, had arrived from England about thirty years after the Pilgrim Fathers had landed in 1620. H. W. Corbett was a seventh generation Corbett in North America.
His father became the first edge tool manufacturer in Westborough, Mass. and later moved his business to Washington County in New York. When he retired, he moved his family to Cambridge, New York where he had a hotel and farm. He died in 1845.
There were three sons Joel Hamilton Corbett, the eldest and ten years Henry’s senior, Elijah Corbett III, who was slightly over two years older than Henry. Elijah was to follow his younger brother, Henry, to Portland in 1854 followed by his two surviving younger sisters Mary Freeland Corbett (Mrs. Thomas Robertson who with her husband was to move to Portland in 1856) and Emily Phelps Corbett (later to marry Henry Failing in Portland in 1858). H.W. Corbett and these three siblings lived in Portland until their deaths.
In 1831, H.W. Corbett moved with his parents to the town of White Creek, New York in 1831. Corbett attended the local common schools and then engaged in mercantile pursuits in Cambridge, New York, in 1840. There he attended Cambridge Academy before he moved to New York City in 1843 where he worked at Williams Bradford & Co, dry goods merchants, for seven years.
Oregon Territory had become an undisputed US possession in June 1846. A treaty had been concluded with the British on June 15, 1846, and ratified by the Senate on June 18, 1846. So the land South of British Columbia to the California border and West of the Rocky Mountain Divide was no longer US/British joint occupancy but undisputed United States territory. Congress passed the Bill creating Oregon Territory on August 13, 1848.
Corbett, foreseeing this new US territory’s promise, then subject to US law, formed a three-year 50/50 partnership, signed October 12, 1850, with Williams Bradford & Co “for the purpose of selling goods, wares and merchandise and farming implements at Portland, Oregon Territory.” Williams Bradford were to provide the goods, cash and credit. Corbett, aged twenty-three, was to go to Portland to run the business.
He chartered a bark, the Frances and Louise, and loaded it with $25,000 worth of general merchandise, mainly assorted hardware; powder, shot, nails, brooms, implements and groceries; coffee, sugar, tobacco, drugs, medicine, millinery, silk goods and shoes. She set sail from New York on the long voyage through the Straits of Magellan around Cape Horn up the Pacific Coast to Portland.
Corbett arrived on March 5, 1851 in Portland, a city of little over 821 souls on the Willamette River, with a few small stores and businesses, large tree stumps bordering its two streets, Front and First, and backed by virgin forest.
He had embarked on the steamship Empire City from New York and crossed the Isthmus of Panama on the "hurricane deck of a mule" (there was no Panama Canal until 1914 over ten years after his death). At Panama City he boarded the S.S. Columbia, one of the ships of the Pacific Steamship Company. She was then on her maiden voyage en route to San Francisco. The Columbia was the first steamship built to ply the route between San Francisco and Astoria, at the mouth of the Columbia River. He then embarked on the Little Columbia, sleeping on the open deck, for the overnight passage up the Columbia and the Willamette rivers to Portland, incorporated as a city a month before on February 8, 1851.
Arriving in Portland, he climbed the riverbank to the Warren House, the principal hotel, situated on the corner of Oak and Front streets, which would “accommodate, by judicious crowding, about a dozen people”.
Before the arrival of the Frances and Louise with his merchandise, Corbett spent two months familiarizing himself with Oregon Territory and its main settlements. He visited Astoria, Oregon City, Salem, Santiam, Albany, Corvallis and Lafayette.
Corbett felt the tiny Portland with its strategic location would make a logical hub for commerce for the Territory and for shipping supplies of farm produce and timber to California.
He rented a building there that was being erected on the corner of Front and Oak streets, for $125 per month. His shipment arrived in May. He hoisted his goods into the upper story and “slept with his wares”. As a Presbyterian, he was one of the first businessmen in Portland to invariably close on Sundays.
Corbett’s business at that time dealt in general merchandise, hardware and farming implements - supplying the ranchers and farmers and the new settlers who were beginning to arrive by the Oregon Trail. Oregon Territory then included the large area now occupied by the states of Oregon, Washington, Idaho and part of Montana and Wyoming. Corbett was the first general merchant in Portland and probably in Oregon Territory.
Corbett sold most of his initial stock of goods in fourteen months at a profit of $20,000. The cost of the entire original cargo had been $24,621.57. His total sales by then had been $83,000 with additional supplies of stock and his profit of about $20,000 was divided equally between his backers Williams, Bradford and Co. and himself. On the advice of his supplier who noted the downturn in the California Gold Rush, Corbett left for New York in July 1852, leaving his store with employees Finley McLaren and Robert McLaren. He first took them on as co-partners to continue the business while he was in New York.
Arriving in New York, he split this substantial profit with his partners Williams Bradford & Co, who tried to persuade him to stay in the East to be involved in their New York business. Instead he bought out their share in the partnership on August 28, 1852 for $1750.
Corbett had renamed the store Corbett & McLarens, and became an independent buyer. He began purchasing for his store and other merchants who wanted to buy directly from New York, rather than buying overpriced goods from San Francisco. He also offered credit to his customers, which increased his sales against competitors.
He continued to use Williams Bradford as one of his principle suppliers in the East. However he was now able to utilize his own resources and negotiate goods on advantageous terms of credit and he arranged for more shipments around the Horn.
He also became engaged at that time to Caroline E. Jagger of Albany, New York. She was to follow Corbett to Portland to be married there once she had seen where she was to be living. Corbett and she were married in Portland, Oregon, in February 1853.
Soon after his return to Portland, Corbett, dissolved the partnership with the McLaren brothers, on June 17, 1854, and his business became a sole proprietorship as H.W. Corbett & Co. He also bought the freehold of the store. As an individualist, Corbett from then on controlled his business as single proprietorship from 1854–1871, rather than as a partnership, which was the norm for other Portland merchants at the time. It enabled Corbett to pour his profits back into his business each year.
He continued shipping goods to Portland around Cape Horn, and after the railway was built in 1855 across the Isthmus of Panama, he also transhipped some goods by rail.
The Atlantic shipping terminal was in Colon, Panama. The Pacific terminal was in Panama City. The 48-mile double track railway was the first transcontinental railway and an engineering marvel of the era. Until the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914, the Panama Railway Company carried the heaviest volume of freight per unit length of any railroad in the world. H. W. Corbett and others from Portland would then use it to get back and forth to the connecting ships to and from the East, rather than crossing on mule back. When the transcontinental Union Pacific Railroad to San Francisco was completed on May 10, 1869, this more direct route was then used for shipping and travel connecting to Portland by boat.
In 1869 Corbett was able to make his first transcontinental trip from the East to San Francisco. Prior to that he had crossed the Isthmus of Panama thirteen times on trips between the East and West. Corbett was later instrumental in getting the transcontinental railway connection built direct to Portland in 1883 (see below).
Corbett made lifelong friendships with his fellow merchants who had travelled out from the East in the months following his arrival in Portland on March 5, 1851: William S. Ladd (arrived April 8, 1851), Josiah Failing (also referred to as Jushua), and his son Henry Failing and C. H. Lewis (on same boat, June 9, 1851) “All of these merchants were neighbourly, each commanding the others’ fullest respect while practicing the rules of competitive business …With their Eastern backgrounds they helped impress upon the young community the distinct New England cultural tone which pervaded the town from its inception.”
On February 14, 1859, eight years after Corbett’s arrival there, Oregon became a state.
In 1860 Corbett changed his business to a wholesale hardware and farm implement business. He became a leading dealer in various eight horse threshers and reapers and was one of the leading outlets for the McCormick reaper.
He instructed his agent in New York at Samuel Roosevelt and Co., Samuel House, that his orders marked “Steamer” he was to “send by Isthmus [of Panama], the balance for first good clipper [around Horn]”. These fast sailing ships were more numerous to San Francisco: some clippers went there first and then transhipped to Portland.
Soon his business was growing so fast that Samuel House became his sole agent in New York. In 1867 he had taken two of his employees into partnership. Edward Failing, who in 1857 when he was sixteen had first started to work at H.W. Corbett and Co when he had finished school, and M.B. Millard. Each became a sixth interest partner in H.W. Corbett and Co. Edward had been only ten when he first came out to Portland with his father Josiah Failing and older brother Henry Failing, who was then seventeen and later became Corbett’s brother-in-law. By September 1867 H.W. Corbett & Co. had its own office in New York City and was no longer employing an agent.
In 1869 John West and associates established the first salmon-canning factory on the Oregon side of the Columbia River and H.W.Corbett & Co. shipped the canned salmon to New York.
With the acquisition of the First National Bank in 1869 with his brother-in-law Henry Failing (who became President of the bank. Corbett was Vice-President) and with Corbett serving as the US Senator in Washington from 1867-1873, the combination of their other duties, business acumen and constant drive in recognising new opportunities, meant that their interests went beyond the wholesale market. In February 1871, Corbett’s (previously H.W. Corbett & Co.) and Failing’s (originally J. Failing and Co. and then Failing and Hatt) dry goods and hardware businesses were amalgamated into a new major partnership, Corbett, Failing and Co., which became the largest wholesale hardware business in the Pacific Northwest.
The new partnership agreement stipulated the less demanding role of the two main partners in article six: “Henry Corbett and Henry Failing are not required to give their formal attention to the business of said firm, except as they shall find it convenient so to do – but they and each of them, are not withstanding, entitled to direct and counsel in any and all of the affairs of the firm in the same manner, and like effect as the other partners or either of them.”
In addition to Corbett and Failing, the partners from Oregon were Marshall Millard and Henry’s younger brother Edward Failing who came into the partnership from H.W. Corbett & Co. where they were one-sixth partners. James F. Failing came into the new company from Henry Failing’s business. (James had initially stayed back in New York with his mother and two sisters in a house on Washington Square when Josiah Failing and his two eldest sons, seventeen-year-old Henry and ten-year-old Edward, had come to Portland on June 9, 1951, just three months after Corbett. Also included as a partner was Failing’s former New York agent John A. Hatt. Hatt later left the partnership when the arrival of telegraph and train connections with the East made a New York office no longer necessary. Corbett, Failing and Co were using the Northern Pacific Railroad (Northern Pacific Railroad Fast Freight Line) from New York by April 3, 1884 (see Corbett’s involvement in railways below).
Corbett and Henry Failing remained investors, and the new partnership divisions were “Henry W. Corbett and Henry Failing four twentieths each. And John Hatt, Marshall Millard, Edward Failing and James Failing three twentieths each.”
In 1891 Corbett retired from the business, bestowing his share on his eldest son Henry Jagger Corbett. His longtime right hand and partner, who was by then managing the business, wrote: "Dear Sir, … In your letter, you make an allusion to the long time (40 years) you have been engaged in this business and it brings strongly to my mind that these forty years I have been nearly thirty four years with you. This period of over a third of a century covers my entire business life. I need not tell you how much I regret your withdrawal from the firm,... I owe much to your kindness, careful training and good example, and at this moment it is some comfort to me to reflect that I have been faithful to your interests and useful to you for many years. That it may please God to restore you to health and grant you many happy years of life is my hope and prayer. Yours very truly, Edward Failing"
Corbett was involved in numerous other businesses.
Corbett formed (with W.S. Ladd and S.G. Reed) the Oregon Telegraph Company in 1862, connecting Portland to the East by telegraph communications. This meant that Portland could get news and place orders with the eastern US without delays. On March 8, 1964, the mayors of Portland, Maine and Portland, Oregon used it to exchange greetings.
Corbett became proprietor in 1865 of the Oregon Stage Company (four horse teams overland daily between Portland and Sacramento). It provided seven-day daily runs from April–December and twelve-day runs during other months. Later Corbett cut the seven-day run to six. The steamships to and from San Francisco took five days but only went fortnightly so the stage usually provided a faster means of transport for both mail and passengers. With connections to the Pony Express, he held the contract to carry the mails to Lincoln and San Francisco, only giving up that 640-mile route when it conflicted with his responsibilities as a U.S. senator.
Corbett was involved in the completion of the transcontinental railway to Portland in 1883. He was one of the original incorporators of the Northern Pacific Railroad in 1864 (and he was a director of Columbia River and Northern Railway Company ) and had been an early promoter, a principal investor and director of the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company (OR&N). Corbett and Failing were elected as directors of Oregon Railway and Navigation Company (OR&N) in June 1888, along with Henry Villard, Christopher Meyer, John Hubert Hall, Sidney Dillon, Charles S. Colby, Colgate Hoyt, C. H. Lewis, W. S. Ladd, Cyrus A. Dolph, W. H. Holcomb, and S. B. Wiley. Contemporaneous elections for the Oregon and Transcontinental and the Northern Pacific Terminal Company installed many of the same men on the boards of those companies as well. The elections were understood to signal no change at ORNC, underscoring their intent to extend the Farmington Line to the Coeur D'Alene Mines, and were viewed as a defeat of Villard and his initiative to jointly lease property of the Northern Pacific and the Union Pacific. Corbett took a lead in the reorganisation and completion of the line after it had run into financial trouble in 1873. The completion of the OR&N line ultimately linked Portland along the Columbia River Gorge through to St. Paul, Minnesota with connections east to the Union Pacific Railroad. The Northern Pacific utilising this ORNC line was the first transcontinental train to arrive in Portland on September 11, 1883 and was greeted with great celebrations. Thereafter the OR&N and the Northern Pacific jointly operated the eastbound Atlantic Express and the Westbound Pacific Express (it eventually became part of Union Pacific).
Prior to the building of the transcontinental railway, Portland’s contact with the outside world – California or the eastern US – was largely by sea. These journeys took a long time: they were made for business; to replenish stocks; visits to family; education in the East; or to see the world. Even the inland routes were largely along rivers.
In May 1869, it became possible to travel by steamboat from Portland up the Columbia River to Umatilla, Oregon then by stagecoach via Boise, Idaho Territory to the Union Pacific railhead at Kelton, Utah, then a Territory and from there on to localities in the east. This route could save time, but was difficult and hard going as described when teenage W.M.Ladd went with his father’s partner C.E.Tilton to the East and Europe.
Corbett was also involved in building the street railways as an investor and director in the City & Suburban Railway.
In 1869, ten years after the formation of the Ladd and Tilton Bank, Corbett and his brother-in-law Henry Failing (with his father Joshua Failing) purchased almost all the shares of the First National Bank. Corbett held 500 shares, Henry Failing 250 and his father Josiah 50 and they immediately increased the bank’s capitalization from $100,000 to $250,000.
Henry Failing became President of the bank, Corbett the Vice-President. Failing held the position until his unexpected death in 1898 when Corbett assumed the President’s role until his own death in 1903.
The First National was the only bank in Portland and for a long time the only one West of the Rocky Mountains that was chartered under the National Banking Act.
This 1863 act required nationally chartered banks to hold one third of the capital of the bank in US Treasury bonds. It allowed them in return to issue a uniform bank note backed by the bonds. The amount of the notes not to exceed 90 percent of the value of the bonds. It was intended to make banking safer and guarantee the value of bank notes to in effect create a nationwide currency. In 1865 the U.S. Congress enacted a 10 percent tax on any bank or individual using state bank notes. As a result, a number of banks converted to national charters, but many simply stopped issuing notes. Instead, they began to issue demand deposit money—checking accounts. There was no state-banking act in Oregon until 1907 so other banks at the time (like the Ladd and Tilton) were strictly private proprietorships, without a board, taking deposits and lending money without regulation. The First National Bank in Portland was the exception.
Shortly after Corbett and the Failings acquired the bank it moved into the Corbett Building, completed in 1870. The Corbett Building on SW 1st Avenue between Alder and Washington was the first fully cast-iron fronted building in the city.
The three-storey building had floor to ceiling windows, an advanced innovation. Its cast-iron frontispieces where manufactured in Baltimore and shipped around Cape Horn. (The bank subsequently moved into a new bank building built by H.W. Corbett. The present First National Bank Building at 401–409 SW 5th Avenue, designed by Coolidge and Shattuck of Boston, resembling some of the Lincoln memorial classicism, was built in 1916 when the bank outgrew those later quarters and when it was subsequently under the ownership of H.W.Corbett’s grandsons).
Corbett and his brother-in-law, Henry Failing proved to be astute bankers. Corbett was a keen investor and trader and the only real politician – in the broadest sense – among the merchants of 1851. Corbett was at various times City treasurer of Portland, member of the city council, and chairman of the Republican State central committee. Elected as a Republican to the United States Senate, he served from March 4, 1867 to March 3, 1873, although Josiah Failing was an Oregon delegate at the second convention that re-nominated Abraham Lincoln and the following one that chose Grant (and he also served as a Republican state chairman).
Corbett’s holding in the First National Bank passed to his three grandsons at his death. Abbot Mills was appointed president and subsequently directed the First National Bank’s operation for nearly 25 years. The Corbett grandsons Henry Ladd Corbett, Elliott Ruggles Corbett, and Hamilton Forbush Corbett then controlled it with over 60% of the stock while the Failing and C.S. Lewis heirs held most of the rest. After over sixty years of Corbett family majority involvement, the Corbett brothers sold the bank in 1930 (along with minority shareholders) to Transamerica Corp, which also owned Bank of America and Bancitaly, to concentrate on their real-estate and other investments. During those years the bank had been regarded as "typifying the extreme conservatism for which Portland had been celebrated for half a century".
The Oregonian newspaper became an influential voice in the development of Portland and the state. It had been founded as a weekly on December 4, 1850. It became a daily in 1861.
Corbett was its proprietor from 1872 to 1877 when he bought control with others after its publisher Henry Pittock had run into financial difficulties. He subsequently sold it back to him when these were resolved.
For a while he used the paper to support his political interests in the state and nationally. When Rutherford B. Hayes was nominated as the Republican Presidential standard bearer in 1876 Corbett wrote to him from Washington “…[I] have written to the “Oregonian”, which I control, to give to you its most hearty and enthusiastic support”.
Corbett was a leading developer of downtown Portland and ultimately owned over twenty-seven buildings including the First National Bank building, The Worcester Block (Third and Oak Sts.), The Cambridge Block (Third and Morrison), the Neustadter building (Ankeny and Fifth) and the Hamilton Building named in memory Corbett’s son Hamilton (the six-story building at 529 SW 3rd Ave, was completed in 1893, by architects Whidden & Lewis and was the first building in Portland designed in the Classical Revival style, which later became widely used for commercial buildings. He completed the building of and became principal owner of the Portland Hotel, opened in 1890, designed by McKim Mead & White. On eight floors and with 326 bedrooms, the hotel cost over a million dollars and took eight years to build. It was then one of the two most luxurious hotels in the West, second only in size to the Palace Hotel of San Francisco (it stood on what is now Portland’s Pioneer Courthouse Square).
At his death in 1903 Corbett’s estate of 27 downtown buildings would increase in value by over 500% within seven years, much of the appreciation due to the financial boom and population growth stimulated by the Lewis and Clark Exposition, which he had chaired.
Corbett founded and was president of the Security Savings & Trust Company, one of the leading financing institutions on the West coast; founder and vice-president of the Oregon Fire and Marine Insurance Company (founded by Corbett and William S. Ladd in 1883, it was Portland’s first home-based fire insurance company. Other firms were agents for large national and foreign insurance companies). He was president of the Willamette Steel and Iron Works. His other businesses included the Portland Cordage Co., Portland Linseed Oil Co., The Portland Rope Works, Oregon Transfer Co., The Portland Gas Company, The Trinidad Asphalt Company and The Macadamized Road Company (built as a toll road where Macadam road is now, running almost parallel with Corbett Ave.).
Corbett served as United States Senator from Oregon between 1867 and 1873 during Reconstruction after the American Civil War, becoming a Republican Senator when he was forty, eight years after Oregon had become a state.
The Democratic Republican Party (or the Democratic Party) and the Whig Party (which had been pretty well destroyed after the 1852 elections) had been the major political parties in the United States. Corbett had been a Whig and follower of Henry Clay but when the Republican Party was founded on July 6, 1854, in Jackson, Michigan, he was one of its early and enthusiastic supporters. The Republican Party was founded as the anti-slavery party in opposition to the pro-slavery Democratic Party in one of the few fundamental reorganizations of the American political system.
Corbett became chairman of the Republican State Central Committee and on February 14, 1859, eight years after his arrival there, Oregon became a state. It entered the union as the 33rd state but as a free state after the then pro-slavery Democrats were voted down in a lengthy struggle during the Constitutional convention.
Corbett was an early backer of Abraham Lincoln for president shortly after Oregon attained statehood. He appointed Horace Greeley, editor of the New York Tribune (“Go West young man”), as a delegate from Oregon at the 1860 Republican Convention in Chicago that nominated Lincoln.
Whether Corbett was aware that Lincoln was related to him is not recorded. This was through Corbett’s great-great-great grandfather, Daniel Corbett (1693–1753), the son of the original North American settler Robert Corbett. Daniel’s wife Sarah Jones had an aunt (also named Sarah Jones) who married Mordecai Lincoln. This Aunt Sarah and Mordecai Lincoln were the great-great-great grandparents of President Lincoln, so Abraham Lincoln was a first cousin of Corbett five times removed (e.g., a first cousin separated by five generations). (Corbett was also related to Salmon P. Chase from Ohio, another aspirant for the 1860 nomination, whose stray votes finally secured Lincoln the nomination).
Corbett believed that war with the Southern States was inevitable as soon as the South decided to withdraw from the union. He believed that the future of the country lay in its union and that the war should be prosecuted against the states in open hostility with their government. On his return to Oregon he went to work to unite the Republicans and the Douglas or War Democrats. He was largely successful in this. He was then asked by them to become Governor of Oregon but declined.
Corbett served as [US Senator from Oregon from 1867 to 1873 during Reconstruction after the Civil War. During this economically difficult time for the Union, he was an advocate in Washington for honoring the nation's financial obligations in opposition to those who advocated debt repudiation or unilateral debt restructuring. He maintained that the government could fund its debt at a lower rate of interest, sustain its credit worthiness and save money in the long run by honoring its obligations.
In an address on the Senate floor on February 11, 1869, Senator Corbett gave notice that he was moving an amendment to the funding bill. The following two extracts from his speech give insight into his personal convictions.
“It is not for the present that I speak, but it is that great, grand, and glorious future that I see for my country looming up before me, powerful and mighty as she is to be, destined to withstand, as one day she will, all the governments of the crowned heads of Europe.... We need only look back a hundred years to the march of events, when an American drew the lightning from heaven to see if it could be made subservient to man. Another American takes it up and teaches it to speak, and it is heard a thousand miles distant over distant portions of our country. Another American takes it up and stretches his electric wires through the vast ocean for thousands of miles, and he makes it talk to all Europe.... Look at …your steamships on the Atlantic; and that magnificent line of ships upon the Pacific and China seas; and yet it is only three-score years. Look at your perfect network of railroads East and West, and all this has been accomplished in a little over thirty years. Therefore let us keep … our credit untarnished and look to time, to the great future, as our remedy for this burden. To say that we cannot pay the interest on this debt is folly; there is no such sentiment in the American heart; but, on the contrary, they are determined to do and accomplish what no other nation has the internal wealth and vigor to do. Many croakers said that we could not put down this rebellion; the people said, "We will try." All the people now ask is that you should try to pay the debt. As for myself, I never had a doubt that we could put down the rebellion. Neither have I a doubt but that we can pay this debt in dollars.”
… To me, Mr. President, my duty is plain; my duty to the men - that came forward to supply our suffering army, to succor our noble boys, in the days of the national darkness and despair, and to the capitalists of Germany, of Frankfort, who took our securities, and spewed out the rebel bonds, and gave to us money, the sinew of war, to assist us in maintaining the life of the nation. I need not the example of other nations to tell me what is right between man and man or between nation and nation; it needs not the shrewd argument of a lawyer to tell me what is due to my creditor - if there is any one thing that I regard more sacred in life, after my duty to my God, it is to fulfil all my engagements, both written and implied, and nothing shall drive me from this position."
In the end this reasoning carried.
As Oregon’s senator he obtained the federal appropriation for building the United States Building, now known as the Pioneer Courthouse, to house Portland’s US Court House and Post Office (the construction began in 1869 on the adjoining block next to his own house).
He obtained funding for the Custom House at Astoria and had Portland made a customs port of entry for the Willamette. He had the navigation on the Willamette improved, lighthouses erected along the coast and foghorns and buoys installed to mark navigable channels in the rivers. He obtained funding for a survey of public lands in Oregon and got the headquarters of the Columbia military department moved to Oregon. The bill he introduced for the return of specie payment (coinage rather than paper money) did not get through Congress but was notably later adopted.
After his retirement from the Senate he spent seven months travelling abroad.
Corbett, like all U.S. Senators at the time, was appointed by election of the states’ legislatures under the Constitution.
In later years he was again twice his party’s nominee but was never again selected.
In 1897 the Republicans in the legislature had asked him to accept a subsequent appointment as Senator for the term beginning March 4, 1897, to succeed the sitting Republican Senator John H. Mitchell. In what was known as the "Hold-up of '97", William S. U'Ren and his People’s Party forged a coalition and used a procedural process to try to gain approval of a constitutional amendment to institute the statewide referenda process.
With the legislature having adjourned without electing anyone, the governor appointed H. W. Corbett for a second time as US Senator on March 6, 1897, to fill the Senate term that should have begun two days earlier. The Senate subsequently disagreed that the governor could appoint and needed a legislative election. In 1898 a special session was called. There was another impasse and Corbett withdrew his name. He was later again unsuccessfully proposed in 1901 when, in an almost deadlocked vote, his candidature was defeated.
Partly owing to these deadlocks, in 1906 Oregon was the first state to approve the direct referendum to choose its senators: binding on the legislature. Ultimately the nation followed the example of Oregon and by then other states also, but through direct franchise in 1914, after ratification of the 17th Amendment to the US Constitution.
In 1854, apart from the educational institutions H.W.Corbett later helped found and endow, he and Josiah Failing (the immediate past mayor and Henry’s father) and William S. Ladd, the then mayor, were responsible for the establishment of a tax funded Portland public school system. Together they paid for a notice in the Oregonian, then the new city’s weekly newspaper. The notice called for a public meeting on December 7, 1854 to seek agreement from the taxpayers for the founding of a public school. Josiah Failing reflected their views when he stated that it made much more sense to pay taxes to build schools than to build jails. The citizens agreed.
The first public school building built as such, known as Central School was erected at cost of $7,000 (including $1000 for the land). It opened on May 17, 1858 with Mr. L.L. Terwilliger as principal. By that Summer 280 pupils had been enrolled. It was located on the block where the Portland Hotel was later built and after its demolition is now Pioneer Courthouse Square.
Corbett was involved in developing Portland’s Municipal water works. Henry Failing chaired the Water Committee from 1883–98 and Henry Corbett succeeded him in that position from 1998-1903. The 15-member committee also included such civic leaders as C. H. Lewis, S. G. Reed and W. S. Ladd. The Bull Run reservoir, which they built below Mt. Hood, some 50 miles from Portland, brought gravity-fed mountain water to Portland along cast iron pipes, manufactured at Oswego, Oregon. The superbly designed system and its reservoirs was an enormous undertaking and still today supplies water to the city. The system was built in spite of opposition (water then came out of the Willamette largely by private contractors) but both Ladd, as one of its leading proponents, along with Failing and Corbett were vindicated when it provided Portland with the cheapest water in the US after Niagara Falls, N.Y.
Corbett was a charter member of the Arlington Club in Portland; he was instrumental in organising the Portland Board of Trade and was for some years its president; he served on the United States Board of Trade Standing Committee of National Finance and Currency after its foundation in 1868; chaired the Committee of One Hundred, which proposed improvements to Portland’s infrastructure. He was also a commissioner of immigration.
The city was a major trading center and a bustling port (the largest after San Francisco on the West Coast). It shipped out lumber, wheat and flour and brought in manufactured goods.
Corbett's early business success made it possible for him to help provide the infrastructure that the sinews of commerce and industry required in a growing state and city, such as banking, transportation, railways, buildings, iron mining and steel, water, electricity and telegraph.
The burgeoning city doubled in population every few years but its isolation from the rest of the world meant that Portland welcomed each new group of arrivals and helped newcomers.
Its citizens began to envision Portland as a great city. In due course, there was a desire to participate in the world of culture and art. This became especially important to the leading families and civic leaders who had the means to introduce it to the city. As a frontier city, Portland merchants had traveled to all the main urban centers of the East (and to Europe and beyond) and had become aware of the culture, which was lacking in Portland.
Corbett was among Portland’s successful businessmen who felt that a great city and civilized society required these elements and he set about helping establish and endow places of worship, educational institutions and museums such as the Portland Art Gallery and the Portland Library. In all these institutions he was also an active participant, helping pick those most suitable for their boards and seeing to it that they flourished and contributed significantly to the community.
Leading Portland families began to collect fine books, art, furniture, oriental rugs and other fine objects for their homes. They also felt that culture and books should be available to all.
In order to make books easily accessible, Portland merchants began to raise funds for a library and reading room in 1863. US District Court Judge Matthew P. Deady, with William S. Ladd, Henry Failing and others, formed the Portland Mercantile Library Association. In 1864, the association's name was changed to The Library Association of Portland and its constitution and bylaws were adopted. Corbett was one of the founding board members and a trustee. (Later the Portland Library Association became the Portland Central Library and is now the Multnomah County Central Library.) The library gave access to books of reference to the citizens of Portland and was housed initially on the second floor of Benjamin Stark’s building at First and Stark and then, courtesy of William S. Ladd, at one dollar a year, above the Ladd and Tilton Bank, where it moved to in 1869 and remained for 24 years. It later moved, as a result of Judge Deady’s motivation and leadership, to a Romanesque stone building of its own in 1893 on the South side of Stark Street between Seventh (now Broadway) and Park with the Portland Art Museum occupying the second floor. The architect was William Whidden of Boston (formerly of McKim, Mead and White, later to found Portland’s Whidden & Lewis). It was opened in 1893 under the Presidency of Henry Failing, who had succeeded Deady at his death. The present building designed by A. E. Doyle (on 10th Street between Taylor, Yamhill and 11th Streets) was opened in 1913 (there are portraits of the founders, Judge Matthew Deady, Henry Failing, H.W . Corbett and W. S. Ladd on the staircase).
Corbett conceived the idea of starting an art museum in Portland. The Portland Art Association was founded in 1892 “to make a collection of works of art and to erect and maintain a suitable building in which the same may be studied and exhibited.” This institution was one of the first seven art museums to be established in the United States.
The first trustees were: Henry Failing, president; H.W. Corbett, vice-president; William M. Ladd (William S. Ladd’s eldest son), treasurer; with four others: Holt C. Wilson, Thomas L. Eliot, W.B. Ayer and C.E.S. Wood. All these original trustees and their families later made donations of important artwork to the museum.
The original museum was located on the upper floor of the Library Association Building, and opened to the public in 1895. Greek casts commissioned by Corbett went on display there. Later Corbett donated the property for the site of the first Art Museum Building together with an endowment. He and Caroline Elliott Ladd (Mrs. William S. Ladd) the widow of his former business associate and mother-in-law of his eldest son, donated the funds for the construction of the building and the collection was installed there in 1905. In 1932, it moved to its present location at 1219 S.W. Park Avenue since expanded to take up the whole block. All these families made donations of art to the museum, which they added to over the decades and through following generations.
Since 1932, when the museum was given more than 750 traditional woodblock Japanese prints from the collection of Mary Andrews Ladd (and her husband William M. Ladd), the museum's Japanese print collection has grown to more than 2,500 works including remarkable works dating from late 17th century up to the present day. Some are unique to the Portland Art Museum, others extremely rare.
This was the beginning of the Portland Art Museum’s pre-eminence as one of the most significant Japanese print repositories. The museum collection also ranges from important French and American Impressionists, Ancient Greek to modern American, African, pre-Columbian and Native American, sculpture, prints and silver.
William M. Ladd and his wife also amassed a major collection of over 5000 etchings including over 150 Rembrandts and probably one of the world’s three most important collections of Whistler etchings (all of which his sister Helen Ladd, Mrs Henry Jagger Corbett, was also separately collecting in concert with him). The other significant Whistler print collections are the S. P. Avery Collection at The New York Public Library and the one at Glasgow University Hunterian Museum and University Library. The greatest part of the William M. Ladd etching collection now forms the "William Meade Ladd: H. V. Jones Bequest Whistler collection" at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts in the US Midwest (sold to them in 1917 for a significant amount). This sale was made after Ladd’s decision to cover all the obligations on the failure of the Title Guarantee & Trust Company of which he held only a 30% stake at a cost to him of over $2.5 million, even though he was not legally liable.
Corbett was the founding President of the Portland Pioneer Association in 1872, the forerunner of the Oregon Historical Society, founded in 1892 (his grandson, Elliott R. Corbett, was a subsequent President of the OHS when he obtained the land where the Oregon Historical Society museum and building is now located on S.W. Park Avenue, opposite the Portland Art Museum. Prior to that, the Society had been housed in cramped space above the Portland Auditorium).
Corbett was a founder and trustee together with W. S. Ladd, Henry Failing and C. H. Lewis of the Portland Old Peoples' Home, Children's Home, Young Men's Christian Association (YMCA), City Board of Charities, Homeopathic Hospital. H.W.Corbett was also president of the Seamen's Friend Society, president of the Boys' and Girls' Aid Society (The home was built especially for children guilty of a first crime so they would not be thrown in prison among hardened criminals)) and other charitable organizations set up to aid the less fortunate.
Education being one of Corbett’s central interests, he founded the Portland Academy and was a long-time a supporter (and on the board of trustees) of Tualatin Academy and Pacific University. He was also a trustee and one of the largest donors to Albany Collegiate Institute, the forerunner of Lewis & Clark College. His philanthropy saved the fledgling college from closing in its early years.
He was also president of the board of trustees of the First Presbyterian Church of Portland, and he provided funds towards the erection of the church, built in basalt and sandstone with a spire. He also supported other Presbyterian churches throughout the Pacific Northwest and Trinity Episcopal Cathedral of Portland.
Corbett, Ladd and Failing bought the first 286 acres (later increased) to create the non-profit River View cemetery on the Willamette River in 1879 (where they themselves were later buried at the top of the hill in their family plots next door to each other).
H.W. Corbett donated substantial amounts to charities during his lifetime and bequeathed to them in his will about a tenth of his estate including the Portland Art Museum, The Children’s Home, the YMCA, the Portland Academy, the Presbyterian Board of Home Missions, money for the building of the Home for Old Ladies, and the Boys and Girls Society.
In 1853 Henry W. Corbett had married Caroline E. Jagger (Oct 26, 1829 – July 27, 1865), of Albany, New York. They had two sons Henry Jagger Corbett (Nov 6 1857 – March 2, 1895), and Hamilton Forbush Corbett (Dec 1 1859 - Oct 12 1884). The latter was unmarried when he died aged 24.
After his first wife’s death in 1865, he married a second time, in 1867, to Miss Emma L. Ruggles (Sept 30, 1846 – July 4, 1936) of Worcester, Massachusetts. They had no offspring. She acted as hostess at his side when he was U.S. Senator in Washington.
His two sons Henry Jagger Corbett and Hamilton Forbush Corbett predeceased him when they both died of tuberculosis when still only young men. The eldest, Henry J. Corbett had married William S. Ladd’s eldest daughter Helen Kendall Ladd, and they had had three sons Henry Ladd Corbett (July 29, 1881 – April 22, 1957), Elliott Ruggles Corbett (June 29, 1884 – May 2, 1963), and Hamilton Forbush Corbett (Dec 13, 1888 – May 7, 1966). These grandsons assumed responsibility for the estate and enterprises of Henry Winslow Corbett after he died on March 31, 1903.
H.W.Corbett wrote in his own hand to his eldest son Henry J. Corbett on his 21st birthday on November 6, 1878, a letter which sheds an interesting light on both:
"My dear son Henry,
This day you take upon yourself the dignity of manhood, to you it is no great change, you were always a little man, when young in years. But today you set out upon the Sea of Life, with all its cares, with much responsibility and many obligations assumed by me, and to be transmitted in part to you.
This day may mark an epoch in your life, whether you are to live for self alone, or whether you will mark out for your self, a course, that shall make your name beloved and honoured amongst those with whom your life is cast and receive the blessings of Devine Providence, I trust you will cultivate in your heart a love to do good to the helpless and unfortunate, be forward in helping good works, by word and deed, give of your substance that Good has intrusted to your care at least 1/10 of your net income, let this be a covenant with your Heavenly Father, as it has been mine for many years, if you be faithful he will make you his trustee to dispense much of his bounty, if you are unfaithful he may take away that which you have.
Therefore forget not that you have a higher and more important part to act in life, than simply ministering to your own daily wants.
Remember a loving Mother, a tender brother, and join with them in council, if it so happen, that they may need the aid of your good judgement and wise caution, hold not back, let each aid and council with the others. We know not what a day may bring forth, let us all live so that we may hope for a meeting beyond this life of probation. I trust that none of you may ever be obliged to struggle with adversity, and that all dark clouds may have a silver lining and that you may be honored and loved, is the sincere wish of
Your affectionate Father,
Henry W. Corbett"
After his death his widow, Emma, continued to live until her death in 1936, aged 90, in the Corbett residence in downtown Portland on Taylor Street (the property occupied the whole Portland city block fronted by S.W. Taylor between 5th and 6th Avenues and backed by S.W. Yamhill). H.W. Corbett had originally built a Greek Revival style house there in 1854 that was brought around the Horn in 1852 and described as “the first elegant residence to have been built” in Portland but it was replaced by a more imposing three-story Second Empire style structure in 1874. With its Corinthian style columns and porches with balustrades, this was the first time full Classical details were used in Portland. The layout was designed for entertaining.
(When President Grant’s recently retired eight year Ambassador to France, visited in June 1874, he told Mrs Corbett that in Paris they would bestow the “Cordon Bleu” upon her cook.” The Corbetts had first engaged their cook when Corbett was a US senator and they had bought a house in Washington, DC. She had been Lincoln’s cook and had come on to them after the President’s death. Afterwards she continued to cook for the Corbetts in Oregon )
Their residence was the last of the great houses in Portland to be built in the Second Empire style (the fashion had been influenced by Napoleon III and Empress Eugénie’s reconstruction of the Louvre). The Henry W. Corbett mansion differed radically from the earlier Portland residences built in the same style. At 825 SW Fifth Avenue the house reflected ideas from buildings that Corbett had seen on his European travels, when he had gathering sketches on architectural styles. It borrowed the giant pediment designs from the older buildings of the Louvre designed by Du Cerceau. He and his neighbour Henry Failing had returned from Europe with art to fill their homes, decorating their walls with stencilling and painting their ceilings with ‘frescoes’ in the most fashionable styles of the day.
However, a few years after Corbett’s death it was not the house that became the center of attention. It was ‘Mrs. Corbett's cow’, which she grazed in the field adjoining the house located in the centre of Portland. After many years the elegant home set in its own city block was surrounded by office buildings, but Mrs. Corbett and the family cow seemingly refused to be intimidated by their new neighbors. This unusual sight was dubbed ‘the Million Dollar Cow Pasture’ and became one of Portland’s sights for visitors and locals alike.
The site on which house and garden stood is now the location of the Portland Hilton Hotel Executive Tower. The hotel’s entrance at 545 SW Taylor is almost exactly where the entrance to the coach house had been. The house was situated a bit further East on Taylor nearer 5th Avenue. The cow pasture was located on the other half of the block (at the back of the house) opposite the Pioneer Court House. The cow pasture half block is where her grandsons Henry L. Corbett, Elliott R. Corbett and Hamilton F. Corbett later built the present Pacific Building overlooking the Pioneer Court House.
Corbett had a farm, the “Highlands”, that he used as a summer retreat, which he had purchased in 1885 high up on the Columbia River Gorge on the bluff with a panoramic view overlooking the river at the point where it bends somewhat northward. A little over ninety years before, in 1792, the river below had first been seen by a white man when it was charted by one of Captain George Vancouver’s ships. Ten years later, this bluff had first been gazed upon by the first Americans to come overland to the West when Lewis and Clark passed by on the river below. And around 1812 David Thompson had been the first to map its wilderness for the Hudson’s Bay Company. The farm gave the name to the town of Corbett, later established nearby (the house no longer stands but a gazebo and the great barn remain). The farm was reached by one of Corbett’s rail cars after the ORNC railway had been built along the gorge. Visitors disembarked at the Corbett stop (before the road was built) so there was already a Corbett station of sorts when the town was incorporated.
In 1892 Corbett and his wife built a seaside home in Seaview, Washington north of the Columbia River, which still stands there (now run as a resort inn).
Corbett Avenue in SW Portland is named in his honour.
The town of Corbett, Oregon on the Columbia Gorge where he had a farm is named after him.
Henry W. Corbett had a World War II ‘Liberty’ ship named after him (as did other Portland pioneers Henry Failing and William S. Ladd). They were built by the Kaiser’s Oregon Shipbuilding Corporation in their new shipyards in Portland.
The Henry W. Corbett (#1616) was launched on March 29, 1943 by Mrs. Henry Ladd Corbett. This ship was afterwards lent to the Russian war effort and a younger relation found when he went on board in a Russian port a portrait of Stalin hanging alongside the one of H.W.Corbett. The Henry W. Corbett was never returned and was later renamed by the Russians the Alexander Nevsky after their thirteenth century warrior prince and saint.
The Henry Failing (#1621) was launched on April 7, 1943 and sailed as a US navy ship and troop transport. It was scrapped in Everett, Washington in 1961.
The William S. Ladd (#2084) was launched on September 13, 1943 and was sunk by Kamikaze attack on December 10, 1944, 11 miles south of Dulag, Leyte, Pacific Islands.
Among his descendants are Gretchen Corbett and Winslow Corbett, television and stage actresses.
In later years Corbett was responsible (as President) for the planning of the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition, the Portland world’s fair earning him the accolade of "Father of the Exposition" (Corbett was also one of its main benefactors). It would be the first world’s fair on the West Coast and became known as "The Great Extravaganza". It would be modelled on the successful 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair (World's Columbian Exposition), and a 1904 Fair scheduled for St. Louis. As chair, H.W. Corbett chose the blue-ribbon executive board, whose membership was ratified by a mass citizen’s meeting in November 1901.
The extent of his lifetime achievement, together with that of his fellow Portland pioneers, became evident when he presided over these arrangements: only fifty years after he had first arrived in the tiny rough frontier town that had been incorporated in the year he arrived, 1851, Portland had grown into a cosmopolitan city. The exposition attracted participating nations from all over the world to general acclaim. Apart from the State of Oregon, the US government and states extensive exhibitions, Italy, Russia, Hungary, Austria, France, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Japan and the British Empire participated. Portland had become a city of world note in 1905. The Exposition opened two years after Henry W. Corbett’s death.
The Oregonian, June 3, 1905 wrote: "This is a time when it should be said that the Lewis and Clark Exposition and its splendid results are due to the late Henry W. Corbett. It was he who gave it the first forward movement. He took hold of it with all his accustomed energy, subscribing a heavy sum of money to start it, and gave to the work of organizing it the last earnest efforts of his life." It was fifty-four years since he first set foot in the fledgling city.
Henry Winslow Corbett died in Portland on March 31, 1903, at the age of 76. The Oregonian and The Oregon Journal published glowing editorial tributes. The Oregon Statesman emblazoned its front page with the headline “Grand Old Man of Oregon Dead”. | English | NL | b699d2fb8fefe9a26738875db82ec9c3eb50bdd00a4036a6ce415c755d0ed7e0 |
(Page created 19/04/05)
From an article by Albyn Austin in The CIHS Newsletter, May 1990
Haematite occurs in near vertical veins running nearly north-south across the valley. In the last century it was thought that these veins were the “mother lode” from where the iron ore deposits of Cleator Moore and Millom had orginated; just below the surface the veins of poor ore would open upinto vast iron deposists. Modern thought is that the iron solutions trickled down from above – the iron comes from the red sandstone – and replaced the calcium carbonate both of the limestone belt surrounding the fells and of the the veins cutting across the fells. Thus the iron ore tends to die out quite quickly as you go deeper in the fells.
The iron ore deposits, reddish in colour, outcrop on the surface and must have been used for “ruddle” or pigments since early times. Iron has been smelted in the valley since at least Roman times, as the many small banks of slag testify. Presumably local ore was used. Considerable quantities of iron ore were taken from the top of Wasdale screes round about 1700 by a man called Patrickson. The Penningtons at Muncaster were making trials on a vein in the deer park in 1759 and 1760, while various histories and guides report the existence of iron ore in the area.
However, in Eskdale proper mining seems to get under way in 1837 with a lease to James Read & Co for the area north of the Esk. By 1841 seven mines are listed in the Eskdale census. By 1842 royalties were being paid on 373 tons, 8 cwt of iron ore from Eskdale, raised by Borker & Co. Mr Borker was a prominent Whitehaven businessman who also worked mines at Bigrigg near Egremont at about this date. Ore was shipped from Ravenglass to South Wales which came from Nab GIll mine at Boot.
Later in 1845 the Lindow brothers leased the Eskdale mines. They worked the area from 1845 to 1853, and raised a few thousand tons of ore, but for little profit. They worked mainly at an open quarry on the fell top behind Fisherground Farm, the Ban Garth Mine, but also drove two short barren levels into the fellside at Nab Gill. In1860-63 Jos. Fearon, another Whitehaven businessman, took up the lease. He drove a new level into the fellside below the Ban Garth opencast, and raised a disappointing 1000 tons of ore. He proposed building a wooden tramway down the valley to reduce the cost of transport. In 1866 he sold the lease to Faithful Cookson, iron master of London, who was an astute operator with good connections. In co-operation with a Devon miner, W H Hoskings, he bought the leases of various West Country and Welsh iron mines at about this time. He also acquired the lease of iron ore mines in Ennerdale as well as Eskdale.
In the early 1870’s demand for steel was increased by the Franco-Prussian War. Only Cumbrian haematite ore was suitable, and available in quantity, for producing steel by the Bessemer process. The price rose to 35/- a ton, with mining costs typically of only 5/- a ton. Furness and Cleator Moor became the richest mining areas in the world. Faithful Cookson made considerable sums of money by forming mining companies which then bought the mine leases from him.
The Eskdale and Ennerdale leases were worked by the so-called Whitehaven Mining Co Ltd. There were almost no local shareholders though – locals were too wise about the prospects. The company was widely advertised in the press, with glowing reports from Hoskings about the iron ore being found in veins 40 feet wide. This was true, but the portion of the vein which was iron ore was often only a few inches wide. The company had an imposingly respectable board of directors, but all were either very busy men in other walks of life or very unknowledgeable about mining. Cookson still owned most of the shares though he sold many of them on the Stock Exchange. Mining in Eskdale was started only slowly, though there were plans to build a tramway from the mines to the nearest railway station and port at Ravenglass. The shareholders, thinking (quite rightly) that this tramway would never carry enough ore, insisted that the directors survey the route as a standard gauge branch line.
After 2 years or so, in about 1873, Cookson was rumbled. The directors were mainly replaced and Cookson parted from the mine company in acrimonious circumstances, though not before having made about £25,000 on the venture. The new board decided to continue mining as the ore price was still high, and also to build a narrow gauge railway up the valley. A gauge of 3 feet was chosen, the most recommended narrow gauge for railways at the time, The mine at Nab Gill was very carefully managed, equipped and laid out, and a start was made on the railway. However, the mines never really made any money, even with ore prices of 30/- a ton. By the time the railway was completed to Boot in 1875, ore prices were falling and the numerous levels driven down the hillside had shown just how little ore was present.
The Ban Garth mine was also briefly re-investigated, and some ore raised on a new vein further east called Blea Tarn, behind Beckfoot Station on the railway. By 1877 however the mining company was in voluntary liquidation and being worked by a receiver, as was the railway. In the next few years the receiver leased the mines to several consortia formed by the Owens, Father and Son, mining engineers from Bristol. They withdrew in about 1883, though a few miners and the railway manager worked the Boot mine on a small scale to about 1885.
Meanwhile, on the south side of the Esk, another London company leased the iron ore rights in the 1870’s, but nothing more is known about them. The Owens, however, noticed an iron vein at Gill Force near St.Catherine’s Church. In 1880 this was leased by a group led by a civil engineer called William Donaldson, who had worked on the new Midland Railway line around Bristol. The group was financed by the sons of the Midland Railway’s General Manager, James and Howard Allport. It called itself the South Cumberland Iron Mining Co at one time. A branch line of the railway was built to this mine, and extensive mining operations carried out in 1880-81. However this mine soon ran out of ore. Despite extensive trials on veins on the south side of the Esk and also on the north side, east of Boot village, behind Christcliffe and Paddockwray farms, it had folded by 1884.
Ore prices were now only 8/6d a ton, and the mines were hopelessly uneconomic. Many of the miners were West Country men who moved to Millom where many of their fellows were employed. The railway somehow struggled on with a small amount of traffic in granite for road setts, building materials for the new villas being built at Eskdale Geen, agricultural traffic and tourists. It was probably the poorest railway in the country!
The Nab Gill mine was briefly reopened in the 1907-12 period, when the workings were taken below the valley floor, but the iron ore vein grew ever thinner and the ore poorer. The railway also struggled on, ever more decrepit, but after the mines closed in December 1912, the railway finally closed in April 1913. It was relaid to a narrow gauge of 15″ in 1915 and re-opened. High iron ore prices during the First World War caused the mines to briefly reopen in 1917 and close again in 1918, this time for good.
There were a few other small iron ore trials in Eskdale and neighbouring Miterdale, but none of these was very important. In total the valley produced perhaps 100,000 tons of iron ore over the centuries. This was the tonnage the railway was built to carry in one year. Probably only Faithful Cookson ever made any major profits out of these mines. | English | NL | a8afe758013ecfc99db42018b84f33e82405de46a6a32892b1e058acc321285e |
I have to admit my hopes were not high going into this issue. There are probably hundreds of comics devoted toward teaming up two female heroes, usually ones famous for scanty costuming, and forcing them into an unlikely alliance against unholy forces. Witchblade in particular is famous for this sort of thing having done multiple crossovers with Lara Croft, Lady Death, Darkchylde and Elektra, to name a few.
Knowing this, I still decided to give this issue a shot. Don't judge a book by it's cover, and all that. But more than that, with what I knew of Witchblade and had read on Ron Marz's Twitter feed, the character had changed a lot in recent years. They had eliminated the aspect of her weapon that ripped the clothes off its' host to reveal a scanty metal bikini and gone on to emphasize the Witchblade's importance as an instrument of balance in an on-going battle between order and chaos. And as I've noted before in my own writings, Sonja - who gets quite a bad rap given her origins and usual costuming - is one of the most consistently well-written female characters in modern fantasy. Wouldn't a team up of such two misunderstood heroines be a great idea? With a different creative team and concept, perhaps. But this team-up book isn't really a team-up book and both halves of its' story fail to impress.
The first story shows Red Sonja heading toward a cave in the wilderness in search of the monsters responsible for kidnapping several virgin maidens. She meets up with Nissa - the bearer of the Witchblade in her time - and the two agree to join forces to deal with what seems to be a mutual enemy. In the second story, we focus upon Sara Pezzini - the bearer of the Witchblade in modern times. A single mother and police officer, we find out that she is currently dating her partner and that she's apparently part of a special unit that deals with unusual crimes. This leads to her fighting a dragon in a recently trashed museum and reveals that what I heard about how her costume has changed is true. Her clothes still get ripped off but at least now the Witchblade is generating pants rather than a spiked steel thong. She's still showing a ludicrous amount of cleavage though...
The artwork is the worst kind of bad-girl cheesecake. Sonja herself frequently "loses her head" or has her face obscured by her hair in scenes where she is speaking, with only her body being shown, as above. It's almost as if the artist was afraid of drawing her face! Sara is somewhat better off, but only just. Both heroines come off extremely posed on every page.
The worst part of all this is that this team-up book isn't really a team-up book. The two heroines don't interact at all and there's no seeming connection between their two stories, save for a version of Witchblade being inserted into the Red Sonja story. The Witchblade half of the comic seems like just another Witchblade story, as far as I can tell and is all the duller for that. There's little effort to make us relate to Sara as a character and what little attempt there is to explain the circumstances of her life and relationship with her partner to new readers (as seen in the above scan) is rather ham-fisted.
By contrast, the Red Sonja half of the issue would make for a decent story and indeed I could see a Red Sonja/Primeval Witchblade being a good idea. As it is, the plot is rather weak with a twist upon a twist at the very end, where the ultimate evil Sonja seeks is changed twice in as many pages. And apart from showing up to introduce herself and saving Sonja from getting back-stabbed at the same time Sonja is saving her from getting back-stabbed (both heroines somehow managing to have a giant sneak up on them), the Primeval Witchblade doesn't really do anything.
I'll be giving future issues of this mini-series a pass. I suggest you do the same. | English | NL | 804996be5e9951391de57a23970da2057bdfb6345e7e641a7e8e5978d53b20b9 |
Elinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken her mother's dependence on the attachment of Edward and herself, that the shock might be less when the whole truth were revealed, and now on this attack, though almost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin her design by saying, as calmly as she could, "I like Edward Ferrars very much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference
to me, whether I am ever known to them or not.
He walked out of the room, having deliberately returned the contemptuous indifference
of Hardyman by a similar indifference
on his own side, at parting.
D'Artagnan remarked upon the face of Aramis a complete indifference
to this question of Porthos.
Maggie gave the tips of her fingers, and said, "Quite well, thank you," in a tone of proud indifference
you have made me so unhappy with your indifference
She had been particularly unwell, however, suffering from headache to a degree, which made her aunt declare, that had the ball taken place, she did not think Jane could have attended it; and it was charity to impute some of her unbecoming indifference
to the languor of illhealth.
He seemed continually to be searching for someone, and during the first days of the return voyage from the island he was often discovered nosing about in various parts of the ship; but after he had seen and examined each face of the ship's company, and explored every corner of the vessel he lapsed into utter indifference
of all about him. | English | NL | 03154ab4d70f04baa8e8705907c3655b06a1f4f9332f837e8a8d6f260be1bcc2 |
Ahhh! The holidays are just around the corner! Maybe you are anticipating Thanksgiving and Christmas like I am! What else are you anticipating? A birthday? Starting a new job? How about God to use you to do great things?
I remember 7 years ago when I started asking God to use me…yep, use me. It was just that simple in my mind, didn’t care how or what it looked like, just had that willingness for wanting Him to do something great through me! I found myself becoming eagerly waiting on the Lord! To see what He was going to do.
Well, that day came rather quickly I must say! The Lord laid it on my heart to start Operation Prom Dress. I had no clue what that was to look like, how it was suppose to happen, nor any details of how things would come together! I found that I continued to trust God and anticipate what awesome things He was going to do next! It was so cool to lean upon the Lord and have Him be the source that every little detail came from to pull off this ministry!
It wasn’t from my talents, the education that I have or didn’t have, nor due to my job or lack there of…it was simply talking with God and letting Him know I was simply willing! Willing for anything! I wasn’t giving Him orders. I was willing to give Him free reign with my life!
How often do you trust and expect that God is going to do great things!! When you pray, are you waiting eagerly for the Lord to help, provide, work in your life? Don’t be afraid to step out of your comfort zone and ask God to use YOU! Just think what an exciting adventure you will have with Him right by your side!
Anticipate like it says in Psalm 130:5 “I wait eagerly for the Lord’s help, and in his word I trust.” | English | NL | 86479eea00b0a8d863300a98b19621922d470432879834ad6540999c8d226619 |
Where was Anaximander from?
Anaximander the mathematician was born about 610 BC in the Greek city of Miletus, in what is now Turkey. So he was able to have the great mathematician Thales of Miletus as his teacher. Thales was probably about 35 when Anaximander was twenty years old. The two mathematicians worked together for most of their lives.
What did Anaximander believe?
Possibly Anaximander had heard some Taoist ideas carried by travelers. Like Lao Tzu, Anaximander thought nature worked towards a balance, just as a swinging pendulum will stop in the middle. So for every hot thing like fire there was a cold thing like ice to balance it. You could see this as an early version of the conservation of energy.
Anaximander and infinity
But Anaximander went on from there. Earlier Greek scientists saw nature as random and chaotic. They thought of men as creating order out of chaos. For example, nature created random noise, but men created music. But Anaximander proposed – correctly – that nature also worked according to rational laws. Anaximander’s ideas about order and law could have influenced Confucius, who lived just slightly later, in China. Anaximander was also the first West Asian mathematician who worked with Indian mathematicians‘ idea of infinity. He called infinity epeiron in Greek. Anaximander – like Confucius and Lao Tzu – wrote a book about his work, but almost all of Anaximander’s book has been lost.
When Anaximander was 64 years old, Cyrus the Persian conquered Miletus. Afterwards Miletus wasn’t as rich a city. Not as many families could afford to send their boys to school. Teachers began to move to richer towns like Athens.
Thales died three years later, and Anaximander took over Thales’ school. Anaximander taught Anaximenes, and probably Pythagoras there.
But then Anaximander himself died three years after Thales, about 546 BC, when he was 70 years old. Then Anaximenes took over Miletus’ school. | English | NL | d6dcb6968d51c58370e18709f00606d6627cf27cb4f9ed6ac2629ba062fcc06e |
I have recently done some research because Mother always felt John’s Tragedy left more questions than answers. links: https://nutsrok.wordpress.com/2015/03/12/johns-tragedy-part-i-from-kathleens-memoirs-part-2-and-update-to-follow/
John’s behavior between announcing he was married and his wife’s sudden departure just before the birth of their child was so odd, they felt something was wrong. On separate occasions, his father and sister had both come to visit, but each found Wanda had gone off on a trip with her parents, despite knowing of their planned visits. He explained, she was young and spoiled, at only seventeen. She was used to having her way. Later on, her pregnancy made visits impossible. They got two letters from Wanda, that looked suspiciously like John’s handwriting. Of course, this was in 1944, when John had just gotten back from a tour of duty in the South Pacific. His mental health was very fragile at the time. They were afraid to press for too much information. The last they knew, Wanda had gone home to have her baby and not returned.
In November, 1944, John told his parents he was informed by Wanda’s father, she had given birth to twins in May 15, 1944. Both she and the children were killed in a train wreck shortly afterward. No further information would be forthcoming. His father went to visit John as soon as he heard the bad news, but John quickly got rid of him. In my research, I could find no record of a marriage or birth of twins listing John Arthur Holdaway as father, but eventually, combing through old family correspondence, I did come up Wanda’s maiden name. Mother remembered her new husband’s last name. Armed with this information, I eventually the record of the birth of twins born May 15, 1944. The mother’s maiden name fit, though no married name nor marital status at the time of birth was given. No father was listed, but the boy(now deceased) was given the last name of the man she married at some point, not Holdaway. I never found the date of that marriage. This leads me to suspect he never married Wanda, probably only hoped to, maybe losing her to this other man.
John Arthur Holdaway’s wife did meet the California student who recognized the name John Holdaway raising the question of his own paternity, relaying the story to both my parents,so this part of the story seems true.
I am including two V Mails from his sister, Annie Holdaway who was in Egypt at the time John let the family know he had been notified of Wanda’s death. The family referred to him as Arthur, at this time. Later, he insisted on being called John, the only name I ever knew him by. | English | NL | 94bf4887e392f8b11e090e009bdbd0b243e6879083e914a80ca9ac282568915a |
My great great Auntie was Mercy Bennett and she was married to Oliver Ephraim Mitchell.
Oliver was born in Eastbourne in 1880. His father was Ephraim Mitchell (born in West Dean in 1852) When Oliver was born his father’s occupation is shown as a ‘Farm Bailiff’ however he was apparently also a poet and my grandmother said he was known locally as ‘The Road-Man Poet’ The family lived at Black Robin Farm over towards Beachy Head.
Oliver’s first job was with Chapman Brothers who ran horse drawn buses and hackney carriages from a stand near the pier but by the age of 19 he was working at Eastbourne Station as a shunter. The 1901 census shows him boarding at Newhaven and his occupation is shown as ‘Railway Constable’. This was probably short lived as, by the time he married Mercy in 1906, he was working as a Coal Porter for Bradford’s Coal Merchants in the Railway Yard near Whitley Road Bridge. Mercy Bennett was known as Nellie and the two lived at 3, Beamsley Road and later at 8, Annington Road.
My grandmother describes her Uncle Oliver as being ‘very tall and very jolly’. His nickname was “Kitchen Tongs” apparently because of the way he walked (!!)
Every Morning form Monday to Saturday he would set off for work at 5.30am carrying sandwiches and a flask of cold tea which my great Auntie would make before she went to bed the night before. He was a coal heaver and he would have had to have been a strong man to carry sacks of coal. When he got home in the evening he was so black with the coal soot that he had to stand in a tin bath in front of the fire to clean himself off. He would then dress and sit by the fire smoking an evil-smelling pipe. His loving wife would clean his clothes, taking any money out of the pockets to keep for housekeeping.
Mercy was very religious and would go to church every Sunday. Oliver however had other plans for his one day off a week. Knowing that his wife took his loose change from his pockets, he would hide some money under a cabbage on his allotment and on Sunday morning would retrieve it and go to the pub. Not a local pub – he would cycle the ten miles over to the Barley Mow at Selmeston where he was a well known and loved regular. He liked to drink beer and sing. My grandmother remembers that he would cycle back to Eastbourne singing “One man went to mow”. It was remarkable that he wasn’t killed and it was a family joke that it was a good thing that the bicycle knew the way home!
My great-great Uncle Oliver died in October 1950. I would dearly love more information about him and his father the ‘Road Man Poet” The pair seem to have been very interesting characters indeed! | English | NL | d3165be70abc638f5a708f7d2c6be3fc68ef99ed3495926791b2b2758495ca29 |
Some of the senators may have hoped that the fall of Sejanus would bring a halt to the conflict within the senate. But, predictably, violence among the senators increased.
- The information surrounding the death of Drusus associated those around Sejanus with a direct attack on the imperial family: the political stakes were thus raised.
- The fall of Sejanus allowed revenge attacks on his supporters.
- Tiberius himself was affected by the senatorial feuding. We should not expect from him behaviour different from that of his contemporaries.
The continuing levels of violence require a more general analysis.
- Why were politics so brutal?
- Why did senators co-operate with the factionalism?
- Why did Tiberius not stop the political fighting?
Some may have expected the restoration of Agrippina. There would have been a logic to restoring the enemies of Sejanus. But Tiberius left them in exile. In itself, this shows that there was more in play during Sejanus’ domination than factional disputes between Sejanus and the rest. Sejanus was doing Tiberius’ will in removing Agrippina and her sons.
Drusus and Agrippina lived on until 33. Perhaps Tiberius wanted his options open. If the rumour was right that he had a plan to spring Drusus from jail if the suppression of Sejanus went wrong, he may have thought that even in exile, Drusus (who was probably popular), was a potential asset for the imperial family. In 33, however, Agrippina and Drusus both starved to death.
The death of Drusus was reported in graphic detail. His imprisonment, his beatings at the hands of a centurion and of freedmen, and his dying curse of Tiberius were all reported to the senators (Annales 6.23-25). We recoil at the brutality, and Tacitus may have expected his readers to recoil against the offence against status in having an imperial prince beaten by the servile.
Even it was a misjudgement, why was it reported?
Roman senators were shocked but the report from the centurion was presumably in the expectation of reward for a job well done. The implication must be that irrespective of status, doing the emperor’s will and acting with brutality against an enemy of the emperor was deserving of praise. Were there any moral or political limits on the duty to follow the emperor? If there are no moral limits on the duty to serve the state, is that frightening?
The same year also saw the starvation of Agrippina’s and Germanicus’ friend Asinius Gallus, who had been under arrest since before the fall of Sejanus (Annales 6.23). This could hardly be a coincidence.
Tiberius had restructured the imperial family in 33. Daughters of Germanicus were in need of husbands: Lucius Cassius, from a long-established senatorial family, but not from the inner circle of the imperial aristocracy, married Drusilla; Julia married a Marcus Vinicius, a respectable member of the senate (Annales 6.15). Gaius Caesar was married to Claudia, daughter of Marcus Silanus, a very prominent senator (Annales 6.20). Julia, the serially unlucky former wife of Nero Caesar, daughter of Drusus and Livilla, who looks to have either married or been promised to Sejanus, was married off to a Rubellius Blandus, a notably undistinguished match (Annales 6.27).
Tiberius was bringing new blood into the imperial family and making alliances with some of the distinguished families of the senate. He was broadening the dynastic support base. This may have enabled him to get rid of the more troubling of his relatives.
Starvation could be an act of suicide but, importantly, it allowed Tiberius to deny responsibility. He did not kill his relatives (in this case); he just did not allow them to live.
The year also saw the death of the prominent jurist and friend of Tiberius, Cocceius Nerva. He also starved to death. His suicide was interpreted as a commentary on the state of the times and a condemnation of Tiberius (Annales 6.26).
What follows in the Tacitean account is a litany of numerous brief reports of trials and suicides. Men and women fell victim to a host of different accusations. Some avoided trial by suicide. Others were duly condemned, and a very few escaped. The death of Sejanus may have led to the purge of a particular faction, but the brutal, factional politics continued.
On March 15th, AD 37 Tiberius died. The death may have been celebrated prematurely. While all were congratulating Gaius on his accession, it was reported that Tiberius had revived and was asking for food. He was also looking for a ring that he had intended to give to his successor and which was now missing (on Gaius’ finger). A combination of Gaius and Macro, the prefect of the praetorian guard, it is alledged went to check, sent everyone away, and by the time they left the emperor’s bedside, were confident that the emperor had ceased to breathe. He was 77 years old, ancient by Roman standards. Few, if any, mourned his passing (Annales 6.50; Suetonius, Tiberius 73; Dio, 58.27). | English | NL | bb1baee2119661ba2411663dd5c8f6a5bca3d9952c84f3e518b9cb45c590872b |
When the fire with which Grey’s Anatomy concluded last season was put out, Bailey thought that the worst was over. But in Thursday’s episode, she learned that she’d thought wrong. Very wrong. The arrival of Jackson’s grandpa, Harper Avery, to assess the damage done — to his foundation’s bank balance more than to the hospital — led to one of Grey Sloan’s finest getting sacked. And, given Amelia’s diagnosis in the Season 14 premiere — coupled with her determination to keep her condition a secret — that first dismissed doctor’s head wasn’t necessarily the only one on the chopping block. When the metaphorical smoke cleared, who still had a job? Read on…
‘IF THE FOUNDATION PULLS OUT, WE’LL FOLD’ | Early on in “Go Big or Go Home,” Bailey was on edge about Harper’s imminent arrival — with good reason. The grump didn’t like the welcome wagon that she rolled out to greet him, and it was pretty much downhill from there. When not belittling Jackie — sorry, Jackson — he terrorized the chief and, frankly, exhausted Catherine. Finally, concluding that Grey Sloan was a financial drain with which he didn’t want his foundation (or its coffers) involved, Scrooge announced that he was pulling its funding.
When Bailey couldn’t reverse Harper’s decision by pointing out the long-term upside of not merely having repaired the hospital but upgraded it, she warned that, because of Stephanie’s well-documented heroism, “to pull our funding now would bring about a PR nightmare for your foundation.” Fine, he said, relenting. Grey Sloan could keep its funding — but Bailey was fired! Adding insult to injury, he asked Catherine to take her somewhere else to “have her feelings,” because he had calls to make. “I will fix this!” Catherine assured Bailey. But Miranda had to let her do it her way since she’d “embarrassed that old white man!” Turned out, there wasn’t much need to worry after all: When next they entered the room, Harper was dead! Seizing the opportunity to undo the damage he’d done, Jackson and Catherine kept it to themselves that the geezer had canned Bailey.
‘NEVER SHOULD HAVE CALLED YOU’ | While Amelia remained adamant about not letting anyone at Grey Sloan know about her brain tumor, she was at least willing to call in reinforcements: specifically, Tom Koracick (Greg Germann, who’ll always be Fish to me). Besides being Hopkins’ head of neuro and “the most arrogant teacher [Amelia] ever had,” the doc was sharp as a scalpel and quickly deduced, based on his patient’s scans, that she was not — and long hadn’t been — of sound mind. However, rather than report her to the medical board, Tom had her inform Bailey, who, since she was busy, referred Amelia to Richard. During the trio’s meeting, Tom declared that she wasn’t to perform surgery again until he cleared her to do so. Later, DeLuca tried to clue in Maggie to Amelia’s condition under the pretense of discussing the poor way he’d handled their breakup. Alas, she didn’t notice the scans behind him or pick up on his hints about wanting to “Amelia-rate” the situation, she just accepted the apology that she decided he’d long owed her. (Since, after all, thanks to him, her father knew what sex sounds she made!)
As Shepherd continued to undergo testing, she tried to order DeLuca to pull the files on all the amazing surgeries she’d performed while “compromised” but was told he was Tom’s whipping boy now, not hers. When ultimately she did get the files, she feared she’d harmed many a patient. Intervening, Richard looked over the records and reassured Amelia that she had a better mortality rate than Derek — and he hadn’t had a brain tumor. Furthermore, he encouraged her to come clean with the people who love her. At last, Amelia confided in Maggie and asked for her help telling Owen — and flat-out asked her to tell Meredith, since she’d long accused her sister-in-law of being crazy, and this kind of made her right. At the episode’s conclusion, Amelia paged Owen, who was busy railing about how she’d pushed him away when he noticed her scans behind her. After Maggie filled in Mer, she and Owen were by Amelia’s side as she was checked in as a patient.
‘I DON’T DO LOVE TRIANGLES’ | When Mer’s former psychiatrist, Walter Karr, checked in, she took advantage of the opportunity to discuss with him her situation with Nathan and Megan (who, since she was recovering nicely, was eager to get back to son Farouk, stat). “I was wonderful” about it all, Grey hilariously pointed out. Yet she was still stuck in a love triangle! Later, she insisted to the shrink that her feelings toward Nathan were now “rage bordering on physical violence.” Calling B.S., he asked her to dig deeper. Before she could, Walter had to be rushed into surgery. Meanwhile, Megan unloaded on Owen. As the episode drew to a close, Mer admitted to Nathan that she was angry because he was throwing away a gift she was never going to get. “Show [Megan] that you love her,” she pleaded. “Please don’t blow this.”
‘PEOPLE SHOULDN’T ASK BIG QUESTIONS UNLESS THEY ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER’ | In other plot developments, Arizona sang Carina’s praises to April, even going so far as to say that her new lover’s sexual “skill level is curative.” (Eliza who?) Carina, who it seemed had a kinky side, was also able to help her girlfriend with a woman who’d been in labor for ages by suggesting she try, er, manual manipulation. Elsewhere, Jo and Alex celebrated their reunion by canoodling in the elevator. After treating a teenager who’d been injured staging an elaborate hocosal, Jo staged a mini-hocosal of sorts to ask Alex to move back in.
So, what did you think of the episode? Hit the comments! | English | NL | 75f4f983613bd7891d377993aa2b1a03e660a6a0c8c11b07ac64e3983622e45c |
This weekend my aunts told me a story about the unorthodox parenting strategies of their friend Jessie, who grew up in Melbourne with them. When she was in her twenties Jessie found herself single-handedly raising two school-age daughters and an infant son, and rather than trying to get all of them ready every morning she found it was easier if she drove her daughters to school and just left the baby at home until she got back. Melbourne is tiny and the school was close enough that she wasn’t gone more than 10 minutes, so what could possibly go wrong?
This went smoothly for a while until her next-door neighbor, peering out her kitchen window every morning to count the offspring in Jessie’s backseat, became concerned about the fate of this neglected infant and went to Jessie to offer her services as a babysitter. She was properly trained in Southern manners and thus did not openly accuse Jessie of reckless child endangerment, but she explained that she knew how busy Jessie must be and tactfully offered to come over every morning to help the girls get ready for school and sit with the baby “so that you won’t have to take him with you.”
This left Jessie with a dilemma. She did not want her prim and proper neighbor coming over every morning to cast her disapproving gaze over Jessie’s lackluster housekeeping, but nor could she continue to leave the baby at home alone after having been confronted.
Most people, in this situation, would have given in and either allowed the neighbor into the house or packed the baby up for school. But the people of Melbourne are both stubborn and shameless, and they take a more creative approach to problem solving. After giving the problem much thought, Jessie had a brainwave: she swaddled one of her daughters’ baby dolls and carried it out to the car every morning, where she buckled it into her son’s car seat in full view of her neighbor and drove merrily off to school, leaving her son at home as always. As he got bigger and began to toddle, she got a bigger doll.
I have been pondering this for the past two days and I’m still not sure whether it qualifies as genius or madness. It’s a fine line indeed. | English | NL | 20d1404c6ac102795d2532893967e624e8e31d9fb75bacdd739dfc05a5af31ff |
Richard C. Litwin is an Atlanta attorney, who specializes in state and local taxation and tax disputes, including sales and use tax, multistate corporate income tax, personal income tax, state residency, employment tax and property tax matters. Mr. Litwin is a Georgia Super Lawyer and has been listed in The Top 100 (lawyers in Georgia). He is also listed in
· U.S. News and World Report’sTheBest Lawyers in America, for (1) Litigation and Controversy - Tax and (2) Tax Law;
· Georgia’s Top-Rated Lawyers (publication of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The Wall Street Journal and TheDaily Report) and
Mr. Litwin has also been voted as one of the state’s top attorneys in Georgia Trend Magazine’s Legal Elite, in Taxes/Estates/Trusts.
Mr. Litwin is Co-Moderator of the Georgia Department of Revenue Attorney Liaison Committee, which meets twice each year.
Mr. Litwin served as Chairperson of the State Bar of Georgia Section of Taxation (2001-2002) and served as a member of the State Bar of Georgia Tax Section Georgia Tax Court Task Force.
Mr. Litwin was Chairperson of the Atlanta Bar Association Taxation Section (2004-2005) and currently serves as a board member. Mr. Litwin has also served as a member-at-large of the Atlanta Bar Association CLE Board of Trustees.
Mr. Litwin has worked on projects with the Department of Revenue, in his role as a member of the Georgia Department of Revenue Liaison Committee and as a member of a special task force formed to address State consolidated return filing regulations. He also served as a member of the Georgia Department of Revenue Business Advisory Committee from 2007-2008.
Prior to forming his current firm, Mr. Litwin was a partner at an Atlanta law firm. Mr. Litwin was also an Assistant Attorney General in the Tax Section of the Georgia Attorney General’s Office and worked in the Tax Department at the Atlanta office of an international accounting firm.
Mr. Litwin speaks frequently on various tax topics, at national and state bar seminars and at seminars sponsored by the Georgia Society of CPAs. Mr. Litwin has also published articles on various aspects of taxation, including “The Georgia Tax Tribunal Act of 2012,” an article that he co-authored and that was published in the December 2012 edition of The Georgia Bar Journal.
Mr. Litwin serves as a volunteer tax lawyer with Pro Bono Partnership of Atlanta. He also serves, by appointment by the Georgia Supreme Court, as on the State Bar of Georgia’s Standing Committee on the Unlicensed Practice of Law.
Mr. Litwin graduated from the University of South Carolina, with a B.S. degree, cum laude, in Economics, and was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa. He graduated from Emory Law School, where he was a member of the Moot Court Society. In September 2016, Mr. Litwin was appointed by the Univ. of South Carolina Board of Trustees to serve a three-year term as an at-large member of the USC Board of Visitors. | English | NL | 7e9bd9f1dec5547b3b9c9db6abf0acbc3c3449823aded2920b86be3f81e51c5f |
What To Do When You Are Surrounded
David had troubles. There was a revolt in the family. His son, Absalom, was trying to kill him and take over the kingdom. It got so bad that he had to leave the safety of Jerusalem and flee across the Jordan River. He didn’t know who would be loyal to him or who would side with his son. His entire world was turning upside down.
When I read that, it puts some of my problems in perspective. It could be worse, and for many people, it is has been worse. Yet all of us can be undone by trouble, pain and suffering in our lives. Many times we feel like David, who was being assailed from all sides.
We need to learn the same habit David did. He prayed and turned matters over to God:
But you, Lord, are a shield around me,
my glory, the One who lifts my head high.
I call out to the Lord,
and he answers me from his holy mountain.
I lie down and sleep;
I wake again, because the Lord sustains me.
I will not fear though tens of thousands
assail me on every side. (Psalm 3:3-6)
Did you catch that? He cries out to God with a belief that God will answer, then he lies down to sleep because the Lord sustains him. In his most desperate moments of despair, David was steadfast in his belief that God would be his protector and deliverer.
Whatever your battle today, the Lord is a shield about you. Cry out to him. Cast your anxiety on him. Leave it with him while you sleep. It’s not easy to learn to do this, but it’s important that we practice. We can seldom deal well with everything we face. Our strength and hope comes from trusting God with all our troubles. | English | NL | d452d5784cfd4f996969f6ca1eae3379f810d74a527ca6b230002c09e8899139 |
Once upon a time, there was a man named William Randolph Hearst. He was a famous American newspaper publisher and business tycoon. He lived in a castle on a hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean in San Simeon.
The vision of Hearst Castle was the brainchild of William Randolph Hearst himself, but the genius who made it all happen was American architect and engineer, Julia Morgan. Julia was ahead of her time; her prolific career happened in a male-dominated industry during a time in our history where women were thought of as “keepers of the castle.” Well, Julia was building them! Julia designed over 700 buildings, and her most famous accomplishment was Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California.
One more note on this award-winning architect: she pioneered the aesthetic use of reinforced concrete that has proven to hold up to seismic movements that happen during strong earthquakes. She died in 1957 at the age of 85.
William Randolph Hearst lived in the castle from 1919 to 1947, and like any other homeowner with an expendable income, construction on the property continued all the way until right before his death. He was forced to move out in 1947 because of his failing health. He died in 1951.
An interesting unknown detail is that at the time Hearst vacated the estate, it had remained unfinished. This was due to his constant design changes, so Hearst never got to really enjoy and see the entire castle in the state of completion. Although by the time he left the castle, it had contained 165 rooms and the square footage was well over 90,000 square feet. There were also 123 acres of gardens, so he did get to enjoy some of the fruits of his imagination.
As part of the process, Hearst would travel to Europe and see the ceilings from churches and monasteries. When he would see one he liked, he would have it disassembled in Europe and later reassembled in California.
Back in its heyday, Hearst Castle entertained the very elite, from Hollywood royalty to notable politicians. Hearst the man wanted to impress the unattainable, and that he did…and his castle still does today. Currently people come from all over the world to enjoy tours given at the Hearst Castle in San Simeon.
ADG Lighting was a past licensee of the Hearst Castle Collection of Decorative Lighting & Iron. Check out the atelier chrome fixtures and lamps that formerly sat at the Hearst estate. | English | NL | e8c42536cc89426ae225f0b6d431a310decd03ef3ed6a0f5d55e45cd47cbfbe2 |
(1863 - 1893)
Born and raised in Svolvær, Lofoten, where his family ran a wholesale fish business, and owned a large part of the town.
After his apprenticeship in his father's shop in Svolvær, he moved to Bergen in 1882 to study economics and business.
He also studied drawing under painter and photographer G. J. Nicolaysen, and in 1883-1885 studied painting in Düsseldorf.
He then moved back to Lofoten where he built a studio at Svinøya with his parents' help. The studio has been modernised and restored. In the late winter of 1886, Berg worked in Lofoten with Otto Sinding.
Their paintings were often compared in newspaper articles and Berg was accused of copying Sinding. Apparently, their friendship cooled considerably as a result. Berg only lived until the age of 30.
In 1893, he contracted cancer, and had one of his legs amputated. Nevertheless, he moved to Berlin, where he died in the winter of the same year.
Berg is now regarded as the greatest of Northern Norway's painters, and one of the most important in Norway within his field. His painting "From the Port of Svolvær" is regarded as one of his best. He is buried in the families' chapel at Gunnarholmen. A bust was erected in his memory in 1994. | English | NL | a06f3d9c590da7dcbc1467c28de69a300e822c0461ae4d1bb32f453b6def1369 |
I love the autumn. I always have, and I always will. I love everything about it. I love how the long, hot, summer days transition into the short, cool days of fall. The days are shorter, but so much brighter and more beautiful. It’s almost magical watching the trees slowly change their deep green leaves to vibrant yellow, gold, scarlet and orange. I love watching the pumpkins and corn stalks appear, and seeing the fall festivals in full swing. It’s harvest time. A time to reap the final rewards of the end of a season of growing.
After the heat of summer, fall feels like a glorious relief; a time of renewal, of new beginnings rather than endings. Of looking back on a year gone by as we put on heavier clothes, close our windows against the cold nights, snuggle in and prepare for a long winter even as we watch the beautiful colors unfold in nature’s kaleidoscope. With each leaf that falls, I always have a sense of joy and peace, as that one leaf goes out in a blaze of glory, with grace and dignity. The leaves pile up on the ground for the gentle breezes to lift them into their last graceful dance until they come to their final resting place, and wait for the snow and ice of winter. I love autumn.
Last year I had the opportunity to spend the entire autumn in Western Pennsylvania. I was able to witness the end of another season. I lived in my childhood home, watching the trees turn their brilliant colors, the leaves fall, the acorns litter the ground and the days grow shorter and colder. I watched as the Halloween decorations went up. And came down. I watched as the Thanksgiving decorations went up. And came down. I took long walks in the woods and around the neighborhood where I grew up, marveling at the colors and the slow change of season as late summer turned to one of the most beautiful autumns I have ever experienced. I was there for the season’s end, and felt the bitter cold, snow and ice of winter descend upon us.
Both of my parents died last fall, in the autumn, the season that I love so much. As heartbreaking as it was, the truth is that this was one final gift from my parents to me; that I could enjoy one last autumn with them. I watched as their season ended, as their days became shorter and fewer, and how they came to their final resting place with grace and dignity. Their strong will, spirit and irrepressible humor never faltered during the end of their season. The strength that they displayed in the final months of their lives was very touching, endearing and inspiring. They fought for each other as they battled the end stage of the same disease together.
As their adult child, you think you know your parents and the dynamics of their relationship. However, it was incredibly revealing and humbling to witness the level of intimacy between two people who have spent over 60 years of their lives together. I was deeply moved to witness many private moments between them, experiences that I have shared with no one else, respecting their privacy to the very end. They knew they were both dying, but still shared an appreciation for each other and the life that they built together.
There have been so many gifts and blessings that have come from this final autumn in the lives of my parents and the time that I was blessed to spend with them and my sisters in their last days.The end of a season is no less lovely than it’s the beginning. The sun setting is no less beautiful than the sun rising. In some ways, it is even more beautiful as we celebrate two lives well lived, two people who loved each other unconditionally, and who certainly lived life to the fullest!
Looking back, when I come to the autumn of my life, I can only hope that I can approach it with the same degree of grace, dignity and quiet pride that my parents did. I want to fall like an autumn leaf, in a blaze of color,taking my last graceful dance to my final resting place. I hope to have the peace that comes from knowing that my work here is done, and that I have served my purpose well.
It is also my wish for you.
Be healthy, and live well!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP | English | NL | 5a2630b43b74467a6f576c6d14944e10dc5968bb90625ab179cc2f8186ef5a53 |
This served for many years as the gathering place for the people of the Iron Springs community. The area is rich in history, as a historical marker placed by the Georgia Historical Commission in 1957 notes: On the night of Nov. 17, 1864, the Right Wing (15th and 17th Corps) of General Sherman’s army, which had marched south from Atlanta on Nov 15th on its destructive March to the sea, reached Jackson and camped in and around the town, Hq. Right Wing. Maj. Gen. O.O. Howard, USA, and the headquarters of both corps were established in Jackson. Elements of the 17th Corps (Blair) moved forward to iron springs and camped here on the road to Planter’s Factory (Ocmulgee Mills) at Seven Islands (5 miles SE), the point which had been selected for the passage of the Right Wing, camped near Worthville (7 miles NW). That night the 29th Missouri Mounted Infantry seized the ferry at Seven Islands and secured both banks of the river for the passage. Next morning, the 1st Missouri Engineers passed through Iron Springs with the pontoons and, by 1:00 P.M., two bridges were ready and crossing operations had begun. Late that night, the 17th Corps having cleared Iron Springs, the Artillery Brigade arrived and went into camp. Although both bridges were in use day and night, heavy rains had made the roads so difficult that the passage was not completed until the afternoon of the 20th.
Category Archives: –BUTTS COUNTY GA–
Like so many other rural congregations, England Chapel Methodist began meeting in a brush arbor in 1885 until the construction of a permanent home. The property upon which this church was built was given by D. N. Carmichael in 1887 and a local mill operator, J. B. Settle, offered to prepare the timber for the construction. Members from the surrounding community cut trees on their property and donated it to the church, which they also helped build. It still serves members today.
Heard Street, running parallel to the railroad tracks, is Flovilla’s historic commercial center.
Much of the space is now occupied by the Victory Tabernacl. When I was photographing, mid-day on a Friday, the church was meeting and I could hear gospel music coming from inside, just as the sign promised. | English | NL | 5604581c6d61a21b8d1bdb11bc9001894bae9b5db8d947d9c99023022be9e559 |
“Scientists have demonstrated for the first time how a hormone may hold the key to explaining why people carry on eating, even if they have already eaten enough to fill them up”, The Independent reported.
A practical use for this research was also highlighted by the BBC, which said: “The researchers hope a greater understanding of how appetite is controlled could help tackle the obesity crisis - 23% of the adult UK population is classified as obese.”
This was a small experimental study in eight healthy male volunteers whose weight was normal. This study does help scientists to understand what areas of the brain are normally affected by the hormone peptide YY (PYY), which plays a role in appetite regulation. However, further studies will be needed to see if brain activity in response to PYY differs in obese people and in people with eating disorders such as anorexia.
In itself, this study does not suggest any new treatments for obesity, as a trial of a nasal spray containing PYY for obesity is already ongoing. We should wait for the results of this trial before we draw any conclusions about the effectiveness of PYY.
Where did the story come from?
Drs Rachel Batterham, Steven Williams and colleagues from University College London, and King’s College London carried out this research. The study was funded by the Medical Research Council, Rosetrees Trust, and the Travers’ Legacy. The study was published in the peer-reviewed scientific journal Nature.
What kind of scientific study was this?
This was an experimental study looking at brain activity in eight healthy adult male volunteers (average age about 30 years old) and how it was affected by the hormone peptide YY (PYY) or placebo. PYY is known to affect hunger and is naturally produced by the body after a meal to suppress appetite. The volunteers were of normal weight and had remained at roughly the same weight over the past three months.
Researchers instructed volunteers to eat similarly sized meals between 7pm and 8pm the day before the experiment, and not to eat anything after this. The following morning, volunteers were placed into a magnetic resonance image (MRI) scanner so that researchers could look at their brain activity during the experiment.
Researchers monitored brain activity for 10 minutes, before gradually injecting half of the volunteers with the hormone PYY and the other half with placebo (a salt solution) over a period of 90 minutes. Giving a dose of PYY mimics what happens in the body after a meal is eaten.
Every 10 minutes participants were asked to rate how they were experiencing 10 feelings (four of which were food-related and six were non-food related) on a scale of nought to 100. The food-related feelings related to how hungry they were, how sick they felt, how much food they thought they could eat, and how pleasant it would be to eat. The researchers looked at activity in different parts of the brain as these questions were asked and blood samples were also taken every 10 minutes during scanning. Thirty minutes after the injections were completed, volunteers answered the questions again, and a blood sample taken.
They were then offered a large buffet lunch, and how much they ate and drank was measured. After the meal they answered the questions about feelings again, and were asked to rate how pleasant the meal was.
Seven days after this experiment, it was repeated again. This time the volunteers who had received PYY in the first experiment received placebo, and volunteers who had received placebo in the first experiment were given PYY.
What were the results of the study?
The researchers found that PYY affected the activity of areas of the brain known to be involved in regulating the amount animals, including humans, eat (the hypothalamus and brainstem). They also found that PYY affected activity in different – higher function - regions of the brain (corticolimbic and higher cortical regions), which are known to be involved in experiencing pleasurable reward sensations.
They found that when volunteers were given PYY, the level of activity in these higher function areas of the brain was associated with how many calories they ate at the buffet meal, whereas when they had been given placebo, it was the activity of the hypothalamus that predicted their calorie consumption.
What interpretations did the researchers draw from these results?
The researchers concluded that their study provides the first evidence about which brain areas respond to the signals that regulate food intake in humans, and that their findings may lead to a better understanding of how obesity arises and how it might be treated.
They suggest that finding treatments that can override the need to eat to get pleasurable feelings will be very important in the fight against obesity, and that looking at how the identified brain regions are affected by potential treatments, may help to predict which of them will be effective.
What does the NHS Knowledge Service make of this study?
This was a complex experimental study looking at how PYY affected brain activity. Its results will help scientists understand which areas of the brain may be involved in controlling appetite.
However, this study is in a very small number of people, all of whom were of a healthy weight. The effects of PYY on the brains of people who are obese or who are anorexic may be different, and researchers will need to investigate this further.
Sir Muir Gray adds...
Until the off switch is fully understood and controllable, you should go and walk 2000 steps every time you feel hungry.
Analysis by Bazian
Edited by NHS Website
Links to the headlines
The Independent, 15 October 2007
The BBC, 15 October 2007
Links to the science
Nature 2007; October 14 2007 [advance online publication] | English | NL | 6aef45759735b9ed24ff6259a82a4c7e6ff7cd80fdc8678e3938dc27aa3c8720 |
A metropolitan bishop of London attended the Council of Arles in 314, which indicates that there must have been a Christian community in Londinium by this date, and it has been suggested that a large aisled building excavated in 1993 near Tower Hill can be compared with the 4th-century Cathedral of St Tecla in Milan. However, there is no archaeological evidence to suggest that any of the mediaeval churches in the City of London had a Roman foundation. A grant from William I in 1067 to Westminster Abbey, which refers to the stone church of St Magnus near the bridge ("lapidee eccle sci magni prope pontem"), is generally accepted to be 12th century forgery, and it is possible that a charter of confirmation in 1108-16 might also be a later fabrication. Nonetheless, these manuscripts may preserve valid evidence of a date of foundation in the 11th century.
Archaeological evidence suggests that the area of the bridgehead was not occupied from the early 5th century until the early 10th century. Environmental evidence indicates that the area was waste ground during this period, colonised by elder and nettles. Following Alfred's decision to reoccupy the walled area of London in 886, new harbours were established at Queenhithe and Billingsgate. A bridge was in place by the early 11th century, a factor which would have encouraged the occupation of the bridgehead by craftsmen and traders. A lane connecting Botolph's Wharf and Billingsgate to the rebuilt bridge may have developed by the mid-11th century. The waterfront at this time was a hive of activity, with the construction of embankments sloping down from the riverside wall to the river. Thames Street appeared in the second half of the 11th century immediately behind (north of) the old Roman riverside wall and in 1931 a piling from this was discovered during the excavation of the foundations of a nearby building. It now stands at the base of the church tower. St Magnus was built to the south of Thames Street to serve the growing population of the bridgehead area and was certainly in existence by 1128-33.
The small ancient parish extended about 110 yards along the waterfront either side of the old bridge, from 'Stepheneslane' (later Churchehawlane or Church Yard Alley) and 'Oystergate' (later called Water Lane or Gully Hole) on the West side to 'Retheresgate' (a southern extension of Pudding Lane) on the East side, and was centred on the crossroads formed by Fish Street Hill (originally Bridge Street, then New Fish Street) and Thames Street. The mediaeval parish also included Drinkwater's Wharf (named after the owner, Thomas Drinkwater), which was located immediately West of the bridge, and Fish Wharf, which was to the South of the church. The latter was of considerable importance as the fishmongers had their shops on the wharf. The tenement was devised by Andrew Hunte to the Rector and Churchwardens in 1446. The ancient parish was situated in the South East part of Bridge Ward, which had evolved in the 11th century between the embankments to either side of the bridge.
In 1182 the Abbot of Westminster and the Prior of Bermondsey agreed that the advowson of St Magnus should be divided equally between them. Later in the 1180s, on their presentation, the Archdeacon of London inducted his nephew as parson. | English | NL | bd2a1798481e0956b18b013b179b2b6f5e870b10f99a1747aa96bf88e72bb8bb |
The loneliness swallowed him whole. It resided in the shadows of his mind; never the focus of his thoughts, but worked silently in the periphery of his mind. The loneliness gathered momentum giving his fond, happy memories a tint of bitterness. It slowly changed him and his interactions with others. It was not a conservative effort, but he found himself distancing himself from those who were close. He felt as though no one understood him, and he found more familiarity with strangers. There was something about the brief encounters of strangers that offered him comfort. They could be sincere or false, it did not matter. For those brief moments he felt he could share his thoughts and feelings and then after, it was as though they didn’t exist. Nothing. Loneliness.
He remembered when his thoughts and actions had meaning, when his heart was whole and the shadows of loneliness were nothing more than stories and myth. His life had purpose and it was worth fighting a good fight. Since then his heart has been cut into two, leaving his half to slowly shrink, never again to swell with love, for his love was contained within his other half. It left within him a void, which allowed the shadows to enter, breeding his loneliness.
He wanted nothing more than to be left alone, yet it was the loneliness that he hated. He wanted his heart back, but was afraid he had become too familiar and used to the shadows. He longed for the light he once had, but it now was barely a dim glow.
He sat still yet his mind was active. He sat alone under the darkened sky, his eyes fixed on the expanse above him with uncountable pinpricks of light . The loneliness offered him both comfort and incredible sadness. He sat in the field looking at the sky, silently calling out for an intervention. He secretly hoped for some greater being to offer him a solution, but his silent requests were met with a black sky and infinite stars. The sadness swelled within him and all he could do was cry… | English | NL | 2d3d4f13957d6fab31bad010f7c79c375cba1d5ee548a04d4c16e9f49d0de0ba |
The Elendilmir (Q. ‘Elendil-jewel’), also known as the Star of Elendil, was a single white gem bound to the brow by a fillet of silver. It had descended to Elendil from Silmariën of Andúnië, and later passed to Isildur. At the time of the Disaster of the Gladden Fields, it was still in Isildur’s possession, and was ultimately lost with his body. A new Elendilmir was made in Rivendell for Isildur’s last remaining son, Valandil, who had become the King of Arnor. This new jewel, known as the Star of the Dúnedain, was later worn by Aragorn during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. | English | NL | 1c27073ace419ac1eed5fdb43be83d260b24af1bff89a65249fec8038e1e846a |
Because of the Lord’s presence within the womb of Devaki, all the demigods came to offer the Lord their prayers. When the time was mature for the appearance of the Lord, the constellations became very auspicious. The astrological influence of the star known as Rohini was predominant. This star is considered to be very auspicious and is under the direct supervision of Brahma.
At the time of Krishna’s birth, the planetary systems were automatically adjusted so that everything became auspicious. At that time, in all directions there was an atmosphere of peace and prosperity. There were auspicious stars visible in the sky, and on the surface in all towns and villages and pasturing grounds and within the minds of everyone there were signs of good fortune. The rivers were flowing full of waters, and lakes were beautifully decorated with lotus flowers.
All the birds within the forests began to sing with sweet voices, and the peacocks began to dance along with their consorts. The wind blew very pleasantly, carrying the aroma of different flowers, and the sensation of bodily touch was very pleasing. In the Heavenly planets, the Gandharvas began to sing and dance in great joy.
When things were adjusted like this, Lord Vishnu, who is residing within the heart of every living entity, appeared in the darkness of night as the Supreme Personality of Godhead before Devaki, who appeared as one of the demigoddesses.
Vasudeva saw that wonderful child born as a baby with four hands, holding conchshell, club, disc and lotus flower, decorated with the mark of Shrivatsa wearing the jeweled necklace of Kaustubha gem stone, dressed in yellow silk, appearing dazzling like a bright blackish cloud, wearing a helmet bedecked with the Vaidurya-mani, valuable bracelets, earrings and similar other ornaments all over His body, and beautified by an abundance of hair on His head. Due to the extraordinary features of the child, Vasudeva was struck with wonder. How could a newly born child be so decorated? Vasudeva could therefore understand that Lord Krishna had now appeared, and he became overpowered by the occasion.
At the request of His father and mother, who feared Kamsa might hurt Him, He turned Himself into an ordinary child in their presence and remained silent. Being ordered by the Supreme Personality of Godhead earlier, Vasudeva prepared to take his son from the delivery room. Exactly at that time, a daughter was born to Nanda and Yashoda. She was Yogamaya, the internal potency of the Lord.
By the influence of this internal potency, Yogamaya (Nidra Devi), all the residents of Kamsa’s palace, especially the doorkeepers, were overwhelmed with deep sleep, and all the palace doors opened, although they were barred and shackled with iron chains. The night was very dark, but as soon as Vasudeva took Krishna on his lap and went out, he could see everything just as in the sunlight.
When Vasudeva was carrying Krishna, the darkness of the night disappeared. All the prison doors automatically opened. At the same time there was thunder in the sky and severe rainfall. While Vasudeva was carrying his son Krishna in the falling rain, Lord Ananta-Shesa in the shape of a serpent spread His hood over the head of Vasudeva so that he would not be hampered by the rainfall. Vasudeva came onto the bank of the Yamuna and saw that the water of the Yamuna was roaring with waves and that the whole span was full of foam. Still, in that furious feature, the river gave passage to Vasudeva to cross, just as the great Indian Ocean gave a path to Lord Rama when He was bridging over the gulf.
In this way Vasudeva crossed the river Yamuna. On the other side, he went to the place of Nanda Maharaja, situated in the beautiful town of Gokula, where he saw that all the cowherd men were fast asleep. He took the opportunity to silently enter the house of Yashoda, and without difficulty he exchanged his son for the baby girl newly born there. Then, after entering the house very silently and exchanging the boy for the girl, he returned to the prison of Kamsa and silently put the girl on the lap of Devaki. He again clamped the shackles on himself so that Kamsa could not recognize that so many things had happened.
Mother Yashoda understood that a child had been born to her, but because she was very tired from the labor of childbirth, she fell fast asleep. When she awoke, she could not remember whether she had given birth to a male or a female child. Thus it was that the Lord, who was born as the son of Vasudeva and Devaki, would exhibit eight years of His sweetest childhood pastimes in the house of His foster parents, Nanda and Yashoda. | English | NL | ad3970047db8089936122e39a374c917328171add68acba06dea71d466a31a7d |
Vincent Dixon, a native of Ireland, is a commercial photographer with a love of street photography. In his early twenties, he moved to Paris where he was a post grad science student in Paris, Through a series of serendipitous events, his unearthed passion for photography evolved into a career as a commercial photographer.
In 2011, Vincent took a sabbatical from commercial photography and went on a year-long journey around the world with his wife and four children. It was a priceless experience to share authentically new experiences with his family, as well a time to submerge him in creating photo-essays of their travels. Vincent’s travel journeys initiated the debut of a collection of images and stories titled, "Wanderings." The lines between personal and commercial work are blurred as he commits with each photograph to tell the story. Visit Vincent's website to see his extraordinary images: http://vincentdixon.com/
To learn more about Vincent, read his in-depth interview
with Aimee Baldridge of MAC on Campus | English | NL | 1648dfc1db383dbeb7da8a66da90350e7476985070b23f8e08c9cf1a9740a529 |
Most people don’t like to fly solo. The Apostle Paul was no different. On most of his missionary journeys, he traveled with at least one other Christian brother. Together they would travel throughout the towns and villages preaching the gospel. They shared the burdens and challenges of ministry. They rejoiced in the victories and shed tears over the defeats—together. But it wasn’t always that way for Paul.
As the apostle wrote from prison, he remembered times when he couldn’t get anybody to stand with him. He was utterly forsaken. Sometimes those closest to him stabbed him in the back. Others took advantage of his imprisonments and tried to destroy everything he had worked for. If anyone could have complained about how unfair life had been to him, Paul was the man.
But Paul’s trials, heartaches, and loneliness taught him something important about God. He learned that when you stand for the Lord, you’re never alone because God always stands with you. Yes, Paul had been forsaken by men. But the whole time God was right there beside him. He was the best Friend Paul ever had. Knowing He was there made all the difference and encouraged him to keep going and preach the gospel.
Maybe you feel like you’re flying “solo” at this point in your life. There might be friends or family members who have let you down. It’s easy to think you’ve been left to bear your pain and answer the tough questions in your life alone. But I want you to know God is with you. He is standing beside you to strengthen you at this very second. Keep serving Him, and He will help you fly through your storm.
What Hell may be, I know not. This I know, I cannot lose the presence of the Lord. One arm, Humility, takes hold upon His dear humanity; the other, Love, clasps His divinity. So where I go, He goes; and better fire-walled Hell with Him than golden-gated Paradise without. — Unknown Author
Devotional by Dr. James A. Scudder | English | NL | 199d994564b856a19bab27bc778f2b116ff75819fa722966ca15b245edcc68b7 |
Kicking off a series of conversations on discovery, Amy Mackie talks with Fred Bookhardt about his work as an architect, his world travels, and his eventual return to his hometown after nearly 40 years away.
Through the Center for Gulf South History and Culture's artists and writers program, I found myself last April with a guest studio residency at Fred Bookhardt’s beautiful Marigny home. I had just returned to New Orleans to work on my book about the city’s artist-run spaces, and we quickly learned we shared a love of New York, an appetite for wanderlust and adventure, and a great respect and admiration for creative thinkers of all stripes.
Amy Mackie: When and where were you born?
Fred Bookhardt: I was born in New Orleans on May 14, 1934.
AM: What was it like growing up in New Orleans during that time?
FB: Lake Pontchartrain once had many fishing camps on stilts dotting its shores. My favorite place to go when I was a kid was a place we called Jake and Lil's Rat’s Nest. You had to go out on a breakwater to reach the front door. If you faced the bar, on the left was a pier with the outhouse, also on stilts. My father would tell us to drop our crab nets next to the outhouse because the crabs were fatter there. Fishing boats would pull up to a ladder on the side of the building and climb up to get a drink.
Jake, a retired railroad engineer, was always behind the bar where he had many photos of Lil, his lost love. He had a wicked sense of humor. One time, a woman stormed in, wanted to know where the restroom was. Jake pointed to the outhouse. She sassed back, "No, where is your real restroom?" So Jake reached under the bar and handed her a bucket. Alas, all those camps are gone now, thanks to Katrina.
AM: Why and when did you leave New Orleans?
FB: I had imagined living in New York since I was a young boy. My glamorous aunt, Barbara, had lived there, and she had given me some playbills from the great shows she had seen (including the playbill for A Streetcar Named Desire). She lived the high life, which greatly influenced both my cousin and me. I left New Orleans in 1960 in part because I thought it was too small and too slow. I eventually returned for the same reasons.
AM: When did you decide to study architecture and why?
FB: It was a practical decision. I was tempted to try being an artist or an illustrator when I started high school but decided architecture was a better bet. Math was my best subject, and math and architecture are closely related. Algebra was the only course I took in high school where I scored perfectly. Once I began working as an architect, I always relied on math to prove how something could be done.
AM: You studied under the great architect Louis Kahn. How did that affect you?
FB: He was the primary influence on my life as an architect. Kahn did not teach us to imitate him, but instead taught us that everything had an essence. Our job was to find that essence. He also insisted that we never enter a project with a preconceived idea, and he always reiterated the importance of being a good neighbor.
AM: What did he mean when he said “good neighbor”?
FB: Take the Guggenheim Museum designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in New York for example. It was supposed to be located in Central Park, but that location was not approved by the city. Instead, the structure was erected on Fifth Avenue, squeezed between buildings with which it is not congruent.
AM: The Harry Frank Guggenheim Hall of Minerals in the American Museum of Natural History in New York was praised widely when it opened to the public in 1977. Can you talk about your involvement with this important project?
FB: I was working for the architecture firm Wm. F. Pedersen and Associates when he got the contract to do both a master plan for the old museum and to design a new hall for minerals and gems. The design of that hall was a good illustration of Kahn’s charge to find the essence. Luckily, I was able to spend a lot of time watching how visitors reacted to exhibits. I discovered what should not be done. No hard floors—kids loved to slide on them and scream. No long text—visitors would skip anything longer than two or three lines. Watching students interact with a teacher led me to introduce teaching pits in the museum. Normally, the kids in the back who couldn’t see the exhibit just horsed around. We planned the pits so the students sat on carpeted steps where they could all see and hear the teacher, giving the teacher control over the class.
AM: You’ve mentioned in the past that a large part of the success of the hall was due to your fruitful collaboration with others who worked for the museum.
FB: I was fortunate that the curator of mineralogy was my age. He was from South Africa and also a bit of a dreamer. The director of the museum at the time, Tom Nicholson, loved adventure and saw my design as an adventure for the museum. For the first time ever the hall was kept dimly light; the floor was carpeted and sound absorbing fabric was used to cover the walls, all in dark brown and earth tones. Vincent Manson, the curator, gave me the idea. We spoke of mining expeditions, and he reminisced about the joy of clearing the mud from a cave to find all these sparkling gems protruding from the walls. That's when I decided the hall should feel like a huge cave filled with all sorts of treasures, and it worked. Kids entered the hall with a sense of awe. Suddenly they became well-behaved children instead of screaming brats. The hall was the most fun I ever had on the job. I designed the placement of each of the 5,000 plus gems and minerals, which were culled from some 85,000 specimens. It took six years to design and construct. The completion of the hall made me realize that I had the ability to help make other people's dreams come true.
AM: What were some of your other exciting projects?
FB: I opened my own one-man firm in 1977 after the Hall of Minerals received a rave review in The New York Times, and shortly thereafter the Egyptian government hired me as an architectural consultant. This was back when Anwar Sadat was president, and it was an exciting but intense time to be in Egypt. Sadat had just made his peace overture to Israel and other Arab nations had consequently threatened to punish Egypt. Arrival at the airport was nerve wracking. My flight was four hours late, and I had no idea if anyone would be at the airport to greet me. As the plane taxied in, I looked out the window and saw that the entire tarmac was surrounded by soldiers with sub-machine guns.
AM: What was your role while you were in Egypt?
FB: I was primarily involved in the Museum of Agriculture, which was a large complex located on an island in the Nile. They wanted my advice on how to expand it while preserving its feeling of serenity. The gardens were lush and lovely. The Under Secretary of State actually gave a luncheon party for me in those gardens. He wanted me to feel at home, so he served Kentucky Fried Chicken in the original boxes. And of course I was looking forward to good Egyptian food!
AM: Some things don’t change! What kind of architecture interests you now?
FB: I don't follow architecture anymore. What little I've seen lately makes me think too many architects are trying to be different just for the sake of being different. I'm much more interested in great architecture of the past.
AM: Do you have a favorite building?
FB: Just about anything by Antoni Gaudi. What an incredible imagination! I love Casa Batlló in Barcelona, especially its details. Gaudi shaped the balconies to look like masks. He was hired solely to design a new façade, so the façade he created became a symbolic “mask” over the original building.
And I have a special place in my heart for the many old buildings of New Orleans, especially my house in the Marigny. It was finished in 1867, just after the Civil War. As a college kid at Tulane, I visited a similar Greek Revival house in the Garden District. I was really impressed with it and thought to myself "one day..." | English | NL | 20b2486d71234160b1116dfee9073b97c212208e46a0be69bc0fac9fd1d3bcea |
Virginia Clemm, Wife of Edgar Allan Poe
Virginia Clemm, The Teenage Wife of Edgar Allan Poe There has been some speculation about the true nature of the relationship between Poe and Virginia. Biographers disagree as to the nature of the couple's relationship Along with other family members, Virginia Clemm and Edgar Allan Poe lived together off. Virginia Eliza Clemm Poe was the wife of the famous American writer Edgar Allan Poe. Her relationship with her husband became a subject of debate as Virginia's marriage to her first cousin, Edgar Allan Poe, has always.
And when we talked of her beauty, I well knew that the rose-tint upon her cheek was too bright, too pure to be of Earth. The Poe family next moved to New York City sometime in early Apriltraveling by train and steamboat.
Virginia waited on board the ship while her husband secured space at a boarding house on Greenwich Street. Edgar Allan Poe became associate editor of the Broadway Journal in Februaryand the following month, editor and part owner. There he alienated himself from other writers with his biting literary criticism in that paper, going so far as to accuse Henry Wadsworth Longfellow of plagiarism, though Longfellow never responded.
Poe attracted her interest with a public compliment during a lecture about the terrible state of American poetry, he singled her out as a rare exception.
The issue was that they both were married, Fanny to portrait painter Samuel Osgood, from whom she was estranged. Now 23, Virginia Clemm Poe, now housebound with tuberculosis, was aware of the friendship and might have actually encouraged it, seeing something in Osgood that was worthwhile for her literary husband.
At the same time another poet and writer, Elizabeth Ellet, became enamored of Poe and jealous of Osgood. But he did not respond to her advances. Although the rumors upset Virginia, she never doubted her husband. He then gathered up the letters Ellet had written to him and left them at her house. Poe must have been a forgery. For Poe, the result was disastrous. His reputation was tainted and he was excluded from the New York literary salons.
Although Poe and Osgood never saw each other afterhis relationship with her — which he called an amour — is generally considered a meaningful one. The rejected Ellet persisted in her attacks on Poe until his death.
The affair was resolved in a manner appropriate to the time — within four years the three main parties were dead. The cottage was small and simple: It is known today as Poe Cottage. Virginia was by this point an invalid, and Poe was chronically broke but provided as well as he could and despite the scandals involving his attention to other women no one doubted his devotion to his wife. Poe became a workaholic, churning out stories, poems, essays, reviews, whatever he could get, to pay the bills and try to keep Virginia healthy.
Her symptoms included irregular appetite, flushed cheeks, unstable pulse, night sweats, high fever, sudden chills, shortness of breath, chest pains, coughing and spitting up blood.
Virginia was tended to for a time by friend year-old Marie Louise Shew, who had learned medical care from her father and her husband, both doctors. Kindest — dearest friend — My poor Virginia still lives, although failing fast and now suffering much pain. May God grant her life until she sees you and thanks you once again!
Her bosom is full to overflowing — like my own — with a boundless — inexpressible gratitude to you. Lest she may never see you more — she bids me say that she sends you her sweetest kiss of love and will die blessing you. But come — oh come tomorrow! Not surprisingly, he became sick for months, suffering from depression and an irregular heartbeat. The funeral was February 2, On January 4,Poe wrote to friend George Eveleth: Six years ago, a wife, whom I loved as no man ever loved before, ruptured a blood vessel in singing.
Her life was despaired of. I took leave of her forever and underwent all the agonies of her death. She recovered partially and I again hoped… At the end of a year the vessel broke again. I went through precisely the same scene.
Virginia Clemm | Halloween Horror Nights Wiki | FANDOM powered by Wikia
Again in about a year afterward. Then again — again — again and even once again at varying intervals. Each time I felt all the agonies of her death — and at each accession of the disorder I loved her more dearly and clung to her life with more desperate pertinacity. But I am constitutionally sensitive — nervous in a very unusual degree. Poe spoke and wrote glowingly of his beautiful wife and she said to have idolized her husband, sitting close to him as he wrote and keeping his pens and writing papers in order.Edgar Allan Poe Mysteries #3 - Virginia Eliza Clemm Poe
George Rex Graham, a publisher who once employed Poe in one of his newspapers, wrote that "His love for his wife was a sort of rapturous worship of the spirit of beauty. However a scandal involving allegations of an improper relationship between Poe and another married woman hurt Virginia very deeply, and on her death bed she is said to have remarked that InVirginia developed tuberculosis and slowly wasted away and died five years later at the age of only The two had been married 9 years.
Her only known portrait was painted immediateley after Virginia died, when Poe realized that he did not have a picture to remind him of his wife.
He hired an artist who used Virginia's dead body as a model; the painting shows a woman who looks far younger than 25, and one has to wonder how she could ever have passed for 21 when she married at age Virginia's death left Poe inconsolable.
He had always suffered from alcoholic tendencies, but he had tried his best to abstain from alcohol for the sake of his wife. However her death sent him into a downward spiral and he began drinking again after many years of sobriety. Many of his writing just before her death and afterwards, which feature beautiful dead women, whose memories haunt the male protagonists, are believed to be based at least in part on Virginia. | English | NL | 75834095dc6f6ccba2c746fd61a0756ba287d1caae44892a02ed2624ea3c1f64 |
This spectacular room is all that survives of the early eighteenth century house at Tatton. Its exuberant Rococo plasterwork decoration makes a very noticeable contrast with the later Neo-Classical architecture of the rest of the house, and was undoubtedly retained on account of its splendour and refinement.
Since the late eighteenth century the Dining Room was extensively used for entertaining, and as many as 43 guests were recorded as dining on a single occasion in the late nineteenth century.
One of the most notable occasions of Egerton hospitality was the visit to Tatton on the 2nd and 3rd May 1887, of their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales, who were entertained by Wilbraham, 2nd Baron Egerton of Tatton during their visit to Manchester to open the Royal Jubilee Exhibition.
On both evenings 28 guests sat down to dinner, and afterwards there were supper parties for 70 on the first night and 80 guests on the second. Dinner was served upon a service of gold, and 116 bottles of champagne, claret and whisky were consumed in total. | English | NL | 054f7846164bd631a68dbbd48a093de7fcaeaf4a01c23eaa6626be3061810665 |
JOSEPH BARKER, who was once an
infidel and lecturer against the Bible and Christianity, gives the
following in his work, Teachings of Experience. He says
"A gentleman whose conduct left a
very favourable impression upon my mind was Colonel Shaw of Ayr, Scotland.
He was a retired officer, but being a real Christian, and a good speaker,
he employed a considerable portion of his time in preaching the Gospel.
How it came to pass I do not exactly remember, but it was arranged that he
and I should have a public discussion on the divine authority of the
Bible. The discussion took place in the City Hall, Glasgow.
"The colonel was so very kind and
gentlemanly that I found my task exceedingly difficult. It was very
unpleasant to speak lightly of the faith of so good and true a man, or to
say anything calculated to hurt the feelings of one so guileless and so
affectionate; and many a time I wished myself employed about some other
business,, or engaged
was so kind as to invite me, and even to press me, to spend those days
with him at his residence near Ayr. The colonel had given his good lady so
favourable an account of my behaviour in the debate, that she wrote to me
enforcing her good husband’s invitation.
"I went. I could do no other. The
colonel and his venerable father met me at the station with a carriage,
and I was soon in the midst of the colonel’s truly Christian and happy
family. Neither the colonel nor any of his household attempted to draw me
into any controversy. Not a word was spoken that was calculated to make me
feel uneasy. There seemed no effort on the part of anyone, yet everything
was said and done in a way to make me feel myself perfectly at home. Love,
true Christian love, under the guidance of the highest culture, was the
moving spirit in the colonel’s family circle. A visit to the birthplace of
Burns, and to the banks of Bonnie Doon was proposed, and a most delightful
stroll we had, made all the more pleasant by the colonel’s remarks on the
various objects of interest that came in view, and his apt and ready
quotations of passages from the works of the poet referring to the scenery
amidst which we were moving.
"On our return home I was made to
feel at ease again with regard to everything but myself. I felt sorry that
I should be at variance with my kind and accomplished host, on a subject
of so much interest and importance as religion and the Bible. The thought
that on the evening of the coming day I should have to appear on the
platform again as his opponent was really annoying. To talk with such a
man privately, in a free and friendly way seemed proper enough, but to
appear in public as his antagonist seemed too bad.
"When we started from Ayr to Glasgow
in the same train, and in the same carriage, I felt as if I would much
rather have travelled in some other direction, or on a different errand.
But an agreement had been made, and it must be kept; so two more nights
were spent in discussion—fair and friendly discussion—and not quarrelling.
Neither he nor I gave utterance to an unkind or reproachful word. When the
discussion was over, the colonel shook me by the hand in a most hearty
manner in the presence of an excited audience, and presented me with a
book as an expression of his respect and good feeling.
"I made the best return I could,
unwilling to be outdone by my gallant and Christian friend. The audience,
divided as they were on matters of religion, after gazing some time on the
spectacle presented on the platform, as if at a loss what to do, or which
of the disputants they should applaud, dropped their differences, and all
united in applauding both, and the disputants and the audience separated
with the heartiest demonstrations of satisfaction and mutual goodwill.
"The events of those days, and the
impression I received of my opponent’s exalted character, never faded from
my memory, and though they had not all the effect they ought to have had,
their influence on my mind was truly salutary. I have never thought of
Colonel Shaw and his good, kind Christian family without affection,
gratitude, and delight. He wrote to me repeatedly after my return to
America, and the letters which reached us when we were living among the
wilds of Nebraska were among our pleasantest visitants, and must be
reckoned among the means of my recovery from the horrors of unbelief." | English | NL | 1dcd9dc144f0a44ff3412f1a8ab591a09dea954e502e91de726098df5c262319 |
When he was young man women swarmed around him. He had sandy blond hair, a chiseled chin, broad chest and shoulders, and an infectious smile. Henry was part of the original pack. He was a pillar. He was solid. He held his beliefs closely and was a man of conviction. He believed in the
greater good... He trusted completely his elders and put the packs needs in front of his own. Because he believed so strongly in the greater good, because he wanted the pack to prosper, he was betrayed by those he trusted.
The elders let him in on a little secret. There was a local Storm Lords pack and he was lead to believe that they were huge. He was lead to believe that they had many other pack ties and if his little pack did not comply they, one and all, would be destroyed in both their personal lives and the pack would be killed. There was a war brewing, there was tension in the air. There was so many things wrong and he was so confused. He put his faith in the pack leaders. They told him not to tell Crazy-Eye Jim, stating that Jim would bring them all to ruin. He would demand a fight. Scared he agreed to help. He took almost all of the packs fetters and money to an undisclosed location. And when part of the truth came out he took the fall, believing that this was the best. The pack would be safe. They would avoid an unnecessary war and the BRF would continue to prosper. Everyone was quick to condemn him, including the elders he did this favor for except for little Julep. The little whelp fought and argued so feverishly for him that he was taken aback. He had barely noticed the girl before his trial. When he left the pack he thought back at the youngling, wondering what type of woman she'd grow into.
It was several years later when she managed to track him down. He found out the truth and was angry. For a long time he refused to listen to her when she pleaded with him to come back. They argued and after a while Julep stopped asking. During this time he grew to love her and took her as a lover. One night, after years of not asking, she broached the subject again he left their little trailer in a storm. When he came back the house was empty and a the Dear John letter was left on the kitchen table. He understood why she brought it back up. Unbeknownst to him there was a tribe that moved to the next town and she was afraid for herself and their child. She moved to get to safety. Henry dimly remembered her bringing it back up but it wasn't until a group of them appeared at the front of their trailer that he realized how dire their situation was. He barely survived his encounter. Salvaging what he could Henry began to hitchhike across the USA to reach the new location. There he met with Natalie first. He found out that Julep had not arrived yet but was safe. A small group had left to retrieve her. While waiting he joined the new group, the Redbacks and waited for his love. | English | NL | a18625c147915c728f8082acfb72e93ba492424da1079eec2671cbec9e102587 |
Daily Archives: January 24, 2017
Posted by authorcamilson
THE HEATSTROKE LINE
Author: Edward L. Rubin
Publisher: Sunbury Press
Genre: Scifi/Cli-Fi (Climate Change Science Fiction)
source of the invasion. The bizarre and brutal people he encounters, and the disasters that they trigger, reveal the real horror climate change has inflicted on America.
Amazon | Sunbury Press | Walmart | B&N
They were in some sort of garage, with several other vehicles and various pieces of equipment scattered around. The two men who stood beside them, watching, were the ones who had taken him out of the auto-car, one white, one black, both very big. Three people approached from a doorway to Dan’s right. In front was an attractive woman with blond hair, wearing an elegant leopard print dress and the long, pointed shoes that were the latest fashion. Behind her stood a man and a woman, both much bigger, and dressed in work clothes like the two men who were guarding them.
The woman in the leopard dress looked at her wristlink, then at Dan and Stuart, and smiled at them in self-satisfied manner. She motioned to the woman beside her and then to one of the two guards, and they led Stuart, still complaining about his arm, through the doorway they had come from. Then she turned toward Dan and motioned to the man beside her and the other guard, who grabbed Dan’s arms and started to lead him toward the same doorway.
“Who the hell are you?” he said, trying to turn toward the woman. “Are you aware that we’re part of a diplomatic mission from Mountain America to Jacksonia authorized by President Peter Simonson? I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but if you – – – “
One of the men let go of Dan’s arm, grabbed his cheeks to force his mouth open, and plunged a plastic gag into it. Dan felt himself choke and struggled for breath. The gag had a slightly sour, greasy taste. Then both men grabbed his arms again and led him through the doorway. Dan suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of dread, stronger even than he had felt when the men first pulled him out of the car.
Beyond the doorway was a narrow corridor with dirty green walls covered with beads of water. Clearly, they were underground. The men lead Dan through the first opening along the corridor and into a small, dimly-lit room with three chairs facing a transparent plastic window. Through the window was another room, painted grey and brightly lit. Dan was forced into the chair at the back of the room, his handcuffs were removed and his arms were strapped to the armrests, and then, to his increasing dread, some sort of metal device was placed over his head and tightened so that he was forced to look straight ahead into the room beyond the window. He felt saliva dripping down his chin. The woman in the leopard dress came in, sat down in the chair placed to his left and closer to the window, looked at him up and down, then crossed her legs and turned to the window.
A moment later, Stuart was led into the brightly lit grey room by his two guards. All his clothes except his undershorts had been stripped off. He had always been slender, but now he looked emaciated and pathetic. He was obviously in pain. Dan felt tears coming to his eyes despite his own discomfort. The woman turned to him, smiled, and then turned back to the window. By now, one of Stuart’s handcuffs had been removed and re-attached to a metal loop that was built into the wall. The two guards left and Stuart was alone in the room, one arm fastened to the wall, the other hanging limply at his side.
With a sense of horror, but not, for some reason, of surprise, Dan saw a dark shape fly through the air and attach itself to Stuart’s thigh. It was a biter bug, shiny black and nearly three inches long. Stuart jumped and writhed, turning one way and the other, but Dan didn’t need to see clearly to know what was happening. The bug’s six legs had plunged immediately into Stuart’s skin; now its two sharp mandibles, each half an inch in length, were folded under its body, tearing his flesh. Blood welled up from under the bug, and as it moved down his leg, it left a trail of raw, bleeding flesh behind. Stuart clawed weakly at the bug with his other arm, which was obviously disabled. That didn’t matter because Dan knew that tearing a biter bug off your body was virtually impossible. As soon as you started, its legs dug deeper, and you would wind up tearing out a chunk of your own flesh, which was just as painful, and somehow more awful, than letting the bug continue for the half minute or so until it was satisfied and flew away.
Dan wanted to yell. He heard the words “Why are you doing this” form in his throat, but he couldn’t speak. He tried to lift the chair to get out of the room, to smash the window, to kill the woman sitting calmly next to him, but the chair was bolted to the floor. He couldn’t move — he couldn’t even look away. The first bug was gone, leaving an oozing wound behind, but two more bugs had been released and attached themselves to Stuart’s body, one to his chest and one to his arm. Helpless and in agony, he was trying to pull away from the wall and he was screaming. No sound came through the window and the silence, compounded by Dan’s own inability to speak, made the scene somehow more horrible.
Dan closed his eyes. If there was nothing else that he could do, he could at least deny this woman the satisfaction of making him watch his friend be tortured. Beneath his sorrow, fury and horror, he sensed another feeling, some indefinable nausea that lay deep inside him. After a few minutes, he felt compelled to look again. Stuart had collapsed and was lying against the wall. There were four or five bugs on his body now, and one was on his cheek, moving toward his eye. He was still writhing, but had also begun to shake compulsively. Blood was oozing from bug tracks on his arms, legs and stomach, covering his body and dripping onto the floor. He was going into shock; they were killing him. Dan had never felt so angry or so powerless. It was hard to believe that this was real, that Stuart was really dying, that in a few more minutes he would cease to exist. The bugs flew away, one leaving a pool of blood in his eye socket, and then three more, five more, came flying in. Dan closed his eyes again. They were wet with tears; he felt himself sobbing and gasping for breath through the greasy gag.
Suddenly, there were people around him, three or four. They released his head, unstrapped his arms, stood him up, handcuffed his arms behind him again, turned him around and dragged him out into the corridor. In the process, he caught a glimpse of Stuart’s prostrate, motionless body through the window, covered in blood, with bugs still crawling over it. Once in the corridor, he was dragged a short distance, through an opening, and into an even narrower corridor. One of his captors opened a door and he was pushed into a brightly lit grey room. The steady sense of dread that Dan was feeling congealed into panic. They were going to set the bugs on him the way they did to Stuart. They were going to kill him. He was going to die.
His gag was removed, his handcuffs were opened, and then one arm, still cuffed, was attached to a metal loop in the wall, just the way that they had done to Stuart. Then all the guards left the room and closed the door behind him. He was alone. In front of him was a large plastic window, dark and blank. The woman was sitting behind it, he was certain, and she was going to watch as the biter bugs killed him.
How could this be happening? He felt a roaring in his head, he couldn’t think. There was something he had to figure out, something he had to make sense out of, but he didn’t know what it was. Would he really die, would he really stop existing? What about his children and Garenika? “If I die now, I’ll never see them again” he realized. “No, there will be no ‘I’ not to see them. The world will come to an end. It can’t be, it can’t be.”
He heard the unmistakable, high pitched buzz of a biter bug flying toward him through the air. Instinctively, he knew what to do—he had been trained in Mark Granowski’s department before he went to central Texas for a research project. The bugs flew in straight lines when they were attacking. He waited until it almost reached him, then slapped it with his free hand. It fell to the ground with a sickeningly solid thud, but right side up. Black and huge, it crawled a few inches, its long mandibles opening and closing. Even though he had his shoes on – he realized that they hadn’t taken off his clothes – he knew there was no point trying to crush the bug; its carapace was much too hard. After a few moments, the bug’s wings started vibrating, it rose up in the air, and flew toward him once more. Again, he slapped it and it fell down right side up. The hideous thing crawled a few inches and rose up again. Once again he slapped it and it thudded to the ground, right side up again. Its wings vibrated, it rose up and flew toward him, he slapped it hard and it fell down again, this time on its back. Immediately, he stamped his foot on it and felt the satisfying crunch as its body cracked beneath his shoe.
But what was the point, he asked himself a moment later. They could release another bug, five more, fifty more. The pain would become worse and worse and he would die, just like Stuart. No, not just die — the world would end, there would be nothing. The roaring in his head returned, the sense of dread and disbelief. It couldn’t be. He heard himself bellowing “No, No, No, No.” There was a high pitched buzz behind him, and as he spun around, the biter bug slammed into his upper arm. He felt its feet dig in, and then the burning, searing pain as its huge mandibles, now tucked under its carapace, began to tear his flesh. He could only stare at it in horror. Blood rose up under it and turned his light blue shirt sleeve sickly purple. The bug moved slowly down his arm, leaving a track of bloody, torn up flesh, visible inside the inch-wide tear in his shirtsleeve. The pain was unbearable. He couldn’t believe that the twenty five or thirty seconds that they bug was on him seemed so long, and he felt a moment of relief when it finally flew away, dripping blood behind it.
He had to organize his thoughts, there was something that he had to do, but what was it? How could he stop existing? Would he live somehow, because of his research? Would he live in the memories of Josh, Senly, Michael and Garenika? But he wouldn’t be here, there would be no world for him. An image, a memory, suddenly came into his mind. He was walking across the University of Utah campus with Garenika. They had just met, he had said something to her and she laughed, in a soft, silvery tone, and he wondered if they would end up having children together. Now he saw his home in Arches Park City. His father was reading to him, his mother came into the room with the poster of the Milky Way, the one he had wanted and that hung in his room when he was growing up.
After a few minutes, he realized that no more bugs had come. A sudden surge of hope passed through him. He was afraid to even form the thought, afraid that it would somehow preclude the actuality. But the door opened, one of the guards came into the room with a suppressed smile on his face, removed the handcuff from his wrist, removed the other part from the loop on the wall and walked out with it. The lights in the room suddenly dimmed. Dan sank down onto the floor. He took the bottom of his shirt and pressed it against the wound on his arm, as much to relieve the burning pain as to staunch the flow of blood. He became aware that he was sobbing, but whether it was with relief or anguish was impossible for him to say.
Several hours later, the door opened, and before Dan could react, a tray with clothing, a plate of food and an inflatable mattress was pushed into the room. The door closed again. The clothing was an ordinary, open collar white shirt, a pair of dark brown trousers and dark green undershorts. Dan became aware that the front of his own pants was wet and realized he had pissed himself when the bug attacked him. Next to the clothes was a large blue, disinfectant bandage. Slowly and deliberately, Dan stripped off his clothes, wrapped the bandage around his arm, which immediately felt a bit better, and put on the clothes he’d been given. Looking around, he saw an open hole in the opposite corner of the room, walked over and peed down the hole.
He went back to the tray, took a bite of one roll. All at once, he felt nauseated, ran to the hole and vomited. He couldn’t stop; he vomited repeatedly and convulsively, long after there was anything left in his stomach. The roaring in his head returned, he felt intensely chilled and his body began shaking uncontrollably. After what seemed like a long time, the shakes and chills subsided, but they were followed by a slowly intensifying fear. Suppose they turned off the lights and began to fill the room with water. He could feel himself being forced to the top of the room, feel his head pressed against the ceiling when only a few inches of air remained, feel the water filling his nose and mouth as he gasped helplessly for breath. Suppose the walls of the room began to close from both directions, pressing against his body until he was trapped tiny, pitch black space. Suppose they raised the temperature until searing air burned his lungs with every breath as he began to suffocate.
Dan tried to calm himself. He wondered if he should use Jiangtan –why hadn’t he thought of it when he was watching Stuart die — but somehow didn’t think that it would help. Had the bread been poisoned? That wouldn’t make any sense. Clearly, they meant to keep him alive. Were they holding him for ransom or as a hostage for some political purpose? In any case, once the Mountain American government found out about it, they would arrange for his return, he reassured himself. He decided he should try to sleep; he was obviously exhausted. He inflated the mattress, lay down, and closed his eyes. The biter bug wound on his arm was still throbbing and his head ached. He tried to think his college days, of his evenings with friends, of nineteenth century novels, of Garenika, but it all seemed thin and pointless. Finally, his thoughts returned to his early fascination with astronomy, and he pictured himself touring the moons and planets of the solar system and then venturing out among the undiscovered worlds that orbited the distant stars.
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Edward Rubin is University Professor of Law and Political Science at Vanderbilt University. He specializes in administrative law, constitutional law and legal theory. He is the author of Soul, Self and Society: The New Morality and the Modern State (Oxford, 2015); Beyond Camelot: Rethinking Politics and Law for the Modern State (Princeton, 2005) and two books with Malcolm Feeley, Federalism: Political Identity and Tragic Compromise (Michigan, 2011) and Judicial Policy Making and the Modern State: How the Courts Reformed America’s Prisons (Cambridge, 1998). In addition, he is the author of two casebooks, The Regulatory State (with Lisa Bressman and Kevin Stack) (2nd ed., 2013); The Payments System (with Robert Cooter) (West, 1990), three edited volumes (one forthcoming) and The Heatstroke Line (Sunbury, 2015) a science fiction novel about the fate of the United States if climate change is not brought under control. Professor Rubin joined Vanderbilt Law School as Dean and the first John Wade–Kent Syverud Professor of Law in July 2005, serving a four-year term that ended in June 2009. Previously, he taught at the University of Pennsylvania Law School from 1998 to 2005, and at the Berkeley School of Law from 1982 to 1998, where he served as an associate dean. Professor Rubin has been chair of the Association of American Law Schools’ sections on Administrative Law and Socioeconomics and of its Committee on the Curriculum. He has served as a consultant to the People’s Republic of China on administrative law and to the Russian Federation on payments law. He received his undergraduate degree from Princeton and his law degree from Yale.
He has published four books, three edited volumes, two casebooks, and more than one hundred articles about various aspects of law and political theory. The Heatstroke Line is his first novel.
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Bob Spear (1920-2014): Carver and more
Bob Spear was not just the Founding Director of the Birds of Vermont Museum and bird carver. He had many roles throughout his life, and even as others began to carry forward his Museum dream, he remained involved. Into his 80s, he still cut, transported and stacked all the firewood used to heat his workshop. He mowed and maintained the trails on the 100 acres of property, providing access to a rich variety of habitats and animal species. Even his 90s, Bob assisted with the butterfly gardens, the large and small ponds, and the bird feeder area. He also continued to carve—when he was not watching the birds in and around the feeders, ponds, meadows, and forest.
Bob Spear was born in 1920 in Burlington, Vermont. In his youth his parents encouraged him to explore the world of nature around him. His early years were spent in Massachusetts where his family moved when his mother was unable to find a teaching job in Vermont. (At the time, they would not hire married women as teachers.) She found work in Wyben, teaching in a one-room school house, and Bob was her student for 6 years. Bob drew and painted as a youngster and even learned to do taxidermy by age 12.
After his mother’s untimely death when Bob was just 14, the family moved back to Vermont to the family farm in Colchester. Here he continued his self-education as a naturalist, specializing in birds. Here too, at age 18, Bob carved his first birds modeled after a stray parakeet that flew into their shed. For the rest of his life, he carved, painted, and taught others about birds.
Naturalist and Author
With his patient manner and keenly observant eye, Bob Spear became one of the state’s most distinguished naturalists. After 10 years of farming, a tour in the U.S. Navy, and nearly 20 years as a technical specialist at General Electric in Burlington, Bob devoted his life to conservation and education. He founded Vermont’s first chapter of the National Audubon Society in 1962 and was also instrumental in the acquisition and creation of the Green Mountain Audubon Nature Center, which he directed for seven years. He was recipient of the 1966 Wildlife Conservation Award, given by the National Wildlife Federation “for outstanding contributions to the wise use and management of the nation’s natural resources.”
Spear is author of Birds of Vermont and in 1979 he received the Science Educator’s Award “for outstanding contributions to science education in Vermont.” In 2003 he was named a Fellow of the Vermont Academy of Arts and Science, because of “outstanding contribution to the Arts, Humanities, Sciences, or Education.” In 2006, he received the Governor’s Heritage Award for Traditional Artist. In 2014, he received the Olga Hallack Award for Community Service from the Town of Huntington, where the Museum resides. | English | NL | 24f867e3ea19f4feb6f9d27cd2a27eb462a5bc2d4d61a79b4ad9c4c7aa1fedb8 |
Last week I had a really great beamtime at the APS with Flo Ling. We collected Mn K-edge XAFS spectra on natural Mn oxides for Flo's work and some fungal Mn oxides. For the mycogenic Mn oxides we were testing to see if we could collect the spectra in transmission mode instead of relying on fluorescence-yield measurements. We've had some issues with self absorption in the past, so we were really hoping we could get transmission to work on these fungal samples-- and we did! Success! This was my first beamtime where I was actually able to fiddle with the samples -- all of my previous beamtimes involved experiments with anoxic samples that were heat sealed in bags. With these anoxic samples, I always had to rely on calculations for absorption lengths and estimates of packing densities, hoping it would work out, or bringing multiple samples with different loadings for each experiment. With this beamtime, it took a bit too much time to fiddle with the samples to get things just right (these samples are fungi + Mn oxides, so not as homogenous as I would like), but in the end we worked it out. Hooray data! And congratulations to Flo, who passed her PhD defense just a couple days after we got back from beamtime! | English | NL | a97fa9859115783cd0409cadae92d85f5c38f98457de168f22d7355cdc7cd049 |
Have you ever been shunned, bullied, or treated indifferently by some that don’t appreciate your worth? You didn’t do anything to those who mistreat you but, they just seem to hate you?
Isaiah 53:3 He was despised and rejected and forsaken by men, a Man of sorrows and pains, and acquainted with grief and sickness; and like One from Whom men hide their faces He was despised, and we did not appreciate His worth or have any esteem for Him.
If you have, you can relate some to the picture we are given here of what Jesus went through. Unlike Jesus though, our intentions are to just fit in, His--to love. He came to rescue us, to set us free from the imprisonment the enemy. Jesus came to love us, yet we rejected Him. Maybe you haven’t thought of the emotional pain Jesus endured, in doing His acts of love. We know He endured great physical pain, but He was also in a horrendous amount of emotional pain. Betrayed by His friends I am sure caused Him much pain and sorrow. Even though He knew He would be betrayed, and repulsed by many He suffered emotionally as well as physically. He was forsaken, instead of valued, even though He was our answer, our King, He desired only to love us, we renounced Him. He came to set us free, to love us, to show us the Father, yet, He was hated. He should have been glorified, yet He was despised. He came to free us from everything that is not good, yet we don’t recognize Him for it, but killed Him. He wasn’t treated as He should have been, as a King should be honored, He wasn’t esteemed, but detested by many.
God knew this would happen but still chose to suffer for the sake of His children. Jesus still offered to come and be the sacrifice for our sin, for the sake of the love the Father had for His children, even though He knew He would be rejected, mocked and killed, He came to represent LOVE..
God didn’t want us to suffer anymore so He came up with a plan to set us free, He sent His Son to suffer for us, so we wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Think of it; think of the plan to love us and only to be thrown away as worthless. But even worse to be beat, tormented, mocked, lied about, and degraded first.
All He did was for us and even though we scourged Him, we were forgiven. The love God has for us includes forgiveness. His love is forgiveness and that forgiveness even though we hated--has brought forth healing.
Luke 23:34 And Jesus prayed, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. And they divided His garments and distributed them by casting lots for them.
What passion, what love can this compare to? None, Who doesn’t retaliate, only One who has a passion to show us LOVE, the true meaning of LOVE.
Isaiah 53:4 Surely He has borne our grief’s (sicknesses, weaknesses, and distresses) and carried our sorrows and pains [of punishment], yet we [ignorantly] considered Him stricken, smitten, and afflicted by God [as if with leprosy]. 5 But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our guilt and iniquities; the chastisement [needful to obtain] peace and well-being for us was upon Him, and with the stripes [that wounded] Him we are healed and made whole.
All that has been done for us, all that suffering, and we still suffer today as if nothing happened that day, as if no atonement was made. We haven’t learned love, we still cause each other pain, we still suffer with pain, we still live imprisoned with sickness, we worry, and we are without peace as if Jesus never came to make that declaration of Love.
We celebrate the memories of that day by going to church, we go through some of the motions, but do we really live in the place He has suffered so much to give us? Maybe some, but not nearly enough.
Isaiah 53:6 All we like sheep have gone astray, we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord has made to light upon Him the guilt and iniquity of us all.
Even though Jesus came and gave us His life, He was beaten, spit at, mocked, tortured, and so much more, and we ignore it by going our own way. Even though He carried the sin of the world, even though He never sinned He took upon our iniquity. He knew we would deny Him, He knew Peter would get scared and deny Him, He knew Judas would betray Him, He knew all that would happen before it did, but still He chose to come, for the sake of the Kingdom of Love, He came to love us, to show us the Father. The Fathers law is love and that is the message God came to give to us that day and wants to remind us of today.
I feel in my heart He would say to all of us today;
I love you so much that I died for you. I gave you My Son and still you didn’t recognize Me, I let Him die for you even though, you don’t see My suffering. I still love you and I live to perpetually get that message to you. By continuing to love you no matter what.
So how can we live the message instead of go through the motions? I feel God saying today, take Him seriously. Don’t just look at Friday and remember, and Sunday and rejoice verbally, but live the life. Be the disciple we were meant to be, by literally living the life Jesus died to give us--live free.
Get healed instead of rely on the doctor; rely on Him, those stripes--His blood that was shed. Press in and prove that Jesus took 39 stripes for your healing. Use your faith, really believe instead going away with just a memory of His suffering, live out what was suffered. If we don’t, we live like He never took those stripes, like He never suffered for us, and then are we not saying it was just some big show, entertainment--for the enemy?
Don’t worry, only believe, press in and trust Him, rather than let the enemy harass you with fear of this or that. Resist the enemy and accept what Jesus did for you. Know by getting to know Jesus, that He loves you, and would never let you down.
He was alone then, is He still alone now? On that day and through His whole ministry did anyone really know or understand what He was up against, what He was going through, what He was trying to portray? He tried to explain it to the disciples but they didn’t get it, they all deserted Him at the last minute. And still today we do the same thing, we don’t press in and prove His will is good and perfect--and by not doing so, we don‘t prove the LOVE of the Father. We would rather take an aspirin for a headache then to believe and press in that by His stripes we were healed. We don’t lay hands on the sick in fear nothing will happen, we don’t tell in fear of rejection. We fear being despised--so we blend in. | English | NL | d9a32754b5ff7543f9a38ff210bb1307792c048eab7f061bd0cf303dd6628273 |
JONATHAN STANNARD’S SECRET VICE
Mrs. Stannard saw her husband with a woman at Courin’s Restaurant. So, the mystery which was making her life miserable was solved. But then, she saw a man. It was John Dupont – her husband had not lied to her, because he was going to dine that evening with John Dupont.
She had married Jonathan Stannard twelve years before.
Three years later he had become famous with his books about appreciations of the classic and attacks on the modern.
As a husband he was perfect and he still loved her.
But there was the mystery.
It had begun six months before. He had said he had an appointment at the Century Club. But when later an important message had come and she had telephoned the club, he was not there.
When he returned, he said: ‘Why, I’ve been at the club.’
But she felt the doubt enter her mind.
Then, he had taken tickets for a Hofmann, but she had a headache and
he had gone alone. He said Debussy was awful, but going through the morning paper, she read the following: ‘… Salammbo, the new tone poem by Debussy was dropped from the program…’
So, her husband had not been there! Should she demand an explanation? Yes. No. If he had lied once, he would lie again. Useless.
She could not believe that her husband, the man who above all others stood for morality, lied.
But he had lied; he had lied to her twice within the week.
Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday evening he had gone out without saying a word of where he had been.
‘There’s a woman,’ she thought.
When her husband left the house the next evening, she followed him. But not very far. At the corner he took a taxi.
The next time, she had a taxi ready.
She saw him as he went into the subway station; but by the time she paid the chauffeur and run down the steps, a train had gone.
She went home and within thirty minutes a man entered her library.
‘You are – ‘ she began.
‘Mr. Pearson, of Doane & Doane,’ he replied. ‘You telephoned for a man, I believe. This is Mrs. Stannard?’ ‘Yes. You are – a detective?’ ‘I am.’
‘You follow people?’ she asked. ‘I sure do,’ he said.
‘Well – ‘ she hesitated – ‘I am a little worried – ‘ ‘Pardon me,’ the detective interrupted, ‘is it about your husband?’
‘Certainly!’ said Mrs. Stannard.
‘You want to know where he goes. Day or night?’
‘Ah! Now, what is his full name?’
‘Yes. He writes.’
‘U-m. Does he drink?’
‘Er – fond of – er – women?’ ‘Well! Well – No.’ ‘I see. Always been a good husband?’ ‘Yes.’
‘You say he’s a writer. Stories?’
‘No. Mr. Stannard writes criticisms. He is a man of high morals.’
‘I see,’ said Mr. Pearson, ‘Mr. Stannard is a serious guy. He seems to have a grudge against the movies.’
‘He is for noble in art,’ said Mrs. Stannard. ‘He has conducted a campaign against the cinema because it appeals only to the lowest function of our mentality.’
‘Just so,’ Mr. Pearson agreed. ‘I remember him now. I’ve heard my daughter speak of him. He hates things that other people like.’ He read: “The cinema is a poison. One dose is harmless, but repeated day after day it is slowly corroding the intellect of the nation.'”
‘Probably, secret vice,’ said the detective.
Mrs. Stannard lived a year in the week. She remembered the detective’s words, ‘secret vice.’ There was something horrible about them. Yes, there were worse things even than a woman. | English | NL | d15d1829da064a68cbb32f867ec4af0679b927564f15ccd70e549191b38f504e |
Written by Peter Swanson — Can you ever forget your first true love? George Foss certainly can’t, even though the girl he loved in his freshman year in college proved to be anything but true. They only had a few short months of happiness together before she disappeared, feared either dead or a fugitive from justice. It’s a complicated story, which the author gradually reveals to us by alternating past and present time frames. Along the way, plenty of hints are dropped that the girl George once knew as Audrey Beck is not quite all she seems nor what he would like her to be.
George himself is a gentleman, somewhat timid and well-behaved. He has built a quiet, respectable life for himself. He has secure employment, a nice apartment in Boston, an on-off relationship with a former colleague, and is still possessed of all his hair. So why does he feel as though his world is settling into an indifferent haze, being slowly drained of all its colours? Whilst he is in the throes of this vague discontent – it would be too much to call it a mid-life crisis – he is the perfect target for his old flame’s reappearance in his life. One night she appears in a bar and asks for his help. She is on the run again and needs a favour. Much against his better judgement, George agrees to help. He simply cannot resist her appeal. It seems a straightforward enough task – a simple delivery of money which she stole from a former employer – but once he accepts the mission, he gets sucked into a world of violent conmen, false identities, dirty money and murder.
As he is delivering the money to unsavoury businessman MacLean, George discovers two things: that the ruthless gangster sent to discover Audrey’s whereabouts is not quite who he claims to be; and that MacLean’s version of events casts some doubts on Audrey’s motives for stealing the money. Shortly after George leaves the MacLean house, the businessman is murdered, and George finds himself having to recite his rather implausible story to the police. Bewildered and hurt by this latest betrayal, George resolves to discover for himself exactly what has happened. This time, he will force Audrey – or whichever name she is currently going under – to tell him the truth.
Although the femme fatale path is a well-trodden one in crime fiction, the story has its charm, filtered as it is through the somewhat naïve eyes of George, and his pig-headed nostalgia for the past. Without moralising, the author explores our general human desire to reinvent ourselves, with the countless lies and re-editing of facts that this entails. The ending, however, becomes too convoluted and messy. I am not sure if the main protagonist has become any wiser by the end of the book, but he has certainly thrown his middle-aged propensity for caution to the wind. There is a hint of a sequel too – not surprising, when you discover that this debut novel has already sold film rights to Hollywood. It certainly has a breathless cinematic quality to it: an exciting thriller, even if it did feel just a little déjà vu.
Finally, there’s the book’s rather odd title, which isn’t particularly relevant to the plot. The Girl with a Clock for a Heart plays a little too much on sounding like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but has little in common with that series.
Faber & Faber Crime
CFL Rating: 4 Stars | English | NL | cc751b5c318383c7585b2c0eb24dc4fe0d2e92dbd4b9b3ede3d5e4f068b37ff7 |
An American novelist and brief story writer, she actually is best known on her behalf feminist-themed novel, The Awakening, which culminates in the suicide of its heroine. She also released numerous brief tales with southern American configurations, including “A Evening in Acadie,” “Bayou Folk,” and “The Surprise.” She started her literary profession being a translator and a author of brief stories and newspaper content. Her now-classic book, The Awakening, was regarded shocking during its discharge and was broadly criticized. She was created in St. Louis, Missouri for an Irish dad and a mom of French-Canadian descent. Blessed Kate O’Flaherty, she resolved in Louisiana after marrying Oscar Chopin in 1870. She and her hubby became parents to six kids. She and Andrea Dworkin are both regarded feminist authors. | English | NL | d2b781cda115de3f569e0d511134848fd57cf91e6ad6588110181cb12565ec8e |
“Ya got pleasure Folks! Right here in River City, pleasure with a capital ‘P’ and that rhymes with ‘V’ and that stands for Vino.”
It is certainly a fact that Meredith Wilson did not write those words for Professor Harold Hill, but we have another entry for the Monthly Wine Writing Challenge. The last Challenge was won by Ted who contributed an article for The Drunken Cyclist and as his reward he has suggested the next theme and that theme is “pleasure.”
If there is anything I know about is the pleasure of enjoying wine. Not to blow my own horn, but anyone that has endured my writing for any period of time will realize that is all I write about. Some may even question the sanity of my writing, as I meander around and finally get to the wine. If I was writing newspaper articles, I would probably be fired, because as they say “I tend to bury the lead.”
The majority of my writing is about the pleasurable times and how wine adds to the festivities. It is all I write about; there are holidays, birthdays, dinners and almost anything gathering of friends or relatives that are not enhanced by the addition of wine to the moment.
Wine that glorious beverage that has been around for centuries and has even been suggested to have been created by my ancestors of yore. Wine in any form, to me, makes the occasion more pleasurable. I have had enjoyable moments with bulk wines, boxed wines and even sometimes the nectar of the Gods, those fabulous wines that every wine writer wishes to associate themselves with.
After the Challenge is announced, I usually ponder what I can write about. I thought of rehashing earlier articles, which I have done at times, and I realized that wine and pleasure go hand in hand with all of my writings. I also realized that I tend to be all over the board with wines and my arcane asides, which only please me. I think of some of the cast of characters that I sometimes allow to invade my writing, because I can vicariously indulge in the pleasures that they confide in me about the wines that they have discovered. I may give them Damon Runyanesque or Dashiell Hammett nom de plumes, but that is my way of creating a mystique for some of my friends.
Even my Bride is my Bride and I think of how she has evolved and she finds more and more pleasure from wines. When I first met her, she only drank white wines, when she wasn’t enjoying a Scotch and Water, while I would order a Whiskey Sour, and invariably the server would hand me her drink. As she slowly immersed herself into the wines that I would introduce her to, she discovered the pleasure of wines from all parts of the world. In fact I enjoy the fact that she now will want Cabernet Franc as her first choice, if she can get it.
When I was a youth drinking with my friends at the park with (God) forbid a bottle of Boone’s Farm, and if you are of a certain era like me, you can remember with a smile. Thankfully I discovered real wine during those days and I have not left that road since. Every bottle is a learning experience and another pleasurable moment and I realize that there are many bottles of wine that I have had, that will never be written about, until that moment that reminds me of another story, for that is what a Raconteur does.
The conceit of a Raconteur is to spread pleasure with his stories, sometimes with his tongue-in-cheek. This Raconteur has eschewed technicalities and for the most part, the wine jargon that is the stock and trade of the industry. Sometimes the color, the nose or even the terroir that one encounters from the particular wine may get a brief mention, because I tend to get stuck in the story and not how great I am for having a certain wine.
Once again I have meandered all across this article, because pleasure is where one finds it, and sometimes one has to see beyond the bottles to realize that one has found pleasure. I have found pleasure in so many ways; from building my own wine cellar that is now too small to the wonderful moments of dinners, tastings and tours. Though the real pleasure of wine is to be able to share the moment, sometimes just with my Bride and other times with a crowd. Family and friends are the vessel that makes the wine pleasure.
“Ah sweet mystery of life, at last I found you” | English | NL | d7670f8dcc2e26e962e5b6eb0b7fb61a544a7f7c1663479fa1833588f2e96583 |
LightWing / Canon / Page / ♌ / male /
Belongs to D.A. talons away please!
Pale scales, cordial smiles, shy waves.
At first glance, one might think this quiet, anxious dragon is the LightWing scribe; but they are incorrect, he is the King...
Raoul is a tall dragon, his build is thin and lanky. And his tail and neck are wiry, bending in odd places. His claws are small, and dull, and his limbs are toned, but not muscular.
Long spikes prick up along his head, back, tail, and legs. They take up the hue of a pale grey; to a faded blue. A few small spikes align his chin and jawbone, they are the darkest indigo.
Raoul's scales are made up of the palest pink, while soft lilacs, cyan, peach, and silver shimmer and dance along his body. A few gold specks sprinkle here and there, across his wings.
His eyes are kind, and sullen; a misty, stormy grey forms the shade of these orbs.
White cloths drape across his back and neck, as do bronze chains, and strands of peridot hang across his neck. Usually, a crown of the palest blue flowers adorns his skull, and small golden rings wrap around each bony talon.
Whispered words, head hung low, silent exhales...
Raoul is the kind of dragon that takes someone a very long time to notice. He blends into his surroundings; and rarely says or does anything extraordinary; or even worth glancing at. He does not speak often; he just stands there, quietly, perhaps reading a scroll, or analyzing a small gem.
He is used to being ignored, and has little self worth; he's doubted himself so much, he really doesn't even think his words deserve to be spoken. The dragon is always deep in pensive thought, meditating, or sweeping himself somewhere where he is not bothering anyone.
He is petrified of disappointing his loved ones, or his tribe. He believes he is incapable of helping, so just peaceably stays away. He is like a shadow, a ghost of a once great dragon; the shell of shattered confidence. Some might think he is peaceful, and at one with himself, but that is wrong. Inside his mind, it is raging; thunderclaps and sheets of rain-worries and doubts swirl and storm through his skull.
When he was younger, he longed to be great, and he believed he could be. Shaking off every cruel word, and degrading insult of his abusive family. Every mental and physical shove, he'd get back up even stronger. But as the years passed, he found his fear gripped him stronger then his bravery did; and eventually, his strength faded away, and he submitted to his family's malicious bidding.
It took a very long time to degrade his spirit, but now, he's gone...But he keeps living, but never trying, just standing back, and watching. Like a ghost...
He finds pleasure in reading star charts, or staring at the snow before his talons. His gaze is always far off, and his eyes are vacant. When he is approached, he vaguely confronts their existence, knowing other's do the same to his, but this is not out of spite. He will speak softly, perhaps a cryptic quote, or kind compliment. His words are like the delicate wisps of smoke, breathing out and flickering away, unnoticed, and harmless.
He loves his family, and tribe, dearly. A gentle, and undying love. He's content giving his family their space, knowing their safe, and barely bothering them with his presence.
Raoul is a pacifist, knowing harm does good to nothing. He has been told he's nothing for so long, he believes it...
Deep inside him though, inside the fractured remains of his spirit. He wants to be strong again, to piece each little shard of his confidence back together. But for now, that's impossible. So he will wait, and watch, and be silent...
(Major wip) Uhhhh born to two high ranking LightWings, lots of high achieving sibs. Blah blah blah, parents expected him to be a soldier, he liked peace, music, and kindness. Abusive family, was forced to become a soldier, blah blah blah, did some things he regretted. Some how married the princess/queen... | English | NL | 1c19b7fce0585c55999153c9aa505a40cfaf7540c02edc94fa58f61b636dc4c6 |
Dolores G. Zink, age 84 of Mount Joy, died Tuesday, March 13, 2018 surrounded by her beloved son, Craig A. Zink, and several other family members. She passed peacefully into the loving arms of her Lord and Savior. She was the wife of the late James R. Zink, with whom she celebrated 48 years of marriage at the time of his death in 2008. Dolores was born in Bainbridge, daughter of the late Clark O. and Margie A. Stultz Arnold. She was a beautician who owned and operated her own shop in Marietta for years before the birth of her son, Craig. At that time she chose to give up her career and be a stay-at-home mother to raise her son. Craig was the love of her and Jim’s life, which was obvious to all around them. It was without a doubt her biggest and most important accomplishment of her life. They were very proud of the young man that he had become.
Dolores attended Susquehanna Grace Community Church, Wrightsville. She was a devoted wife and mother, and messenger of the Lord’s word, as she had a true gift to witness. She loved her flowers, especially daffodils. She also enjoyed going out to eat and spending time with her family and friends, especially during the holidays.
Surviving in addition to her son, Craig A. Zink (Diane) is one sister: Belle E. Houck, Columbia. One brother: John F. (Shirley) Arnold, Sr., New Port Richey, FL. Sister-in law: Joyce Arnold, Marietta. She was preceded in death by one brother: Clark S. Arnold and one brother-in-law: Wilbur Houck.
The Funeral Service will be held at Susquehanna Grace Community Church, 6694 Sunrise Ave., Wrightsville, PA 17368 on Monday, March 19, 2018 at 10:00 A.M. with Rev. Jeffrey L. Burkholder, officiating. Viewing will be from 9:00 A.M. to 10:00 A.M. Interment in Silver Spring Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made in her memory to: Susquehanna Grace Community Church. Arrangements by the Workman Funeral Homes, Inc., Mountville/Columbia. To send an online condolence, visit the condolence page. | English | NL | 8a0b774b75ec6512887d93f1c132923e9efcdb75015109f8c164b7474de68b9a |
There she was, standing again at the edge of the cliff. The only way forwards is through a hair-like thin substance of a rope serving as the bridge.
She would still have flashbacks of old days. Apparently her scars were not as filled as she thought they‘d be. She was still very vulnerable. Still very scared.
And still the only way for her was way forwards.
So she stood there, quietly absorbing all this energy. Staring into mist, trying to visualise the other end of the edge. It was not the finality, she was dubious about, it was the course she had to take to reach that. It was a blind leap of faith. Yet again. Suddenly all her scars were lit, accompanying her on the journey like an unwanted caravan of chaotic pilgrims.
Word Prompt: Dubious | English | NL | 5365d1e130c1532fadf36211b306a48bcc61887a2aafaefe8c1a9ac38df46197 |
Leslie Aigner (b. 1929)
Leslie “Les” Aigner, one of three children, was born Ladislav Aigner in 1929 in Nové Zámky, Czechoslovakia. In the early 1940s his family moved to Csepel, Hungary on the outskirts of Budapest in the hope of escaping oppressive Nazi discrimination against Jews. But in 1943, the Nazis forced Les’s father into a slave labor camp and his sixteen-year-old sister was taken to a factory to do forced labor.
Then in 1944, 15-year-old Les, his mother, and his eight-year-old sister were forced into the Budapest Ghetto. From there they were taken to Auschwitz, where his mother and sister were sent directly to the gas chambers. Les spent five months in Auschwitz in late 1944 before being shipped to Landsberg, Germany, a sub camp of Dachau, where he was forced to perform hard labor.
From Landsberg, Les and the other prisoners were relocated to the Kaufering concentration camp before finally being sent to Dachau on the “death train” which was thus named because it arrived with more dead passengers than living. By the time the train reached Dachau, Leslie weighed just 75 pounds. He was liberated from Dachau by American troops two weeks later on April 29, 1945. Doctors treated him for over a month before he could walk on his own. After liberation, he returned to his home in Hungary to find that most of his family members had been murdered in the Holocaust. Fortunately, he was reunited with his older sister and his father in Budapest.
In Budapest, Les finished trade school, worked as a machinist, and met and married his wife, Eva, in 1956. Five months after they were married, the Hungarian Revolution broke out and Leslie, Eva, his father and his step-mother escaped from Hungary and moved to Portland, Oregon, where they became the proud parents of two children. | English | NL | 9ed01266dea228582b61a780b27f06ef47eed159a2e598248eb35f855e146d65 |
Ephes. 4:11-16 (ESV)
And he gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.
Last week we noted from the opening lines of the Book of Jeremiah, that Jeremiah was wrong to conclude that he could not do what God had called him to do. If God calls us then He will also equip us. It is pride that concludes that since I am not gifted enough I cannot do what God calls me to do.
There is another mistake that people make regarding their gifts. It is the mistake of thinking that the church has nothing to do with how they are used and developed. The purpose of spiritual gifts is to benefit the church (I Corinthians 12:7). God gives people to the church to use their gifts for the good of the fellowship and the bringing in of lost people to know Christ so that they will become a part of the fellowship. And the church leadership and body is to be involved in determining what a person’s gifts are and how they are to be used for the glory of God and the good of the church.
The well known story applies here of the man who told C. H. Spurgeon that God had told him to preach at his church. Spurgeon replied that God had not told him that and the man never preached there. Did Spurgeon quench the Spirit? No. He was exercising his God given duty of guarding the church from a lone ranger who was accountable to no one.
We live in a very individualistic society and the church has been infected by it. Far too many Christians think that the only one involved in the determining and development of service to Christ in the church is the individual. This is just not the case. God calls the pastors and teachers of the church to equip the saints for the work of the ministry. This involves helping to decide what their gifts are and how they are to be used. When this is done properly then the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, has each part working properly and makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love (Ephesians 4:16).
None of this means that an individual cannot have some input into what a church may be doing wrong or contribute to the development of ministries and vision for the church. It does not mean that he cannot tell a church what he perceives his gifts to be. But a believer simply cannot determine the whole will of God for his life in terms of his involvement in that church and just expect the church to do whatever he believes God has directed him to do.
If God is leading an individual believer into a particular role, them He will tell the leadership of the church. This demands, from the leadership, a close walk with God, a knowledge of the people of the church, a clear vision for the work of the church and what is needed to accomplish the goals associated with that vision. It involves good pastoral care of the sheep so that, in Christlike fashion, the shepherds know their sheep. It involves good teaching regarding the purpose and mission of the church and articulating to the people how the church should go about those things.
Everyone who knows Christ is gifted by the Holy Spirit for the purpose of building up the body of Christ. Individuals and church leaders and the whole fellowship should be involved in working out what those gifts are and how they can best be used in a particular setting. | English | NL | 798d9fb40b7bdcdf6bf46b49691c55eb67cb7ca9650dcd1c44b87c9ceaeff291 |
Rogers Covey-Crump, an English tenor (b. March 24, 1944 in St Albans, Hertfordshire), was a boy chorister at New College, Oxford and later a tenor lay-clerk at St Albans Abbey. While studying at the Royal College of Music he gained diplomas and a prize in organ playing. He graduated from London University as a Bachelor of Music.
He might have made a professional career as an organist but his vocal activity soon overtook the keyboard and over many years he worked with a variety of early…
Your suggestion has been successfully submitted. | English | NL | 6e12ef7d70138ae0a8e5dbe754cde5391561f628ff0017914a6dc4969a75bbda |
By: Tamar Cohen
Publisher: Free Press
Publication Date: June 2011
Reviewed by: Amy Lignor
Review Date: May 29, 2011
Told by the main character, Sally, through entries in a journal that her therapist believed would be helpful - the reader is presented with a story that focuses on the incredibly high costs of having an illicit affair.
Sally is a woman who ‘lives’ life in a cubbyhole. Her job is mundane and boring, but she does have two children she loves and a husband named Daniel. This trio has always been the most important part of Sally’s life. Daniel is a nice, calm, harmless man who is certainly a good father, yet doesn’t exactly offer much in the way of excitement.
There came a time when Sally and Daniel became friends with a lovely woman named Susan and her husband, Clive. Clive is a wealthy man, but not exactly the ‘Brad Pitt’ type. In fact, when Sally first meets Clive she observes him as a short, stocky man with a Chinese dragon tattoo on his forearm. Little did Sally know at that time that she would one day be sending Clive one hundred emails a day trying desperately to get him to speak to her again.
At the beginning, the emails were scattered as Sally and Clive became friends and spoke about various life events. In fact, Clive joked that Sally was the first female friend that his wife Susan even allowed him to have.
Unfortunately, for Sally, she found something in Clive she couldn’t find in other areas of her life, which put her on the path of self-destruction. Believing what Clive actually said was her downfall, as Sally and Clive began an all-out affair which was exciting, romantic, and…soon over. Although Clive walked away and went back to the arms of the wife he loved, Sally could barely get up in the morning. She became obsessed. She began to follow Susan around and have lunch with her, trying to get the latest information about the man she thought she loved.
Susan is a kind woman and deals with Sally well, yet even she, after a while, feels as if there’s something incredibly wrong with the woman. At home, Daniel suffers as he watches Sally turn into a woman he’s never met before. As Sally grows even more cold and distant toward Daniel, her daughter soon begins to despise her, and Sally even forgets her own son’s birthday. Literally, all she can concentrate on is Clive…what he’s doing…what he’s thinking…
Sally becomes so obsessed, in fact, that she soon finds people following her; threatening letters begin to amass, and her car window is smashed by a brick. A warning from Clive, perhaps?
With the twists and turns - and a very surprising ending - this book takes a good long look at obsession and the exacting of revenge.
Quill Says: A good debut. Although there were slight 'reminders' of Fatal Attraction, Sally is a bit mediocre when it comes to being an obsessive woman on the edge. | English | NL | 585c8b8e57cbe43d3288b279691e9eb7295513efdea17968bdf324703ff89474 |
1Honour a physician with the honour due unto him for the uses which ye may have of him: for the Lord hath created him. 2For of the most High cometh healing, and he shall receive honour of the king. 3The skill of the physician shall lift up his head: and in the sight of great men he shall be in admiration. 4The Lord hath created medicines out of the earth; and he that is wise will not abhor them.5Was not the water made sweet with wood, that the virtue thereof might be known? 6And he hath given men skill, that he might be honoured in his marvellous works. 7With such doth he heal men, and taketh away their pains. | English | NL | fdd6020ced3c94e9436f6447e02ac49895a7cdc10a794e324fd211b148999d8b |
Alex can’t resist a little extra help from his doctor while recovering from an injury, although he doesn’t find out about a certain side effect until it’s too late. His roommate comes home early, accidentally discovering Alex’s condition, and is more than eager to give Alex a helping hand with his new body.
Vanessa is devastated when she is deemed unfit for adopting a child, and her boyfriend attempts to lift her spirits with a beach vacation. But she only begins to hope again when a stranger approaches her, offering to give her what she needs, for just a small price...
Warning: This short story is intended for adults only and contains explicit sexual content.
After a routine visit to the doctor Nick starts a trial medication, unaware of certain, rare side effects. When he returns to the office he finds a woman who has suffered from similar effects and they bond over their misery. But being so close to each other, they feel another effect of the medication, and they have no choice but to act upon their altered instincts.
Mia and Ethan are on their first vacation in years, and she hopes that they can finally begin their family. But her husband refuses, too worried about his job, and Mia is hurt. However, she is propositioned by a stranger who wants the same thing as her. Mia finds herself taking the strange man up on his offer, knowing that he can give her and her husband what they need most.
Excited for his first trip to the beach, Dennis couldn’t imagine a better time to visit than his twenty-first birthday. But his fun is cut short when he steps on a broken seashell and he has to spend the rest of the day indoors. His neighbors come up with an idea to entertain him, and Dennis quickly becomes convinced that his injury was the best thing that has ever happened to him.
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Excited for his first trip to the beach, Dennis couldn’t imagine anyone he would rather go with than his foster brothers. But his fun is cut short when he steps on a broken seashell and he has to spend the rest of the day indoors. His brothers come up with an idea to entertain him, and Dennis is quickly convinced that his injury was the best thing that has ever happened to him.
Hoping to make some quick cash, Jacob volunteers to be a guinea pig for a new drug. He and Tiffany are giving the experimental medication, and when they wake up they are shocked to find themselves in each other’s body. Jacob decides to make the best of it and explore his new body, and when Tiffany insists on joining in, he discovers more about himself than he ever thought possible.
While on vacation, Carrie asks her husband for the last thing they need for their lives to be complete - a baby. He refuses, and she finds herself accidentally face to face with a creature who also desires offspring as much as she. Frozen by the medusa’s gaze, Carrie has no choice but to submit to him, and she can only hope that he’ll be able to give her what she needs.
Stuck in a snowstorm with his roommate and a new drug, Eric tries to make the best of a bad situation. He convinces his roommate to try the pills with him and expects the fun to last only for a night, but the full effects don’t reveal themselves until the next morning. Now they must face the consequences of the strange drug together, and Eric finds himself drawn closer than ever to his roommate.
Mike and his colleagues are developing a new powder which Mike accidentally inhales. He doesn’t notice any side effects until that night, when his chest begin to fill out and his shirt feels a little too tight. New thoughts and urges run through his mind, and the only person close enough to help him act out these urges is his roommate Will....
Callie is marrying the love of her life, but she has a secret that she has never told anyone before. She is terrified that he will stop loving her because of the secret between her legs, that he will be disgusted and leave her. When she tells him, Callie doesn’t expect him to accept it, nor for him to want to show how much he loves her - extra gender and all.
Embarrassed by recent failures in the bedroom with his girlfriend, Adam finds a medication that will solve their problem. But instead of aiding him it makes the situation worse, putting his body through more changes than he expected. His roommate Joe offers a sympathetic ear, but Adam finds that the medication changed more than just his physical body, and Joe has to help with the side effects...
Forced to go to his work’s yearly summer picnic, Jacob’s only reprieve is seeing his friends and co-workers outside of the office. After the hellos, he manages to escape the boring party with Will, who seems to have other ideas for entertainment in mind. But then Jacob’s other co-workers decide they want in, and Jacob can’t say no to his superiors.
Forced to go to his adoptive family’s yearly reunion, Jacob’s only reprieve is seeing the cousins who act more like brothers to him. After the hellos, he manages to escape the reunion with cousin Will, who seems to have other ideas for entertainment in mind. But then Jacob’s other cousins decide they want in, and Jacob can’t say no to his big brothers.
Ken is running out of money and dreads having to drop out of college. His roommate and best friend, Duncan, points him in the direction of the campus lab, which is running new drug tests and needs volunteers. But when Ken gets more than money in exchange for selling his body, it puts a new strain on the relationship between the boys.
Several of Tom’s closest friends are coming home after their first full year in the military, and he couldn’t be happier. The five friends catch up on old times and force a secret out of him - not only is he gay, but a virgin. To Tom’s surprise they are supportive, and he is even more shocked when they insist on helping him overcome his shyness.
Tom is thrilled to see his four foster siblings after their first full year apart. The five brothers catch up on old times and force a secret out of him - not only is he gay, but a virgin. To Tom’s surprise his brothers are not only supportive, but offer encouragement. Even more surprising is that they insist on helping Tom overcome his shyness and breaking through his defenses.
Evan is taken on a cruise by his girlfriend and he plans to propose to her, but the night that he intends to take the plunge, he is left behind at a small village port. He is forced to spend the night at a tiny motel at the edge of the village and forest, but no one warns Evan of the forest’s active nightlife, nor of the unique tropical plant that lives just outside his room...
Debby’s son has returned home for summer vacation, but he brought his girlfriend along without telling her. Perky Sarah takes all of his attention, leaving none for Debby, who decides that the spoiled sorority girl needs to be taught a lesson. She doesn’t expect to find an extra asset between Sarah’s legs, something that intrigues Debby, and she takes advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Jayden finally goes to her doctor’s office, hoping to find out what kind of pills have turned him into a woman. Her doctor informs her that the effects are temporary. Jayden is reluctant to admit that she wants to stay in her new body until she reunites with her old friends from high school. The men are all thrilled by Jayden’s new assets, but will they be able to convince her to keep them?
Jayden finally has a chance to go to the pharmacy and figure out what pill she has taken that has transformed her into a girl. She accepts that she’s stuck with her new gender until the effects can be reversed and is visited by Erica, her best friend’s girlfriend, who is drawn to Jayden’s new assets. She begins to teach Jayden a new appreciation for her body, until Derrick interrupts them...
Ethan’s latest assignment for the city newspaper is to collect information on local billionaire and potential mafioso, Liam Litt. He spends an entire fruitless day following the man, not expecting the billionaire to discover him that night. Ethan refuses to answer his questions, intending to go as far as he has to for his story, even if it means exploring a dark, intimate side of the world.
Saber, the grandson of the village chief, has reached his twentieth year and must undergo a series of trials in order to enter manhood. For his thirteenth trial, he must face and slay a beast in the community’s coliseum, something that he is confident he can do. But he doesn’t understand that the strange plant has animal-like instincts, and urges that only Saber can fulfill as he becomes a man.
Douglas is content to go to work and come home, busying himself with endless research and experiments. His rival, Dr. Hallow, is more hands-on with his own work, but one day he needs help. Douglas finds himself an unwitting volunteer in his research, paired with a strange South American plant. The unfamiliar vines seem drawn to Douglas’s body heat, wanting as much of his warmth as they can get.
Jayden is still suffering from his medication mix up, but comes to accept that he is now a woman. She begins to adjust to her new body, and discovers a secret about her step-father on the family computer. She is shocked but intrigued by his collection of women in sexy costumes and, blaming the side effects of the medication, Jayden finds herself wanting to do the same for her daddy.
Derrick is home from university for Christmas break and eager to see his best friend Jayden and girlfriend Erica. After a passionate night with Erica, finds an urgent text message from Jayden and goes to his house, shocked to discover a new, physical side effect of Jayden’s medication. Derrick is immediately drawn to him in a new way, unable to resist the pheromones and innocent allure. | English | NL | 35545d43ea0b56326dccad0eec7361db011ba3f4bdb9eac2ea897b613243a3d4 |
Dale, James Michael “Jim” – Passed away peacefully in his home with loved ones by his side, on Monday, August 15, 2016.
Jim will be greatly missed by his loving partner, Judy Robertson, and her daughters, Stephanie and Marine. Jim will always be in the hearts of his children, John and Jessie Dale; their mother, Nora Macnee; and his sisters, Norah, Barbara, and Kathy. He was predeceased by his mother, Kathleen Dale in June of this year and by his father, James Dale, Sr. (1988).
Born in Ottawa in 1955, Jim grew up in Massachusetts and spent every summer at the family camp in Damariscotta, Maine on Pemaquid Lake. Jim moved to Nova Scotia in 1976 to attend Dalhousie University where he did a Masters in biochemistry. In his early years, Jim worked as a marine biologist and later turned himself to teaching and fine woodworking. Throughout his life, he pursued his passions of music and song writing, sailing, ecology, and fine woodworking. In his younger years, Jim sailed his wooden ketch Olanda to the Bahamas after totally refitting her. Jim and Judy also sailed in remote areas in Patagonia, Chile as well as coastal Nova Scotia, and enjoyed trips hiking in Europe and the Rockies, as recently as this past June. Jim was quick to offer help to those in need and had a generous and caring soul. Being a man of so many talents, Jim has left us with many gifts, most that we do not yet recognize. He was passionate about everything he did and continued to the end to show us incredible strength and wisdom. There were so many layers to his wonderful personality and we are all so blessed to have had him in our lives. He was a true Renaissance man.
Thank you to his many friends who supported him through the past year of his illness – especially Mike Murray who kept the music alive. Thanks to the wonderful palliative team of the QEII and the VON who gave us the support necessary to keep Jim home.
The family invites friends to join them for an informal celebration of Jim’s life and an evening of music at the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron Thursday, August 18th at 7 p.m. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made in memory of Jim Dale to QEII Health Sciences Centre Foundation. Please direct your contributions to support the Liposarcoma Research Fund. Donate (www.QE2foundation.ca/memory) by calling 1 888 428 0220, or by mailing a gift to the QEII Foundation, 5657 Spring Garden Road, Park Lane Mall, Box 231, Halifax, NS B3J 3R4.
Arrangements are under the direction of Arimathea Funeral Cooperative, Upper Musquodoboit. | English | NL | 139137665cc54d2a4b5bd7ef323ddb58a748bef241326c3e9f17d5e69b30e9b4 |
The sun had just kissed the horizon when the birds hushed their daily calls; the howls of the wolves died and the owls fell silent. The darkened sky gained an orange hue even as the wind shuffled the leaves that remained on the trees. The foxes abandoned the forests surrounding the Seine Mountains and in a distant forest a sword began to hum.
Deep within the mountains, a boy stirred. His peaceful slumber was disturbed by something he did not know, something that shook his core and awakened his soul. He knew that he had a duty to fulfill.
He flinched as he emerged from the cave that had been the place of his slumber for a millennia. His hand raised to the block the rays of dawn and his eyes squinted to see the path. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t even remember why he was asleep in the first place. But something told him that he wouldn’t be able to escape his destiny for a second time, despite the fact that he didn’t even remember the first.
His bare feet sank in the mud and his hands pressed against the surrounding trees as he tried to regain his footing. He could feel the fear that plagued the life in the forest. But what terrified him the most was the aura sweeping the land. He didn’t know what it was, but he recognized it. He had to do something.
Most of the time, a new member has mastered the techniques of his or her clan before they were exiled. On the other hand, almost all of the new recruits were older than their newest member. He still had the techniques of the Protectors, he just lacked the experience to execute them proficiently. So when one of the more skilled members agrees to train him, the others garner to watch; though not to learn the techniques of the most sacred clan.
The watching members of clan laughed as the former Protector pulled himself up wincing as he put weight on his right ankle. His opponent chuckled quietly, picking up the fallen blade. “You can’t charge at an opponent of Isidore’s caliber,” Siven shouted, picking his way to the two. “Isidore focuses mainly defense, reacting to his opponent’s every move. Charging head first against an opponent like that can only work if you are as skilled as or more skilled than him.”
“I see,” Itel murmured gently, accepting the blade from the elder Loner. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m—”
“Itel, the former Protector,” the black haired man chuckled, nodding a greeting in Isidore’s direction. “I was one of the party that found you. Its good to see you up and about.”
Itel flinched, a hand moving to rest against his recently mended ribs. “Thank you,” he murmured softly following his two elders to a nearby table. Siven nodded, smiling gently at the two words that were referring to more than just his advice.
“Don’t mention it.” The trio fell into a comfortable silence even as the chattering of the clan filled the morning.
“I don’t get it,” Itel stated, his quiet words barely reaching the ears of his two elders. “Why don’t you ask me why I did what I did? Why did you help me in the first place? And why are you letting me stay here, when I have already caused so many problems?!”
“Because we’ve been in the same position.” Itel glanced at Isidore, sapphire eyes remaining steady as he met his junior’s stare. “Intentions have been misunderstood and we know whats its like to be constantly questioned. We know what its like not to have a home and wonder if every day if going to be our last. Nilast and I were 24 and 23 respectively when we left our clan and we had a hard time adjusting. You’re younger than that. We don’t want you to feel what we felt back then. If it means waiting for an explanation, then so be it.”
Itel bit his lip, his brown locks covering his eyes as Siven laid a hand on his shoulders. “You should be warned though. If that trust is betrayed, this clan will not give you another chance. The only mercy that will be given is a quick death.” Itel nodded, his eyes still covered as he took in their words.
“Are you done scaring him yet?” The trio jolted in surprise, their eyes swinging to stare at the white haired woman that stood a short distance away. “When I agreed to let him out to get some fresh air, sparring was not on the list. And warnings about the clan rules were most definitely not included in the fresh air description!” The two older men looked sheepish as Itel jolted in guilt.
“Rhea….” The words died in Isidore’s throat at the glare the younger woman sent him. “We’ll see him back to his tent.” Rhea nodded in agreement, forcing the two older men to stand, pushing Itel in front of them.
Once they were out of her earshot, Siven sighed, a hand running through his hair. “Sheesh, she really lives up to the healer reputation.”
Isidore chuckled and even Itel had a small smile gracing his face as the trio arrived at his tent. “You better get some rest Itel, especially if you don’t want Rhea to tie you to the bed .” The teen nodded, slipping past the flaps that Siven held open.
The gathering occurs every 6 months. Every clan would send a representative and issues that had risen would be settled then.The Liaru clan was never invited, being nothing more than a rumor and composed of traitors and deserters. But it didn’t mean that they didn’t send their own representative to report back any news. Nilast sat, perched in the branch of a tree overlooking the clearing, out of eyesight but within earshot. His sharp eyes only picked up one form he recognized: Roland, the Protector that he had forced back several days ago, stood in the clearing, his form tensed judging by the death grip he had on his sword.
“Shall we start?” A woman, dressed the shades of green spoke, her voice hushing the side conversations. “I believe all the clans are now represented? Why did you call this emergency gathering Roland? We were not supposed to gather unless for the most dire of–“
“The Blade of Sorrows has been stolen,” Roland cut her off, his eyes scanning the stunned crowd. “One of our most promising members joined the Liaru clan, bringing the relic with him. The elders of the Protectors raised the alarm and wished for me to alert the remaining clans to remain cautious. There is no telling where they will strike next.”
“You mean the remaining artifacts are in danger?” a man dressed in shades of grey questioned. “You think they will target the clans possessing them?”
Roland shrugged. “We never thought the Blade of Sorrows would be stolen and look at where that got us. We need to stay alert and not take chances. The last thing we need are rogues and traitors possessing the ancient relics, especially when they know how to use them. Think of the devastation they could cause. “
The group collectively cringed before an old man stepped forward, a younger one supporting his weight. “The Liaru Clan cannot hold the ancient relics. They are far too dangerous even more so in the hands of those who know how to use them. Our top priority is to reclaim the Blade of Sorrows.”
“Yes, Head Elder!” | English | NL | adfd980e8852ffe5b21032359ea60b1cedd9ee56c7cd7a74ca83ffcaab3353db |
Please welcome Meg Bawden with
North To Zombieville
The year is 2028, and Dallas and Raleigh Jenson are torn apart when a worldwide zombie apocalypse ravages their home of Townsville, Australia. After a year of searching, Dallas, a former Australian army rifleman, finally reunites with Raleigh, but it’s not like old times. Not only do they have zombies to contend with, but also other humans, changed by desperation and willing to do anything to survive.
Dallas and Raleigh have changed too. So much so, that Dallas struggles with the idea that Raleigh no longer needs or wants his protection. But they will need to rely on each other and find strength in their love as they are forced to evade zombies and watch their friends die. As they fight for their lives in a brutal landscape where every supply and every step toward a potential cure is a battle to the death, only their trust in each other can keep them from perishing.
A loud crash and screams from downstairs made them pull away. The diners on the top floor were glancing around worriedly, some of the men showing caution as they stood, but making no move to head downstairs and see what was happening.
Raleigh frowned toward the stairs. “What was that?”
Dallas narrowed his eyes and stood, taking Raleigh with him. The screams were filled with pure fear. It wasn’t just downstairs, though. Distant shrieks echoed through the street as well, but when Dallas glanced over the balcony railing, he couldn’t see anything odd. A crowd had formed on the sidewalk and they were peering around the street in confusion. Glass shattered, and then a rush of people scrambled out of the Strand Delight. One lady fell on top of the glass, her legs dragging over the shards, but whatever scared her was more important than the pain she obviously felt from the glass, because she kicked off her high heels and got to her feet to run again.
Car horns and crunching noises similar to pieces of metal colliding with each other filled the air. A car accident, maybe? But there was more than the sound of one accident. It put Dallas on high alert.
“Raleigh, stay here.” Dallas moved toward the stairs.
“Dallas, I’m coming with you.” Raleigh started to follow him.
“No! I said stay here, and I mean it.” It came out as an angry growl. He hadn’t meant to snap, but if something was going on downstairs, he didn’t want Raleigh in the middle of danger. He had defense training; his husband didn’t. “Please, baby, stay here,” he said, softer than before.
Raleigh hesitated and then nodded. He took a step back toward his seat. Dallas felt eyes on his back as he descended the stairs.
The sight he found nearly made him retreat. Tables were upturned, the glassware and utensils scattered over the floor. Bodies lay on top of each other, blood oozing from holes and torn skin. An older lady’s body was askew in the middle of the room, covering a young boy who couldn’t have been older than ten. His body was twitching, but his neck was in pieces, chunks of meat torn from his jugular. The people left standing were screaming or running toward the exit.
The people who had fallen didn’t look right. Their faces had deep gashes, with blood gushing from their cheeks and down their chins. With some, their mouths drooped on one side, their gums dark and bloody. Their eyes were lifeless, as though they were dead on the inside.
People on the streets ran into the restaurant, pausing as they saw the bodies on the floor start to move and shift as though they were puppets on a string, only missing their master. Upon taking in the scene, they’d run out again.
It all seemed absurd, like a B grade movie that didn’t even make it to the cinemas. Dallas frowned, taking a step up on one of the stairs, farther away from the scene. He stared at one of the women, who rose, her face scratched up badly.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
She didn’t respond, only groaned in an animalistic way. She started to stumble toward Dallas, her left leg dragging behind her. Her foot was bent backward and she was putting all her weight on her very twisted and broken ankle.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” Dallas repeated, but she ignored him, continuing her walk toward him.
Diners from upstairs came rushing past him, shoving him roughly out of the way.
“No! Don’t go out there!” But it was too late. They weren’t listening to him—fear controlled their every movement.
This had to be a nightmare. It was the night before their anniversary and he was still in bed, he had to be.
He wasn’t watching the lady, and she managed to catch him off guard and shove him to the ground. She slammed herself on top of him, her teeth bared as she dived toward his neck. He raised his elbow, slamming it into her face. She let out a pained squeal and her head jerked back, making her neck crack loudly. But that still didn’t deter her. This time, she went for his arm.
Over the lady’s shoulder, Dallas saw a man clambering out of a door. The man paused, glancing around the room, obviously searching for something. Survivors. Dallas opened his mouth to ask for help at the same time the woman grabbed a piece of wood from a broken table and slammed it against his forehead. Dallas’s head smashed hard against the floor, and his vision flickered for a moment.
By the time he looked again, the man was gone. Dallas would have to deal with the woman on his own. Using all his strength, he shoved at her twitching body, and she went flying backward into a broken chair. She shrieked as Dallas struggled to stand. His legs felt like jelly beneath him.
He stared at her in confusion. How did she keep getting up? It was impossible. But this entire thing was impossible.
Raleigh’s voice. He had to get back to his husband. He spun on his heel, but before he could get anywhere, a hand grabbed his ankle and he fell forward.
“Dallas, where are you?” Raleigh’s voice was on the verge of desperation. “Dal!”
“Raleigh!” Dallas called back, but the sound of a car horn close by drowned it out.
As he opened his mouth to call out again, whatever had grabbed him clawed up his trousers. He twisted and stopped in shock. A man this time, but he looked worse than the lady. He was older, with a receding hairline, but his forehead was peeling and blood was cascading down the side of his head. Only part of his teeth remained in his mouth, and even those were halfway out of his gums. To top it off, he only had half a body. From the waist down, there was nothing but his insides dragging behind him.
“No, no, no. I don’t want to go!” Raleigh’s voice sounded distant among the screams from outside. “He’s alive! No. He’s alive!”
“Raleigh!” Dallas shouted again, but as before, his voice was lost in all the other noise.
Anger and anxiousness welled in his chest, and he let the emotions take over. He kicked at the man holding him, slamming his boot into his face. The man squealed as his skull shattered under the force of Dallas’s kick. His body went limp and he released Dallas.
Rising, Dallas quickly retreated back upstairs to Raleigh and made his way toward the balcony. He paused when he found it empty.
Fear curled in his belly, his skin tingling. “Raleigh?”
He was met with silence.
But still he got no answer. He spun around, surveying the dining room.
“Leigh, where are you?” He looked out toward the street. More and more people ran out of the restaurants along the Strand, and very quickly the streets filled with running, screaming people. He had no fucking idea what was happening.
Dallas ran to the railing, looking over the balcony. It was then that he realized there was a ladder leaning toward the railing. Raleigh must have climbed down it.
Dallas took two steps at a time. His feet hit the ground and he desperately scanned his surroundings. He pulled out his phone and rang Raleigh. It went straight to message bank. He angrily pressed the End Call button.
The scared crowd ignored him for the most part, though a couple shoved him hard as they ran past. Some tried to get into their cars, but with too many people in the streets, they couldn’t go far. A couple of drivers tried to nudge people with their vehicles, but it only had negative effects. Some of the people in the streets were just like the woman in the Strand Delight. Their eyes were dead, their faces and any other exposed skin bloody and scratched.
One of the men nudged with a car spun around, eyes flashing a dark red as he slammed his hands on the hood. The hood made a crunching sound, and the man screamed, spit flying from his mouth as he pounced on the crumpled hood. The woman in the car shrieked and jumped out, kicking off her heels and running down the street with the mobs. But the man obviously wasn’t going to allow that. He ran after her. He wasn’t fast, but he was fast enough to catch her. He grabbed her by the hair, jerking her backward. She screamed again, but he threw her on the ground and tore at her neck like a starving cannibal.
Dallas made to move toward them, but the woman’s scream turned into a gurgle and then nothing. It was too late. Dallas could have saved her life, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. He needed to find Raleigh. He needed to protect his husband.
“Raleigh?” His voice cracked under the strength of his roar. Yet it was barely audible over the cries of fear filling the street.
The woman from the restaurant dragged herself out of the Strand Delight. She stretched out toward Dallas, a stupid grin on her face that caught bloody teeth flashing at him.
Dallas acted on adrenaline. He ducked beneath her arms, spinning until he was standing at her back, then grabbed her head, twisting it hard and quick until her neck snapped and she fell to the ground, lifeless.
He dropped to his knees, his stomach churning in fear and desperation as the need to vomit slammed into him. But he held it in.
“Raleigh….” he whispered, biting his lip hard. He needed to find his husband.
Something shone in his eyes from under the lamplight and he immediately zeroed in on Raleigh’s phone. He grabbed it, tapping it desperately, but it was dead. “Dammit!” he growled. “Raleigh, where are you?”
Get the book:
Hi Meg, thank you for joining us today. Tell us a little about yourself, your background, and your current book.
Hi! Thank you so much for having me. So, my name is Meg, as you know, and I am an Australian author. I’ve always loved writing, but never thought I’d get to a point where I could submit my work to be published. When you’re growing up, being a writer seems like nothing but a dream, but it was a dream I wanted to follow. I’d been writing M/M since 2007, but never had the bravery to submit something, much less finish it to begin with. Dreamspinner Press has always been my first preference and when I finally finished North to Zombieville, I knew it was them who I wanted to submit it to. I expected a rejection, so when I received my acceptance email, I was beyond thrilled. I nearly cried.
North to Zombieville is a science fiction/horror story set in the future. 2029 to be exact. It’s based around a married couple, Dallas and Raleigh Jenson. Dallas is a former army rifleman, while Raleigh is a photographer. During the zombie outbreak, they are driven apart and Dallas makes it his mission of find his husband. When they finally do reunite, the horror of the torn apart city of Townsville, Queensland, has taken a toll on both of them. This story is about survival, love and friendship. It’s about believing in each other and relying on others to survive each and every day against strong and dangerous creatures.
It’s my first novel I completed and I’m quite proud of it. :)
Give us a to-do list for one of your characters.
Dallas’s To Do List:
- Kill zombies
- Kill more zombies.
- Send Slade and Matt off to find fuel.
- Plan walking routes for supply runs.
- Dote on Raleigh and Kingston.
- Maybe kill some more zombies.
- Find a cure!!!!!
- Find this bloody scientist we’re looking for.
- Stop being overprotective of Raleigh.
- Teach Raleigh hand-to-hand combat. And how to aim a gun properly. He needs training with a gun.
- And yeah. Kill some zombies.
More about the author:
Meg Bawden was born and raised in North Queensland, Australia. She’s loved stories since before she can remember and has always enjoyed creating characters of her own, even if it did begin with drawing faces on toilet rolls and giving them names. Wiring has always been a passion of hers and she’s loved the M/M genre since 2004, the first book she read being Rainbow Boys by Alex Sanchez.
Writing M/M since 2007, Meg has never had the confidence to attempt publishing her own stories, but in 2015, she decided that it was all about to change thanks to the amazing friends she’s made in the M/M genre and their support and encouragement. So watch out world, Meg Bawden is coming out to have some fun!
Find her on Facebook and Twitter.
Promotional post. Materials provided by | English | NL | 4cf0972fd667a990c0e16259eadaccc2d7f3530f81dfd79025e7c28e9acd9881 |
What is required and expected of us when
we have been put on an assignment?
Most of us would not
think a lot of this due to the fact we do not realize just how important it is to complete an assignment. Many are far too
busy thinking on what is coming up next and thinking on something bigger and maybe better in the future.
This way of thinking
will only show God that the assignment He has place you on is not very important to you and thinking He really is just having
you abide your time until the next step that is ahead.
I have decided
to write on this subject due to what was spoken to me in regards to my asking God how much longer do I have to wait until
there is a change.( I got an answer right after I ask this question) The answer that the Lord spoke to me when I ask Him,
how much longer. His reply was plain and to the point, “you have not finished the assignment I have given you.”
As you all know there
are times we ask God questions and have to wait upon an answer but there are times when the Lord will answer us right away.
Many times we want to focus on an answer that will suit our desires.
The most important
thing to know is, if God put one on and assignment it is important to God as well as vital for us to complete. There is no
work of the Lord that is small.
This also makes me
think of the time I remember telling the Lord of something I had to do, I had told the Lord (due to opposition, I had felt
condemned before I even took a step) I could not do this and His reply was,”It is not about you, this is about me”.
How I praise Him for this understanding.
Now that is the answer
to each assignment that the Lord has given us each and everything is about what the Lord wants and is doing.
Perhaps the Lord is
proving a point and He will prove His power and His spirit that He has given us. The test of our faith will be right in the
midst of the work the Lord has given.
The Lord is going to
be first in all that we do and if we place anything before Him then we are going to go through something that is going to
I was thinking on the
scripture where it tells us about being faithful over a few things and He will make us ruler over many. If we accept each
assignment that is given as the very most important thing we have to do, things would actually work out much smoother and
the work will get done faster.
I was just singing
and was singing the song I used to sing so very much, “King Jesus will roll my burdens away” while doing so, a
very clear thought came through. I thought of how He brought me through a very hard time and that was the song I used to sing.
But here is something that came to me, perhaps an assignment is not so much about who or what that assignment is or even about.
What thought came to me was perhaps it had to do with seeing if being faithful. Maybe it has to do with obedience to God.
Pretty neat, huh?
I know there is work
to be done in me for sure and I do not want to find myself complaining or whining about what I have to do or what is expected
of me. All I know is that I need the Lord and to focus on Him.
God bless, Sonja | English | NL | 6d0b48f14f49309fc4905dba03241e72243a3862104ac8bd156347a98f5615bd |
Shiro sighed as he scrambled over a rooftop to look over the other side. He’d discovered he was much too like some of the other Avengers for comfort. Such as a predilection toward vigilantism and an uncomfortable realization that, like most vigilantes, he had a traumatic experience to back up his reasoning for why he partook in midnight jaunts around town looking for suspicious activity. Granted, he didn’t try and take out every criminal, but he didn’t like the idea of being blindsided by another attempt by Hydra to kidnap him for any reason.
That was why he was so confused by the fact he started spotting criminals bound up in bright pink foam here and there around town. He’d spotted it a week ago, and had he not been patrolling the city and campus for a year now, he’d have only heard about it in the news the next morning. As it was, he was surprised when said criminals were accompanied by a note written in a curly cursive accompanied by a ball stating how to free them from the foam. He had to fight off the urge to take one of the balls and a sample of the foam to run them through a spectrometer to find out the chemical composition of the formula used.
At the moment, he was looking at a group of people that were walking out of the front door of an apartment with several tech items. He knew for a fact that the undergrad that lived there wasn’t in the group, as he’d seen her in the lab talking about pulling an all-nighter, so he dropped lithely from the roof and landed in a crouch. “You should put that all back where you found it.”
One of the men nearly dropped what he was holding as the group turned toward where Shiro had appeared. “Shit, that’s Sunfire!”
“So? We can take him.” Another man snorted. “Doesn’t even have any of the other Avengers here to stop us.”
The third man didn’t hesitate, chucking the computer he’d been holding into the back seat of a waiting car before he took a swing at Shiro. Shiro sidestepped the attack and drove an elbow into the man’s solar plexus. The man dropped back, gasping in pain while one of the other two kicked at Shiro’s legs.
Shiro took the hit, grunting as it connected, but twisted along the man’s outstretched leg to grab at his wrist to pull him off-balance. Shoving him at the other two, Shiro then pivoted on one leg, kicking out to catch one across the temple to knock him out cold. He then followed up with an uppercut to the second, also laying him out next to his buddy.
When Shiro turned to face the third, he was startled to find him enveloped in pink foam, and a long-haired woman in the pinkest outfit he’d ever seen stood ready to launch a ball at him. Shiro paused, blinking for a moment as he let the adrenaline leave his system and his heart rate return to normal. Then one of the men groaned on the ground and Shiro was reminded that he still had to bundle the other two up.
Taking out some zipties, he bound the other two together and looked back toward what the woman was doing. She was busy picking up the various pieces of equipment and returning them to inside the house before she scrawled another note, leaving it and one of her balls on the seat inside the car. She then turned to walk away, but Shiro had to know what just happened and who she was. After all, people didn’t just start this occupation without some reason behind it.
He caught her as she was about to climb up a fire escape, and grabbed her arm. “”Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing? You could have been shot or stabbed!”
“Shiro?” He froze, hearing the voice underneath the visor and pulled up his own. Green eyes stared into his own brown as Honey Lemon gaped at him. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
“Doing my job. What does it look like?” Shiro crossed his arms and stared her down. “You didn’t answer my question. Just what do you think you’re doing out here?”
“I’m patrolling and keeping an eye out for trouble.” Honey looked him over. “For someone that was kidnapped, you seem to be trying really hard to get caught again.”
“You’re Sunfire. When did that happen?” Honey crossed her own arms and looked him over.
Shiro had to admit, running around in body armor and fighting crime wasn’t exactly normal behavior. However, Honey was doing the same thing. “When it happened doesn’t matter. You’re a civilian. You shouldn’t be out here doing this.”
“I’m a member of Big Hero Six. Of course I should be out doing something.”
“Unbelievable…” Shiro rubbed his face, sighing. “Look, we should get off the street and talk about this somewhere else. You know, where normal people won’t overhear my identity.”
Honey blinked, then looked bashfully where the guys they’d stopped were not that far away. Together, the two made their way up to a roof where Shiro did a quick look around before he faced the blonde. Honey looked like she was biting her thumb and debating what to say, when Shiro decided to say something first. “Okay, you have your questions. Go ahead.” He figured he’d deal with the fallout from the rest of the team later.
Honey frowned, considering her words carefully. “When did all this start?”
Shiro bit his lip. “A year ago. I kept on freaking out every time one of the Avengers came back needing to be patched up and Falcon suggested I become the team medic. When they found out I had martial arts training on top of everything else, Tony decided to make the suit so that I didn’t incinerate anything I was wearing in case of accidental flare-ups. I’ve been on the team ever since.”
“Wait, you’re an Avenger?” Honey blinked in surprise.
Shiro shook his head. “Part time. I’m not with the team all the time, so I only join in on missions on occasions they need me.” He then frowned. “What about you? You said you’re with Big Hero Six?”
Honey nodded. “That’s a bit of a long story. When you died, we didn’t realize that it was because Professor Callaghan had set the fire to steal Hiro’s microbots. Then Hiro discovered they were stolen, and proceeded to track down who did it. We couldn’t let him do it by himself, so we joined in. We’ve been a team ever since.”
“We? Who else is in this?”
“Well, Wasabi, Gogo, Fred, Hiro, and Baymax. We’re all in it.” Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, not believing what he was hearing. How had they managed not to get killed yet?
Glancing back up, he spotted Honey Lemon observing him carefully with a hint of worry on her face. Honestly, he worried more about her, and the rest of her team. “Look, um, no offence, but I’ve actually had some training. Basically what amounted to Avengers boot camp. You guys, from everything I’ve heard, were just college students.”
“You are too,” Honey pointed out gently. “We’ve also been doing this for four years. Shiro, we know what we’re doing.”
Shiro laid a hand on his helmet, shaking his head. “Okay, we make a deal then. We patrol together. That way, I’m not worrying over you getting in over your head, and you’re not worrying that I get kidnapped by someone for whatever reason.”
Honey looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “I can agree to that. Do you have a communications device that we can share a frequency on or something so that if we need to, we can contact each other when we’re separated?”
Shiro tapped his helmet. “I do, yeah. Though I can’t give you the frequency for the Avengers. That’s encrypted by Tony, and I’d rather not try to maneuver though his coding if I can help it.”
Honey nodded. “Ours is by Hiro, so we’d have to wait for him to look it over if we wanted to communicate that way.” She crossed her arms, looking to be in thought.
Shiro, however, blinked at the mention of his supposed brother. “Wait for him? He’s coming to Massachusetts?”
“Well, yeah, he’s in the expo this year. He, Gogo, and Wasabi were invited to it this year.”
Shiro sighed, thinking things over. “I can’t believe I’m thinking about this…”
Honey simply looked confused, before realization dawned on her. “You’re thinking about making your own frequency.”
“It’s easier than going through either your team’s or the Avengers’. Besides, I can encrypt it myself and ensure that we can contact each other. I can probably even extend the range far enough out so that we don’t have to worry about distance.” Shiro was already mentally figuring out how much time that would take and shook his head. It didn’t need excessive encryption, just enough that people couldn’t hack into it.
Honey grinned, her expression bright. “I’d honestly forgotten how much you like to find solutions to problems. I’m pretty sure that most people wouldn’t bother and just go for an open frequency.”
Shiro snorted. “Most people didn’t need seventy-five trial runs of their project to get it running.”
A giggle escaped the tall blonde. “At least it was seventy-five and not eighty-four like last time.”
Shiro blinked. That… sounded about right, actually. He didn’t know why it did, but he was sure of it. Still, he felt he had to ask. “The original Baymax?”
“Yeah.” Honey looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m pretty sure you’ll see him at the expo next week. Hiro wouldn’t leave him behind no matter what.”
Shiro didn’t know what to think about that. On one hand, it was the simple fact that after meeting Honey Lemon, things from Tadashi’s past were cropping up with sudden regularity, but then there was the fact that he’d managed for two whole years outside of Hydra without even a hint of a possible past that made him reconsider the idea of submitting his own Baymax to the expo. He couldn’t even think of the one Honey knew as his, even if he recognized the design, simply because he had no memory of it. He shoved those thoughts out of his mind as he realized that he still had to figure out when and where to work on the radio frequency.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve been up since six, and I should get some sleep before I fall asleep in class. Catch you tomorrow evening if you’re not busy to work on the frequency?” Shiro glanced toward the would-be robbers. Police were there already, and they seemed to be trying to work out the one stuck in foam.
Honey nodded. “That can work. We can grab something to eat while we work on it.”
Shiro gave her a lopsided smile before saluting and heading off back to where he could get out of his suit and back to his dorm. Thankfully by this point next year, he wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking around roommates and doing any of it. So far Paul believed that he was busy in the labs at all hours. He was busy in the labs, just not while he was patrolling. Though if his professors ever decided to look at his notes, they’d realize that most of it was reminders about what they were learning about before Shiro took catnaps in class. It was a good thing he didn’t do this every night.
Hiro stood, tapping his foot impatiently as he looked at the security checkpoint for the airport. He’d wanted to leave immediately for MIT the moment he’d heard that Tadashi was there, but unfortunately that got shot down by Gogo and Wasabi, who had told him that Honey was there and therefore Tadashi would be fine for a bit while they finished up classes for the semester. Hiro just couldn’t find the patience that the others seemed to possess regarding the situation, though he’d seen Wasabi straightening up everything over and over again around the lab. Probably from nerves, Hiro thought.
The only one that seemed to be completely laid-back was Gogo, as she was taking the situation as it came, but even she was more liable to snap. Fred, who had insisted on coming too, had grabbed every bit of Avengers paraphernalia he could and tried to bring them with him to get the team to autograph it. Gogo had threatened to shove it all somewhere that Wasabi squawked at for mentioning, and Hiro was certain that Fred had looked beyond crushed at the fact. However, everyone was excited or nervous, and it all stemmed from the fact they were about to see someone that all of them had thought dead.
Hiro sighed, wishing for the thousandth time that he could bring Baymax with him on the plane. Unfortunately he couldn’t be classified as carry-on luggage and Hiro had to cough up the extra money to have him in with the rest of baggage. However, he did have his laptop bag and a backpack that he had over his shoulder, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have anything. He was just more nervous about the fact that he’d stored his super suit in with Baymax and worried that someone would connect the dots.
His thoughts drifted to where he’d found them more often than not over the last week though, and that was regarding his brother. His very much alive brother, if that’s who Shiro Stark really was and not just some guy that looked like Tadashi. Honey Lemon stated that he had amnesia, and remembered nothing from his past, but he’d somehow managed to retain all working knowledge of what he’d learned before, and had vague impressions of the life he led as Tadashi. Hiro didn’t know what to feel about that, since he’d gotten past his days where he was still really grieving. Oh, he still grieved, but the pain wasn’t as sharp, and he could look back at his life with Tadashi with fondness instead of tears.
However, if the guy really wasn’t Tadashi, then Hiro wanted to know why he seemed to echo his brother so strongly. No one knew Baymax save for those at SFIT, and even then it was really the Nerd Crew. Callaghan was behind bars, and the only person aside from that was his Aunt Cass, who Hiro had declined to tell about the possibility that Tadashi might really be alive. He didn’t want to get her hopes up when it all turned out to be a lie, after all. It was bad enough part of him really hoped that Tadashi was alive, and the moment it was proved otherwise, it was going to crush him just as badly as when his brother ran into the flames at the showcase.
Hiro winced, his fingers catching the ear cuff that adorned his left ear and let them trail down to the gauge in said ear instead. He’d changed over the years, enough that he worried that if that Shiro guy was Tadashi, he might not recognize Hiro anymore. Granted, the cuff was more of a device than jewelry, but the rest of it, the gauges, the tattoo on his forearm, his eyebrow piercing, it might be too different for Tadashi to remember him.
If it was Tadashi, a voice warned in his head.
There had been a body when they searched the rubble of the showcase hall, and Tadashi couldn’t have survived, not when Aunt Cass had been in tears when she came home after they found the remains, clutching Tadashi’s phone and wallet and had escaped into her room after delivering the news. Hiro himself didn’t remember much after the reveal, as he’d gone into a depression so deep he’d had to form a superhero team with his brother’s nurse bot to track down his brother’s killer. After everything was said and done, Hiro had been perfectly content to let his brother’s memory lay to rest, knowing it still hurt but he could move on from it.
Now? Now it seemed like he was being thrown back into the grief, though Hiro knew he was doing the throwing instead of Callaghan. This time, he was opening Pandora’s Box, and if he managed to somehow get his brother back after all of the hurt, then it was worth it. Even if it didn’t, he’d lay it to rest for good and never think to open that up again.
If Tadashi had managed to survive, Hiro already had planned to yell at him for an hour straight, take a page from Gogo and punch him, and then maybe forgive him for running into the fire in the first place. He certainly wasn’t going to let him forget that in every single safety situation he’d ever seen since becoming a superhero, the first rule of thumb is to assess how safe the situation is before going into it. Hiro had been in car chases, runaway trolleys, and in one memorable occasion, a flying fight with some lunatic that decided that throwing civilians around was better than coming quietly. Baymax had lectured the man for his actions while they were putting him in the police car, and that actually was pretty funny to watch. Still, it wasn’t the same as knowing that he’d been smarter and better prepared than Tadashi had been when he flew into the portal to save Abigail, even if it meant he’d had to rebuild Baymax afterward.
He shifted, then felt Gogo shift next to him and glanced over to the woman. She looked bored, and seemed seconds away from jumping though the checkpoint. He couldn’t blame her, and he was honestly tempted to remotely call Baymax and have the nurse bot fly them all the way to the East Coast. He doubted the battery would last that long, but it was a nice thought.
She must have realized he was looking at her because she blew a bubble in his direction and cocked an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
“Only that the airport’s really slow.” Hiro crossed his arms, staring at the checkpoint as finally the person they were inspecting was let through. “I thought they were faster than this with the checkpoints.”
Wasabi patted his shoulder as he looked over from the pamphlet he was perusing. “They are, except when someone’s not familiar with airports. Then you get holdups.”
“Don’t worry little dude. We’ll be in Massachusetts soon and you’ll be reunited with the Bromada here soon.” Fred grinned as he shoved his hand into Hiro’s hair, ruffling it as the younger male glared at him.
“One, I’m not little, I’m almost as tall as Tadashi was, and two, Bromada?” Hiro looked at Fred skeptically. “That’s really lame, you know.”
“Besides, why couldn’t we just take your family’s jet?” Gogo popped her gum as she leveled a cool gaze at Fred.
“Because it’s tres chic to fly in coach.” Hiro heard Wasabi mutter about hygiene and stifled a snicker. “Besides, I figured it was time to give Tadashi his own nickname, and I couldn’t figure one out until just recently. Besides, any ideas on how he can join in with our super-secret project?”
Hiro recognized the look on Fred’s face and shook his head. “Look, I don’t know about that. I mean maybe it’s not a good idea to get him involved. He’s been through a lot in the last four years.”
Fred apparently wasn’t to be deterred. “I know that, but seriously. He’s got one of the best origin stories, and he’s got something all his own to use. You gotta admit he’s prime material.”
“No, not happening. Tadashi isn’t getting involved in that stuff. It’s too dangerous.” Hiro crossed his arms and leveled his best look at Fred.
Wasabi blinked and shared a look with Gogo while Fred looked unbothered. “Well yeah, of course it’s dangerous. That’s why we have to make sure he knows what he’s doing before he joins in.”
“Fred, I think we’re witnessing the infamous brother-complex in action.” Wasabi shook his head. “You know, the complex that had Tadashi running out of the lab every other night because Hiro was bot-fighting?”
“Didn’t stop him from running into a burning building,” Hiro muttered. He then glanced at the rest. “It’s just that, it didn’t stop him from doing something stupid, and with what’s been done to him since, it’s not a good idea.”
“Well, I get to punch him when we see him again.” Gogo rolled her eyes at Fred when he opened his mouth to protest. “Hiro’s right. If nothing else, we don’t know what all that time did to him. We can’t throw him into this stuff like he’d be ready for it.”
“Well then, I nominate myself to make sure Bromada’s still on the light side.” Fred nodded sagely. “After all, anyone that’s been through what he has is bound to have evil urges. We just gotta make sure he doesn’t act on them.”
Hiro rolled his eyes at Fred’s comment, but was glad that they were willing to help out. He didn’t think he’d be able to deal with it alone otherwise. “Hey, um, I don’t think I say it often enough, but. Um. Thanks guys.”
Natasha walked down the hall, looking for a specific lab she knew would be open this late. She had Stark to blame for that one, encouraging Shiro’s tendency to work himself into the ground by doing the exact same thing himself. However, it worked in her favor at the moment, as she had just come in to the country and decided to check on the young man. No one was really around, and the staff was busy finishing up so she could find the young man alone.
She smirked as she spotted Shiro leaning back and observing his work. She’d heard about it from Stark, but the idea that Shiro could build a functioning AI that learned from its environment was quite an achievement. She knocked, leaning against the door and crossing her arms. “You’re up late. Should I get Pepper to make you go to bed like she does with Stark?”
Shiro started and nearly dropped his wrench before he set it down and turned to look at Natasha. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Zimbabwe.”
“Got done early, and I heard a rumor that you’ve had an interesting week.” Natasha stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her. “So this is Baymax, huh? Weird name.”
Shiro rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I mean, I like it, shouldn’t that be good enough?”
“As long as you’re not trying to get me to thank him when he does something. Sam keeps trying to get me thank that drone of his.”
“I hate to say it, but you probably should when he does since it stimulates his rewards subroutine.” Shiro grinned at Natasha’s eyeroll.
“Yeah, well, not going to happen.” Natasha settled herself on his desk and glanced toward a note that was written in curling cursive. “So, Tadashi Hamada, huh?”
“That’s what Honey Lemon said my name was.” When Natasha cocked an eyebrow in amusement, Shiro held up his hand. “That’s what Amora Rodríguez’s nickname is. I didn’t ask. She seemed pretty convinced though.”
“Well, from what I was able to pull up, she might not be wrong.” Natasha pulled out a thumb drive and handed it to Shiro. “Right age, your appearances match, and I’m willing to bet that if you did a DNA test, it’d come out identical.”
Shiro didn’t take the thumb drive and instead frowned at it. “Yeah, but I bet the guy never had the same issues with fire that I do.”
Natasha snorted. “I’m going to be blunt with you. Your powers might have been the thing that caused you to survive the fire at SFIT to begin with. I don’t know. What I do know is that up until we found you, the only way that people were developing abilities was because they either had something mess with their DNA or sometime in the distant past their ancestors were guinea pigs to aliens. Now we’ve located six people that fit the same parameters that you do, you and no one else. Something’s going on, and I don’t know if it’s random mutation or something, but I’m willing to bet they won’t be the last six people to fit that profile.”
Shiro took the thumb drive reluctantly and twisted it in his fingers before looking toward Natasha. “Wait, you mean these people have been kidnapped by Hydra?”
“Nothing in the checks that both Hill and I have done says they were. I’m also sure that Coulson hasn’t run across them either on his end.” Natasha then frowned. “There were also thirty-six others including yourself that were on Hydra’s database, but you’re the only one from that group that we have confirmation on. The others just vanished.”
Shiro winced. “And if they made those people vanish, there’s a good chance they were going to do the same to me.”
“It wouldn’t have been hard, either. If-“ Shiro hesitated a bit before speaking again, “if they went through the trouble of making sure this Tadashi guy was dead, then no one would look for him. And with my amnesia, there’s no way for me to be traced back to him either.”
“Except you built something that kind of resembles the Pillsbury Doughboy a bit there.” Natasha pointed toward Baymax. “It resembles the original one that Hamada kid built enough that if people were looking to connect the dots, they’d find you on the other end.”
Shiro nodded. “Which is why I’m nervous about showing him off at the expo now.”
“Which is why you have me playing babysitter right now.”
“When did Avengers need babysitters?” Shiro cocked an eyebrow at Natasha. She could tell he had a hard time believing it.
“When I had to babysit Stark several times in the past. And Rogers. And Banner.” Natasha smirked. “You’d be surprised at how often those guys get into enough trouble that they need someone to step in to keep them from tripping over everything.”
Shiro considered that before shaking his head in bemusement. “Well, that’d make two babysitters then.”
“Oh?” Now this had Natasha intrigued.
“Yeah, Honey Lemon said she’s going to keep an eye on me too.” Natasha shook her head in disbelief before Shiro continued. “I ran into her when I was patrolling one night. She’s pretty good in a fight.”
“Yeah, well I hate to say it, but pretty good in a fight doesn’t mean that she’s going to be able to do what she said she was.” She then fixed Shiro with a look. “Even if she’s on a superhero team.”
Shiro opened his mouth for a moment as he looked like he was going to speak, but then shook his head. “I forgot, former assassin and SHIELD operative. You probably did your research before coming out here.”
Natasha smirked again. “You make that sound like a bad thing. Besides, where else did I pick up the files on this Hamada guy?”
“Considering how strange my life’s gotten, do you really want me to answer that?” The young man crossed his arms and leaned back. “So I take it you already know her team’s coming to MIT’s expo then, right?”
“Yep, and got Stark to not plant a bug on you too in the process. He’s gone into papa bear mode with you kiddo.” She mentally chuckled as Shiro groaned.
“I wish people would stop calling him my dad. He’s not, you know.”
“Since you’re the closest thing he’s gotten to having a kid, you’re stuck with that. I’d say good luck, but you’ve got that covered I think.” She rose, casting a look back at Shiro in the process. “Don’t stay up too late Junior, you’ve still got classes in the morning.”
Shiro watched Natasha walk out of the lab, fingering the drive that was in his hand and considering looking at the files in the morning. The niggling doubt was there, the same one that he’d had since discovering that someone seemed to know more about him than he did. It wasn’t so much that it bothered him that someone knew more about him than he did, it was more that what they knew about him was the issue.
Sighing, he tapped his mouse and inserted the drive into his computer. He then glanced through the files listed. Medical, biography, schooling, it was all there, and Shiro hesitated before he clicked on the bio portion. He read through it, frowning as he realized it wasn’t much, but apparently it was more like a synopsis for major events in Tadashi’s life. Two parents, both deceased from an accident when Tadashi was nine, a younger brother that Shiro knew about, and an aunt the brothers had lived with since the deaths of their parents. Then it detailed Tadashi’s death in a fire and contact information for his family, and that was the last bit that he could see in the file. It wasn’t very informative.
Closing that one, he opened the one for the schooling and blinked as that one was definitely more in-depth. Graduated two years early, involved in the robotics club in high school, multiple incidences of fights in school… Shiro frowned at that last point, as he didn’t think he’d be the kind of person that got into fights, but he could be wrong. Then it moved into his college years, and he blinked as Tadashi apparently was majoring in engineering and programming, and a minor in medicine. He’d already gotten his bachelor’s degree and was well into his master’s before his untimely demise.
He exited out of that file as well and went into his medical history, hoping that something would trigger anything that felt familiar. The peanut allergy was something that surprised him, though he recalled he tended to steer away from the legumes more often than not. Everything else, from stitches when he was twelve from what was apparently a hovercraft incident to a broken leg from a martial arts competition when he was sixteen, it just seemed like he was reading a medical file more than events from his life.
His eyes flicked to Baymax, and the young man stood, deciding to test out the scanners he’d built into the bot. “Help.”
The bot activated, and he blinked at him briefly before the bot looked around the lab. He then turned his attention to Shiro. “Hello. I am Baymax. What is the emergency?”
“No emergency buddy, I just wanted to see if you happen to have your sensors properly calibrated.” Shiro stood back and held out his hands, ready to see if maybe the rescue bot could spot anything that was in that medical report. “Scan me.”
Baymax tilted his head to the side before scanning Shiro. After a moment, the results were displayed on his screen. “I am detecting an increase in cortisol that suggests that you are: stressed. You also appear to be suffering from insufficient sleep. My scans also indicate that you are also suffering from decreased caloric intake. Might I-“
“Okay big guy, I know all that.” Shiro rubbed his forehead and realized he should have specified what he wanted Baymax to detect in his scan. Well, this was going to be a pain. “Can you detect previous injuries and conditions in your scans?”
Baymax paused a moment before replying. “Previous injuries include: indications that your left fibula was fractured, scar tissue located above your right ear measuring four point two five centimeters, and an older injury to both your: right ankle as well as your: left shoulder. Scans do not indicate whether or not the injuries are causing you any distress. Recommendations to reduce the risk of reinjury include-“
“Okay, okay, I got it.” Shiro ran a hand through his hair, feeling along his scalp for the scar that Baymax indicated. His jaw clenched as he felt the irregularity in his scalp, and couldn’t for the life of him recall how he got it. “I don’t have a peanut allergy, do I?”
“There is a mild allergy to: peanuts as well as: hay fever.”
“Oh man…” Shiro glanced toward the computer, where the files sat innocently on his screen. He stared for a good long moment before slumping back into his seat. Everything was there, staring him in the face, and he couldn’t remember any of it. Why couldn’t he remember?
“You appear to be: distressed. What seems to be the problem?” Baymax moved to behind Shiro and glanced at the screen himself.
“It’s not really anything you can help with, buddy.” Shiro shook his head and closed the file, not wanting to look anymore at it. “I don’t think there’s a way you can bring back memories.”
“Would assisting you with bringing back your memories help with your: distress?” Baymax looked confusedly at Shiro, and the young man was sure he hadn’t programmed that into the bot.
“If there was a way, then the rest of the team would have figured it out by now.” Shiro rubbed his forehead and made to take out the thumb drive. Instead, he saw an arm reach out and touch the computer, causing the young man to blink back at his creation while his screen flickered though what seemed like hundreds of websites. “What are you doing?”
“I am downloading a database on: amnesia. Please wait while I compile the information necessary.”
“Wait, hold on, I didn’t program that!” Shiro stared and wondered if there was a fault in the coding.
“You programmed me to adapt to various situations. As there is no current emergency, this condition takes precedence.” Baymax stated matter-of-factly before removing his hand from the computer. “Compilation complete. The best treatments recommended for someone with amnesia include: being surrounded by the familiar, talking about past experiences, regression therapy to possibly unlock memories that are lost, treating the underlying condition that caused amnesia.”
“Okay great, nice to know. Look, I’m one-hundred percent sure that my amnesia isn’t caused by any underlying condition so you can-“
“Contacting family now.” The sound of ringing could be heard, and Shiro waved his hands trying to figure out where he put the emergency off switch.
“Whoa, wait! You don’t need to-“
Shiro froze. Baymax stood serenely by, his screen now displaying the image of an older woman with brown hair and green eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but Shiro couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number.” Shiro stared up at Baymax, finally finding the switch and reaching up to turn it off.
“Oh my god, Tadashi? What?”
The shock in the woman’s voice was palpable, and Shiro felt a stab of pain in his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you. I’m just going to hang up no-“
“Wait!” He froze again, and the woman continued. “Look, I don’t know why, but you sound like my oldest nephew. I’m probably imagining things-“
Mouth dry, he timidly asked, “A-aunt Cass?” Honey had mentioned her numerous times, and the files did state he’d lived with her. However, all he was getting was an air of familiarity, and nothing more.
He heard her breath hitch before she spoke again. “Oh my god… You are Tadashi, aren’t you? What’s going on? Where are you? How-“
“I don’t know.” It hurt saying those words, and he realized that unlike with Honey Lemon, there was something there he couldn’t put his finger on. “I just… I don’t know. Baymax, he…”
“Baymax is with you? What about Hiro? Is that who found you baby? Where are you?” He could hear it. Tears were thick in her throat and her voice trembled.
“No, I built him. I-I don’t know. Everything’s wrong.” He could hear himself yelling at him to shut up, to just end the call, but Shiro found his mouth was working without his consent. It was the most surreal sensation he’d ever had in his life.
“Tadashi Hamada, if you don’t tell me this instant where-“
“School. I’m at school. In Massachusetts. I just, don’t remember.” He grimaced, the yelling progressing to screaming. What was he doing?
“You don’t remember? What don’t you remember?”
“Anything.” He swallowed, licking his lips and trying to remind himself that he should be turning Baymax off any moment now. Why wasn’t he? “I don’t know who Tadashi Hamada is.”
There was a pause, and he could hear the woman breathing. “Sweetie, listen to me. What school are you at?”
“His current location is: Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It would be beneficial for friends and loved ones to help in the recovery process of someone with: amnesia.” Shiro’s head jerked up, and he found his gaze locked on Baymax’s. The robot blinked and continued. “Shiro is currently experiencing high levels of: distress due to this condition.”
“Look, Tadashi, I’m going to call your brother. He should be there in a few hours. Do you just go by Shiro or…?”
“Stark.” Now he definitely felt weird using that name. He swallowed and continued. “Shiro Stark. I’m… I’m not listed in the directory of students. At least not my address.”
He could hear her moving throughout wherever she was. “Well, I’m going to talk to some people to cover the café for a while. I’ll be there when I can, okay?”
“Wait!” He shocked even himself with his exclamation, and he shook his head before continuing. “Please, don’t hang up. I don’t…”
There was a pause in the noise on the other hand, and he wondered if she had hung up already. “Tadashi, I’ll be there, I promise. It has to be late there, and if I find out that you’ve stayed up too late…”
“Yes Aunt Cass.” The response was automatic, and he found that the ache in his chest lessened as he realized what it meant.
Unbeknownst to him, Natasha smiled a bit as she left her perch from just outside his door.
Cass stared at the phone in her hand, hardly believing what she just heard. However, it was impossible to ignore. She’d picked up the phone, expecting the long-distance number to be Hiro calling her to let her know that he was there safely, but instead…
She sighed, patting the old cat that sat next to her. Mochi was losing weight, and she couldn’t help but worry about the implications. However, he was rubbing his head against her hand and rumbled with a purr she could feel through her fingertips. It comforted her, especially considering the strange phone call.
She looked down at the phone in her hands and thought about the time. It was still too early to call her youngest nephew, as he’d still be in the air. However, a glance over to her right caused her to stand and make her way over to the shrine in the corner. Taking two pieces of incense, she lit them both and stuck them in the holder before she turned her attention to two of the three pictures arranged there.
“Thomas, Maemi, I know it’s been a while since we’ve last spoken, and I know you’ve been doing your best to watch over your sons. But, I have to ask, Tadashi hasn’t been with you, has he?”
She gave a small laugh, shaking her head before she continued. “You watched over him during the fire, didn’t you? There’s no other reason I can think of that can explain how I got a call from someone that sounds exactly like him. You made sure he got out of there safely.
“He sounded so confused and lost. It was like he wasn’t sure of anything.” She then bit her lip. “He even said he doesn’t remember Tadashi. If it’s him, oh god, I want to do the best I can for your baby to help him come home.
“But, even if it isn’t him, I can already hear you Thomas. You’d be telling me to help him out, and Mae would be urging me to help him find where he belongs, regardless of if he’s Tadashi or not. Because that’s what the both of you would do, wouldn’t you?”
Cass took a deep breath before turning to look at her nephew’s picture. “Tadashi, if it isn’t you, I’m sorry. Please, though, keep an eye on everyone. Maybe you can help him. I know it’s a long stretch that it’s you. I mean, I was there when they asked me to identify you. And yet…”
She paused, before letting this tiny seed have light. “Yet I do hope it is. You died too young, sweetie. You know that running into fires is a bad thing to do, but you did it anyway to save someone. I’m never going to be annoyed at you for doing something you felt was right. I will be annoyed that you didn’t think of your own safety first, young man. If it’s you, you’re grounded until you’re thirty at least.” | English | NL | 90c893b2d85057454a16a9276f3b8017a52223b89a3962c09129d8e6e0c4990e |
Yesterday I spent some time poring through an old, quarter leather ledger. As I looked at the neatly written lines of expense and revenue items, I realized that it represented one of my mother’s greatest triumphs.
In the course of her life my mother had several notable triumphs. By the time she was 19 she had put herself through college, gotten a job, and was supporting herself without family assistance when that was exceptional for men let alone for women. She had buried both of her parents before she turned 27 and her husband before she was 50. After the death of my father she obtained an advanced degree herself and got five children college educated, married, and launched on their lives’ paths.
And she took care of Ginny.
A little over 40 years ago my father’s uncle killed himself. He had always been a bit kooky and he’d received some bad news which he interpreted incorrectly and took his own life. My dad was executor of his will but two months after his uncle committed suicide my dad died as well, suddenly and unexpectedly.
My great-uncle left an incompetent widow, unable to read or write or hold a job outside the home. That was Ginny.
For nineteen years, from the time that my dad died to the time that Ginny died, my mom managed Ginny’s affairs and every single line was recorded in that ledger. Revenues. Social Security. Rents from the few small, dilapidated houses my great-uncle had owned (I maintained some of them for a while). Proceeds from the sale of the houses. Interest. Two dollar and five dollar quarterly dividends from a handful of investments, some that my mother had prudently and cautiously made on Ginny’s behalf. Expenses. Food. Electricity. Taxes. Health insurance. Maintenance on the houses.
In some years the maintenance and taxes on the rental properties far exceeded the revenues she realized. In others she might realize a few hundred dollars over the course of a year. Never in the nineteen years did her income rise above $8,000.
As I leafed through the pages of the ledger, I saw Ginny’s medical expenses grow while her income dwindled. Finally, she died and the ledger entries stopped abruptly.
She lived her life in her own home. She had no debts. She maintained her independence and her dignity. And it was all because of my mother. A great triumph. | English | NL | aada1b624da33332e6d3cad34ac9f3159cf609a3b00f8107168613d3a87cebbb |
The Early History of #SaintPatrick. He was kidnapped at 16, sold into #slavery, and forced to work as a herdsman. He became more religious, and after 6 years, After a vision led him to stow away on a boat bound for Britain, Patrick escaped back to his family.
Back with his family again, he dreamt that he was being called back to Ireland (where he’d been a slave) to tell the people about God. It took quite awhile to get trained, and educated to become a #priest, but eventually he was able to go back to #Ireland with the blessings of the #Pope.
Read Article: https://www.irish-genealogy-toolkit.com/history-of-st-patrick.html | English | NL | 022b42d0038d3de02e99c223b98447e6954b3f6a779884953d8e8d84ef8c4972 |
Realms In The Firmament - Chapter 227
Chapter 227 - Accident
As the drizzle had filled the air of the world, a light stream of white fog rushed up to the sky. It was so fast that people could not notice it.
At the same time, a stream of black smoke was like a shadow chasing the white one with an intense killing intent!
In the drizzle, wherever they passed, the space there would collapse. Suddenly, black holes showed up in the sky one after another. They showed up and then disappeared...
Such strength was incredible and impossible to imagine in the mortal world!
Two unnoticeable shadows rushed up to the cloud within seconds. Nobody knew how far they had gone. And then there was the sound of explosion. - BOOM! -
This sound didn't seem loud, yet after it resounded, the whole Land of Han-Yang actually shook right after!
How powerful! The world actually shook because of it! The sky and earth were both shocked!
After that, the sound of thunders appeared continuously!
The world was shocked! The sky was full of sadness, and the earth was full of sorrow!
Almost all the mountains and hills shook because of such accident. There were many rocks rolling from the top of the mountains to the land...
The thunders continued, and it sounded faster and faster, louder and louder...
The heavy rain was covering more and more lands until it eventually covered the whole Land of Han-Yang.
In the sky, the lightnings could be seen as if they were the teeth of dogs gritting against each other. They were actually red, white, yellow, purple and blue...
They were colorful lightnings!
The colorful and strange lightnings kept crossing each other in the sky, as if they were painting the sky into a very beautiful image.
The thunder sounded more and more frequently one after another. At the end, several thunder sounds actually sounded at the same time. The thunder and lightnings kept piling up...
Everyone seemed to be awoken in dreams!
Hearing the frequent thunders, people couldn't stop guessing that there might be two ancient thunder gods fighting each other with their full powers in the sky!
They wouldn't stop until one of them died!
Nobody knew that they were actually right about it at some point! Though instead of two thunder gods, they were actually two ladies fighting in the sky. They were two gorgeous, beautiful women!
They were trying their best to try and kill each other!
Each strike, no matter whether it was a palm strike or a sword attack, made lightnings all over the sky. Within an instant, they had actually already made over three thousand strikes to each other!
Neither of them was willing to step back from each other!
The rain kept going without stopping.
The cloud and mist in the sky didn't seem scattering at all.
The thunder sounds kept shocking the world...
It seemed the thunder would go on until the sea turned dry and the rocks were melted. And the rain seemed not to stop until the end of the world came...
An entire night had passed.
At the noon of the next day, it was still in the same situation. Nothing got better.
The water vapor that was created during the fight actually all got into the Spaces of Ye Xiao...
Ye Xiao was still in a coma...
He knew nothing about what was happening at all.
The East-rising Purple Qi was running automatically inside him. It kept crashing the blocked Jing and Mai in his body time and time again...
Till the next evening, the East-rising Purple Qi finally broke through the Jing and Mai of Ye Xiao with the help with the powerful water vapor. - Boom. -
Ye Xiao finally woke up.
He was frightened by the loud thunder just as he woke up, ’’What the hell! What is it? Why is it raining so heavily? How come the thunder can be so loud?!’’
And then he remembered the things that had happened in the previous night.
’’A person in black got into my room. That person looked at me with a complex expression in the eyes. And I suddenly fainted...’’ He frowned. It seemed he didn't really know what had happened to him. The only thing he knew was that things were so weird at the moment.
And then he realized his chest was cold. When he looked down, he found that his cloth was untied. His chest showed up...
’’Well this...’’ He looked at his own chest and lost his bearings.
’’What the hell is this? Why did the person in black take off my tops after knocking me out...’’ He got up from the bed in a hurry. His face seemed pale, ’’I... I didn't get raped, did I?’’
He then hurriedly checked himself and found nothing special. And then he operated his martial art to check his pure yang energy, and discovered that it was still full without any loss... He got confused...
’’What the hell happened? She is such a powerful cultivator. She should have done something after knocking me off! But it looks like she just left without doing anything to me!’’ He rubbed his head and couldn't think of any possible answers.
He hadn't even heard of such things in both his lives...
He couldn't believe that somebody would actually feel guilty.
So he thought, [Would it be... Bing Xin-Yue?
I didn't recognize her last night, because I only looked at that person for less than a second. Yet I felt that the aura on that person was so similar with Wen-Ren Chu-Chu's...
It must be Bing Xin-Yue. But... Why did she leave? Does it mean... she has already known my true identity? But... why did she even try to do this?]
He was so confused.
And then the shocking loud thunder attracted his attention!
He grabbed his clothes and stood at the window. He raised his head and stared at the amazing lightning image in the sky. He listened to the sounds of the thunder. The astonishment in his eyes stayed there for a long time!
Other people might think that the gods must be crazy to make thunders like this.
Yet Ye Xiao knew that it had nothing to do with gods.
And it had nothing to do with weather or climate!
It was caused by human activities!
[There must be a fight between two super grandmaster cultivators in the sky!
And it must be a life and death battle!]
The fight would go on until one of them died, or both of them died!
Most importantly, among all the persons Ye Xiao had known about in both his lives, none could make such an impact!
In simpler words, both of the two persons who were fighting in the sky were much more powerful than the Xiao Monarch in his previous life!
A lot more powerful!
Who could they be? | English | NL | 52f6f3e820542722c30db3d29a0e763add0b408fd4069b8a582716b8460a9737 |
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 1957
Author's Summary: Set just after "The Five Doctors," based on the conjecture that the Master was involved in the gift of K9 to Sarah Jane.
Characters/Pairings: K-9, Sarah Jane Smith
Recced Because: There's an odd dichotomy about K-9. On the one hand he's one of the most beloved characters of the show and percieved as a perfect pet (see my icon above); on the other hand, he's a machine, and all of his loveable characteristics are products of his programming. This story looks behind the facade, and asks what would happen if his programming hid a few surprises.
Sarah heard her own whimper as she fought her way back to consciousness. "Oh, my head." She kept her eyes closed as she sat up slowly, holding her head tightly with both hands. "K-9, what--"
"I warned you not to intervene, Mistress," came K-9's distant voice.
Reality snapped back into focus and she remembered. It was not some intruder or alien. It was her dog. K-9 had gone mad, had stunned her and the Doctor, and was spouting nonsense about a subroutine and a beacon. Sarah looked quickly around the room, trying to ignore the piercing pain from the movement and from the light streaming through the windows. Such a lovely day, especially for London, and yet everything was wrong. | English | NL | 12d28667201147548c367579ce997a7586b13bb50f7456e2af90ebc31da97a0f |
I hear lots of talk about how to be creative people need to think outside the box. Here's a thought: How about letting students in on this salient fact: All the knowledge they will ever need to know can be found in a box on a shelf somewhere. All they need is to be able to find their box and be curious enough to want to try and figure out how to open it up. Exactly what this looks like for any one specific subject matter area I have no idea. Here's one I am working on to illustrate.
A person starts a new job. One of the first things new hires need to do is to be oriented to their new organization. While they have the technical skills to do a particular job they need to learn about the organization's culture, benefits, and so on. So the person is exposed to a problem that lies within their ability to solve. When it's solved they get a key to unlock the box and are presented with something cool. Maybe an Easy Button? | English | NL | f10c5e0ecdc95ace8a6da869703a4e8ae38634fabf82aea9b1c36827f134f42d |
This week, I’m aiming for patriotic movies in honor of the 4th of July. Of course, as you’re looking at your calendar, you’ll notice it’s more than a week after the 4th. I have some lead time issues I might want to address. But regardless, this week’s films are:
Michael Curtiz – Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)
George Sidney – Anchors Aweigh (1945)
As I discovered after I watched both of these, only one is really focused on patriotism, but it might be the most nakedly patriotic film ever made, so it makes up for things.
So how did it go? Let’s get into it.
Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)
Songwriter, playwright, actor, singer and dancer George M. Cohan has his triumphant return to the stage and is invited to the White House to talk to the President. He tells the President his entire life story, and we go along for the ride, learning about his entire life in show business, along with all the ups and downs, including his most famous songs and moments.
The film stars James Cagney and is directed by Michael Curtiz, who also directed Casablanca. James Cagney we’ve covered before in his role in gangster films, but in this film, we see his major talent as a song and dance man. Cagney is a major force in this film, and everyone else pales in comparison to his performance, but that’s by design. The film is based on a book by the main character, George M. Cohan, and I’ll talk about my thoughts on that later. The film also stars Walter Huston, of Treasure of the Sierra Madre fame. What’s interesting is that in this movie, he looks hale and hearty, while in Treasure he looks like 10 miles of bad road, but the movies are only 6 years apart. It’s a major testament to his acting talent to pull off both roles so close together.
The film opens on a new play opening up on Broadway, about the current President, Franklin Roosevelt. After the show, he travels to Washington DC at the request of the president. The film makes no attempt to hide that this is the current sitting President, FDR, which is not a move most films would make. But this film is based on a true story, and they appeared to want to give the impression that they were really sticking to that truth.
In his talk with the President, he decides to tell his entire life story, starting with his birth, which was on the 4th of July. The film never lets us forget that the core value of Cohan is patriotism. It seems almost obsessed or even apologetic about this fact. Cohan himself constantly mentions that his main criticism is that his only value is in waving the flag. I’m unsure if this is something that the filmmakers were sensitive about, or if Cohan himself was sensitive about it, but we are constantly reminded.
This is a good time to talk about the disconnect between the character Cohan, and the person Cohan. George Cohan didn’t write the screenplay, but he did write the book it was based on. And throughout the film, Cohan is often portrayed as an unpleasant person. As a child, he’s portrayed as a fame hungry monster, constantly demanding special treatment after his first play as a star. Later on, he’s blackballed by theater owners after getting into a fight. Since he’s part of a family act, he damages their careers as well. To be fair, he convinces them to go out without him, but only by lying about his own success. Further, when he’s pitching his work to producers, he refuses to believe his songs aren’t the greatest, calling the producers names and generally being a jerk.
Even after he’s had some success, he still treats other people badly, having a run-in with a star of a show who he wants to hire, insulting her immediately upon entering the room. Perhaps these scenes played differently in 1942, but it makes me wonder who made the decision to portray Cohan this way. If it was clear in the book, then we might assume that this shows a real vulnerability on Cohan’s part. It’s possible that he revealed these things about himself unvarnished to show some growth, and maybe even atone for it. Or it’s possible he wrote the book that way because he was completely unaware that there was anything wrong with acting that way, and he has no self-awareness at all.
Considering how heroic the film wants Cohan to look as a genuine patriot, I can’t imagine they would intentionally make him look bad, so I have to assume Cohan was honest about his behavior in the book, and looking back, decided it was important to show his growth over time.
The other major disconnect for me was seeing what was seen as great entertainment in the era this film was portraying, which was the first half of the 20th century. We see a lot of the family act of the Cohans, called The 4 Cohans, made up of father, mother, son, and daughter. George Cohan is the son of this group. Their act is essentially the four of them in various costumes (including one scene in black face that definitely didn’t age well) and doing a little song and dance number. To my eyes, this looked insanely boring. But throughout the film, we’re told that the 4 Cohans act could sell out anywhere in the country. They were a major talent. But the film doesn’t really sell this to a modern audience.
However, some of the stage shows that are portrayed are pretty stunning. Once Cohan connects with Sam Harris as a partner, he’s really able to get noticed, and when his first show “Yankee Doodle Dandy” premieres, starring him, we really understand why this person has a movie made about them. The stage show gets even more exciting when we see the portrayal of George Washington Jr, which was a huge production.
This is where the film shines, when Cagney is on stage singing and dancing his heart out in these huge productions. The film really revels in showing off the stage craft. I have no idea if they’re an accurate portrayal of what the original productions were like or what they were capable of in the 20s and 30s, but I do know that stage productions were the major form of entertainment innovation at the time, so I find it fairly plausible.
The supporting cast unfortunately doesn’t bring much to the table. Cagney is amazing, and Walter Huston is perfect as the big personality that sired the even bigger personality of George Cohan, but everyone else is fairly forgettable. The female characters in particular are just placeholders for roles in Cohan’s life. His sister, his mother, his wife. They’re all sort of bland and interchangeable.
The one thing that’s missing is any real sense of struggle or hardship. We see a brief moment when Cohan is trying to get taken seriously as a songwriter, but the film tries to suggest that he has these amazing songs and everyone’s just too stupid to realize it, which I don’t think is true at all. In one meeting he’s singing a song in which an Irishman named Harrigan is telling everyone how great he is. It’s a really bad song. Perhaps it was popular in it’s day, but it just seems ridiculous that he would consider it his ticket to stardom. This is contrasted later when we hear Yankee Doodle Dandy for the first time, which is actually a really clever and enjoyable song, which is the song which gives him his great breakthrough. This at least makes sense.
However, the film does succeed at capturing the sense of patriotism that was core to Cohan’s work. At the end of the film, Cohan is given the congressional medal of honor for his two most famous songs, “Grand Ol’ Flag” and “Over There”. The film also has a great ending, in which Cohan leaves the White House out into a military parade, which for some reason is happening in the middle of the night, and they’re all singing “Over There” and everyone knows all the words. There’s also a shot in this sequence that I’m certain includes the real George Cohan, just from the way the shot is framed.
It’s a nice ending. But let’s get onto the next film.
Anchors Aweigh (1945)
Two navy men, Joe and Clarence are given the Silver Star for their acts of courage, and as part of the reward, are given 4 days of shore leave in Hollywood. While Joe starts making dates with his regular girl, Clarence finally opens up and tells Joe that he doesn’t know anything about girls, and wants help. Joe agrees to help him get a date, thinking it will be a quick evening task, then he can go on with his life. But when the police enlist their help in taking care of a young boy who is obsessed with the Navy, the two men get sucked into a completely unexpected adventure.
The film stars Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra, in their first film together. It also featured the film debut of another young actor, Dean Stockwell, who has worked continuously since he was 6 years old. He’s best know as Al in Quantum Leap, and more recently as one of the Cylon-Human hybrids on Battlestar Galactica.
This film was also very early in the film careers of Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra. Kelly had been a Broadway star, and Sinatra of course was a major singing talent. Pairing the two men was a genius move. The film also leans heavily on the men’s individual talents. Kelly might be the greatest dancer of all time, and certainly the best of his generation, and he has half a dozen big set piece dancing scenes. And no one sang like Sinatra, and the film gives him half a dozen solo singing scenes throughout the film. But they also trade off for a couple scenes, giving Sinatra one big dance number, and Kelly has a couple songs.
Now Kelly has a nice singing voice, and Sinatra manages to hold his own in his dance number with Kelly. But, it’s clear from this film as well that Kelly was an instant star. Having a background on Broadway, he could clearly do it all. From the minute that he appears on screen, you can’t take your eyes off him. Sinatra on the other hand, isn’t much of an actor at this point. Sinatra would eventually become a great actor. In fact, I think he’s a really underrated actor, and he had great parts in two of the greatest films of all-time, From Here To Eternity and The Manchurian Candidate, not to mention lesser known stuff like The Man With The Golden Arm. So when I say Sinatra isn’t much of an actor, it’s with the respect of knowing that he took things seriously, and became a great actor. But also, Sinatra is playing a naive person who’s completely unsure of himself in most cases, so it actually ends up working. But up against the polished Gene Kelly, his performance stands out, but not necessarily in a good way.
This film is incredibly plot heavy. We have Joe(Kelly) as the ladies man who has agreed to help Clarence (Sinatra) get a date, who are grabbed by the police who want their help talking to a young boy (Dean Stockwell), who has been wandering the streets by himself trying to join the Navy. They agree to help the boy and have to wait for his Aunt Susan, who is taking care of him as his parents are dead. Their vision of “Aunt Susan” is someone middle aged, but she’s actually young and beautiful. Clarence falls for her, while Joe tries to talk him out of it. But Joe is a good friend and does his best for Clarence. When he tries to scare off a potential suitor, they find out it was an industry contact Susan was trying to connect with. To keep Clarence in good standing, Joe tells her that Clarence is friends with the famous pianist Jose Iturbi, who plays himself in the film, and that Clarence has gotten her an audition in a few days.
The rest of the the film follows their attempts to actually meet Jose Iturbi and try to make this actually happen, while Joe tries to convince Susan to fall in love with Clarence. But meanwhile, Joe and Susan begin to fall for each other, and Clarence actually meets a waitress who is from Brooklyn like him who he hits it off with and falls for. Joe feels guilty because he’s fallen for the girl that he assumes his friend is crazy about, while Clarence feels guilty that all of Joe’s hard work will go to waste and that he might end up hurting Susan. And they’re both feeling guilty that they can’t actually get the audition for Susan.
Every scene in this movie moves the plot forward, and it never seems to slow down. The structure of the film is actually really impressive. I wrote the previous 2 paragraphs about 5 times trying to figure out how to explain this plot. It seems every scene sets up another bit of the story that makes things more complex.
But that’s also what makes it fun. It’s not quite as madcap as a screwball comedy, but the two main characters keep getting in deeper and deeper, and trying increasingly brash things to solve the problem. One of the most fun plans they have is to go to the MGM studios to find Iturbi himself. This leads to a great scene where Clarence actually finds him, but has no idea who he is, assuming he’s a piano tuner.
Kelly’s dance numbers are excellent, as usual. And Sinatra’s singing is off the charts. The two men would do another two films together, and they really have great chemistry. As I said before, these two were a great pairing.
One of my favorite parts of the film is how strong the friendship between Joe and Clarence is. As it’s becoming clear to the audience that Joe has feelings for Susan, it’s also clear that she has feelings too, and he could easily take her for himself, but he doesn’t do that. Even as he unintentionally reveals his feelings, he brings it back to Clarence to talk him up, even to the point of frustration for Susan. The entire film revolves around the scene where Clarence and Joe come together and finally have to tell each other the truth, both assuming the other will be furious. It’s a great little scene that leads us into the end of the film, when Susan randomly bumps into Jose Iturbi in the commissary, and realizes that there was no audition. She’s distraught, but Iturbi gives her some good advice, saying not to give up a good friend in anger, and she gets her audition anyway.
I’m not sure what the message here is, but the film doesn’t dwell on it, as we get the standard Hollywood happy ending, where all the couples come together.
The Double Feature
So here we have two films, one focused on music, the other a full musical. One a biopic, one a comedy. My initial read on these was that they were both really patriotic films, and while Yankee Doodle Dandy is for sure, Anchors Aweigh is about Navy men in war time, but not as nakedly patriotic. We definitely get some flavor of it, but Yankee Doodle Dandy is on another level. It’s a film designed to evoke American patriotism.
As far as my feelings, I really loved Anchors Aweigh. The film is so joyous and fun. Kelly is so clearly ready to be a movie star and he shines through in this film. Sinatra is the perfect support for Kelly, and he shows flashes of the actor he’d become.
Yankee Doodle Dandy I have mixed feelings on. There are some major bright spots in the film. But too many of the song and dance numbers are boring, and the supporting cast short of Walter Huston are completely forgettable. That’s unfortunate, and reduces my interest in the film a fair bit. I think it’s still worth seeing, but of the two films, I can see myself seeing Anchors Aweigh again.
I changed up the format a bit this week. Rather than giving individual thoughts on each movie, I moved it into the double feature section at the end. I always struggle with those sections, and I felt like rolling them into one section might work. I’ll stick with this for a few weeks, and see how it goes.
So what about next week’s films? I was looking through FilmStruck and they had a series of Eighties Fantasy films which caught my eye, including one of my secret favorite films. Next week’s films are:
John Boorman – Excalibur (1981)
Joe Dante – Innerspace (1987)
Innerspace is one of those films I saw when it first came out, and it’s always held a strong place in my memory. I’ve never actually seen Excalibur, but I’m looking forward to it.
See you next week. | English | NL | 759676b22a829888cf9b0c04a8475ac692c4880d46b8729c4b11a42b03702118 |
ambition were once set upon the enterprise of changing the government, they cared not much what was reason and justice in the cause, but what strength they might procure by seducing the multitude with remonstrances from the Parliament House, or by sermons in the churches. And to their petitions, I would not have had any answer made at all, more than this: that if they would disband their army, and put themselves upon his mercy, they should find him more gracious than they expected.
A. That had been a gallant answer indeed, if it had proceeded from him after some extraordinary great victory in battle, or some extraordinary assurance of a victory at last in the whole war.
B. Why, what could have happened to him worse, than at length he suffered, notwithstanding his gentle answers, and all his reasonable declarations?
A. Nothing; but who knew that?
B. Any man might see that he was never like to be restored to his right without victory: and such his stoutness being known to the people, would have brought to his assistance many more hands than all the arguments of law, or force of eloquence, couched in declarations and other writings, could have done, by far. And I wonder what kind of men they were, that hindered the King from taking this resolution?
A. You may know by the declarations themselves, which are very long and full of quotations of records and of cases formerly reported, that the penners of them were either lawyers (by profession), or such gentlemen as had the ambition to be thought so. Besides, I told you before, that those which were then likeliest to have their counsel asked in this business, were averse to absolute monarchy, as also to absolute democracy or aristocracy, all which governments they esteemed tyranny; and were in love with mixarchy which they used to praise by the name of mixed
- “In love with monarchy” all the edd. except the one of 1815, which has, “with a sort of monarchy,” evidently by conjecture. | English | NL | 1e20560f0481d8dbee904a247d859d081237ad7b45e0734f44703f5fe5803a50 |
For giggles, I thought I try my hand at responding to one of the “Today’s Cliche” prompts from the RocNaNo blog. The challenge was to develop a character based on the prompt in something like 2000 words.
This is a character from the Herongarde Trilogy that one day I’ll finish writing. I hadn’t developed him very well, and now that I have, I think I need to include him more often. There are bits and snippets about Herongarde here on my blog. This post is also mirrored over on the RocNaNo blog.
Character: Priests who go adventuring.
Father Arin of Herongarde
Arin was born to a merchant, and spent his formative years traveling with is father and mother throughout Herongarde, Aidengarde, and Falgarth (among other nations), visiting noblemen and royalty wherever they went. Arin’s mother died when he was about seven years old, leaving him desperate for answers. Continue reading
He was raised in a single-wide trailer deep in Appalachia by his mother, a single mom. His father is the quintessential deadbeat dad, who walked out when Matty was 9. That night, his father had come home drunk and proceeded to beat the stuffing out of his mother. Matt jumped in to defend his mom and ultimately had to pull a gun on his dad to get him to leave. His dad never came back.
Matt knew there was more to life than this stupid podunk little town of 1500. He had watched enough television to know that if he could just get to the city, he would have it all. He’d dropped out of school at 17, just six months before he should have graduated. But his mom needed him, and at 20 he still lived in that single-wide.
Only nine months ago, his mother had suddenly died. An aneurism took her and left Matt with nothing, except for that crummy old single-wide trailer.
With no cash and no real prospects, he tossed a few things in his beat up truck, gathered his dog, Bo, and started to leave. Then all hell broke loose.
Jason is the son of a blacksmith, born in the village of Artyl, about two hours ride (horseback) from the Herongarde Castle. His father, Gastin, serves the King by providing armor and swords to his Mark-bearers. Jason has spent his entire life surrounded by royalty and the Lords and Ladies of the Court of Herongarde.
Starting at a very young age, Jason idolized Trey of Herongarde, the youngest son of the King. Because of this, Jason sought to join the ranks of the Mark-bearers and entered into training at the age of six. At the age of sixteen, with war threatening Herongarde, Jason serves Trey in protecting Herongarde Castle while Herongarde’s army marches away into battle.
Gilbert of Herongarde is a scholar and a warrior. He has a deep and abiding interest in the sciences, especially physics. He is recognized as among the finest of Herongarde’s tacticians, whose opinion will immediately sway that of the King himself. Gilbert takes great pleasure in improving designs of war machines such as trebuchets, catapults, and ballistas. He is also a master swordsman charged with the training of all those who would one day bear the Mark of Herongarde, and for the continued training for those who already carry the Mark. His swords are among the most polished and sharp among warriors. Gilbert is perhaps the most fastidious of the Mark-Bearers, always of clean and tidy appearance.
Marshall Thomas has an exciting career as an action-adventure star of movies and television. Coming from an acting family, Hollywood life is completely normal to him. He has never really experienced anything but comfort and prosperity. On the outside, he seems a well-adjusted man, but this masks the torment beneath that even he is unaware of. Disconnected, divorced parents left him uncertain how to engage others on an emotional level, which in turn leaves him in his late 40’s still single and unable to form a properly loving relationship with a woman. While considered a perfect gentleman by some, others think of him as a womanizing bad-boy, but the truth is that only once has he caught himself courting two women at once: Allison (his then-fiancee) and Katrine Duncan. His life starts a downward spiral with a car accident, including a DWI arrest, after which his fiancee meets his girlfriend. From there he falls into ever-worsening self-destructive habits, which may wind up costing him dearly.
Marshall is the main character for the novel I’m writing for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge this year. The working title of the book is “The Masters.”
Tessa, Queen of Herongarde, is the wife of King Anthony of Herongarde and is Trey’s mother. She is a gentle and loving woman, and has little interest in the politics of men. She does, however, concern herself deeply with matters of the heart.
Markus of Herongarde is the younger brother of King Anthony of Herongarde and Uncle of Trey. Markus is ever the diplomat, capable of diffusing volatile situations with a smile, but quick with his sword and among the best swordsmen of Herongarde. Were in not for Markus’ cool temperament, Herongarde would have plunged into war a hundred times due to Anthony’s fiery temper. Markus is a man who would defend the codes of Herongarde to his death, but has a soft spot for those he loves and has been known to look away if codes are breached in the name of love.
Hanna Tisdale is a tenured academic (in the physical sciences) in a functional, but dull, marriage, facing mid-life with a sense of apathy. She’s busy nurturing her own and her husbands careers and raising their son, but is losing herself in the middle of it. She’s discouraged by the little paunch she’s developed and yearns for the more active, exciting days of her youth.
Trey of Herongarde is a disenchanted Prince. His world has been dark to him since the loss of his beloved wife and son in childbirth ten years earlier. It grew still darker when, soon after, his elder brother – the heir to the throne – was killed. For years, Lord Trey has moved through life, disinterested in everything except for a good duel at tournament and the unconscious hope for his own death. Though heir to the throne of Herongarde, Trey has done all possible to avoid the politics of the realm, preferring to ride wide and dangerous patrols. He refuses to be addressed as royalty. He wishes only to be acknowledged as a warrior and a Bearer of the sovereign Mark of Herongarde. | English | NL | 2faff06ed7970d3db22c496dccfcec4a23d35411e363aba952da96afc0295e40 |
MANATON, Henry (1650-1716), of Harewood, Calstock, Cornw.
Available from Boydell and Brewer
Family and Education
bap. 17 Sept. 1650, ?3rd s. of Ambrose Manaton† of Trecarrell, Cornw. by his 2nd w.; bro. of Ambrose Manaton*. educ. G. Inn 1671, called 1686. m. 3 Aug. 1693, Martha (d. 1721), da. of Solomon Andrew, merchant, of Lyme Regis, Dorset, s.p. suc. bro. 1696.1
Stannator, Foymore 1710; recorder, Camelford by 1711–d.
In 1690 Manaton was re-elected for Camelford alongside his elder brother, and like him was classed as a Tory in Lord Carmarthen’s (Sir Thomas Osborne†) list of the new Parliament and as a supporter in December. A defaulter on a call of the House on 16 Nov. 1691, he was sent for into custody, being discharged on the 28th. On 4 Dec. 1693, he was again absent following a call of the House and excused for one week. When the House was called over again on the 20th he was excused on health grounds. In the 1693–4 session he was absent from a call of the House on 14 Mar. and ordered into custody, being released on 4 Apr. In the last session of the Parliament, on 9 Mar. 1695, he received another grant of leave. He did not stand in 1695 and did not contest the by-election at Camelford when his brother elected to sit for Tavistock in March 1696, but following the death of his brother later in 1696, he did contest the by-election at Tavistock, petitioning on 25 Nov. when defeated. He was unsuccessful. As heir to his brother at Trecarrell, Manaton’s interest in Camelford was so strengthened that he was returned there in 1698. Listed as a supporter of the Country party in a comparative analysis of the old and new Parliaments, he was listed as likely to oppose a standing army. He again proved himself a poor attender of debates, being absent from a call of the House on 11 Dec. 1699 and ordered into custody. When he missed another call on 8 Jan. 1700 the serjeant-at-arms was asked to report on the execution of his previous warrant. He reported that he had
sent one of his messengers to the said Mr Manaton’s house at Calstock and . . . was there informed that he was gone towards London 15 Dec. last, and that although the messenger stayed thereabouts and that several days he could not hear of him there nor yet about this town [London] since that time.
Manaton was ordered by the House to surrender himself within a fortnight ‘upon pains of incurring the further displeasure of this House’. He was released on 23 Jan., and later in the session was involved in the management of a private estate bill. Returned again for Camelford in January 1701, he was included in a list of those who would probably support the Court in a supply resolution to continue the ‘Great Mortgage’. Later in the session he managed a private bill to discharge a mortgage on a Cornish estate. Before the second general election of 1701 he was blacklisted as having opposed the preparations for war against France, and after his return was included with the Tories in Robert Harley’s* list of that Parliament. In 1702 Manaton stood at Tavistock as well as Camelford. Although returned for the latter, he presented a petition relating to his defeat at Tavistock, which he renewed the following session. He was eventually seated on 21 Dec. 1703, whereupon on 3 Jan. 1704 he resigned his seat at Camelford. He was absent from a call of the House on 25 Nov. 1704 and a motion to excuse his non-attendance was carried by 127 votes to 91. This would make it likely that he was absent from the division on the Tack on the 28th, and he was again granted leave of absence on 2 Dec.2
Confusion over his position on the Tack may account for his description as ‘Low Church’ in a list of the 1705 Parliament. He was absent on 25 Oct. 1705 from the division on the Speaker. However, his political position was clear as he was listed as a Tory in two lists of 1708, one before and one after the general election. He was returned again for Tavistock, but had also stood unsuccessfully at Camelford, being defeated by a Tory, John Manley*, supported by the Granvilles. He was listed as voting against the impeachment of Dr Sacheverell in 1710, and on 17 Mar. was granted further leave of absence, this time for a month. Having been elected a stannator for Foymore in a by-election for the convocation of tinners in Cornwall, he excused himself as unwell on 26 Apr. After being returned again for Tavistock in 1710, being classified as a Tory in the ‘Hanover list’, and featuring as one of the ‘Tory patriots’ voting for peace, he was unseated on petition on 3 Feb. 1711 for ‘flagrant’ bribery. Although returned for Camelford at a conveniently timed by-election on 26 Mar., he was again unseated on petition. He seems thereafter to have lost his influence in both boroughs, and sought refuge instead at Callington in a by-election in 1712. In preparation for proceedings against the Duke of Marlborough (John Churchill†), Harley (now Lord Oxford) included Manaton on a canvassing list, deputing Francis Gwyn* to approach him for his vote. Rather surprisingly he voted against the ministry on 18 June 1713 over the French commerce bill, possibly having been provoked by his treatment in Camelford at the hands of the Granvilles. A subsequent list of this division classed him as a ‘whimsical’. At the 1713 general election, however, he could find no bolt-hole, and did not stand again. He made his will in January 1714, leaving his estates in Cornwall, Devon and Somerset in trust for his cousin Francis Manaton of Manaton, his executor. He died shortly before 16 May 1716, when Francis, receiver-general of the duchy of Cornwall, succeeded him as recorder of Camelford.3 | English | NL | 871e1b2944d3f238b739406c85c1f55c6e0f0475c1eefb435b022b3d5b2ba066 |
McHorse, Christine -Asymmetric Bowl with Lightning Rim
Christine McHorse is well known for her sculptural pottery. Each piece is coil built and have very thin walls. This bowl is a classic of her traditional mica style. It is very thin walled and on the rim there is a carved section with a lighting band. The jar is a micaceous clay and vertically polished. There is a simplicity to the jar and yet it is certainly striking among her traditional style. Christine said of her Navajo pottery,
“I didn’t really have any idea about Navajo pottery. When I started making pottery, I also started researching it in books and museums. The Navajo pottery that was written about, they were called “mud pots.” It had not developed to the sophisticated level of Pueblo pottery. The term “mud pots” affected me to the point that I thought, I’m going to have to show them some Navajo pottery. My first time at Indian Market was in 1983. At first, I entered my work in the Taos style category of pottery. Then I started incising burnished surfaces and applied piñon pitch. I did as much as I could with materials that a Navajo potter would use. So I started out doing the Taos style, then doing the Navajo style, eventually exploring other methods which led to contemporary forms.” Christine McHorse, Spoken Through Clay
Today she is creating more sculptural works with her pottery as in the recent “Dark Light” exhibit. This jar is in excellent condition with no chips, cracks, restoration or repair. It is signed on the bottom.
Out of stock | English | NL | 3a8196d13fe02199d0adbc668d0b856ded070dfe9b61a6ea6d8d4b6ca5647f64 |
By: Robert Louis Stevenson
Review By: Alex Frank
I feel I must begin by stating that I wasn’t sure if I should write book reviews for classic novels. I am not an English or Lit major. I have no background whatsoever in trying to critique works which have been so highly regarded as to be considered “classics” in the first place. I am but one person who reads books and claims to have an opinion about them. My book review will not sounds like I’m giving a dissertation or writing a paper for an English class. I will not be looking into it that thoroughly, but merely wish to state, in plain words, how I feel about this particular work. You may agree with it. You may take it with a grain of salt. Either way, it’s entirely up to you, and this work will still be a classic regardless of my opinion.
Jim Hawkins is a seven-year-old boy who helps his father and mother run an inn called the Admiral Benbow. One day a haggard man comes to the inn and tells Jim’s father that he will be taking up residence there for a time. The Captain, as he calls himself, says his expenses will be covered by however much gold the family will require. The Hawkins family soon grows tired of the old man’s company because he is loud, rowdy, and always drunk on rum. Everyone fears the Captain, but he himself also seems to be afraid of a one-legged man whom he instructs Jim to be on the lookout for. A chain of events is set off when a blind man asks to see the captain, and Jim is forced to take the stranger back to the inn. Not realizing the blind man’s intentions or the danger he has just put his family inn, Jim soon finds himself embarking on a voyage for lost treasure with a group of unruly, mutinous pirates.
Stories revolving around pirates, be it in books or movies, I almost always find to be interesting. So it’s honestly surprising that I have waited this long to read Treasure Island. This was the book that essentially started it all and where our modern image of pirates comes from. And for as awe inspiring and adventurous as I imagined this book would be, I can’t help but admit that I was disappointed.
Now, I will say this. Treasure Island is a children’s book, so one would expect that the story would have to be a little watered down in order to keep a child’s attention. That’s fine and dandy. I can understand why the story was structured the way that it was and why the story flowed at such a fast choppy pace. My problem does not so much lie with the story itself as in the way it was written. The language was so confusing. At some points, it didn’t even feel like I was reading English. Yes, if I kept reading the paragraph, then I got the general gist of what was going on. But how on earth are children supposed to understand what a group of pirates are saying when their dialogue is almost nonsensical?
I was, on the other hand, willing to also consider that this novel was not written in the 21st century. The original novel was published all the way back in 1883, so, as we can all imagine, people talked differently then. Children in 1883 could probably understand the language and references better than children (and college student) in 2015. That is not to say that Treasure Island is impossible or not worth reading. Far from the truth, because there are so many references from this novel used in movies and everyday life. I just wish to warn people that this is not the easiest classic in the world to digest despite the fact that it is a children’s novel. But that is also just my opinion, and other people may not find the language as hindering to their reading experience as I did.
The most enjoyable part of this book was understanding where all of the references came from that I recognized from one of my favorite movie series, Pirates of the Caribbean. There were references to eight pieces, the black spot, rum drinking, the song “Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum,” the dead man’s chest, and treasure maps. Each of these things was employed by Pirates of the Caribbean in a slightly different way then they were originally written in Treasure Island. But I think that is what makes the movie adaptation so interesting when compared to the book. There is so much more that I feel I understand now that I didn’t before and why I still say to read Treasure Island despite the language drawbacks.
Also, on a side note, I never knew the namesake of the Long John Silver restaurant. Long John Silver was a cook, among other things, aboard the ship, Hispaniola, during Jim Hawkins’ adventures. Rather funny and I’m glad I know that now.
Overall Rating: 3.5 | English | NL | 7d7100fd74ed51bd07483d21a9bff75a38b6a7165b9bc4e737d8d3f7a98181b8 |
I was walking in town yesterday and I saw a lady who was pregnant and she was walking towards me, some guy who was walking aimlessly was about to hit her and I noticed that she stopped and she put her hand over her tummy, turned to the side and she let the guy pass, so that he wouldn’t hit her. As I saw this I smiled because I saw the love that she had for her unborn baby, she’s not yet seen him/her but still she was ready to protect them, thats what you call motherly instincts. She is carrying a seed and she wants to give birth to the seed and watch it grow, she will do everything in her power to protect her seed. She will provide, nurture, love & take care of this seed all the days of her life. As parents, the one thing that we will be accountable for is our children, how we raised them, the morals that we taught them. God has given us the seed of children, what did we do with it? Did we molest them? did we torture them? did we fail to provide when we could have?
Some of us think that since you don’t have a gift that everyone sees, then your gift is less important, no it isn’t. Paul says in 1Corinthians 12:4-6 There are different kind of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men. Be it Spiritual gifts, a special talent that some people have, all have being given by the same God, because we are all His children. How we use the gifts that He gives us, is what becomes the game changer. We are all pregnant with a child, and the child is the gift within us, we need to nurture, take care of what God has given us, water the seed so that it can grow. If you can serve, then by all means serve and don’t look down upon yourself that all you do is serve others! no, serve as if you were serving God and not man, because God is the one who rewards us, He is the one who will place the crown of life onto your head, not man. If you can sing, sing unto the Lord, let that be your ministry and serve God with it. Whatever God has put into your heart, use it.
What seed are you carrying? Do you know it? Let your seed spring forth, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in Heaven Matthew 5:16. Don’t let fear consume you, don’t be afraid of making mistakes while nurturing the seed that God has given you, but rather be confident of this, that He who began a good work in you, will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus Philippians 1:6 | English | NL | d077bd211c66a54330dd3ce7fee024e9626e1548433aa58a10b8a37414350bf8 |
Hi I’m Josh Hawkins, this is episode 134 of Opening Up the Gospels. Since Episode 125 we’ve been looking at the events on Thursday evening of Passion Week. I spent several episodes talking about the Last Supper, and in the last 3 episodes I showed you Jesus’ possible route from the Upper Room through the Temple to the garden called Gethsemane. We left off talking about Jesus’ prayer in the garden, and I proposed that Jesus had much more on His mind than just His own well-being during those final moments in prayer. In today’s episode I want to continue our look at Thursday and early Friday of Passion Week. As I’ve noted before, the Gospels “zoom in” a lot here - the record of these events are much more detailed than many of the other scenes the authors have recorded for us in the past two years of Jesus’ ministry. So let’s read from Mark 14:
"And he came the third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? It is enough; the hour has come. The Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand.”"
(Mark 14:41–42 ESV)
Recall that Jesus had invited Peter, James, and John to proceed further into the garden with Him, while the other 8 disciples remained perhaps near the entrance. It’s likely very late in the evening at this point, perhaps around midnight or 1am. And as Jesus returns to them after privately praying a third time, they are fast asleep again. It’s been a long day for them, and unfortunately they can’t stay awake and pray with Jesus. So Jesus comes and wakes them with urgency, essentially saying “guys, wake up, this is about to get real.” So Jesus, knowing what’s about to happen, proceeds back to the entrance of the garden and from there, they see a band of Roman soldiers and Jewish officers approaching, carrying lanterns and torches. Let’s take a look at a map for a second. Likely this band had left the Antonia fortress, as you can see here. Now according to the historian Josephus, Antonia’s Fortress was a building that was built around 6AD that served as a residence for King Herod as well as barracks for the Roman troops. It also had a central courtyard for public speaking and served as a safe deposit place for the robe of the High Priest. This was right next to the Temple. Now presumably the detachment of troops and officers would have first gone to the upper room, where Judas had last seen Jesus. Upon not finding Him there, Judas likely led them to Gethsemane on the slopes of the Mount of Olives. Now in order to get there, the detachment had to descend into the valley where the Brook Kidron flowed, cross over the brook, and then head up the slopes of the Mount of Olives to Gethsemane. They could see them from a distance not only because it was dark out and they could see torches, but because they had to head up the slopes of Olivet to the garden. Does that make sense? Now John 18 says:
"Now Judas, who betrayed him, also knew the place, for Jesus often met there with his disciples. So Judas, having procured a band of soldiers and some officers from the chief priests and the Pharisees, went there with lanterns and torches and weapons."
(John 18:2–3 ESV)
Lanterns, torches, and weapons. At 1am. Were they expecting a fight? Did Judas expect the other eleven to defend their master? The Greek words used by all four Gospels to describe the number of soldiers who came to arrest Jesus is mind-blowing. John 18:3 says that there was a “band of soldiers”. This Greek word describes a military cohort, typically consisting of hundreds of soldiers. They were extremely well-trained and equipped with the finest Roman weaponry of the time period. John 18:3 also says that officers from the chief priests and Pharisees came. These guys were like “police officers” who worked in and around the Temple. Matthew 26:47 says that a “great multitude” of soldiers came (Gk: ochlos polus). Mark 14:43 and Luke 22:47 also call it “a great multitude” (Gk: ochlos). So based on what we know about the Romans and these words from the Gospels, we should have in mind a large crowd - not just 10 or 15 people. The hillside up the Mount of Olives would have been covered with highly trained soldiers and officers. Think about how many times Jesus had slipped away from crowds in the past. Judas must have remembered this. And Jesus had demonstrated His power so often throughout His ministry, so much so that even Herod had heard and wanted to see it. So were they scared that Jesus would slip away again? Were they afraid that He would use His power against them? Surely that was not in Jesus’ heart. Author James Stalker says this:
“How ridiculous now looked their cumbrous preparations—all these soldiers, the swords and staves, the torches and lanterns, now burning pale in the clear moonlight. Jesus made them feel it. He made them feel what manner of spirit they were of, and how utterly they had mistaken His views and spirit. “Whom seek ye?” He asked them again, to compel them to see that they were not taking Him, but that He was giving Himself up. He was completely master of the situation. Singling out the Sanhedrists, who probably at that moment would rather have kept in the background, He demanded, pointing to their excessive preparations, “Be ye come out as against a thief, with swords and staves? When I was daily with you in the temple, ye stretched forth no hands against Me.” He, a solitary man, though He knew how many were against Him, had not been afraid: He taught daily in the temple—in the most public place, at the most public hour. But they, numerous and powerful as they were, yet were afraid, and so they had chosen the midnight hour for their nefarious purpose. “This is your hour,” He said, “and the power of darkness.” This midnight hour is your hour, because ye are sons of night, and the power ye wield against Me is the power of darkness.” -Stalker, James: The Trial and Death of Jesus Christ : A Devotional History of Our Lord's Passion.
The Gospels continue the story, saying:
"While he was still speaking, there came a crowd, and the man called Judas, one of the twelve, was leading them. He drew near to Jesus to kiss him, but Jesus said to him, “Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?”"
(Luke 22:47–48 ESV)
So Jesus is no longer withdrawn into the garden but is closer to the entrance. The soldiers draw near the entrance, likely remaining on the outside of the enclosed space, and Judas goes in before them and gives Jesus a kiss. Why a kiss? It wasn’t clear. It was deep into the night, and the Jews going out to arrest Jesus might have had a casual familiarity with Him, but the garrison of Roman soldiers didn’t care who He was and likely had no idea who He was. This was completely a Jewish matter. So the kiss would definitely have been one certain way to distinguish who Judas was talking about. Now John’s Gospel continues and adds a bit more detail here. He says:
"Then Jesus, knowing all that would happen to him, came forward and said to them, “Whom do you seek?” They answered him, “Jesus of Nazareth.” Jesus said to them, “I am he.” Judas, who betrayed him, was standing with them. When Jesus said to them, “I am he,” they drew back and fell to the ground. So he asked them again, “Whom do you seek?” And they said, “Jesus of Nazareth.” Jesus answered, “I told you that I am he. So, if you seek me, let these men go.” This was to fulfill the word that he had spoken: “Of those whom you gave me I have lost not one.”"
(John 18:4–9 ESV)
So Jesus passes beyond Judas after the kiss and comes out to the entrance where the rest of His disciples were and confronts those who had come to seize Him. And what does He do? He’s just so composed here, He’s not worried, not uncomfortable, and in no way is He a victim of what was transpiring. He says “who are you looking for?” and they say “Jesus of Nazareth”. Then, Jesus responds with something absolutely incredible. John 18:5 records Jesus’ response in Greek as “ego eimi”. He says this two more times, in verses 6 and 8. Now remember back to episode 91 where I talked about the significance of this phrase in Greek, how it links back to Exodus chapter 3 and the God of Israel’s revelation of Himself to Moses and to His people. Jesus is not just saying “hey, I’m the guy you’re looking for”. The Greek makes it clear that He is saying “I am the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob”. And what happens? The soldiers draw back and fall to the ground. Oh, the majesty of the One before them! Falling to the ground is a regular reaction of those who have come near to the God of Israel throughout the Bible, and I think that’s what John is trying to highlight for us here. Jesus finishes his statement to them by showing such concern for His disciples. He said “let these men go”, and John says that this was to fulfill what Jesus had spoken earlier. In all of this, we have to see that Jesus is willingly giving Himself over to them. Willingly. But John 18 continues with one more important detail:
"Then Simon Peter, having a sword, drew it and struck the high priest’s servant and cut off his right ear. (The servant’s name was Malchus.)"
(John 18:10 ESV)
Now I think it’s difficult to know what the disciples understood at this point, but it seemed like this was a big moment for them. I think John and Peter knew that Judas was the betrayer at this point, but I am not sure if they would have completely connected the dots and said “oh, ok, so Judas is going to betray Jesus and that’s how He’s going to be captured and then die.” I don’t think they understood exactly what it was going to look like. And Peter here I think is showing a little bit of sympathy with the zealot movement in Israel - he’s wanting to fight for the One he really believes is the promised king of Israel. But Jesus renounces that and tells Him to put away his sword. Not only that, Luke 22:51 records that after Peter cuts off Malchus’ right ear, Jesus stretched out His hand and healed him. My gosh, what did Malchus think? Jesus is so kind to His enemies. He uses His power to heal the guy that came out to arrest Him! Unreal. John 18 continues:
"So the band of soldiers and their captain and the officers of the Jews arrested Jesus and bound him."
(John 18:12 ESV)
Mark’s Gospel adds this detail:
"And Jesus said to them, “Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs to capture me? Day after day I was with you in the temple teaching, and you did not seize me. But let the Scriptures be fulfilled.” And they all left him and fled."
(Mark 14:48–50 ESV)
So they finally arrested Him and led Him off to the high priest. And all the disciples forsook Him and fled, fulfilling what Jesus had spoken just a few hours before at the Passover meal. And just like that, Jesus was alone, being led by hundreds of soldiers up the slopes of the Kidron Valley back to the city. There He was - the promised Messiah and the God of Israel Himself, allowing Himself to be shackled and paraded before seemingly powerful men in the city. This was a scandalous, civic injustice, something that was completely against Jewish law. What was in the heart of man that we would do this to God? God appeared among us, and this is what we did to Him. What meekness filled His heart that He went forward and submitted to being bound as a criminal and led away from His closest friends? He knew what was ahead of Him, and He didn’t shrink back from it. As Peter himself would go on to say in 1 Peter 2, this is the example He left for us to follow.
Well, we’re out of time for today but come back next time when we’ll continue our look at the fateful events of Thursday evening. If you’ve missed any of the past episodes in this series, go back and find them all on my website - www.joshuahawkins.com/gospels. God bless, and I hope to see you next time. | English | NL | 92b11c288c75eb0b91a15c168ce7fb6b1806e7d892c4ec77d69997c182e3c585 |
Old Aker Church (Norwegian: Gamle Aker kirke) is a medieval era church located in Oslo, Norway. An active parish, the church is the oldest existing building in Oslo. The church is surrounded by Old Aker Cemetery.
Old Aker Church was built as a three-naved Romanesque style basilica and constructed from limestone. It is believed to have been erected by King Olav Kyrre in 1080 as a church for all of Vingulmark, the historic area surrounding Oslo. The grounds of Old Aker Church were originally likely the former site of the regional thing during the pre-Christian period.
The oldest part of the surrounding churchyard dates back to the 12th century. The church has been pillaged and ravaged by fire several times. After a lightning strike and fire during 1703, the tower and church bells as well as the entire inventory were destroyed. The exterior was restored by architects Heinrich Ernst Schirmer and Wilhelm von Hanno in 1861. Interior restoration during the period 1950-1955 included removal of plaster on brick walls and restoration of the Baroque style furnishings.
The church sits on top of Telthusbakken and is located centrally in the borough of St. Hanshaugen. It is surrounded by an old graveyard and a stone wall. The church has a baroque pulpit and baptismal font from 1715. The tower is built in 1861. Most of the buildings in the area are from the 1880s, with the addition of some apartment blocks from the 1930s. Gustav Jensen was appointed a curate at the church in 1874. Knud Karl Krogh-Tonning was parish priest at the church from 1886 to 1900.
The church was built over the former site of the Akerberg mines (Akersberg gruve), an ancient silver mine which was in use since the early Viking era. The mines are mentioned in the 1170 Historia Norvegiae. The existence of these former mines must have been the inspiration for a number of local stories about the church having hidden silver treasures and even dungeons with dragons.
Source: Wikipedia - Text is available under the Creative Commons Attribution - ShareAlike license | English | NL | 158e1a1c49b82f318cc66cb7be690878b40b1c0ad3030dab52aa3820dee65bb0 |
Trading Guns for God
One day Rajendra heard that some strangers were holding meetings in his village. He decided he had better find out what was going on.
Rajendra Ram, 48, from Bihar, was an activist in eastern India before learning about the true God.
Rajendra Ram was a poor farmer from a village in eastern India. He did not have a lot of education, money, or resources, but he cared about his family, his neighbors, and the people around him. He grew angry when he saw how oppressed the poor people around him were.
Rajendra decided to do something about the situation, so he and nine friends formed a gang that tried to fight against the oppression. As time went on, the gang became increasingly violent. Rajendra and his friends felt their mission justified the violence. Sometimes they even killed people. Because of their crimes, they were hunted by the police, and they had to hide in the jungle. Rajendra was only able to see his wife and children on nights when he could sneak into his village.
Strangers in Town
One day Rajendra heard that some strangers were holding meetings in his village. He decided he had better find out what was going on. So the next evening Rajendra sat in the back as a pastor talked about Jesus. Rajendra narrowed his eyes. It sounded to him like these men were trying to enslave the villagers to their religion, just like foreigners had enslaved the Indian people politically in the past.
Rajendra listened for only a few minutes before slipping out of the tent to rejoin his friends in the jungle. He told the other men what he had seen, and they decided to break up the meeting the next night and force the strangers out of the village.
The next evening Rajendra marched into the tent in the middle of the meeting and walked right up to the front, followed by his gang.
“Grab these men!” Rajendra shouted. “Let’s take them to the jungle.”
The pastor looked right at Rajendra and spoke calmly: “Brother, we aren’t doing anything wrong. Sit down and listen to what we are saying. If you don’t like what you hear, you can do what you like to us. But first, please listen.”
Rajendra was subdued by the pastor’s words. He sent his team away and sat down to listen to the rest of the message.
“Jesus came to this world to die for our sins,” the pastor said. “One day soon He will come back to take His people home to heaven.”
Rajendra was interested in spite of himself. As he listened to the pastor’s words, he stopped thinking about what he could do to stop the meetings and started thinking about all the terrible things he had done in the past few years. Something in his heart changed. He felt his conscience talking to him.
After the meeting was over, Rajendra returned to the jungle. But he could not sleep that night. How could I have done all those things? he thought to himself. Can I ever be forgiven for all the violence?
In the morning Rajendra got dressed, feeling as though he would never get out of the pit of sin he had dug for himself. In despair he walked to the house where the pastor was staying.
When the pastor opened the door, a look of surprise crossed his face. Rajendra knew he was wondering whether the man from the jungle had come to kill him. But the pastor invited him in nonetheless.
“I would like to join your group,” Rajendra said humbly. “Will your God accept me?”
A wide smile came across the pastor’s face. “Of course God will accept you. He will accept anyone who comes asking for forgiveness from their sins.”
The pastor and Rajendra talked and prayed together. Rajendra felt his heart melt with the love of God, and he knew that he had been made into a new man.
God’s Newest Child
When Rajendra left the pastor’s house, people passing by looked at him fearfully. They knew he was a dangerous man. Some men rushed into the house to see if the pastor was dead. “I’m fine,” the pastor told them, smiling. “It is the old Rajendra who is dead. The man you just saw was the new Rajendra, God’s newest child!”
Rajendra began studying the Bible regularly with the pastor. The more he learned, the more he was convinced that this religion did not mean slavery–it meant freedom.
The next time the pastor held a baptism in the nearby river, Rajendra stood with the 39 other candidates–including his wife –ready to be dipped into the water. But before he could be baptized, he saw police surrounding the area. He did not resist when they grabbed his arms. Before they took him away, Rajendra told the people: “I promise that as soon as I am freed, I will be baptized in this very spot.”
Rajendra spent six months in prison. To this day he still does not know why he was released so quickly. He immediately went to the pastor so he could be baptized as he had promised, and so that everyone would know he was a new man in Christ.
Rajendra became a lay evangelist, trading his guns for the Bible, and working in the same villages where he once terrorized many of the people. God had changed his life. | English | NL | 58ae69bb231ab1f834eb7861faed068f2a44a539cc500291902fcdffe3ec536b |
At the ripe old age of 75, Col Grant still managed to cut a very swashbuckling figure, with his scanty locks artistically arranged over his bald pate, twirling his trademark Ronald Colman moustache and snapping his paisley braces. Lesser mortals may have scoffed at his old world chivalry or sniggered at his rendition of “Tipperary” after a few gin and tonics, but he soldiered on gamely. He was fond of prefacing his remarks with, “When I served with the Fifth Fusiliers (or the Seventh Cavalry, I can’t remember which) my CO would always tell us to fight the good fight. Stiff upper lip, you know.”
At the bar, he would adopt a confidential undertone before imparting nuggets of mess hall wisdom: always hold a bottle by the neck and a woman by the waist and make bloody sure you don’t get it the other way around. He was dismissive of Gen X, “Bunch of boisterous oafs who need to learn how a gentleman treats a lady”, or, “I’m amazed by the number of fools I see with a smartphone.” To keep fit, he took to playing golf at the army course with a fauji foursome and many a pleasant morning was spent exchanging yarns of “old forgotten far off things and battles long ago.”
One fateful morning, the Colonel set off from home at the crack of dawn and was a few minutes away from the course when he saw a damsel in distress on the side of the road. Voluptuously clad in a purple sari, she was standing next to an Ambassador with the hood up, waving frantically for some passing Samaritan to come to her rescue. His chivalrous instincts aroused (in view of subsequent events, maybe that’s an unfortunate choice of word) the good Colonel braked hard and then parked off the highway like a model citizen before offering to assist.
As he approached the damsel abruptly stopped waving, quickly slammed the bonnet and leapt gracefully into her car, disappearing with a loud squeal of tyres. Shaking his head in bewilderment over the quirky nature of women, he turned back only to discover to his shock and horror that a ghost driver had carjacked his vehicle; just kidding, the lady had an accomplice. While the Colonel’s attention had been focused on her ample curves, the carjacker had found the keys left carelessly in the ignition and taken off in his car, burning rubber in the process. The hapless Colonel was left stranded in the Kalahari, in a manner of speaking.
After the inevitable fist-shaking and fuming, he found his way to the nearest police station where he narrated his tale of woe prior to signing an official complaint. The cops offered tea and sympathy but as he feelingly put it, “I had the sneaking suspicion the buggers were laughing at me.” A week later, a family friend spotted the stolen car parked near a building under construction and phoned him in a frenzy of excitement. The cops were summoned, the building was placed under surveillance and a raid carried out which yielded three women in various stages of undress, two clients, one Maruti and one unrepentant, henna-haired Madam. The two upstanding citizens, collateral damage netted in the raid on the house of ill repute, weren’t too delighted with their supporting role in the drama, claiming they were there for Ayurvedic treatment.
At the station, Madam refuted the allegation of theft swearing loudly and colourfully that the vehicle was in part payment of services rendered. “He organised mujra and then had no money to pay, so he said, ‘Tum gaadi leh lo, later I will do full payment’”. The fury displayed by the Colonel at this accusation was a sight to behold; while I wasn’t present on the occasion I have to rely on reportage but apparently chivalry took a back seat. Friends who subsequently told him he should feel flattered by such insinuations at his age found their nudges and winks met with icy disdain. In fact, when one of his foursome recycled that old chestnut about “treating a tart like a lady and a lady like a tart”, the Colonel shanked his drive and changed the subject abruptly.... | English | NL | 43a099651c8a2f6ce2fbfa27669ee0e557015afdd953ab6a9eacd0af854ff9f0 |
15 Sep Samuel Cooper (1609-1672)
Samuel Cooper (1609-1672) was the most famous miniature painter of his age. He was born in London in1609. He learned miniature painting from his uncle, John Hoskins, who lived and worked in Bedford Square and was himself an eminent miniaturist. Cooper’s style seems to descend directly from that of Nicolas Hilliard via Larkin and Hoskins. Horace Walpole states that Cooper was influenced by Van Dyke but was an original genius.
Cooper went into business on his own in 1642. He worked successfully through the period of the Commonwealth and included many of the leading puritans amongst his clientele. Because of his established reputation he quickly received the patronage of King Charles II upon the king’s restoration. Cooper’s reputation at the pinnacle of his profession reached its summit in1663 when he was appointed the king’s limner.
Cooper lived for many years in the up-market locality of Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. His friend Samuel Pepys makes reference to him in his diary where he calls him “the great limner in little’. His paintings of 17th century worthies are many and legendary. He appears to have painted Oliver Cromwell a number of times along with Prince Rupert, Charles II, James II, General Monck, the poet John Milton etc. He died in London on 5th May 1672 at the age of 63, and was buried in St. Pancras Old Church where there is a monument to his memory on the east wall of the chancel. | English | NL | d77939892a5e909c6c599def51aba79119c76d79fae55f6a39e4b13eb6b17f91 |
Dark was just getting undone and the mountains coming into focus and I was grateful and reciting the reasons to myself not because I needed to be reminded but for the one-by-one pleasure of considering the people and circumstances and creation itself. Then, the dog acted up. Barking. Behind the house the two dogs from up the road had something. I went outside and chased them off. It was cold and I was in my pj’s. I came back inside.
As the light outside came up, I looked out the back window and could see the doe lying on the side of the hill, head up and ears spread. I hoped she might be standing and walking away unharmed after collecting herself. But no. She stood, and I saw her hind quarter ripped open.
She was likely hit by a car first, and then the dogs got her. Unsteadily, she walked around the side of the house. The herd came up the hill from the road and briefly absorbed her. Then, the doe stepped away from the group and came to the unfenced portion of the side yard near the fire pit and lay herself against the hill on a rock. The herd stood nearby for a time, but slowly deserted her as I frantically sought a number to call on a Sunday morning to put an animal out of misery. I need a gun.
As they must, the herd drifted away, walking uphill, one deer more reluctant than the rest to leave and standing at the yard’s perimeter. But she, too, then drifted. The doe moved from the rock to flatter ground. She lay down. She shuddered for a time. She died.
The magpies didn’t hesitate. A bird’s got to eat. I feel like I can smell the blood. I think of the car, the neighbor’s dogs, the herd, and the magpies, the collision of the modern, the domesticated, and the wild. It’s time to get a gun.
The deer must be hauled away before it attracts the hungry. | English | NL | 94ea24d131dc504eae563ccbab97f44d6e8d7116830b2a9c04ef51ae7e9af6c7 |
It's early in the morning and we're cruising down the Karawari River in Papua New Guinea, stopping at villages along the way. Why do this by boat? Because there are no roads that connect any of these villages! This is the reason that 600 languages are spoken on this island off the coast of Australia. Each village is so isolated from each other that that new languages developed based on geographic isolation.
The first sight we see is a lady in what looks to be in a kayak, making a fire and cooking fish. What's up with this?
My first thought was, "Isn't this a little selfish feeding yourself? Doesn't she take care of her family?" I found out that this was precisely the point. In this lady's tribe, the division of labor is such that she is in charge of the meals for her family. She gets up at the crack of dawn and goes fishing. When she catches her fish, she makes a fire, cooks some of the fish and then eats a few. This provides her with nutrition so that she can then feed her family!
The lady and her family live in this one room hut. It is a wide open space with the kitchen area in the corner. The family eats two meals daily. The entire time I was in Papua New Guinea, I never saw an obese person.
My curiosity peaked, seeing what dinner would become was now of interest to me. I didn't have to look far because soon I came across a mother and son extracting the pulp from a sago palm.
After this process is complete the pulp is taken to an open hut where the woman adds water to it.
From here the pulp is discarded and boiling water is added. The flour that is formed gets cooked on the grill.
This forms a viscous solution, or pudding, to which vegetables can be added. This woman now has dinner for her family!
What I've noticed in my travels in the third world is that what would seem like monotony to me, such as eating the same diet with little variety, the natives are happy. Many seem to be smiling and enjoy the making of pudding as a communal experience. They've been doing this for hundreds of years. Americans should grab a bite in Papua New Guinea. They might learn something. | English | NL | e9da663704eea36ec74ed32d2078043f3ab6c57febc428e206570dc02d0aedd4 |
Sarah Ann Butrum Payne
The century-old image is not meant to please. The hair is tidy but severe, the mouth hard, the eyes haunted. A few pleats in the bodice cannot soften the dark dress, its collar held rigid with a large cameo that suggests the importance of the occasion.
The subject is Sarah Ann Butrum, the last child born to James L. Butrum and Margaret Steenbergen, both Kentucky-born, though Margaret’s ancestry was Dutch.
James was a widower with two small children when he married Margaret 11 weeks after his first wife died. They worked a farm in Allen County, near the little town of Puncheon, and welcomed three daughters of their own.
In 1861, James enlisted as a private in the Union Army. He spent the next three years in and out of military hospitals, having contracted heart disease as a result of “hard marching and exposure.” Honorably discharged just before Christmas 1864, James returned to his family and to farming.
When Sarah Ann was born a year and a half later, her parents inexplicably gave her the same name as her father’s dead wife.
In 1870, all six of the Butrum children lived at home. A decade later, only 14-year-old Sarah Ann and two unmarried sisters remained. After her husband died of a heart attack in 1881, Margaret took her widow’s pension and her youngest child and moved the 12 miles to Macon County, Tennessee.
At 19, Sarah Ann married Oliver Philip (O.P.) Payne, a 26-year-old Macon County farmer. Described by one granddaughter as a small man with soft features, and another as a mean man, he struggled to farm despite having a clubfoot that required him to make his own shoes.
Their first child, Bertie, came along in 1885. By 1903, Bertie had seven siblings — Riley, Henry, Burford, Annie, Joe, Wesley and Vada.
At some point in her 40’s, Sarah Ann developed the dreaded hacking cough associated with tuberculosis, then second only to heart disease as the leading cause of death in America. It was called the white plague, because it drained its victims of color, or consumption, because it seemingly devoured the body. Macon County (pop. 15,000) recorded 15 deaths from consumption in 1912.
Sarah Ann Payne was one of the casualties. When she died on Jan. 24, she was 45 years, six months, and 23 days old.
Left motherless were Sarah Ann’s five children still living at home, the youngest of whom was eight. O.P. and Sarah Ann’s first grandchild, Vola Mai, was 13 days old when her grandmother died.
The formal, unflattering image of Sarah Ann is a photo of record, likely taken and preserved for the sake of children who would need it to remember their mother’s face. It was found last year in an old suitcase, in a small plastic bag that also contained a broken comb and a chaw of tobacco.
On the back, written in pencil by Annie: My mother Sarah Ann Payne. | English | NL | 43f8a8a04908841c030592071322443d04e18fd42ba080ce9ae750238c839294 |
When Gunter and Otto first came to town,
they lived in a cave in the hillside close to Ganse-Stadt.
While there, they rarely went any place, or seldom had any visitors.
Gunter and Otto didn’t have a job,
but always seemed to have enough food to eat and nice clothes to wear.
Often late at night when everyone was asleep,
Gunter and Otto would go for a walk through the village.
In the morning some of the people noticed some things were missing.
A shirt hung out to dry the night before was gone.
Someone’s suit coat disappeared during the night.
Another one’s pants was missing and so was a tie.
A pair of shiny shoes and a pair of new socks was also missing.
Even a hat with a red feather was gone too.
Upon returning to the cave, after their walk,
Gunter and Otto would lay out their clothes for the next day.
Then one night when everyone was asleep, including Gunter and Otto, something in the dark shadows of the village began to move.
It crept across the lawns it until it came to the cave where Gunter and Otto slept. Slowly it stepped into the cave where they were fast asleep.
Before long it came out again and quickly it moved through the streets
into the woods along the river in the dark of night.
The next morning when Gunter and Otto arose and got dressed,
they had a real surprise.
Their shirts were all amuck!
One sleeve was too long, the other too short,
the buttons and buttonholes didn’t match.
Their suit coats looked like they had been chewed by a goat
and their pants were ragged and torn.
Their new socks were each a different color and so were the
shoes on their feet.
The ties Gunter and Otto wore, were wrinkled and had spots
on them and cut short.
The hats with red feathers were so big, they covered both ears,
but not the top of their heads.
When the brothers realized they couldn’t wear the clothes like that,
they gathered everything up and went into Ganse-Stadt to see if a seamstress could help them.
She promptly repaired everything and sent them on their way.
As they walked past some of the houses in Ganse-Stadt, Gunter and Otto sort of dropped certain items they were carrying.
By the time they reached their cave, everything was gone, except a red feather for their hats.
Eventually they moved into Ganse-Stadt where they could feel safer under the watchful eye of the Polizistin | English | NL | 1e138b53cccfd24a0ee79bf7c699bef64f166e6847b71aef34fb4201e7408ade |
Seventh President Andrew Jackson was a man of contradictions: quick tempered and brash, he often seemed to look for fights, but he was so devoted to his wife, he quit Congress twice to be by her side. He was a celebrated war hero who nevertheless most enjoyed his serene life in Tennessee. Although he saw himself as a champion of the poor, he grew to be a rich plantation owner owning many slaves. He adopted a young Native American as his son despite ordering the expulsion of tribes —hundreds of thousands of people—from their homeland in the Southeast. Douglas Yacka captures the many sides of Andrew Jackson, whose life began just before the Revolution and ended not long before the Civil War. This book in the New York Times best-selling series contains eighty illustrations that help bring the story to life. | English | NL | a650a3757aa408232748694dbb88d3be3d7dd5c244a52bf918d52d84fc08514b |
Some scientific discoveries come about after painstaking, goal-oriented lab work finally yields the result that a researcher is trying to find.
But frequently, some lucky accident leads to a transformative finding, provided the right person is there to realize the potential implications of that accident.
Then, in the part that isn't an accident, they turn that observation into something useful.
All of these discoveries began with an accident.
In some cases, a clumsy spill or drop led to the creation of some new substance. In others, unclean or unsafe lab practices revealed the hidden properties of something. And sometimes, a researcher (or even a schoolteacher) looked at something in the world around them and realized that it could be repurposed to great utility and frequently, great profit.
Here are 15 of those discoveries.
In 1945 Percy Spencer, an engineer for the Raytheon Corporation, was working on a radar-related project. While testing a new vacuum tube that drives a radar set known as a magnetron, he discovered that a chocolate bar he had in his pocket melted.
He became intrigued and started experimenting by aiming the tube at other items, such as eggs and popcorn kernels. He concluded that the heat the objects experienced was from the microwave energy.
Soon after, on October 8, 1945, Raytheon filed a patent for the first microwave.
The first microwave weighed 750 pounds and stood 5' 6" tall. The first countertop microwave was introduced in 1965 and cost $500.
Quinine is an anti-malarial compound that originally comes from tree bark. Now we usually find it in tonic water, though it's still used in drugs that treat malaria as well.
Jesuit missionaries in South America used quinine to treat malaria as early as 1600, but legend has it that they heard that it could be used to treat the illness from the native Andean population.
The original story involved a feverish Indian, lost in the jungle and suffering from malaria. Parched, he drank from a pool of water at the base of a quina-quina tree. The water's bitter taste made him fear that he'd drank something that would make him sicker, but the opposite happened. His fever abated, and he was able to find his way home and share the story of the curative tree.
This story isn't as well documented as some others, and other accounts for the discovery of quinine's medicinal properties exist, but a life-saving tale of an accidental discovery like this is too cool to leave out.
In 1895, a German physicist named Wilhelm Roentgen was working with a cathode ray tube.
Despite the fact that the tube was covered, he saw that a nearby fluorescent screen would glow when the tube was on and the room was dark. The rays were somehow illuminating the screen.
Roentgen tried to block the rays, but most things that he placed in front of them didn't seem to make a difference. When he placed his hand in front of the tube, he noticed he could see his bones in the image that was projected on the screen.
He replaced the tube with a photographic plate to capture the images, creating the first x-rays. The technology was soon adopted by medical institutions and research departments.
In 1896, intrigued by the discovery of x-rays, Henri Becquerel decided to investigate the connection between them and phosphorescence, a natural property of certain substances that makes them give off light.
Becquerel tried to expose photographic plates using uranium salts, like Roentgen had done with his x-rays. He thought he needed sunlight to complete his experiment, but the sky was overcast. He stored his items and decided to wait for a sunny day.
To his surprise he discovered the photographic plates were exposed despite the lack of light. He theorized and later showed that the rays came from the radioactive uranium salts.
In 1941, Swiss engineer George de Mestral went for a hike in the Alps with his dog. Upon returning home, he took a look at the small burdock burrs that stuck to his clothes, and noticed that the little seeds were covered in small hooks, which is how they became attached to fabric and fur.
He hadn't set out to create a fastening system, but after noting how firmly those little burrs attached to fabric, he decided to create the material that we now know by the brand name Velcro.
It became popular after it was later adopted by NASA, and became commonly used on sneakers, jackets, and so much more.
Saccharin, the artificial sweetener in " Sweet'N Low," is somewhere around 400 times sweeter than sugar. It was discovered in 1879 by Constantine Fahlberg, who was actually working an analysis of coal tar.
After a long day in the lab, he forgot to wash his hands before eating dinner. He picked up a roll, and noticed that it seemed sweet — as did everything else he touched. He went back to the lab and started tasting compounds until he found the results of an experiment combining o-sulfobenzoic acid with phosphorus chloride and ammonia (tasting random chemicals is not generally considered a safe lab practice).
Fahlberg patented saccharin in 1884 and began mass production. The artificial sweetener became widespread when sugar was rationed during World War I. Tests showed that body couldn't metabolize it, so people didn't get any calories when eating saccharin.
In 1907 diabetics started using the sweetner as a replacement for sugar and it was soon labeled as a noncaloric sweetener (for dieters).
In 1956 Wilson Greatbath was building a heart rhythm recording device. He reached into a box for a resistor to complete the circuitry, but pulled out the wrong one — it wasn't quite the right size.
He installed the ill-fitting resistor and noticed that the circuit emitted electrical pulses. It made him think of the timing of the heartbeat, as well as the electrical activity of the heart itself.
He thought this rhythmic electrical stimulation could compensate for a breakdown in the heart's ability to pump its own muscles, an idea that had intrigued him in the past, but one that he hadn't thought was possible at the time.
He began to shrink his device and on May 7, 1958, a version of his pacemaker was successfully inserted into a dog.
Albert Hofmann was studying Lysergic acid, a powerful chemical that was first isolated from a fungus that grows on rye, when he first synthesized LSD in 1943. Like many other inventors, he doesn't characterize his discovery as an accident — it started with one, but he's the one who decided to follow through with his findings.
These chemicals he studied were going to be used as pharmaceuticals, and many derivatives of them are still used today.
While working with this chemical, sometime about five years after it was synthesized, Hoffmann reported feeling restless and dizzy. He went home to lay down and "sank into a kind of drunkenness which was not unpleasant and which was characterized by extreme activity of the imagination," according to his own notes. "As I lay in a dazed condition with my eyes closed (I experienced daylight as disagreeably bright) there surged upon me an uninterrupted stream of fantastic images of extraordinary plasticity and vividness and accompanied by an intense, kaleidoscope-like play of colors," he continued.
Intrigued, he intentionally dosed himself with the drug on April 19, 1943 to find out its effects.
It was the first planned experiment with LSD — but not the last.
The clay that kids play with has been around since the 1930s, but when invented, it wasn't supposed to be a toy.
The clay was first designed by Noah McVicker, who worked with his brother Cleo at a soap company. But they didn't make a kids toy. Instead, they had created a wallpaper cleaner.
One of the byproducts of the coal fires that people used to keep their homes warm was soot, which coated the walls. Rolling the clay over the soot removed it.
However, after the introduction of vinyl wallpaper, which could be cleaned with water, wallpaper cleaner was no longer as necessary, since a wet sponge could do the job.
But before the McVickers went out of business, a nursery school teacher named Kay Zufall came up with another use for the product. She had heard that kids could make decorations out of the wallpaper cleaner, so she tried it in class, and her students loved it.
She told her brother-in-law Joe McVicker, who worked with his uncle Noah.
The McVickers decided to remove the detergent and add coloring, and after Kay suggested the name "Play-doh" instead of "Kutol's Rainbow Modeling Compound," their original suggestion, the clay that we know and love was created.
In 1928 Alexander Fleming, a professor of bacteriology, returned to his lab after a vacation. While sorting through his petri dishes of colonies of the bacteria Staphylococcus, he noticed mold had started to grow on them.
Looking for what colonies he could salvage from those infected with the mold, he noticed something intriguing. Bacteria wasn't growing around the mold. The mold actually turned out to be a rare strain of Penicillium notatum that secreted a substance that inhibited bacterial growth.
Penicillin was introduced in the 1940's, opening up the era of antibiotics.
Viagra was the first treatment for erectile dysfunction, but that isn't what it was originally approved for.
Pfizer originally introduced the chemical slatternly, the active drug in Viagra, as a heart medication. During clinical trials the drug proved ineffective for heart conditions. But men noted that the medication seemed to cause another effect — stronger and longer lasting erections.
Even if they hadn't been able to maintain an erection before, the ability returned while they were on Viagra.
Pfizer conducted clinical trials on 4,000 men with erectile dysfunction, and saw the same results.
Enter the age of the little blue pill.
The discovery that later allowed researchers to find insulin was an accident.
In 1889, two doctors at the University of Strasbourg, Oscar Minkowski and Josef von Mering, were trying to understand how the pancreas affected digestion, so they removed the pancreas from a healthy dog. A few days later, they noticed that flies were swarming around the dog's urine — something abnormal, and unexpected.
They tested the urine, and found sugar in it. They realized that by removing the pancreas, they had given the dog diabetes.
Those two never figured out what the pancreas produced that regulated blood sugar. But during a series of experiments that occurred between 1920 and 1922, researchers at the University of Toronto were able to isolate a pancreatic secretion that they called insulin. Their team was awarded the Nobel prize, and within a year, the pharmaceutical company Eli Lilly was making and selling insulin.
Alfred Nobel accidentally discovered dynamite in 1833.
Nitroglycerin was becoming a widely produced explosive, but it had some serious problems. It was unstable and regularly blew up people, buildings, and everything else around. While working with nitroglycerin one afternoon, a vial slipped out of Nobel's hand.
SPOILER ALERT: there was no explosion, and Nobel lived. The nitroglycerin landed in sawdust, which soaked it up.
He was later able to explode the sawdust, and concluded that mixing the nitroglycerin with an inert substance stabilized it.
In 1903 Edouard Benedictus, a French scientist, dropped a glass flask that had been filled with a solution of cellulose nitrate, a sort of liquid plastic. It broke, and the liquid evaporated.
But it didn't shatter.
The pieces of glass were broken, but they stayed in place and maintained the shape of the container. Upon investigation Benedictus realized that somehow, the plastic coating had helped the glass stay together.
This was the first type of safety glass developed, a product which is now frequently used in car windshields, safety goggles, and much more.
After years of trying to turn rubber into something useful that wouldn't freeze rock hard or melt in the hot sun, Charles Goodyear was struggling. He'd been experimenting for years and invested everything he owned in rubber research, but hadn't been able to create a commercially viable product, and his family was starving.
But things started to turn around. First, he poured some nitric acid onto some rubber that had been colored gold to remove the color. It turned black, so he threw it out, but removed it from the trash when he realized that it had become hard on the outside, and was smoother and drier than any previous rubber. But it still melted in high heat.
He started using sulphur in his experiments, and here's where things get a little murky. As the story goes, in a fit of excitement, he tossed some rubber that had been treated with sulphur up in the air, and it landed on a stove. But instead of melting, it charred, creating an almost leathery, heat-resistant waterproof substance.
After further experimentation, he realized he could get the most effective results by using steam to heat up the mixture of rubber and sulphur he'd created. Finally, he found success.
Goodyear vehemently disagreed with those who label this finding an accident, since he's the one who followed through with it all. But (if the story is true), the discovery still depended on one lucky accident. | English | NL | 44232c5d6b35f95397a9e792897849607cabdc3f107d775b0452d80c420a8db2 |
The Pioneer Settlers
The years 1841 to 1845 were significant years at The Heads as they marked the arrival of the pioneer settlers.
James Sandle Ford, was closely followed by Edward Skelton who had already spent some time in the Colony living at Williamstown. He settled at Shelly Beach also known as Skelton’s Flat.
The Sullivan family arrived by lime craft from Canvas Town (Melbourne) landing at Shelly Beach. After a dispute with the Skelton’s they took up land, under license, where the Quarantine Station was later built. Their house was based on the style of an Irish bog hut, reminiscent of their homeland. It measured 6Oft. x 12 ft. and was divided into compartments. The outer walls were l2in. thick and the roof was of split palings overlaid like shingles. They raised cattle, grew potatoes and other crops. They built their kiln into the cliff face above the beach; it can be readily identified looking west from Portsea pier, it appears as a tunnel shaped hole in the middle of Weeroona Bay cliff. Unfortunately they found the limestone too flinty to burn properly.
These neighbours were joined by James McGrath who settled on an adjacent property. These four families were the earliest permanent residents at The Heads; needless to say they intermarried and many of their descendants still live on the peninsula.
The settlement grew and by 1845 Ford’s farm, known as the Station, was well developed. The Ford Homestead was erected and also several small huts for the limeburners, and outbuildings with a well near by. Grazing paddocks and a garden were situated in low land – water being obtained from two large lagoons. The general location was in the vicinity of the Portsea Back Beach Road and Franklin Road being approximately in the centre of the fenced area.
The cypress trees bordering Nepean Highway, a feature of Portsea, were planted by Ford.
About 1860 he built the first pier at Portsea. Additions were made to it by the Harbour Trust and, in later rebuilding, the original structure disappeared, although the site is the original one.
Today little remains of the many jetties, quarries or the schooners, although traces of the kilns remain, several being in a good state of preservation. | English | NL | 201ea586865aea81ca4230e428117aaae909a487169bb7bb252965ad66402130 |
Memories of a Truth-Seeker: Stephen Hawking 1942-2018March 16, 2018
Andy Strominger, Stephen Hawking, and Don Page at a 1992 conference on black holes in Aspen, Colorado
by Andrew Strominger,
Gwilll E. York Professor of Physics, Harvard University
March 14, 2018
I had the good fortune to meet Stephen Hawking in 1982. This was to be the beginning of a long and vibrant scientific interaction and friendship. I was fresh out of graduate school and Stephen could still speak in a growly voice. It took me a few days to understand what he was saying but I managed to do it. And there was a lot to say! Stephen twirled around my Princeton apartment with son Timothy on the footrest of his wheelchair. Probably dangerous but they both had a blast. This was a harbinger of the Stephen who loved to dance and go clubbing that I got to know later. He never lost his sense of fun or humor to the very end.
What distinguished Stephen from the rest of our pack when I first met him, and ever since, was not his insane brilliance or his consummate knowledge of every last detail of Einstein’s theory of general relativity. It was his passion in the search for the truth. This helped keep him alive and in good spirits through unimaginable and unrelenting physical challenges. Einstein once said “Of all the communities available to us, there is not one I would want to devote myself to except for the society of the true seekers, which has very few living members at any one time.” Einstein would have counted Stephen as a member...
The full essay will appear in Scientific American shortly. | English | NL | 2a52574fe7c9b8694cae4d9516782253c2897d533c08e2c9e872a3efbf3ff921 |
Happy Friday! Congratulations you have made it through another week and you have earned these three free jokes at no cost and absolutely no obligation! They are yours for free and are almost worth the price.
Star of the Euphrates
King Ozymandias of Assyria was running low on cash after years of war with the Hittites. His last great possession was the Star of the Euphrates, the most valuable diamond in the ancient world. Desperate, he went to Croesus, the pawnbroker, to get a loan.
Croesus said, “I’ll give you 100,000 dinars for it.”
“But I paid a million dinars for it,” the king protested. “Don’t you know who I am? I am the king!”
Croesus replied, “When you wish to pawn a Star, makes no difference who you are.”
It is not widely know that evidence has been found that William Tell and his entire family were avid and quite accomplished bowlers. Unfortunately, all the families league records were destroyed in a fire, …and so we’ll never know for whom the Tells bowled.
Mahatma was an inspirational figure and a renowned leader; however, he also had his peculiarities. He walked almost everywhere he went barefoot, to the point that the soles of his feet became quite thick and hard. Plus he often went on hunger strikes, and even when he wasn’t on a hunger strike, he did not eat much which led to him becoming quite thin and frail. Because he didn’t eat much and what he did eat consisted of a rather peculiar diet, he developed a chronic case of very bad breath. He also was a very spiritual person. All these led to him becoming a super-calloused fragile mystic vexed by halitosis.
Thought for the Week
It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson | English | NL | 3407dce230ad18664f4dc4d830c1799944d7e54020850f0dc9f0d276fe9aa29a |
[T]he Dou Donggo recognize most people as being either male, mone, or female, siwe. Some individuals, however, who in our society would probably be called transgendered [sic], are regarded as persons who were intended to become one gender but ended up being born in the body of a person of the opposite gender. They are men who are ‘sara siwe’, who ‘missed at becoming female’, or women who are ‘sara mone’, who ‘missed at becoming male’. Being sara siwe or sara mone is regarded as neither shameful or perverse, it is simply an aspect of an individual's self, a product of birth like eye colour or stature. For such individuals the usual sexual division of labour observed by the Dou Donggo is ignored: one sara siwe in Doro Ntika became a noted weaver, an occupation ordinarily the exclusive domain of women; this person also dressed as a young woman and joined the young women of the village in harvesting rice. In another instance a sara mone decided to accompany the men of the village when they went off to do the heavy labour of clearing the fields in which the village would plant their swidden rice that year. The men made no objection, although they seemed to find it amusing that the sara mone would want to take on such an arduous task. But at the end of the day, when they were returning to the village all of them stopped at a bathing pool in the river reserved for men. When the sara mone began to disrobe to bathe with them, the men drew the line and refused to permit it.
« Older One Belt, One Road (OBOR) to gird the world | "The masses have erred, but my Dao is TRUE!... Newer »
This thread has been archived and is closed to new comments | English | NL | 27fcbfc888451268d21a6eff82deff8340a3dbd8e777f4f840fc0955d137bb4a |
WASHINGTON — A peer review of a controversial August federal report on the whereabouts of oil from BP's Deepwater Horizon well upholds its conclusion that three-quarters of the oil had been burned, skimmed or was in the process of degrading, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration said Tuesday.
NOAA Administrator Jane Lubchenco acknowledged that she was wrong in August when she said the original report, which was viewed skeptically by many scientists, had been peer reviewed. The 217-page report released Tuesday was that review, and it validated the initial findings.
Lubchenco said that ongoing studies are under way to reach a conclusion about the oil spill's environmental cost.
"I can't emphasize enough that it doesn't tell us where the oil is today or what its final fate will be or the impact," Lubchenco said.
The initial report was released on Aug. 4, just slightly more than two weeks after BP successfully capped the well, which had gushed an estimated 4.1 million barrels of crude oil in the Gulf of Mexico over 87 days, the largest accidental oil spill ever.
The report was intended to provide a "budget" of what had happened to that oil and to serve as a guide for efforts to clean up oil that could still be recovered.
But it became the immediate target of some scientists who blasted as overly optimistic NOAA's conclusion that the "vast majority of the oil . . . has either evaporated or been burned, skimmed, recovered from the wellhead or dispersed."
The critics said the report implied that much of the oil was gone and no longer posed a risk and questioned how the government scientists had made their calculations. They said the work should have been reviewed by outside experts.
Tuesday's document made few revisions in the original work. "The latest results, by and large, are consistent with early results," the report said.
The lead authors of the report were Bill Lehr of NOAA, Sky Bristol of the U.S. Geological Survey and Antonio Possolo of the National Institute of Standards and Technology. Fifteen other scientists and experts took part in the review, representing universities, consulting groups, ExxonMobil and Canada's environment and fisheries agencies. The University of New Hampshire's Coastal Response Research Center coordinated the review.
The authors' most important change was in the estimate of how much oil had been chemically dispersed. That estimate was revised to 16 percent from 8 percent, though the authors said it could have been anywhere from 10 percent to 29 percent.
Lubchenco said the revision was made on the basis of a better understanding of how dispersants worked below the surface.
The BP blowout was the first time large amounts of chemical dispersants were applied in deep water.
NOAA is coordinating ongoing studies to determine where the oil is now amid reports that some still floats in the Gulf and some has settled into the Gulf's seabed.
Scientific vessels have made 125 sampling expeditions to collect 31,000 water and sediment samples in a broad area of the northern Gulf, but those results haven't been released yet.
The result of that research is more important than where the oil was in August, said Charles Hopkinson, a marine sciences professor at the University of Georgia and the director of the Georgia Sea Grant College Program. Hopkinson was part of a team that did an oil budget that reached different conclusions in August.
"We want to know where it is now," he said.
ON THE WEB
MORE FROM MCCLATCHY | English | NL | 1ce49fbf3a71970f307a7b040a844875f2fb2a09a45b1534959310a7c7e12697 |
I sat on the last free table and watched the traffic pass by. It was not too bad I guess, coming back...again to a part of town that held so many memories. But for some reason, my life here has me coming back from time to time to this part of town that I once knew so well. Nothing seemed to have changed, the old people were still there, the library and cafe beside it exactly as it was eleven years ago. I felt comfortable sitting in the little square and watching people.
I was too early for my appointment. My anxiety either has me showing up too early or too late for appointments. Today I was an hour early. I did not want to wait in the reception room so I went to the little square and sat there reading my book. Two foreigners approached me, one to ask directions to the library and the other to a bank.
I got bored and decided to talk a walk, another woman approached me. She wanted directions to a place where "unemployed immigrant women met to study together". No fucking idea. Her language was faulty. I thought she needed directions for either the unemployment agency or the language school. No. It wasn't a school she was looking for or the unemployment agency, it was some place for women to meet and "study together". After trying for some minutes to figure out what she meant, she looks at me accusingly and says "you don't live around here do you?" What the fuck does that have to do with anything? I say "no, but I used to". She nods her head and looks at me knowingly....as if that explains everything. I could not help her because I did not live around here and therefore did know know this strange place where unemployed foreign women met to study together. The truth was I could not help her because I had no fucking clue what she was talking about. Anyway, it would have been useless to argue so I agreed with her. "Yes" I replied. "You should ask somebody else, I don't know this area". She smiled and nodded in sympathy.
I left her by the roadside and went back to the square. Two old ladies and a dog approached me. One had only a big front tooth sticking out of her gums. "Can we sit here with you?" she asked. "Yes, sure, its free" I replied. "Very sweet of you" she said. Her companion walked to one of the chairs by the table with the dog but did not sit down. The one toothed old lady told the other she was going to get them some coffee. The dog started barking. She told the other woman to hold the dog's "jaws together" and then shuffled off. The companion was unable to do that, she kept trying to appease the old dog by talking nicely to it, the dog went off on a barking spree.
The other old people around were slowly getting irritated. I was quite amused. The old lady kept talking to the dog "she will soon be back" "why are you embarrassing me?" "you are so spoiled" etc etc, it all seemed very familiar, this had happened many times, it was a routine. The old woman looked at me and said "sorry, she is old, thirteen years".
"Well, you better sit down, I think". I said.
I was more concerned about the woman's bad posture than the dog's barking. She had not sat down since they arrived and was half way bent, trying to soothe the barking dog. It looked like a very uncomfortable position to be in. The couple nearest to us looked at her in irritation and buggered off to another bench far away. Another old woman went off with disgust. The dog kept barking.
The one toothed old lady came back with their coffee "Why did you not shut her jaws?" she asked clearly irritated, she used her walking stick and began to roughly prod the dog "shut up" she said to the dog. The dog barked back and back and forth it began, the one toothed old lady began a quarrel with the dog, the other woman interjecting in from time to time, "stop it, you are not helping matters". The three of them seemed oblivious to their surroundings, they were lost in whatever psycho drama this was. More people left the surrounding tables. I looked on in amusement.
Unfortunately, it was time to leave. As I began to pack up my stuff, one tooth says "oh you don't have to go, you are not in the way".
"I have to go anyway, not leaving because of you guys, I have an appointment to keep. Have a good day ladies" I said.
As I left, I thought of what one tooth said "you are not in the way"...ha ha ha ha...for Christ's sake, they were in my way!!! I was sitting alone there before they came along with their psycho drama. "Not in the way" indeed!!! ha ha ha funny people. | English | NL | 19adc9adc134b146be1bb4cba8c11b37672f1391fef19a3af59962ecfed3a939 |
Director Andrew McLaglen is probably best known for his association with John Wayne. His dad Victor starred with Wayne in John Ford’s cavalry trilogy. Young McLaglen helmed five of the Duke’s movies, including McClintock!, Chisum, and The Undefeated. And he got his start serving as an assistant director to John Ford on The Quiet Man.
Early in his career, McLaglen made his mark on the small screen. He directed 96 episodes of Gunsmoke and 116 episodes of Have Gun—Will Travel—more than any other director of those series. | English | NL | ce21aa3d159813d79186febfcfceabf68dec2126e84ebd2292cbb023374d7f78 |
The Amish Ruse
The Amish Of Hope Valley Book Five
It was challenging for a man as proud as Daniel Hertzler to admit he had taken on more than he could handle alone. But if he wanted to keep the farm he adored, he had to find someone to help him care for his young son – as soon as possible.
And that meant marriage to a stranger – a woman he despised – and at the same time awakened longings inside his soul that held no place in his solitary existence.
The small Amish farm seemed the perfect place for May Fuller to hide. After all, she carried a dark, shameful secret. A secret someone knew and wanted to hurt her by bringing it to light.
Her new role as John’s wife seemed the perfect solution for them both – until a surprising fondness for her hard, gruff husband made her wish they weren’t just playing a charade for the sake of Hope Valley. | English | NL | 87ab6d02e128d3c08cf112bb921741a19972d9fb9215efb3c71078fabbd6dc00 |
In my home land there is a place where the wild rose grows so thick not even birds can make their nests there. If you follow the old goat path south out of the village you will come to a stream and if you follow that stream west into the setting sun you will come to the source of the water. Just past there is a clearing. Not many people went there in the old days. It was a place of goat herds and rocks, not much else. Now there are the roses.
They say that in the time of my great grandmother, before they built the bridge over the river, our little village was bustling with travelers from the old road. Many people came to buy our goat's milk. It was the finest goat's milk in the land. During this time there were two brothers who owned most of the goats. Pablo was the older brother and a ruthless business man. It was said he could sell meat to a bear, if the bear had money. Tito, the younger brother, was the gentlest of souls. He herded the goats he and his brother owned. He was so kind the goats would do anything he said if only he would smile on them.
In the village there also lived Esperanza and her mother, Lupita. Lupita was a poor bakers wife; and after her husband died she was a poor baker. Ahh, but Esperanza was the most beautiful girl. She was kind and gentle to the village children and would often help her mother in the bakery.
Esperanza and Tito grew up together. They were they best of friends. But as they grew older the goat herding and the bakery they did not leave them much time to remain friends. Years passed and with the exception of the occasional chance meeting at the village well they did not speak to each other much.
Every spring the village has a great festival. La Lorana, The Festival of the Flowers. Every house, hut, and lean-to is decorated with the abundant wild flowers that grow all around the village. In the village square the grandmothers decorate the buildings and merchants from all over come and hock their wares to any passers-by. The year before the bridge was built, the festival happened to fall on Esperanza's 18th birthday. As a treat Lupita allowed her daughter to spend they day in the village square admiring the merchant stalls and even gave her a few precious coins to spend on what ever her heart desired.
That evening as the dancing and singing started Tito came in from the fields. His herd was safely put up in the pens and his brother had told him he could join in the festivities. There in the center of the square, dancing around the bonfire Tito saw a vision of ethereal beauty. Esperanza was dressed in a flowing light green tunic cinched around her waist with a leather belt. Her brown skirt moved like smoke around her legs as she kicked and twirled to the musicians' beat.
At the end of the song all the dancers fell to the ground in breathless laughter. When Esperanza had recovered her breath she made as if to stand. And there floating before her was a hand. Her eyes followed the hand up past a thick wrist to a strong forearm and up farther to a set of wide, sturdy shoulders. Set above the shoulders, atop an adequate neck, there was the face of quiet confidence. Esperanza took Tito's hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They spent they rest of the evening hand in hand.
Every night after that they met in the village square and talked for hours, about anything and everything. Throughout the spring their budding friendship blossomed into love. Through the summer their love deepened. By the end of summer they were ready to wed.
Lupita had been very busy with the bakery, trying to pay back the loan she had received from Pablo. She never noticed her daughter's blooming relationship. But Pablo had, and he was jealous of his brother. Late in the summer Pablo came to Lupita and told her he would forgive her debts if she would promise him one thing, Esperanza's hand in marriage. Thinking she could do nothing else she agreed. Lupita told her daughter that night at dinner. Esperanza sat quietly and listened slowly feeling a great hole open inside of her.
Esperanza had always been a dutiful daughter. She had never gone against her mother's word. Now she was torn. Between her love for Tito and her lover for her mother. That night after her mother had gone to bed. Esperanza snuck out of her house and ran to Tito's little shack. There she told him what his brother had done. And for the first time in his entire life Tito felt anger. He would never allow his brother to marry Esperanza. All through the night he raged and just before dawn he decided that Esperanza and he would be married no matter what. Esperanza was frightened of what Pablo would do to her mother if they ran away but Tito assured her he would do nothing. They arranged to meet at the clearing at the top of stream in one week's time.
Pablo heard the whole thing. He had seen Esperanza running in the night and followed her to Tito's. He had sat beneath the window and listened.
As the week passed Esperanza tried very hard not to let both her excitement and her guilt show to her mother. She worked harder than she ever had in the bakery. She went to bed early every night. On the day of her departure her mother noticed that Esperanza did not look well, and as the day turned into night Esperanza began to look even more ill. In truth she was sick from the knowledge that after that evening she would never see her mother again.
After supper she went to bed and quietly packed a bag of the things she would need. She lay awake in her bed listening to her mother getting ready to lay down for the night. She wept silent tears of both joy and sorrow.
There was a hush in the clearing as Esperanza walked into it. The wind was unmoving, the trees did not rustle. Even the birds were silent. Sitting against a rock her lover seemed to doze. She smiled silently and continued on. As she got closer there was something wrong. She could not place it. Was there something in the way he sat, the way his head leaned forward on his chest? Esperanza knelt next to Tito and placed a hand on his shoulder. She tried to shake him awake. Her movements jarred him a little and as he slid slowly from the rock she saw his cold unseeing eyes.
Tito! Her Tito was dead. Starting from a small black hole above his heart, an ugly red stain had spread across his shirt. She cradled his head in her lap and as she sat staring into the eyes of her dead lover Pablo knelt down beside her. He placed the gun to the back of her head and pulled the trigger.
They say Pablo left the village and never came back. They also say he never left the village that he just disappeared into his home and wasted away. But no matter what they say about Pablo none of them can deny what happened in the following weeks.
Lupita awoke to find her daughter missing. She searched high and low throughout the village, asking if anyone had seen her daughter. By afternoon the whole village was looking for Esperanza. It was not until the sun was making its way to the bottom of the sky was she found. Another goat herd found them. He ran to the village and brought Lupita. There she saw her daughter and Tito dead in each others arms. She wept and lamented over her daughter. She wailed as a banshee. It took all of the village men to bring Lupita back. For a week straight she cried.
One morning as one of the ladies came to bring Lupita some breakfast she heard no crying. The whole house was quiet. She found Lupita dead on her bed in her hands there was a single red rose and a scrap of paper. On the paper she had written:
"The Rose is for eternal love."
Within days the place where the bodies were found was covered in roses. Within weeks it was impenetrable. Over the years everyone has tried to cut down the roses. But they can not be so much as scratched by even the sharpest of blades. Except on one day of the year. La Lorana.
all works posted here are copyrighted | English | NL | d3be564a68f6a87978504297aaaa20bd319110ecfe00bda0913b7d9a88451ca1 |
William was 26, a farmer’s son from Ednaston who had worked on his father’s farm and as a labourer with a neighbour so he was an experienced farmer. He lived with his unmarried sister Mary and two cattlemen, Percy Withering (aged 23) and Frank Bull (aged 17). In 1905 Mary married Charles Hancock of Brailsford and moved out. William married Annie in 1907.
By 1911, William Yates is 36. He and Ann (27) have a daughter, Margaret (aged 3). There are 3 servants living in the house with them: William Hawksworth (25) a waggoner, Arthur Bishop (21), a cowman and Marie Jolloy (17), a general domestic.
The Yates family lived at Park Farm for 20 years. Their daughter Margaret married Samuel Crowther in 1936In 1921, the farm was sold by the Church Commissioners to George Thums, a farmer and butcher from the village. The Yates family had to move out and there are newspaper advertisements for the sale of their stock: 42 cattle, 7 horses, 10 sheep and some poultry. William was only in his mid-40s and may have moved back to his father’s farm in Ednaston. | English | NL | 74cdd6da425aa1e884d919fc6181d44fab3cfd0aa4f8c1dc6cf358718886b520 |
در این متـن میخوانـــیم :
Muhammad al-Taqī or Muhammad al-Jawād (Rajab 10, 195 AH – Dhu al-Qi'dah 29, 220 AH; approximately April 8, 811 AD – November 24, 835 AD) was the ninth of the Twelve Imams. His given name was Muhammad ibn ‘Alī ibn Mūsā, and among his titles, al-Taqī and al-Jawād are the most renowned. Muhammad al-Taqī was the shortest-lived of the Twelve Imāms, dying at the age of 25. He undertook the responsibility of Imamate at the age of eight years. He was a child when his father was killed. By reports, he did not act upon childish or whimsical impulses and he ####accepted adult responsibility and behaviours at an early age. Shi'a writers have propagated claims about his possession of extraordinary knowledge at a young age by likening his circumstances to that of the Islamic tradition of Jesus – a figure called to leadership and prophetic mission while still a child. According to Twelver Shi’ah Islam, the Imams are perfectly able to give judgment on all matters of religious law and their judgment is always legally correct. To that end al-Taqi supposedly receive a miraculous transfer of knowledge at the moment of the death of the previous Imam To that end it is reported, for example, that during his time in Baghdad he performed creditably in a public debate with one of the leading scholars of the city. After Al-Ma'mun had poisoned Imam Reza to death he endeavored to show that the death had come by a natural cause. Al-Ma'mun also brought al-Taqi from Medina to Baghdad with the plan of marrying him to his daughter, Umul Fazal. Although the Abbasids made strenuous attempts to forestall it, the marriage was duly solemnised. After living in Baghdad for eight years, al-Taqi and Umul Fazal returned to Medina. There he found his relationship with his wife strained and upon the death of al-Ma'mun in 833 his fortunes deteriorated. The successor to his father-in-law was Al-Mu'tasim. With the new Abbasid ruler in power al-Taqi was no longer protected and his interests and position were imperilled by the dislike that al-Mu'tasim had for him. In 835, al-Mu'tasim called al-Taqi back to Baghdad. The latter left his son Ali al-Hadi (the tenth Shi’ah Imam) with Somaneh (the mother of Ali al-Hadi) in Medina and set out for Baghdad. He resided there for one more year, becoming a well known scholar and popular in debates.
There are various accounts of the circumstances of his death. Ibn Sheher Ashoob records that Al-Mu'tasim encouraged Umul Fazal to murder him. She duly poisoned him to death on the twenty-ninth of Dhu al-Qi'dah, 220 Hijra (the 26th year after his birth). Muhammad at-Taqi is buried beside the grave of his grandfather Musa al-Kadhim (the seventh Shi’ah Imam) within Al Kadhimiya Mosque, in Kadhimayn, Iraq – a popular site for visitation and pilgrimage by Shi’a muslims.
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Meravyn Sanston (1941-2110 AE) is a character in the novel and film, The Hour before Morning. She was married to the famous healer, Trenod Sanston, and was sent to prison after she unintentionally blew up an Ash'torian ship an attempt to help him escape Ash'torian space. She is played by Trisha Luna in the film.
Meravyn was born on the planet Manyrock in Selbûn in the early days of its contact with the Ash'torians. At the time, relations between the Manyrockers and Ash'torians were not as hostile as they later became. In fact, Meravyn was named for the Ash'torian goddess, Merva'shem. Like many Manyrockers, Meravyn was part human (Sama) and part sverra (a bio-engineered humanoid). Her parents were also part-human, part-sverra, suggesting the use of genetic modification to overcome hybrid sterility. Though Meravyn had no children, she was probably a fertile hybrid. She had one older sister, Ata.
Meravyn trained as a botanist but did not pursue this as a career. As a young woman, she married the hypertelepath healer, Trenod Sanston, who suffered from considerable telepathic pain related to his healing. She was devoted to him and oriented her life around his, working a day job in water rationing. Trenod eventually divorced her, citing a need for solitude to mitigate his telepathic pain.
Though the divorce devastated Meravyn, she remained loyal to Trenod. Some years later, she helped him escape Ash'torian occupied space. She unintentionally killed some Ash'torian soldiers in the process and was sentenced to death. The Hour before Morning posits that in her last days, she underwent a philosophical process of self-reflection to determine if her life had been well spent or her priorities misplaced. | English | NL | ad1a7e81e49d5188ffd46074f6cf5175e01bb6467994036c8e3b99174fefef6d |
About Henry Lee
Henry Lee earned his Master of Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine from the New England School of Acupuncture. His studies included both Chinese and Japanese styles of acupuncture as well as Chinese Herbal Medicine. As a lifelong athlete, Henry found himself drawn to the sports medicine aspect of acupuncture and became an orthopedic acupuncture specialist. Henry is particularly interested in the treatment of orthopedic and sports injuries through the synergy of traditional and modern medical theories and methodologies.
Henry was and continues to be a student of the Chinese Martial Arts. He began his study in earnest at 13 years old learning Wushu and then Jow Ga Kuen Kung Fu and by the age of 18, he had become a full instructor. He then shifted his studies to the Internal Martial Arts which were well known not only for their martial prowess but also for their health benefits. In 2007, Henry began studying Chen style Taiji/Tai Chi and in 2009, began studying the Wudang arts under Master Zhou Xuan Yun, a Daoist Priest and Martial Arts master from Wudang Mountain. Henry is an authorized instructor of Master Zhou’s Daoist Gate Wudang Arts school.
Henry’s analytical abilities as a teacher and athlete inform his career as a therapist where he continues to study both classical and modern works in order to better evolve his abilities as a clinician. He has treated a diverse group of patients ranging from office workers to professional mixed martial artists. | English | NL | ba63ea29117826ba6b5f768a05c7fb7e22ac992b8eea62c4a3b80317aabfb4b4 |
Black History Month: The History of Jazz
Let's start with the basics: Did you know that jazz was born in the US? Did you know that the drum set was invented by jazz musicians? Did you know that words like "cool" and "hip" came from jazz?
It's more than just music to listen to in cafes and bars - it has an incredible story behind it. Here's a brief run-down, with the help of Scholastic's history of jazz curriculum!
The Blues was born in the South and was meant to express the pain and injustice faced by African Americans during this time. Inspired heavily by hymns and traditional work songs (thus the common use of call and response) this music used to accompany spiritual and social events. Blues set the foundation of jazz not to mention the inspiration for rhythm and blues, rock 'n' roll, and country music (think of Elvis Presley!)
New Orleans is a melting pot of sounds. The French trumpet mixed with the Blues, traditional African drumming, ragtime, and military marching bands all came together in cacophony that brought on the birth of classic jazz music. Improvisation and accompanied dancing was common and the music filled the streets!
Louis Armstrong is born
Louis Armstrong was one of a kind. His understanding of rhythm and his ability to improve made jazz what it is today. He is actually one of the most influential artists in the history of music. Born in New Orleans, on August 4, 1901, he began playing the cornet at the age of 13. He changed the way that jazz artists approached solos forever, and moved away from a more traditional Dixieland style. He played faster and louder than anyone had before.
Swing was born from the basic foundation of jazz. Swing as a jazz style actually first appeared during the Great Depression. The fast dance tunes were meant to lift the spirits of the American public, and it did! By the mid-1930s, a period known as the "swing" era, swing dancing had become our national dance and big bands were playing this style of music. Orchestra leaders such as Duke Ellington, Paul Whiteman, and Benny Goodman led some of the greatest bands of the era.
A pianist, composer, and bandleader, Ellington was one of the founders of the big band sound. "Ellington plays the piano, but his real instrument is his band. Each member of his band is to him a distinctive tone color and set of emotions, which he mixes with others equally distinctive to produce a third thing, which I like to call the 'Ellington Effect.'" —Billy Strayhorn, composer and arranger
n the early 1940s, jazz musicians were looking for new inspirations, and a new direction. Out of this desire for something new, style of jazz was born, called bebop. It's fast tempos and complex melodies created a "jazz for intellectuals." The big bands with dancing crowds was replaced with small audiences that sat and listened to the music, trying to catch all the details.
Trumpeter, bandleader, and composer John Birks "Dizzy" Gillespie was born on October 21, 1917. At the age of 20 he moved to NYC and started to experiment with jazz to eventually come up with the bebop sound. He was heavily inspired by Latin music and set musicians on the path towards modern jazz.
Latin and Afro-Cuban Jazz
Adding in more inspiration to the already eclectic, dynamic genre is Afro-Cuban music. The combination of African, Spanish, and Latin American music changed jazz's sound and the culture surrounding it.
I've seen plenty of people posting about Jazz in our music community and I'm sure you know much more than I do, so I'd love to hear your favorite stories about jazz history - they were wild times!! | English | NL | bb64909b2b3941387c68d9654d5cd216b1ee0915496dbd79823f3d44f9debc5b |
Today the day finally came when me and my brother took off to the wilderness. When we were going out of our nest we needed to get out of there as quickly as possible without getting noticed by any of the other triceratops.
Once we got out of the nest safely, we started our journey to the wilderness. Once we reached the wilderness we started exploring. We saw many new plants, animals, bugs and many other things that we had never seen before. We were truly enjoying ourselves and couldn’t reason that why were they not allowing us to such a beautiful place and why had we not come to this place before. I was just thinking about it when suddenly we heard some rustling in the bushes. When I turned around I saw that two small, cute creatures were standing there and staring at us. At first, we were astonished but after I recovered from my initial shock I asked them “What are you and why are you staring at us”. They answered me that they were ‘squirrels’ and the first one said that his (its voice gave its gender) name was Joey and the other one said that her (the voice) name was Squeaky. Joey looked good and serious but Squeaky looked mischievous. As I was thinking, joey started talking to me. He told me that he and Squeaky were siblings and they were just playing in the woods. Meanwhile, Squeaky was busy climbing on top of my head. When she reached near my nose, her hairy tail tickled my nose and before I knew it I sneezed loudly sending little Squeaky flying in the bushes. When we reached there, she was lying there grinning broadly. She asked if I could do that again but, we did not listen to her. Joey said that he could be their guide in the wilderness and they could also play with them. It sounded good to me so, I agreed. Just after that I heard some sounds. The sounds were coming nearer and nearer when I saw who was making the sound I nearly froze out of fear. | English | NL | 813e786a602b206c09ae9ebe872a2b3b76a2b260774539f3f45beeb88397fe75 |
We’ve all heard of Stonehenge, the world-famous British site that has baffled archaeologists for decades. But there is another historical site not far from Stonehenge that has posed just as many questions for historians: Woodhenge.
Built 2 miles from its more famous neighbour, Woodhenge was discovered not long after the other thanks to aerial photographs that were taken during the 1920s. What they revealed was an elaborate mixture of ritual sites that may be linked in more ways than we realise, and might provide plenty of answers to the origins of the ancient Britons and what they believed in.
What is Woodhenge?
Woodhenge, much like Stonehenge, is a circular site made up of a series of wooden poles placed in the ground. While the poles themselves weren’t originally part of the modern site today, the support holes for an elaborate structure were discovered, and a series of wooden poles were added to give researchers a better idea of what the site initially looked like.
Made up of six concentric circles, it’s believed that the site was building around 2300 BC, thousands of years before things like cars, AFL premiership betting, or even electricity, and was used until 1800 BC when the Romans attacked and wiped out the local belief system. The six circles do not create a perfect circle, but are rather elongated at one side, and perfectly line up with the winter and summer solstices.
What Was It Used For?
Woodhenge’s purpose has long been a mystery to those that studied it. A number of child skeletons found at the site have led some to believe that it was used for child sacrifice, while others believe that the ancient Britons did not practice human sacrifice. Because the Britons relied solely on oral history, there is no direct account of what took place. Roman historians have pointed to the fact that these people believed in the links between life and death.
The Journey of Life and Death
What was discovered later on was a long procession, or walkway that lead from Woodhenge to Stonehenge. Due to this, the prevailing theory is that both sites were used to symbolise life and death; the beginning and end of a journey, the rising and setting of the sun.
Celebrations would take place at Woodhenge, and a number of pig bones have been discovered, pointing to the fact that they partook in feasting at the site. Once the celebrations were complete, they would begin the process of travelling the distance to Stonehenge.
It’s believed that this procession would most likely have been for an elderly person that was close to dying, or that had died already. Feasting, dancing, music, and more would have been held at Woodhenge to celebrate the person’s life, after which they would have made their way along the procession, which includes the River Aven, to Stonehenge, which signified the end of life. While there are no corpses at Stonehenge, there are many burial mounds nearby where corpses would have been taken. | English | NL | 21348f24b5f6c5bd506ecd41e8bc8ebf3b7b79435aea6070cc26b2806fd5ffc9 |
I realized, looking at my digital archives, that there is one year of the Portland (Maine) "Transcript" that I still need to go through, year 1853. I have access to the entire run of that paper on microfilm, in the Portland Room of the Portland Public Library--which, coincidentally, sits precisely on the last place that Mathew probably ever saw Abby, the site of the former American House Hotel. She was taken by her sisters back to the house of her father, the marquis, a few days before her death of consumption on March 27, 1841.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
Or, as Mathew also wrote, in black humor style, being tortured by grief:
A few evenings after she went up to bed,
And early next morning poor Sally was dead,
And when they looked arter the Leftenant's darter
They found a dead gall.
But because I'm working to overcome the stress reaction that developed from working so intensely on this project for so many years, I've made a deal with myself, that I can't take it up until I'm sleeping better and have overcome my problem with heartburn. It's not just a matter of stoicism, it's practical, because in the past what has happened is, I'll find more of Mathew's work than I bargained for. Something in it will be relevant to some particular research question (i.e., either as a confirmation, or as a challenge), and that new evidence will need to be fitted into the overall picture. Or, there will be a piece I am certain is Mathew's work, but it will be cited for another paper. Upon accessing the original in that other paper, I find that Mathew was also writing for that paper, and that there are five, ten, twenty or eighty of his pieces, there. And then the process repeats. This is not my fond imagination, such that I am greedily claiming all sorts of work for his pen, based on a vague, generic similarity of style. Again, I put these things through the acid test. I am not a trained literary scholar, but over the last nine years, I have gotten pretty good at analyzing Mathew's work, and I know what to look for.
For reasons of stress, also, I need to back off these blog entries, but there is one point I wished to emphasize, which I touched upon in the previous entry. The question is, why can't my literary discoveries be brought forward and introduced to academia and the world, without any inconvenient mention of reincarnation, or my claim to be Mathew Franklin Whittier reincarnated? Aside from my own agenda of re-introducing reincarnation to Western society, that is?
Because it would be dishonest. So far as I know, all the brilliant, highly-trained, erudite literary scholars from the 19th century to the present, have missed it. They have all been fooled by Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Margaret Fuller, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Albert Pike, Charles Farrar Browne, Ossian Dodge, Francis A. Durivage, and others that only scholars would recognize, who achieved greater or lesser fame by falsely claiming Mathew and Abby's work. Why was I able to do it?
There were three factors which tipped the scales in my favor. The first was past-life recognition memory. Even if I didn't have clear cognitive memories of writing a particular piece--what town I was in, what the room looked like, what kind of pen I was holding, etc.--I had intuitive, subliminal, and emotional recognition. Granted, I got to know his style like any researcher would, after several years of working with his material. But there was something more. It's hard to describe, but the best I can put the experience is that I remembered the subjective creative process of writing. I could feel when Mathew had been particularly pleased with a certain passage, for example. These bits tend to show up several years down the line, in his other works, where he re-used them. A good example comes to mind, but I'm trying to cut down on the labor involved in writing these entries.
Oh, alright, alright... I am hoping a scholar or two might read this, someday. Here is a passage that I discovered, having this immediate intuitive flash of feeling pleased with it. This is a report on the Millerites doomsday sect, signed (uncharacteristically) with Mathew's own name. It was published in the Portland "Transcript" of Nov. 1, 1845--when Mathew was writing his asterisk-signed reviews for the New York "Tribune" (the series wrongly attributed to Margaret Fuller). But the event, itself, is said to have taken place in Portland a year earlier, about the time he moved up to New York.
No sooner had this vindictive "Son of Thunder" ceased, than he was succeeded by a pretty miss of "sweet sixteen," or thereabouts, who, commencing in a very low, soft voice, gradually rose to the most piercing treble, as she descanted upon a sort of vision she had had the night before, in which she had seen the awful scenes of the judgment enacted. She was rather pretty and had a very benevolent and mild cast of countenance, which contrasted strangely with the fiendish exultation with which she described the coming agonies of her unbelieving friends and acquaintances.
Next I discovered this asterisk-signed humorous sketch which contains, nested within it, a review of an in-character reading of "Hiawatha":
Oh the explosive P's and the frog-trilled R's! Oh, the drawling and the quavering! Oh, the ranting and the air-thumping--and oh, the volume of the voice which that pretty little Indian poured forth! The first explosion frightened us so that we jumped as though electrified, thereby seriously alarming a nervous lady next us, to whom we were obliged to apologize by ascribing the jump to a sudden pain. She looked incredulous, and we have ever since feared that to her our pain was a very transparent one--but we never shall know.
"What a roar!" exclaimed our friend, startled quite out of his usual gallantry by the stentorian burst which had caused him to achieve a spring like the blade of a new jack-knife. "Does she think to charm us Portlanders in that way? We are accustomed to prettier voices, from lips so pretty as hers.--She has made a mistake in choosing this as a scene for her exhibitions. In the name of all that's ear-splitting, who sent her?"
Now comes a report on the Shakers, very reminiscent of Mathew's earlier report on the Millerites. This is "Quails," writing for the Boston "Weekly Museum" on Dec. 22, 1849. (It is not Ossian Dodge, as claimed.)
At the close of his address, we were favored with one of their wild, unearthly, intoxicating chants or wails, in which every voice took a leading part, and most nobly was it sustained; for at the close of each strain, as all of the voices came down on the tonic, the large and spacious hall was fairly made to ring again. One voice in particular, that of a female, was bound not to be outdone, and as her matchless and almost unearthly screech came out a quarter of a beat ahead, and half a note below the rest, our hair fairly straightened out and vibrated with terror.
It occurs to me that Mathew had curly or wavy hair, while Ossian Dodge's portraits show him with straight hair. If one takes this literally, instead of as literary license, it's actually a smoking gun. But I have disproven Dodge's authorship of this series, and proven Mathew's authorship of same, several times over.
Finally, we have Mathew visiting Dungeon Rock at Lynn, Mass. about two years before his death, while he was convalescing. This story was published over a year after Mathew had died, by his friend and co-worker Frank Harriman, who had evidently accompanied him on the excursion. I had earlier picked Harriman's name out of a list of his co-workers, as one that was especially meaningful to me. His photograph, when I found it, was also deeply familiar. Although this recognition wasn't evidential (because I already knew who he was in relation to Mathew), it was subjectively almost as strong as an earlier recognition experienced for another co-worker in that office, George Bradburn--which recognition was evidential. These were his close friends at work. Whether or not Mathew asked Harriman to publish it under his own name, is unknown. Mathew seems to have had an almost pathological aversion to fame and recognition.
We should have said before that this is considered a kind of Mecca for those who hold to the Spiritual faith. There are several buildings which seem to have been dropped down without much order, and a large platform furnished with plank seats. An entertainment had been furnished, though for what purpose or by whom we knew not. There was some fine singing, in solos, duets, and quartettes, and a slender little girl showed a good lip, large lungs, and nimble fingers on a silver cornet, out of which she fired repeated volleys of sputtering jigs at the over-elated spectators.
Admittedly, this kind of past-life memory, experienced in normal waking consciousness, is not as spectacular as what some researchers report using hypnosis. Like hypnosis-based memories, this "sixth sense" wasn't always accurate, or rather, it could sometimes be overridden by my intellectual assumptions and expectations. If someone wrote in a similar style, I might mistakenly speculate that it was Mathew's work. More often, for some reason, a piece would turn out to be Mathew's, but I would dismiss it because of my intellectual pre-conceptions. For example, the first pieces of Mathew's I found signed with a "star," or single asterisk, were published in the 1850's. I knew it because I recognized it, intuitively, and also because he was the one most likely to have reported in depth on the Portland Spiritualist Association (including details of their finances--Mathew knew bookkeeping) for the Portland "Transcript." And because the other pieces carrying that signature were entirely plausible for his pen.
But then, when I found star-signed works published in the same paper from the previous decade, I dismissed them from consideration, because I didn't think he had been using it so early--and because it didn't look like his typical poetic style. I was wrong. Mathew used that pseudonym even earlier than that; and he experimented with styles, although he did have a favorite one (what one sees in "The Raven"--claimed by Poe--and in "Lady Geraldine's Courtship" and "The Lost Bower," both claimed by Elizabeth Barrett).
Incidentally, I noticed that Lee Camp was commenting on a clandestine organization called "Raven," and by way of introduction, he ran a clip of some God-awful presentation of the poem, "The Raven," as a joke. Someone who made of it a theatrical monstrosity. This is what ignorant people think that poem is--a horror poem--and this is how Poe got away with it. Fame is a popularity contest in which the ignorant masses win, by definition, because there are more of them. There must have been individuals, at the time, who, knowing Poe's character, said, "This is not a horror poem, it is a deeply sensitive poem of tortured grief and struggle with a faith crisis," and who concluded, "There is no way Poe could have written this." But those people were the silent minority. Their view didn't get into the history books.
I love Lee Camp (having once been in the same kind of work myself), inasmuch as he's an astute sociologist and he's immensely talented, but he doesn't seem to have much awareness of, or respect for, things spiritual. The way that I think Mathew once thought of Charles Farrar Browne.
So I couldn't have stumbled upon these findings without past-life memory; without having been Mathew Franklin Whittier. I also couldn't have done it without the internet; and finally, I couldn't have done it as thoroughly and effectively as I did, without a collaborator in the spirit realm bringing material into my orbit. Dr. Gary Schwartz, who has studied mediumship in a laboratory setting, has also studied collaboration between the astral world and the physical world. As I mentioned recently, you may critizice his methods if you have better academic credentials than he does. Otherwise, keep quiet.
When one provides a citation, this is a matter of scholastic honesty--and frankly, scholarship without honesty is nothing but rumor. It may contain as much as 50% error anyway; but it degenerates into mere rumor without honesty.* If this material could not possibly have been unearthed without past-life memory, the internet and assistance from the astral realm, then it would be profoundly dishonest to pretend otherwise. The scholars of the world have had their chance, and they blew it (badly).
But they were all of them deceived.
That's how Mathew used to use inline quotes, the style in the 19th century, and I rather like it. I don't see it being used so much these days.
Anyone who attempts to present these findings, or any portion thereof, in isolation, as though they were discovered without these factors, or by someone besides myself, is being dishonest. They are perpetuating the old paradigm. This kind of research--psychic research--is the wave of the future, I suspect, and this is just the beginning. (Marge Rieder once told me something similar, as regards her own work.) Some interesting things will come to light. Benjamin Franklin definitely believed in reincarnation. So far as I can determine, President Lincoln was convinced to emancipate the slaves by a message received in a seance. He had sent two men to investigate a medium, and when they sat on the piano and it still hopped up and down in time to the music she was playing, they reported back that she was genuine. You don't read about that in your history books!
Nor do you read about the petition sent to Congress in 1854 urging investigation of Spiritualist phenomena, signed by 15,000 persons (among whom was Mathew Franklin Whittier). Nor do you read about Daniel Dunglass Home, who levitated out one second-story window, and back into another.
But I would guess there is a great deal more we haven't been told about; and a lot of mistakes we have been taught, which will be cleared up when these methods are incorporated into historical research.
Will our children and grandchildren be told how the Great Ass, Albert Pike, got his initial fame as a literary figure by stealing the poetry of a 14-year-old student? Or how Ossian "The Dodge" Dodge falsely claimed Mathew Franklin Whittier's travelogue, signed as "Quails"? Or that Edgar Allan Poe, the sociopath, didn't write "The Raven"; or that Mathew Franklin Whittier was the lone person in the audience laughing hysterically while Samuel Clemens read the story that he, Mathew, had written for his brother's 70th birthday party, as a practical joke?
I think that when historians eat a little humble pie, and admit they couldn't have discovered these things on their own, they're going to find it all quite interesting. It only depends on how honest they're prepared to be. Is history going to repeat itself, or are we going to move forward into the light of day?
Stephen Sakellarios, M.S.
*I happened to catch, in passing, a long-winded scholastic analysis of "The Lost Bower" while I was looking up the title online. How they praise Barrett, and what ingenious insights they have about her poetic prowess! Here's what Mathew said about her (signing with his asterisk), years after she had published his poems in her 1844 compilation (Mathew was rarely so severe unless he had a good reason to be):
Every young lady, ere she gets a beau, has a sentimental fever, a sort of mania-a-scriptu in which she indites tedious epistles to devoted confidants, scribbles rhyme in fearful abundance and affect the romantic generally. The realities of flirting and marriage gradually dissipate the symptoms, and the would-be poet becomes only a woman. But not all escape thus easily! In some the fever affects the brain, and the unhappy victim ever after continues in the pitiable delusion that she is a gifted child of song, and that the wretched verses which she grinds out with so much pain, others will read with as much pleasure, and so she pours out her milk-and-water effusions to her own intense satisfaction and the utter disgust of every body else. This seems to be the case with the Author of Words for the Hour--a book of Poems just published by Ticknor & Fields, containing 165 pages and a great many words. ... The whole land is flooded with a tide of silly hurtful fictions and namby pamby poetry, from the feminine mysticism of Mrs. Browning to the verbose folly of Mrs. Howe.
Audio opening this page from the film,
"Planes, Trains and Automobiles" | English | NL | 362b99c15e6a74fa6a2ca3a66cacee6a5a7d2a032bbb3587f1b8159bb01d61c3 |
VaYeishev - 5779
Genesis 37:1 – 40:23
Rabbi Jack Riemer asks a fascinating question: what do you do when you come out of the pit?
VaYeishev describes how Joseph falls from his status as the favored son of Jacob, to the depths of a bor reiq, she’ayn bo mayim (an empty pit, in which there was no water) [Gen. 37:24]. The empty pit, in which Joseph was thrown by his jealous and angry brothers, is rife with symbolism. Throughout Torah, potable water represented life, and could be found most commonly in wells. Both Abraham and Isaac dug wells. In addition, Eliezar finds Rebekah (the then future wife of Isaac) at a well, and Jacob met the love of his life, Rachel, at a well. In stark contrast, Joseph finds himself not in a place of life, but in a place of death – trapped in a pit, with no water.
All of us, at one time or another, or perhaps more often, find ourselves in a bor reiq, she’ayn bo mayim; where life seems to be closing in on us, and our prospects for the future seem dark. While we are in the pit, we may feel anger, frustration, hopelessness, betrayal, or a host of other similar feelings.
Joseph is “rescued” from his pit by a merchant caravan, which takes him prisoner and sells him as a slave in Egypt. In Egypt, as Joseph climbs the slave hierarchy to a position of respect, he is falsely accused of rape, and thrown in prison, a second pit.
So, Rabbi Riemer asks: what do you do when you come out of the pit?
I am reminded of a Buddhist teaching, which I once heard but cannot source. Two monks, a master and a student, are walking through a forest and come to a wide river. A woman is standing by the river and asks them to carry her across. Although it is against the rules of their order, the master invites the woman to climb on his back and walks across the river. Afterwards, they go their separate ways. Hours later, as the monks continue their journey, the student breaks their silence and says: “Forgive me Master, but I have a question.” The master nods his permission, so the student continued: “Master, I thought we were forbidden to have any physical contact with women. How could you carry her across the river?” The master looked at the student and answered: “I left that woman by the bank of the river. Can you say the same?”
Rabbi Riemer is asking us, what do we take with us when we come out of the pit? Do we carry our bitterness and anger into the world, or do we find a way to leave those feelings in our past?
I cannot recall any other place in Torah where we encounter an empty pit like Joseph’s, and this makes him a singular role model. Joseph may have been angry, ashamed, humiliated, and more by what his brothers did to him – but he did not let that spoil the rest of his life. Even more, he used his experience in the pit as an opportunity. Rabbi Riemer writes:
“Before he [Joseph] went in, he was totally insensitive, totally oblivious, to the effect that his strutting around in the special clothes that his father had given him had on his brothers. He was totally insensitive to the pain that he caused his family by telling them his dreams. But now, after the experience of suffering that he has gone through in the pit, he comes out ‘willing to be wise again’, and able to make sure that the hatred he has endured will not make him forget the potential for good living that he has inside him.”
At the end of our parasha, Joseph is in the dungeon, seemingly a worse pit than the first – and it looks like they have locked him up and forgotten about the key. It might be easy to count him out, but that would be a mistake.
Like Joseph, each of us goes through periods of deep suffering, pain and even trauma. What will we do when we come out of the pit?
“What do you have when you Leave the Cave,” by Jack Riemer. American Rabbi, 2018. | English | NL | 19ad4972ec911bbc568cad7f6965b2174242eed811642888a600a7d566ed9998 |
Hallucinations refer to sights, sounds, and smells that come from inside the brain. Hallucinations are common with Lewy Body Dementia but can happen with any dementia. The person with dementia is seeing, hearing, or smelling stuff that the rest of us are not experiencing. Illusions refer to mis-seeing (misperceiving) objects that ARE real. So how do you figure out the difference? And does it matter? Yes! Read on…
Take a look at the picture with this blog. Do you see 2 cats in front of a moon, or one dog? Look again, and you will notice you can “flip” between images. Our brains have the ability to see, or perceive, multiple aspects of one picture. This is normal, and you can have fun with it.
Illusions and Dementia
People with dementia may experience “breakdowns” in the highways that connect different parts of the brain. The connections in the brain help us to identify what we see. When I see a furry animal with whiskers, 4 paws, and a tail, my brain tells me that I am seeing a cat. But when the highways slow down or break down completely, I may look at something and my brain connects what I am seeing to something else. For example, I was caring for a relative with dementia who lived with me. She was convinced that the white throw pillows on my black couch were dogs. Sleeping dogs. I suggested that she come over to the couch and see that the objects were pillows. Nope. She was afraid of dogs. So I took the pillows to her. We laughed. She also had some eye problems and wore glasses, so part of the issue may have been distortion due to physical reasons (and smudged glasses).
Illusions or Hallucinations?
A couple of weeks ago, I was on call and fielded a phone call from a caregiver who was upset because of her dad’s hallucinations. “He keeps seeing men in the house. He won’t settle down, he keeps looking for the men and he wants me to call the police.” I asked her a couple of questions and found out that the “men” appeared after dark and in specific rooms.
“Do these rooms have windows?” I asked.
“Do the windows have curtains?” I was sure she thought I was goofy, but she was patient with me.
“Yes, but just along the top half. The bottom halves are uncovered. We live in a wooded area with complete privacy, so we don’t have to worry about people looking in.”
I instructed the daughter to walk through the rooms and see if she could see her reflection in the darkened windows while the rooms were brightly lit.
“YES!” she excitedly answered.
Turns out, dad was NOT having hallucinations. He was seeing his distorted image in the uncovered windows, which became funhouse mirrors once it got dark outside. His daughter promptly had shutters installed. Problem solved.
How To Handle Hallucinations
Do the Hallucinations Bother the Person with Dementia?
Towards the end of Mary’s time with me, she began to sit in her chair and pick at the air. I watched her one day, and asked what she was doing.
“I’m pulling the yarn down from the ceiling,” she calmly replied. She was seeing shiny strands of brightly colored yarn and was delightedly harvesting them. Apparently, she was going to use them in a future arts and crafts project. Her son was freaked out by her hallucinations and demanded I “call someone” to get her medication. I refused. The hallucinations were not bothering her, so they were not bothering me.
Another family caregiver shared his story with me. His wife (who had dementia) would stand at the kitchen window every day to look at the birds. This was something she enjoyed. One day, she became upset and told him that a man was sitting in the tree looking in the house. The husband gazed out the window but all he saw was a lone branch jutting off the trunk of the tree. He replied, “Honey, I don’t see anything.” He suggested that they move away from the window and go do something else in another part of the house. This went on for about a week, with his wife becoming increasingly upset. He simply cut down the tree branch. The hallucinations stopped. Maybe his wife did have visual hallucinations. Maybe his wife was looking at the leaves around the tree branch and was seeing an illusion of a person.
Are Medications Appropriate?
If the hallucinations are scary and upsetting, I will prescribe something. Usually an atypical antipsychotic, and yes, I know these medications get bad reps because they are being used off-label. However, if the medication reduces the scary and upsetting hallucination, and the person with dementia is no longer scared and upset, I think the use of the medication is appropriate. This is my humble opinion, others are free to disagree with me.
The Bottom Line
I always ask questions when I’m told about possible hallucinations. Illusions can be easy to fix, especially with a little creativity. Good lighting and removing clutter are two ways to reduce the incidence of visual illusions.
Are you a caregiver or care partner for someone with dementia? Would you like to learn more about behaviors and how to prevent and manage them? Click here for information on upcoming webinars and other options! | English | NL | 21325e819c70674d8fc0c3d74d56127ea91f36b43398af49d3172b1e8d43e4d9 |
7th July 2012, Saturday
On Saturday evening at 6 pm, Geenu and I, attended Family Blessing meeting at Jesus Calls Prayer Tower, Midview city, Bishan. The service was led by Brother Robin from Chennai.
Bro Robin started the service with Praise and Worship. He sang beautifully and led people into God’s Presence. Later, he gave the message about Hannah’s prayer life and how she received answer from God. God had shut her womb for years due to which she couldn’t have children. But there a came a time in her life where she humbled herself and prayed to God by pouring out her soul. In Hannah’s prayer, we see following 6 revelations:
- Prayer of Supplication
- Prayer of Humility
- Specific Prayer
- Prayer of Vow
- Spending time in the Presence of God
- Praying from heart
After her prayers, God opened her womb and she gave birth to Samuel who was a mighty prophet of God. Samuel anointed Saul and David who later became the kings of Israel.
After the service, people went for prayers. He prayed and prophesied for each one personally. We too went for prayers and he prophesied accurately about our life. We were at awe by his prophecy.
Later, we had delicious chocolate cake and dinner from Upper Thomson Road.
Thank you Jesus for an awesome day 🙂 | English | NL | 62003a9d5940767073f27bae8aff66ddecd1df7060cc65f5ddca4da24bd5b261 |
I remember as a child that we would drink Canada Dry Ginger Ale about as often as we drank Coca Cola. Originated in Canada and adopted by America, the Canada Dry brand serves as a cultural bridge between our two countries. Canada Dry Ginger Ale was created in 1890 by John J. McLaughlin, an Ontario pharmacist, and for a few decades thereafter this effervescent beverage was mainly a Canadian regional drink. (Coincidentally, Coca Cola was also concocted a few years before in 1886 by a pharmacist, John Pemberton.) Once its popularity spread to the U.S. around the 1920s, it eventually became a major American brand as attested by this assortment of vintage advertisements. | English | NL | 8ae75a25c69ce584e83391cf2b619840f00d0449c654bc500f5316e9cd0a9c92 |
When All Is Said by Anne Griffin
Publishing Date: 24th January 2019
Source: Received from the publisher, thank you!
Number of pages: 272
Genre: General Fiction (Adult)
A tale of a single night. The story of a lifetime.
If you had to pick five people to sum up your life, who would they be? If you were to raise a glass to each of them, what would you say? And what would you learn about yourself, when all is said and done?
This is the story of Maurice Hannigan, who, over the course of a Saturday night in June, orders five different drinks at the Rainford House Hotel. With each he toasts a person vital to him: his doomed older brother, his troubled sister-in-law, his daughter of fifteen minutes, his son far off in America, and his late, lamented wife. And through these people, the ones who left him behind, he tells the story of his own life, with all its regrets and feuds, loves and triumphs.
Beautifully written, powerfully felt, When All Is Said promises to be the next great Irish novel.
“When All Is Said” introduces us to Maurice Hannigan, an 84 year old farmer, paying a final visit to Rainsford House Hotel. It is a place he’s got a lot of memories attached to, mostly unpleasant ones. As he sits at the bar, he toasts five special people in his life. People, who were his inspiration, who were significant to him, who actually shaped him, made him who he is. He tells things as they were, the good and the bad moments, all the mistakes he’s made and that he can’t forget.
Guys, this book simply feels so special – it’s a real gem, this one, and it’s really hard to believe it’s a debut novel by Anne Griffin. The author can so brilliantly well capture all the emotions and beautifully writes about feelings, and it had me captivated and glued to the pages from the very beginning till the end. It was touching, it was poignant, it was funny, and written in this special way that only Irish authors can.
I’ve had a gut feeling how it’s going to end and what Maurice’s plan is right from the start to be honest but still it hit me really hard. I really liked his character, and as the story is told from his point of view at the end he just felt like an old friend of mine. I loved the moments he has chosen to reminisce about, to re – visit again, and the group of people he talked about. They were all significant and special to him, and there was so much love in his words, it was really overwhelming and poignant. Maurice isn’t shy of telling things how they were and he also realises that he has made mistakes – but those were the things that shaped him as a man, as a person.
The writing style is exceptional. It’s flowing, it’s engaging, it’s Irish, warm, uplifting and heart – breaking at once. The author has a special way with words. It was so easy to see the connection Maurice had with all his significant people, his brother Tony, his daughter Molly, his sister – in – law Noreen, his son Kevin and finally, last but not least, his beloved wife Sadie. The bond between him and his brother Tony was a special one, Tony was always there for him, he supported his younger brother and was always there to protect him. He understood that Maurice’s strength lies perhaps not in reading but somewhere else. It’s no wonder that Maurice wanted to be Tony when he grows up… Sadie is the last person he toasts but it’s clear that he fell for her head over hills and it was her death two years before that simply broken him. Sadie was the only woman in his life, he loved her unconditionally and now it breaks his heart to see that there were times that he disappointed her, that he wasn’t there for her. Her sister Noreen, without knowing it, unintentionally and because of her love to “sparkle”, also had an impact on Maurice’s life. Then there is Molly, the daughter that has never been and Kevin, longed – for son who now lives in the States, is a journalist and provides his father with rare whiskies.
Maurice realises that he should have been a much more expressive man, that he missed his chance to tell the people he loved that he loves them.
It was a gorgeous, moving book where everything felt so normal, natural and down – to – earth, and also incredibly honest and genuine. It simply feels human and all the joy and dramas are relatable. It explores the important things in life, such as love, family and friendship, but also forgiveness, heartbreak and hope. It’s emotional, but you also find yourself smiling, often through tears and really, it’s so hard to do this book justice – it’s special, it’s unique, it’s a real gem written from the heart. Highly recommended! | English | NL | 080dfb944ce036754be9dd6645d0561df46b30fe0a2c9cb223c531d1718086d9 |
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