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Everyone talks about the weather but you can help the children do something about it. Kymm Strelley explains how she did
While studying for my Diploma in Nursery Nursing, I designed and made a weather board as part of my coursework. The end result was a real hit with both the teacher and children and was used daily at my placement school.
I made the board while at Borrow Wood Infant School in Derby. The teacher there had wanted a weather board for some time but, at about 30, had found them too expensive to buy. So, with a budget of 12, magazine cuttings, scraps of felt, a cork board and lots of ingenuity, I set about my task. It took three weeks to complete.
I started by painting the board bright blue, then creating a thick border of pictures from magazines, old books and greeting cards, covered with sticky-backed plastic to make them more durable. Each side represented a different season.
Next I stapled into place an inner border of Velcro and stuck to it umbrellas, snowmen, clouds and other seasonal symbols, each with a piece of Velcro stitched on the back.
I then made information cards such as 'Today is', 'Yesterday was', 'The date is', 'The weather is', which I attached to the board with Velcro, and I made a fabric pocket to hold the symbols that were not in use for that day. When I produced the finished article, the teacher was delighted and immediately pressed it in to service with her Year 1 class.
The board was used in a weather project and was linked to four areas of play - manipulative play, imaginative play, physical play and constructive play. For example, the class built weather machines, re-enacted a windy day in PE and helped make some of the weather symbols, copied from newspaper reports.
The symbols encouraged the children to become more observant of their surroundings and made them more aware of TV weather reports because they could now understand what different kinds of weather the symbols represented.
Every morning, after registration, while the children were sitting together, the class discussed the date, day and weather and took turns to change the information. This daily routine encouraged all the children to participate and to draw conclusions as a group as opposed to individually. Children like to know everything, so they tended to ask a lot of questions, which led to further discussions.
It was interesting to see which symbols they associated with the seasons. For example, they associated a caterpillar with the summer because that is what they had seen while outside.
Weather boards are a valuable educational aid which the children can use every day, as is evident in Borrow Wood Infant School. They are fun and cheap to produce, bright, durable, unique to the setting and can be adapted to suit any age group and ability. I would definitely recommend them.
Kymm Strelley, now an education care officer in a Derbyshire primary school, spoke to Mahrukh Choughtai
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The Fourth Commandment
Part 1a: Family Worship
Copyright © 1997 Naphtali Press
1a. Family Worship
Among other things in this command, there is more express mention of whole families joining in this duty than is in other commands. Therefore it being a concerning duty to us, and a special thing included in the command, we shall speak to that point concerning family worship (before we speak of the second general proposed about the particular morality of this command and the meaning of the words of it), that you may see that it is no invention of men when you are called to it and when it is pressed upon you.
We shall here, first, show you that this command holds forth a family or domestic worship. Secondly, we shall confirm it more largely from other Scriptures and grounds of reason. Thirdly, we shall show wherein it consists in particular, and on whom it mainly lies to be discharged. Fourthly, we shall show the advantages of conscientious discharging of it and the prejudices of neglecting it, with the aggravations of that sin.
THIS COMMAND HOLDS FORTH A FAMILY WORSHIP.
That there is such a thing as family worship included in this command will be clear by considering, 1. what worship to God in general is. 2. What family worship is. 3. What this command requires.
1. By worship is understood some tribute paid by the reasonable creature to God as the Great and Sovereign Lord Creator, whether it is immediately and directly paid and performed to Him, as prayer and praise, or for Him and at His command and for His honor, as preaching, hearing, and receiving of sacraments, which are worship when rightly gone about. In a word, we call that worship, more strictly and properly, which is a duty of the first table, and comes in as commanded in it for the honor of God, and not for our own or another’s external profit, which though commanded in the second table, cannot be so properly called worship, much less immediate worship. Thus, teaching others the duties of piety may be worship when teaching the duties of any other ordinary calling is not.
2. We call that family worship which is to be performed by such and such relations, or by all the constituent members of the family jointly. And so it differs: (1) From secret or solitary worship which one performs alone to and before God. (2) From public worship which one performs by joining in a congregation of many families together. (3) From that worship performed occasionally, in mutual fellowship among believers or professors, of divers families. For , that may not be ordinary as this, nor so frequent. That is free to this or that believer as they shall choose, or as occasions do cast them to be together. This is not at choice, but is necessary as to the same persons. This is performed by virtue of domestic relations, and not of Christian only. This may have, and should have a domestic authority in its regulation. For a master of a family may authoritatively command the members of the family to pray, keep the Sabbath, etc., and may suitably correct for the neglect of those duties; whereas that other is by Christian communion and admonition only.
You will see this family worship clear: (1) By considering the Jews’ eating of the Passover where there was, secret worship, no question apart; there was public worship; a holy convocation the first day and the last; but , there was peculiarly a family worship, or if the family was little, two joined together for eating the Passover, within the house, wherein all the members of that family (or of those two little families) that were circumcised were necessarily to be present, and to be joiners. This is family worship.
(2) By considering Ps. 101, compared with other Scriptures, where you have: David mentioning his private carriage and longing for God, and walking in a perfect way. His public carriage as a Magistrate in cutting off the wicked from the City of God, as you have. Elsewhere his public worship as Ps. 122:1 and 2 Sam. 6. His fellowship with all the godly, being a companion to them that feared God (Ps. 119:63). Lastly, you have a walk within his house with a perfect heart mentioned there as contra-distinct from all; which must infer some religious performances of duties, or exercises of worship in his house in reference to that station, as well as in private or in public, yea a joint exercise; because it is such an exercise as he performed only at home in his house. Whereas had it been praying for them, or anything that otherwise he might have done apart, he needed not go home to them, for [the] performing of it. Yet (2 Sam. 6:20) when the public worship is done, he goes home to bless his house, which manifestly shows a peculiar duty performed by him in his family, according as he resolved in that 101st Psalm.
(3) It will yet further appear, that there is such a thing, and some way what it is, by considering Zach. 12 from v. 10 to the last. A public mourning of the whole land. Of several families together, families shall mourn then. Families apart. Their wives apart, and so every particular person in secret. In which place it is clear: That there is a worship of families, besides public and secret worship. That that worship includes the same duties jointly performed by the members of the family, which persons in secret perform; and so family worship will be a worshipping of God (besides what is in public and secret), in a domestic and family relation jointly.
3. That this command requires such a family worship distinct from public and secret, and something to be performed in worshipping of God among persons so related, which is not required of others, may thus be made out.
(1) The thing called for in this command is certainly worship, yea immediate worship, it being a command of the first table, and such a thing as the sanctifying of the Sabbath.
(2) This command takes in all domestic relations: parents, children, sons and daughters, masters and servants, men or women; yea and strangers that may be for the time, or on that day, sojourning there. These are all constituent members of a family.
(3) The thing required of them is not simply rest from labor. For , that is commanded for the beasts (lest men should be hindered from, or interrupted in their holy rest by their waiting on them), and none will say, we hope, that there is no more required as to children or servants, than as to the beasts. Under the negative, Thou shalt do no work, is included the affirmative, Thou shalt sanctify that day to the Lord. The same duty is required of all alike (in some respect); thou father, and thou son, thou master, and thou servant. And if worship is called for from the father and master, for the sanctifying of that day, so it must be also from the child and servant.
(4) The manner of performing this worship of sanctifying the Lord’s Day in holy duties, is required not only to be in public, nor only in secret, but by the members of each family jointly, and apart from other families.
It cannot be understood to require worship only in public together; because (a) there may be in some cases no access to public worship, and yet the command of sanctifying the Lord’s Day lies still on, and no doubt by families. (b) Waiting on public worship is but one piece of sanctifying the Lord’s Day, and that but in a part of it; therefore there must be some other thing included here.
It cannot be understood of the master of the family, his putting the members of the family separately to seek and worship God, and of his own going about holy duties himself apart.
For (a), though that is worship, yet is it not worship from persons in such a relation or family worship more than if they were not in such a relation, or of such a family; and though it might be said that such and such persons sanctified the Sabbath, yet could it not be said that the family as such did it; even as families or persons seeking God in secret, could not be exonered thereby, as to their being in the congregation; nor their serving of God be so accepted as congregational service, if they met not together when they might. Just so it is here, yea as it lies by this command on a congregation and a minister to sanctify the Lord’s Day, and to come together for that end; so it lies on the family, and master of it.
(b) By this command there is more required than secret or solitary sanctifying of the Sabbath, even a peculiar sanctification of it within one family distinct from another. I say, [a] more than solitary worship, because the Lord’s saying thou, without repeating son, daughter, etc., had been sufficient to have laid it on all separately for themselves. The enumeration therefore of the whole members of a family must import some other thing, for the former is implied in all commands, as Thou shalt not kill, that is, as far as in you lies, you nor your son, etc. There must I say, be something more understood by the peculiar enumeration pressed in this fourth command. I say, [b] even a peculiar worship, because it’s something laid on by this command which is held within gates or doors, and neither goes to the congregation, nor to the persons of other families, at least ordinarily, but reaches the members of such a family who are within such a man’s gates or doors. Therefore it must be a distinct family worship, mainly performed by that family together.
The thing required here is not only worship simply, but worship as from a member of such a family; therefore it is not solitary worship. For seeking of God and moral duties in secret still agrees to persons in all places and families alike, but this draws a line as it were between families, and so divides one family from another; yet makes the duty more obliging to these within such a man’s gates or doors, than others without doors. Therefore it must be joint worship; for, apart, or as concerning secret worship, all are everywhere alike obliged.
If by this command something more in the worship of this day is required of a person that is a member of a family, in reference to that family, than there is required of one who is not a member of such a family, or is required of that person in reference to another family, whereof he is not a member; then it requires a distinct family worship. For no other thing can be understood but a joint going about the sanctifying of that day in a stricter and nearer way of communion among the members of that family, than with persons and families in and to whom they are not so interested and related.
If secret and public worship were only required in this command, then should we equally and alike sanctify the Lord’s Day with other families and persons not of that family whereof we are members. For in these we join alike, for them and with them; but there is some peculiar thing required here which will not agree to be performed by all alike. Therefore it is family worship that must be here required.
This command requires of masters (suppose them to be ministers or magistrates), another way of sanctifying the Sabbath and worshipping of God, in and with their families, than it does in reference to other families. The command being so particular, to him, and to all that are within his gates or doors, and members of his family, speaks this clearly. But except it is joint going about of duties with them, there can be no other thing understood to be required. For (a), one may exhort another. (b) All come in public together. (c) By the master’s example after the public [worship] they all withdraw (or should at least) to secret exercises. (d) Magistrates and ministers may command other families to sanctify that day. What is peculiar then, as to their own families, but to join with them in duties of worship?
If there were not domestic worship required on this day, then except it were in public, members of a family could not converse together. For they cannot converse together in doing their own works or in speaking their own words, their fellowship therefore must be in exercises of worship, and so that must needs be required in this command.
Some other thing is required by this command of a member of a family which seeks God, than of a person in a heathenish family; or some other thing is required from so many persons, joined together as members in one family, than from such persons suppose them to be scattered from one another among heathenish families. Certainly where husband, wife, children, and servants are Christians and professors of the same true religion, there is some other thing required of them than where only the husband, the wife, the child, or the servant is so; but if they were scattered and became parts or members of diverse families among heathens, they would be obliged to seek God apart. Therefore no less, but much more is joint seeking of God required of them when they are united together as members of one family.
This command (when it mentions all within his gates or doors) requires some other thing of a master when at home with his family, than when he is withdrawn from them. But a master at a distance may command all in his family to worship God and pray to God for them, and so may they all if they were scattered, worship God secretly. Therefore when they are together, there is some other thing required of them by this command, which is, no doubt, to worship God together.
The duties that are to be performed on this day will require this; such as instructing one another, exhorting, admonishing, comforting, strengthening one another, and talking to, or conferring with one another, of the Word (Deut. 6:7-8), which cannot be denied to be duties called for on this day. And yet they cannot be done but by joint concurring together in that work, and therefore it concludes strongly that family worship, at least on the Lord’s Day, is commanded here; and if families are called to worship God jointly on the Lord’s Day by the worship competent for that day, then by proportion are they also called to worship him jointly on other days by the worship suitable to them, there being the like ground for all.
And lastly, that which is required of families, is such a worship as ought to be performed by them, supposing there were no public worship, nor yet any other family worshipping him in the world. So Joshua resolves (chap. 24:15), I and my house will serve the Lord, and sanctify his Sabbath (that being a special piece of His service) whatever you will do. But if there were no worshipping of God in all the world but in one family, then ought that worship to be joint according to that same word of Joshua’s, I and my house; otherwise we behooved to say that there might be a plurality of worshippers of God in the world, and yet without any joining together in worship, which were in itself absurd and contrary to Joshua’s religious resolution.
THE SCRIPTURES OTHERWISE HOLD FORTH FAMILY WORSHIP.
It being thus made out by this command that there is such a worship as family worship, and that it is commanded, we shall consider in the next place, how the Scriptures do otherwise hold it out.
1. Then consider that where the Scriptures speak of eminently godly men, they speak of them as making conscience of this, and take notice of their honoring of God in their families as a special part of their eminency. So Abraham (Gen. 18:19), Joshua (24:15), Job in the first chapter of his book, and David (Ps. 101) are noted. It must then be a commanded and commendable duty, which is so particularly remarked in them.
2. You will find it almost in all parts of Scripture (as Gen. 18, Ex. 12, Deut. 6, Joshua. 24, Job 1, Ps. 101, Ps. 30). At the dedication of David’s house, which was not, surely, without some peculiar worship and craving of God’s blessing; even as in other cases, those who had built houses were to dedicate them or to consecrate them. And wherefore? Because they were [be]hoven in a manner, and as it were offered to the Lord, for seeking and worshipping Him in them. So, alters (Numb. 7: 84) were said to be dedicated when they were set apart for God’s service, and consecrated for that use. So in Neh. 12:27, the walls were dedicated and the Levites brought out for that end, which dedication no doubt had a religious use. And will any think that they began with prayer or praise as David did, and left off such exercises afterward? See also 2 Sam. 6:20, where mention is made of David’s blessing his house. Esther and the maids of her house, and the rest of the Jews in their several families, fasted and prayed. We see it spoken of by the Prophets (as Jer. 10:ult. and Zach. 12:12), and that as a prophesy of the convert’s carriage under the New Testament. We find it also mentioned [in] 1 Tim. 3:4, 5:8 and Titus 1:6.
3. You will see it thus practiced and pressed before the Flood. God was honored and worshipped in families after it (before the Law) by Abraham, Job and others in their families. Under it, there was the observation of it, and that by peculiar ordinances, as namely, by the Passover. Yea it is mentioned, and that most expressly in the very Law, as is said. It was kept up under the Captivity, and after the return renewed by Zachariah especially. Yea, it is also renewed in the New Testament, whereby it appears to be of very special observation; from all which it is not a little commended to us.
4. If we consider the many ways whereby the Scriptures press this duty, it will be found that there is hardly any duty more cleared and pressed than it. It is pressed: (1) By command. (2) By examples of godly men held forth as patterns for imitation. (3) By promises made to it, and (4) by blessings conferred on the conscientious practicers of it (Gen. 18; Deut. 11:18-21). (5) As evidencing sincerity (Gen. 18; Joshua. 24). (6) As making folks liable to the curse and wrath of God when neglected (Jer. 10:25). (7) As a fruit of the Spirit, and as a companion of true repentance (Zach. 12). (8) As a specially commending and adorning qualification of persons that have it, and scandalous where it is wanting, and as declaring one unmeet for public charge (Gen. 18; 1 Tim. 3:4; Tit. 1:6).
Hence the argument runs strong, that duty which in Scripture is commanded, by many examples commended, and by other motives pressed, the neglect whereof brings guilt and offense upon the persons neglecting, is no doubt a necessary duty. But family worship is such; therefore it is a necessary duty.
1. That it is commanded, what we have said from this fourth command may sufficiently make it out, yet we further add, Deut. 6:7-8 and Deut. 11:18-19. In which two places it is clear that observing of the law, is not only to be studied by a master of a family himself alone, but that the religious duties of frequent speaking of it, diligent teaching of it, whetting and pressing of it on his family, are to be performed by him. Yea it is to be written on the posts of his door to show that religion must be in the family and in all that enter into it, even as carrying the word on the frontlets between their eyes was to mind them of the peculiar and particular sanctification that was called for from them.
2. That it is commended by examples is clear in Abraham’s, who deals both with children and servants in the family, and that in things concerning the worshipping of God, as well as in things concerning his own particular affairs. He circumcised them and commanded, yea charged them to serve the Lord, which cannot be supposed to have been done without other duties of worship. And in David’s (2 Sam. 6:20), who when he has been at public worship goes home to bless his family, which was certainly to go about some religious duty with them as he had been doing with the people in the public. In the one he behaved himself as King, in the other as a governor and head of his own family in particular; and had it been only to pray for them, that might have been done elsewhere than at home; but it denotes the changing of public worship (wherein he had blessed the people as a public man, as a Prophet and godly King, and had joined with them, v. 18) into family duties, wherein he goes to concur with them; intimating that a holy solemnity should be partly spent in public, and partly in family duties without neglect of secret duties. Besides that in Ps. 30 and Ps. 101, it is clear and appears to have been also practiced by all that built houses, who did dedicate them, and that not without prayer, as is manifest by David’s dedication of his (Ps. 30), as is said. Job’s example likewise makes it out (chap. 1), where there are: (1) sacrifices in his family, as well as for his family. (2) He sends to sanctify them who were absent, that is to put them in a readiness for joining with him in that service with those that were at home, which he needed not to have done had they been beside or present with him. Yea (3), when he cannot do it personally, he will do it by another, that God may be worshipped by them all, some way together.
3. I say the neglect of it is sadly threatened (as Jer. 10:ult.) Pour out thy fury on the heathen that know thee not, and on the families which call not on thy name. If the not worshipping of God in families is a character of a family appointed to destruction, and is threatened with a curse, then prayer-worship in families is a necessary duty. For it is clear from that place, (1) that by calling on God’s name, is meant God’s worship in general, and prayer in particular, which is a special part of it. (2) That by families are meant particular societies and companies, whether lesser or greater, that want this worship, and so are the objects of that curse.
Objection. If it is said that by families there are meant people and nations, yea (comparing this place with Ps. 79:6) heathens that called not on God.
Answer. (1) That does confirm the argument. For if heathens, whether kingdoms or families are described by this, that they call not on God, then still it must be a heathenish kingdom that has not public worship, a heathenish person who [has not] secret worship, and so a heathenish family that [has not] family worship.
(2) The curse here is not threatened to families as families, but as such families that call not on God’s name; therefore it reaches them for à quateniu ad omne [from the specific to the general]. So then whatever profession families have otherwise, if they [lack] this duty they are thereby laid open to the curse.
(3) It is all one upon the matter, whether by families are meant societies lesser or greater; for if it is a fault in nations to neglect God’s worship, and if the neglect thereof brings a curse on them, will it not be a fault in particular families and bring a curse on them?
(4) Families cannot be excluded, seeing they are expressly named; though more are included, to wit, that the curse comes on multitudes of families, or upon nations made up of families. And we conceive families to be particularly named, to show that the curse will reach all societies lesser as well as greater, who have this character. Because nations are made up of families, and because there is fitness (to say so) between the carriage of families in religious worship, and the carriage of the whole land.
(5) The comparing of Jer. 10 with Ps. 79 will not enervate any of the places; but, when put together, they show that the Holy Ghost means both families and kingdoms, and that what is implied in the one place is expressed in the other, to show that God will have both public worship from whole kingdoms, and family worship from particular families as parts of these kingdoms.
(6) The ground whence the curse is derived, is because that such a society neglects such a duty, and therefore however we expound the place and the word family there, it will hold of all societies in general.
4. I said that the having of family worship is looked upon as a special qualification, and the want of it as a scandal and offense. For (1), who are to be admitted elders or deacons? Is it not such who have this qualification of ruling their own houses well (1 Tim. 3:4, Tit. 1:6). Yea even widows (1 Tim. 5:10) are to be tried by this, that they have brought up children, no doubt christianly and religiously, which can very hardly be, if at all, without worshipping of God with them. (2) If that qualification, to wit, ruling their own house well, is found to be wanting, they are accounted to be unmeet to rule in God’s house (1 Tim. 3:5).
Whence we may reason thus: That which casts a man as unmeet for bearing rule in Christ’s house, however otherwise he is qualified, is an offense and a scandal; but the want of family worship does that; therefore the want of it is a scandal.
In these places it is clear, That ruling of their own house is meant not only in outward and temporal things, but also, if not mainly, in what concerns the honor, service and worship of God. For (1), it’s the ruling of servants and children together (1 Tim. 3:4-5). Now it is clear that children are to be brought up in the fear of the Lord. (2) It’s a ruling that commends them as gracious, which no ruling in temporal things will do, seeing many mere natural men, are wiser in their own generation that way, than the children of light. (3) Many much less fit for ruling in these things, may yet be fit to rule in God’s house, as experience clears. (4) These words, having children in subjection in all gravity, speak out a Christian and religious rule and order to be kept in the house or family in reference to a religious end, which cannot but take in family worship.
Yet it is also clear, that he means not simply of inability which God had given for ruling; therefore it is not said here, he that cannot rule his house (though that is in part truth), but he that does not rule; and it is ranked with excessive drinking, striking, pride, and other gross ills, it having that same effect that they had, to wit, to declare incapacity for such offices. Hence this is not to be the rule of trial, if he can rule his own house well, as having gifts fitting him for it, but (supposing him to have these) it’s to be inquired if he does actually rule well, which is the evidence of the right improving of his gifts; therefore here ruling in the man’s own house, and ruling in the church or house of God, are looked on as two degrees of one thing of the same nature; because both take in not only gifts fitting for the discharge of the duty of this respective ruling it, but conscience and faithfulness in the improving of them. We shall not here to this purpose insist on the frequent mention that is made in the Scripture of Churches being in families, but shall proceed to add to what we have said, six or seven reasons or grounds that will further prove and clear the thing.
Reason One. The first is drawn from nature, which teaches not only that the true God should be alone served and worshipped, but that according to the station God has put men in, they should improve them with their gifts and parts for a higher end than their own behoof or advantage, to wit, his glory. And that as they have a peculiar fellowship given them by him as his gift, so he should have answerable and peculiar acknowledgment from them. Therefore seeing the appointment of families is God’s ordinance, and that it is he that gives to some, children and servants, which are withheld from others, there ought in all reason a tribute to be given to him resulting from that society and fellowship. Hence it was that before the law, the patriarchs had their worship specially in their families; yea heathens beside their public idolatrous worship, and idolatrous temples, had their peculiar penates or household gods, on whom, for their particular families delivery from enemies and protection, they depended.
Reason Two. A second is drawn from the nature of Christian communion among believers, which as it requires the performing of Christian duties according as we are in providence called to them, so it requires the making use of that type of family interest or relation superadded to the former, for furtherance and entertaining of that communion, because there is a special access ministered by such a relation to the attaining of that end. Hence it is we conceive (as is said) that some Christian families are called churches, because so many Christians often together, lived in a Christian discharge of all family ordinances (so to speak).
Reason Three. The Lord by his covenant does especially (though not always) derive mercies to families, taking them in together, and making promise to them, and conferring privileges on them. So Abraham’s whole family was taken in covenant (Gen. 17). And in the New Testament, whole families were at once baptized, which certainly calls them to a peculiar way of being answerable to such privileges and engagements. And is not this one special and very proper way of being answerable to them, that they worship God together, and join in blessing him for such mercies, and in prayer to him for grace to carry suitably to them?
Reason Four. The mutual interest that usually is in the condition of members of the same family, calls for joint seeking of God, and worshipping of him, as they are jointly concerned in the same dangers, the same sins often, the same strokes, the same duties, the same mercies. For what is so to one, is ordinarily some way so to all; therefore ought they to join in confessing of sins, acknowledging mercies, deprecating dangers and strokes, and discharging of duties.
Reason Five. Family worship is profitable to all the ends of a family. It is an acknowledging of God and honoring of him. It helps the master to keep his authority, and makes every one in their family to walk the more respectively towards the rest. And it keeps from many out breakings, when they are to meet so often together to seek and worship God. Hence in experience we often see that these families, where religious worship is, are generally more civil at least, than other families, where it is not, and that the children and servants of such families readily profit most, are most countenanced by God’s blessing, and are in greatest capacity to get good of the public ordinances.
Reason Six. The Lord loves to have a distinction between these that serve him, and these that serve him not. Now as to a family relation, what difference is there between a professing Christian family, where the joint worship of God is not, and a heathen family? Heathens live and eat and work together, and when no more is seen, they look very like the one to the other. Even as in a nation where no public worship is, though private persons privately seek God, yet there seems to be no public national difference between that nation and a heathen nation. So in the former case a family difference will hardly be found, if any should inquire of what sort of families these are.
Add that it will be hard to say that a man should take care of the outward estate of his family, and neglect the spiritual, and keep communion with his family in temporal things, and none in spiritual duties, yea doubtless he should be much more in these, as being both more necessary and more excellent.
THIS FAMILY WORSHIP DESCRIBED FROM SCRIPTURE.
Having first showed that this fourth command holds forth a family worship, and having secondly confirm it more largely from other Scriptures and ground of reason, it follows now according to the method proposed, that we show in the third place how particularly the Scripture describes wherein it does consist, whereby it will further appear to be of God. The Scripture describes it four ways.
1. In general it is called in Abraham and Joshua’s case, keeping the way of the Lord, serving the Lord — very comprehensive expressions, taking in much. And here it’s sanctifying of the Sabbath, that is, performing of the duties which are to be discharged for the right sanctifying of that day. We conceive it to be in short, to do these things in a joint family way, which a servant of God may, and ought to do alone, that is, to pray, read, sing psalms, and etc., or to do in a domestic way, what Christians in providence cast together may do, as to pray, read, further one another’s’ edification by repeating of sermons, spiritual conference, instruction, exhortation, admonition, etc. For they have their tie of Christianity, and this of a family relation besides, which does not abrogate the former, nor derogate from it, but further corroborates and adds more strength to it, as to make it more necessary and less elective, more frequent and less occasional, and to be now by domestic rules authoritatively regular for edification, which cannot so be by the simple tie of Christian communion.
2. It speaks of particular duties, wherein they should join. As (1), here of sanctifying the Sabbath in all the duties of it, adding more to our family worship, for the Sabbath was to have its double offering. (2) Of praying (Jer. 19:ult), which is necessarily included in that mourning, mentioned [in] Zach. 12, a fruit of the poured out Spirit of grace and supplications. So (2 Sam. 6) David’s blessing his family is to be understood of his going before them in prayer to God for a blessing on them, not in common as a public Prophet, which he did with the people, but as a peculiar duty discharged by him to his family, whereof he was head. (3) Of family fasting, or setting of time apart in the family extraordinarily for fasting and prayer, as in Zach. 12 in that solemn mourning, and in Esther 4 where it is recorded, that she and her maids (who were her family) and all the Jews at Shusan (who yet could not have in that place a public fast) did go about that duty. (4) Of instruction, a most necessary duty to instruct and teach the family the knowledge of God; the command goes expressly on this (Deut. 6:7-8, and 11:19-20) where we are commanded to talk of the law within the house, to teach it to our children diligently, or (as the word is) to wet it on them by catechizing, and to write on the posts of our doors and on the walls of the house. For what end I pray? Surely for this very end, that the house might have the means of knowledge in it. And that the knowledge of God’s law might be taught and learned in it, and will any think that the walls should teach and the master be silent? Especially seeing it is for the families behalf, that these things were written. What if some in the family could not read? Which on several accounts might be, then it would follow that they were lost, if there were no more nor other teaching than what was by writing on the walls. When Abraham commanded his house to keep the way of the Lord, and to serve him, will any think he did not teach them, who He was, and how He should be served? By proportion other things fit for edification, and as worship to God, come in here, particularly praise, as appears by the 30th Psalm entitled a Psalm (or Song) at the dedication of David’s house.
3. The Scripture speaks of, and holds out the duty of the particular members of the family, and that in reference to the stations they are in, and the relations they sustain and stand under; as of husband and wife, that they live together, as the heirs of the grace of life, and so as their prayers may not be hindered; of parents, that they do not only provide for their children temporal things, but that they also bring them up on the nurture and admonition of the Lord; and (1 Tim. 3:4, 12) both children and servants are put in together.
4. The Scripture speaks of ordering of families by a special family discipline and authority, therefore it is called in Abraham, commanding (or charging) his servants to keep the way of the Lord, and (1 Tim. 3), a ruling of their own house well, with some resemblance unto ruling in the Church by ecclesiastical discipline, with which it is some way compared, as having a fitness, or as being an evidence of fitness for that.
This discipline consists especially in these three: (1) In making good domestic laws for children and servants in ordering everything aright, that concerns the promoting of godliness and edification among them, and in timing of things rightly so as every duty that is to be done in the family, may be done in the beautiful season of it. (2) In putting forth a paternal or parental and masterly authority in carrying on these ends, commanding or charging as Abraham did, ruling so as children and servants may be kept in subjection. It is very unsuitable and no ways allowable, that masters should command in their own business, and only entreat in the things of God. (3) In exacting an account of obedience and censuring disobedience, Job and David do reprove their own wives, by virtue of the authority of their headship. David will not suffer a wicked person to abide in his house; that is, when commands and rebukes will not do, he will even extrude and put away.
Question. If it is asked here, on whom does the burden of discharging duties in the family especially lie, and what is to be thought of chaplains?
Answer. I will not altogether condemn chaplains, for certainly masters may make use of helps, and God has often blessed it, and that practice of Levites being in families (Deut. 12:13, 18-19), though it was a snare through his own fault to that Levite, who went seeking a place to sojourn (in Judg. 17) in Micah’s house, seems to insinuate that there has been, and might have been, somewhat of this, and good if well improved. Yet when putting the charge upon chaplains, either merely for masters of families, their own ease, and when they think themselves altogether exhonored of that burden, because they have such with them, or when it’s because they think less of, and undervalue that duty themselves, or account it below them to catechize and instruct fervently or to pray in their families, or because they cannot bestow so much time on these duties, who yet can bestow much more idly, that is utterly culpable and inexcusable.
The burden lies on the master primarily and chiefly, and therefore he can never denude himself wholly of it, more than of his other necessary affairs, except when more public affairs call him, or when infirmities impede him. For here the command says, thou, to wit, master, nor thy son, nor servant, etc. It speaks directly and immediately to him, because the performance of the duty is especially called for from him. So in that example of Abraham it’s he that commands his household to keep the way of the Lord. Job himself offers the sacrifice. David will not send home, but goes himself to bless his house (though they had otherwise much employment if that could excuse). And the man that is to be chosen an elder, is such as rules his own house well. Having of a chaplain will give no great proof of the master’s own dexterity, yet we say that one may, for the better effectuating the end take help, though he cannot altogether devolve the burden on another. Yea we think when the master is negligent or absent, duty falls to be performed by these of the family, on whom the weight of his affairs does in his failing or falling short lie, if qualified. So that among other defects they should make up this, or in such a case the most fit and best qualified in the family ought to be pitched on for this.
From what has been said, family worship appears to be so convincingly clear, necessary and important a duty, that any objections or scruples that can be moved against it, must [necessarily] be but of little weight and importance, and may be easily solved and satisfied. It will not therefore be needful to condescend particularly on them. And as for the advantages that wait on the conscientious and suitable practice of this duty, they are many, a few whereof we shall very briefly touch upon as:
1. It has God’s special approbation, testimony, and commendation, and he has a great delight and complacency in the diligent and faithful practicers of it (Gen. 18:19).
2. It advances to a high degree of familiarity with God, and is attended with sweet communications of his mind as himself thinks fit (ibid. comparing v. 19 with v. 17 and v. 18).
3. It is readily and often followed with success more or less towards the spiritual good and edification of servants and children, either in the masters lifetime, or when he is gone (Gen. 18:19). Abraham will command his children and household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord. They shall keep is emphatic and observable; and with promised blessings on the master, or head of the family. Ibid., that the Lord may bring upon Abraham, that which he hath spoken of him.
4. It is a notable means of the propagation and increase of the knowledge of God. What plenty of the growth of the knowledge of God might, and would be in the Church, if all masters of families made conscience of family duties? And particularly of catechizing and instructing them in the knowledge of the principles of religion! And what can one minister do as to this alone in a numerous congregation, if all, or most masters of families are negligent, who yet must answer to God for the souls of their children and servants, as well as the minister must for the souls of all under his charge; these being under their charge as well as the other are under his, as is clear from this same command.
5. It very much furthers through God’s blessing, all the family for profiting by the ministry of the Word, and for joining in public duties of worship, as is obvious.
6. It procures, or at least is a fit hopeful and promising means for procuring a suitable discharge of all sorts of duties, called for from the several members of the family in their respective capacities.
7. It is notably contributive, through God’s blessing, for preventing many public scandals in the Church, whereby the name of God is much dishonored, and the profession thereof disgraced.
8. The ruling of a man’s own house well, does not a little fit him, that is otherwise qualified for it, and called to it, for ruling in the house of God (1 Tim. 3:4). And by proportion for other public employments, whereof he is capable, and to which he is called.
9. It is waited [attended] with sweetly, smiling, quieting and satisfying reflections in a strait, and particularly at death. And failings in it (let be utter neglects) are waited then with sad and bitter challenges, as may be gathered from David’s last words (2 Sam. 23:5), although my house be not so with God, etc. The contrary prejudices either of the utter neglect, or of the careless and orderly performance of these family duties, may be rashly discovered by the due consideration of these aforementioned, and other such like advantages. And from all that is said on this subject, the horrid aggravations of the grievous sin of neglecting family worship so clearly commanded, so much commended and pressed, so much practiced by the saints, held forth to be so advantageous in its practice, and so prejudicial and severely threatened in its neglect, cannot be but at first view obvious to any that will by with ordinary seriousness take notice of them.
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According to the CDC, there are about 1 in 59 children who have been diagnosed with autism disorder. In addition, there are also about 1 in 6 children in America who have been diagnosed with some type of developmental disability in the years of 2006 to 2008. There are many people who have children that suffer from some type of disability that they never thought that could happen to them. It is very important for many parents to become educated on the types of disabilities and medical conditions that children could possibly have. When parents are uneducated about these types of disabilities and medical conditions, they are not able to provide their child with sufficient support. It is critical that children receive the sufficient support they need to receive proper treatment. Proper treatment is critical to helping their child heal from their medical condition and improve significantly. If you or someone you know is suffering from symptoms of autism, it is critical that you seek proper assistance from a professional.
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Erika L. Sánchez
I came to poetry with a deep desperation to be acknowledged, to find alternate realities, to exist in a space that belonged only to me. Books, poems, and words offered me the respite I couldn’t find in the physical world. When I read a book, I completely disappeared into that reality. I was not a sullen self-piteous misfit growing up in a shitty neighborhood; I was something else entirely. Novels and poems gave me the hope for a better life. My imagination grew like wild brambles. There were so many times I became unhinged in a magical, and sometimes terrifying way.
The cliché about literature changing one’s life is a cliché for a reason. Who doesn’t remember the first time a book or poem blew their mind wide open? When I was in sixth grade, we read “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe in class, and my heart fluttered. I was in love. The lines reverberated in my head for days, and I became insatiable for more. I borrowed Poe’s collected poems from the library, and when I read the poem “Alone,” I felt like a warm syrup had been poured all over my insides. Reading it as an adult, I cringe a little, but I can’t even describe what this maudlin poem did for fat and awkward 12-year-old me. I was beside myself.
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Ravens hand, p.15
Evelyn’s face grew a little harder at that point. “Then allow me to enlighten you,” she said.
Radden swallowed against the gathering lump in his throat in expectation.
“Your son, while displaying great courage against the Cindermen, also overstepped his bounds by attempting to run away with my son’s Bright Lady and bond,” Evelyn explained. “Before you attempt to persuade me that this was simply his way of taking the young woman out of harm’s way, I will inform you of the fact that my bodyguard, Kane, witnessed your son kissing Raven just prior to my guards seizing him on charges of sedition against House Rainier.”
Radden stammered. If what Evelyn was telling him was true, there might be no saving his son from the block. How had this happened? Surely, Killian would not have dared to do such a thing. Still, he could not accuse the queen of lying about the matter, either. To do so would see his entire family, possibly even his extended family, beheaded along with Killian.
“Majesty,” he said finally, “I know my son. There must be some logical explanation for all of this.”
Evelyn flashed him a sly smile then. “Yes, I believe there is a very logical explanation. The boy became fascinated with a very beautiful young woman that he risked his life to rescue from the Cindermen. In the heat of the moment, perhaps, he lost his head and thought about what it might be like to be with such a creature. He further forgot himself and actually committed the brazen act, kissing the girl in the hope that she might fall in love with him, possibly even run away with him while they had the chance away from prying eyes.”
Radden began to sweat as Mistress Evelyn continued. This was not going well, not at all. He had hoped to appeal to her sense of reason; to clear up a simple misunderstanding. Surely, Shalindra had not notified him of Killian’s arrest in vain. Surely, there was still some way to save his only son.
Evelyn finally paused to allow her words and their weight to sink into Radden’s mind.
Radden dropped his head. “My Queen, I beg your mercy for Killian. He is only a foolish boy. Is there nothing I can do to save him?”
Evelyn stood then and turned herself to leave the dais by way of the private door behind the throne. Two royal guards waited for her there to attend to her. She paused as the door was opened by one of the soldiers, turning her head back to Radden. He had watched her go with mounting hopelessness.
“You can pray to your dead god that my son’s bonding with the young Daughter of Eliam goes exactly as planned,” she said. “Only when my son is bonded and ready to assume the throne of his father will I find myself in a merciful mood. Until that time, you may remain as my guest, or go to your home and await my decision. For your faithful service to House Rainier, over the years, I will leave the choice up to you.”
Evelyn proceeded through the door, one of her guards following after. The other soldier remained in the throne room, shutting the door after the queen and her escort. Radden stood, turning from the throne toward the doors he had entered by. He had to find Shalindra in order to know what Eliam expected of him. Surely, his God could stop this before it was too late. But how to find the priestess? He could not leave the palace while Killian’s fate remained undecided.
A servant stood near the doors, waiting for him. He turned to look back at the door where Evelyn had just left by. No, he decided. He could not leave his son alone here. He might never see him again, if he did that.
Turning back to the waiting servant, he said, “Might I be allowed to wait upon the queen’s decision regarding my son here at the palace?”
“Yes, sir,” the younger woman said. “Come with me and we’ll see that you are made comfortable, until Mistress Evelyn sends again for you.”
“Thank you,” Radden said with a slight bow of his head.
The servant allowed him through the double doors and then closed them behind. She proceeded to lead him from the chamber vestibule toward another wing of the palace. Radden didn’t know what to expect, but he began his vigil of prayer silently even while walking toward the place where he would wait on the fate of his son.
Twain Becomes One
I woke hours before, when servants came to bathe me. At first, I had supposed that my cell had been completely cleaned after the battle between myself and Evelyn and her hired assassin, Kane. However, upon closer inspection, I came to realize that this was simply another chamber like that one.
When the queen’s servants came to me, I roused from my soft bed, immediately seeking to escape. However, Kane was there also, standing just beyond the threshold. He and the Malkind spirit inhabiting his mortal body would be more than enough to keep me prisoner here, as the queen required.
Though the servants whispered as much, when they were with me in my room, I already knew what was coming next. The purpose for my being here at all—the bonding—must have been completed as soon as possible. This is the reason that they had come to prepare me. This was the reason why Mistress Evelyn kept me alive now.
When the servants came to dress me in the shimmering gown that would serve for the coming ceremony, Kane was there again. He waited beyond the door while I was made ready. I considered my options. How could I escape? How could I find my love within this palace and make him safe from Evelyn’s threats?
“I’ve come to escort you to the temple,” he said. “We don’t want any performances like we had earlier, now do we?”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“After all,” he interrupted, “Killian is depending upon your cooperation in order to keep his head.”
I closed my mouth again. The plans for escape formulating in my head evaporated on the instant. I stammered a moment before answering.
“If anything happens to him—” I began.
“Then it will be lethal and entirely your fault Bright Lady,” he interrupted. “Now, you will accompany me without incident to the temple. You will give your blood according to the ritual and become the bond slave of Prince Nathan.” He smiled brightly then. “All this you will do without reservation because you desire to keep that young man alive.”
“Is that a guarantee that Killian will not be harmed, if I cooperate?”
“It is my understanding that the queen intends him no harm, as long as the bonding is completed as planned,” he explained. “And that is entirely up to you.”
I attempted to relax, allowing all of the pent up tension in my limbs to flow away. The mounting energy subsided within me. I was in control. There would be no outburst; not as long as Killian was safeguarded by my obedience to Evelyn’s demands.
I loved him. I had loved Killian before I knew he was a real man, before I even knew his true name. He had always been more than a mere dream.
He had only come into danger because of me, but now I could save his life. All I had to do was make myself willing to give him up and become the bond slave to the new king of the realm. My desires had to be sacrificed so that Killian could live.
He would go on without me. My dreams of a life with him would be forfeit. As brief as it had been, we would never touch each other again. My hand would never again be held in his. Our lips had come together once, but nevermore.
No doubt, he would one day forget all about me. He would move on with his life outside the walls of this palace. Another woman would capture his heart. He would love her and she would bare him children. It would be as it must be, but always he would be mine within my heart.
Tears ran hot down my cheeks. I could not stop them and had no desire to. Kane grinned at this.
“I will do as Mistress Evelyn commands,” I said.
When we arrived at the temple, I was somewhat surprised to find how simple the chamber was. There was no costly array, only alabaster blocks creating a circular room no more than fifty feet across. It seemed to me that this room was completely out of place within the palace.
At the center of this chamber a pedestal sat. However, upon closer inspection, I found that it was actually a laver of some sort. What appeared to
Evelyn and Prince Nathan awaited us inside. They stood beside the pedestal and its pool of dark water. Nathan was dressed in a robe of white linen with white breeches. He was a handsome young man, but I had no desire to look at him. Next to him, his mother waited with her silver Malkind wand in her right hand. Nathan held a bejeweled, golden goblet.
Kane paused at the entrance to the temple, gesturing for me to approach the queen and the prince. I had the feeling that perhaps Kane was not welcome at this ceremony. Possibly, it was because he was not of royal blood. Surely, it could have nothing to do with the fact that he was possessed by a Malkind spirit. After all, this was a place where the Malkind were worshipped.
“Come here, child,” Evelyn said to me.
I approached as I was bidden. I was doing my very best to obey, knowing that Killian’s life depended upon how I behaved at this crucial time. Should Evelyn and her son be disappointed, my love would surely die by her command. With Kane nearby, I would be powerless to stop that from happening.
I joined them at the pedestal, not knowing exactly what was meant happen now. The procedure for bonding had never actually been explained to us growing up at the abbey. We had been taught a somewhat romanticized version, but by the time girls reached the age nearing maturity, none of us believed it anymore. A slave was a slave, after all.
“Your right arm,” she said to me.
As I proffered my bare arm toward the pool, Prince Nathan dipped the bejeweled goblet into the water. He brought the cup out and set it beneath my arm on the lip of the pedestal. After hearing Kane’s admonition, I had already guessed what would now be added to that water.
Evelyn lifted her wand, placing the tip of it on my wrist. This was almost certainly going to be painful. I noticed that Nathan was not offering his flesh in this ceremony, but then it was my power which he intended to take in, not vice versa.
Instead, the prince removed a sword from a polished scabbard at his side. The blade was beautiful and even appeared to be slightly luminescent in the half light of this bare chamber. I recognized the weapon as being the same used by Killian to stop Kane’s attack in the alley. It had even rebounded the Malkind’s energies back at the assassin, knocking him from his horse. Like me, the blessed blade would constitute a binding between the Malkind worshippers and Eliam’s creation.
I could not say that I understood why Eliam allowed the Malkind and their followers such liberty and power in this world. After all, he is the creator of all things. Why did he not simply destroy them all and allow his children to reign here instead?
Evelyn began speaking in a tongue I was not familiar with. Nathan placed the sword into the pool. It stood out of the water with the pommel straight up.
The queen closed her eyes, and the runes of her wand began to glow with power. She dragged the tip of her silver wand across my wrist, opening an incision there. The pain was blinding. This was not merely a bloodletting. It felt like something sucking the life from my very soul.
Evelyn gripped my arm tighter as I feebly attempted to pull away. My blood flowed into the chalice, turning the water within a murky red. Evelyn pulled my arm further out over the pool itself. Nathan took the cup into his hands, as my blood continued to flow out of the wound Evelyn had made into the water of the pool. It swirled around the blade like a living thing.
The sword glowed brighter now. It began to lift out of the pool, floating into the air, blade down toward the center of the pedestal, water cascading in rivulets down the steel. Somehow, my blood was a part of this, possibly even causing this to happen.
Nathan smiled broadly at the result of the ritual while his mother continued her liturgy. My blood continued to flow. I felt faint and weak in my legs. The strength of Evelyn’s arm may have been the only thing holding me up now.
Evelyn suddenly opened her eyes, looking at her son. “Drink her power into your body, my son!”
The prince obeyed, eagerly tipping the chalice containing the sacred water and my blood to his lips. He gulped down the contents greedily, like some thirsting traveler crawling out of the Northern Desert. I saw Killian in my mind’s eye. He was beaten and bruised, lying upon the floor of a dungeon cell deep beneath us in the depths of the royal palace.
I suspect that what happened next was completely unexpected by everyone in the room. The results of this ritual were not a triumph. It could not possibly have been called a success.
The brilliantly luminescent sword came stabbing down through the water of the pool into the foundation stone of the pedestal itself. Nathan staggered backward, dropping the bejeweled chalice upon the flagstones. He was choking, clawing at his own throat, gasping in agony.
Energy was thrown outward from the sword, shattering the pedestal. Evelyn barely managed to throw a shield up with her wand before pieces of rock hurled through the air at us. The shield forced the power of the explosion away from us just in time. Red hot fragments beat against the opposite wall, and a wave of hot wind blasted around the circular chamber, buffeting us like a whirlwind.
Nathan was foaming at the mouth, lying on his back upon the floor. Evelyn lunged for her son with her wand, waving it over him. I sank down beside them, my strength spent. My wrist was still bleeding. I concentrated what little strength I had on stopping the flow from my arm.
I barely managed to muster enough power to close the wound. Still, a purple bruise spread beneath the skin. The pain had diminished to nearly nothing by now.
Kane swept into the chamber amid the smoke and debris. Many of the wall sconces had been extinguished by the blast of wind from the explosion. He stood over Evelyn and Nathan, but did not interfere.
The queen barely took notice. She worked feverishly with her wand, attempting to draw out the poison from his body. That was what this looked like. He looked like someone who had ingested something deadly.
Gradually, Nathan’s spasms began to subside. His labored breathing evened out. Evelyn lowered her wand and its luminescent runes diminished in brightness.
Evelyn looked sternly at me and then up at Kane still standing over us all. The blessed sword had shattered the pedestal and its pool of water and now stood upright, buried halfway into the foundation stone. Nathan appeared to be unconscious, but he seemed better now.
“What happened?” Evelyn asked her assassin. “Why did the ritual fail, and what has happened to my son?”
Kane looked down at the sleeping prince and then to Evelyn and finally to me. “I suspect, Mistress, the girl cannot bond with Prince Nathan at the moment.”
Evelyn looked at me and then at the assassin. “Why not?”
Kane grinned in my direction. “Obviously, the girl is already bonded to someone else.”
My mind reeled at Kane’s statement. Already bonded to someone? I had only ever been at the abbey. I had not been bonded to anyone at any time. Dazed, I remained on the ground wondering at this possibility—only it couldn’t be a possibility! Could it?
“What are you talking about?” Evelyn asked, standing abruptly to face her servant.
She only stood to the height of Kane’s throat, but she did not show any hesitation. Somehow, Evelyn was not intimidated by the assassin. No doubt, he could have killed her on the spot. We all realized this, but Evelyn didn’t care.
She was King Stephen’s wife, a queen, and she would not cower. Despite my feelings of contempt for the woman, I could not help but be impressed by her demeanor. She commanded respect by title and privilege and attitude alone.
I had no such courage as this. I had no title or position of power. I was a Daughter of Eliam with great control over the energies present in the creation. Still, quite honestly, Kane scared me to death.
“Mistress,” he said deferentially, “I have seen this before. Her blood is compromised.”
“No, Mistress,” he said. “I believe, in this case, it may be as simple as a kiss.”
“A kiss?” she said. “You mean the boy?”
The assassin nodded once.
“A bond made by her love for him and a physical connection,” he said. “The blessed blade appears to also be connected to him. He used it to stop my advance in the alley, when I came upon them together.”
Evelyn stammered for a moment. “But how?” she said. “I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps, Mistress,” Kane replied, “it is more important to believe that it has happened and come to terms with what must be done to undo it.”
Evelyn turned back to him. “It can be undone?”
Kane grinned in his devilish way again. “A bond can only be broken by death.”
The realization of that statement suddenly hit me like a tidal wave. Could it really be true that Killian and I were bonded, as Kane had said? Immediately, I felt that I knew the answer to that question.
I loved him and would die for him. I could feel him even now somewhere in the dungeon below, feel his pain and sorrow. We were one, despite the fact that I had no idea how a kiss could do such a thing. And, because that bond stood in her way, Evelyn would surely kill him in order to break it.
“No!” I screamed, attempting to come to my feet.
Evelyn’s hand came down hard, striking me across the face. “Silence!” she bellowed, her voice echoing off of the stone walls of the Malkind temple chamber.
“Hold her here,” she said to Kane. She raised her wand. “I’ll deal with Radden’s son myself.”
She started out of the chamber, her hair and her dress in a disheveled state. Kane remained behind, standing over me as I wiped blood from my mouth where Evelyn had struck me. The assassin smiled down at me.
“No, please!” I pleaded, as she walked over the threshold of the room. “You promised he would come to no harm, if I cooperated.”
Evelyn turned then, her wand held so that she could strike out at me if she desired. Yet, the runes remained dark.
Raven's Hand by James Somers / Fantasy have rating 3 out of 5 / Based on39 votes
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Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. James 4:8
You can have as much of God as you desire. The good news is that it is your decision. Experiencing God is just like any other relationship in a sense. You get out of the relationship as much as you are willing to put in. Even if the other individual in a relationship gives to you and communicates with you, you still will not experience true fulfillment and contentment in that relationship until you reciprocate by giving and communicating as well. God is always ready and willing to give to us and communicate with us. John 3:16 for example states that “God so loved the world, that he gave.” Draw near to God and He will draw near to you!
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I have learned by mournful experience that the last thing a man finds out and understands, is his own state in the sight of God. Well says the Holy Spirit, that we are all by nature “blind,” and “deaf,” and “dumb,” and “asleep,” and “beside ourselves,” and “dead!” Nothing, nothing will ever convince man of his sin but the power of the Holy Spirit. Show him hell, and he will not flee from it; show him heaven, and he will not seek it; silence him with warnings, and yet he will not stir; prick his conscience, and yet he will remain hard. Power from on high must come down and do the work. To show man the sinner which he really is – is the special work of the Holy Spirit of God.
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Ron Russon‘s original painting style is called a ‘modern expression of nature in art’. He attended both UVCC and the illustration program at BYU. As his bio explains, “While going to BYU, Ron was involved in a severe car accident, leaving him with a smashed car and broken neck. It slowed his progress for a bit, but he recovered and went back to school, and even accomplished an internship in New York City at Illustration House, studying under several prominent illustrators and artists. Ron became a freelance illustrator and gained several clients, but he is drawn back to his rural roots of farms and wildlife. Listening to bluegrass or space-pop, Ron paints in oil employing a loose brush and pallet knife to varied scenes, from a serene resting tractor in a windrowed field of hay to a cacophony of geometric colors creating luminescent bison. Through both abstraction and realism, his art reflects his relationship with nature and his communication with the outdoors.” He lives in Utah.
Tell us about your evolution as an artist. My evolution as an artist is ongoing I hope. I originally wanted to be rather realistic in my approach. It was satisfying to see that I could make paintings and drawings look like a photo. It was tedious and detailed stuff that ultimately felt like a parlor trick to me. I was exposed to more modern approaches to painting in my journey of education at UVU and BYU. I had often not considered modern, abstract, or non-objective styles to have much value. I remember hearing from an instructor of mine, at BYU, how we need to give other forms of art a chance before rejecting it outright. He gave the example of seeing one of Jackson Pollack’s paintings in real life and trying to perceive what he was conveying. I had that opportunity on an internship in New York. I was able to spend some time with a few Jackson Pollack paintings there. It was transformative. I saw Vincent VanGough paintings, Kandinski, de Kooning, Rothko, Norman Rockwell, all kinds of work done in all kinds of fashion. That in a way gave me permission to pursue something beyond traditional realism and I could step out beyond the crutch of pure representational work. I was free from making a painting look like a photo. I now really try to pursue a more expressive style hopefully provocative or evocative but not offensive. I want people to be moved by my work by the texture or the color or perhaps deeper meaning through symbolism and metaphor. I’m working to make my art require someone to spend time with it, to allow themselves to think and become part of the artwork. The work hopefully goes beyond mere decoration and has impact for a lasting positive change.
You once said, ‘Sometimes an artist needs a kick in the butt.’ A great local Utah writer named Ehren Clark interviewed me and he is the one who coined that phrase of “needing a kick in the butt”. I was pursuing a career in illustration after graduating from BYU. I graduated in Illustration Design and I immediately got work upon graduation. It was a fruitful time for illustrators. That was not to last however. Many of my jobs lost budget as more jobs used photos and scanned work instead of commissioned work. Stock illustration became the next wave. It was a time for me to try to become an artist instead of an illustrator. I didn’t have much to lose and I had always wanted to be a fine art painter. So the impetus, or “Kick in the Butt” was the lack of illustration jobs that I used to have. It was a motivation to allow me a leap of faith towards my take on art. I took the chance to try what I wanted to do and be self driven and pursue my own work and style. I had always felt that I was given an art interest and even perhaps a mod comb of talent for a purpose or reason. My intent in my work is to provide expression, conversation, interest, reflection, introspection, and thought. If I can do that then my purpose or reason comes to fruition.
You work is very organic and colorful. How do you keep your art fresh? I am glad you find my work organic and colorful. I hope that is just an extension of me. I think that if there is any freshness it is due to my spiritual center. I find that I need to keep myself steeped in spirituality to have good work come out. I feel that my work is an extension of my soul and spirit. I find that if I am doing the right stuff like reading scripture, pondering, praying, participating in church, listening to the prophet and apostles my work is much more interesting and fresh. Being a good Mormon boy seems to help keep the flow of inspiration in my work. I don’t plan out my paintings much. I generally let them happen like a dance or an improvisational jazz piece. I find that is where I am in constant need and desire of inspiration and that place is a place where my artwork comes from. I am glad you find it fresh. I think that lets me know I’m heading in the right direction.
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The Sad History of the Passenger PigeonBiology
The Passenger Pigeon was once one of the most numerous bird breeds in North America and quite possibly the entire world. There were once so many passenger pigeons that when a flock would fly by the entire sky would darken. It is said that their flocks could measure up to a mile long and 3 miles wide. Once the Europeans arrived in America however those numbers began to radically change.
The Passenger Pigeon was slightly larger than our pigeons and doves of today, but it was only a very small difference. Their bills were short but thin and they ate what most birds typically eat which were nuts, fruits, and insects. They were not a bird that was a danger to humans. They had long slender wings and a long pointed tail that was about 9 inches long the wings and tail helped these birds to sour at speeds likely in excess of 70 mph. Of course the only reason we know what these red breasted birds looked like these days is because there were some stuffed specimens from way back when.
Since there were so many passenger pigeons when they nested in groups they would form entire colonies. Obviously since they were so plentiful humans decided that they were perfect for hunting and that the passenger pigeon population could be controlled by hunting. So when the European settlers started to arrive in about the year 1700 they began to turn the passenger pigeons natural habitat in to farm land, roads and towns, therefore forcing the passenger pigeons in to smaller spaces. That is about the time that people started to catch the pigeons for food. After all they were not hard to catch, and they were numerable, and of course free to catch and cheap to buy.
The hunting and trapping of the pigeons continued up into the 1850’s and that is when people started to notice that the birds were no longer plentiful and that they were becoming more and more rare. In order to try to save the species and a popular food source some humans decided to try and keep the birds in captivity. There was a disease at the time that was affecting birds called Newcastle disease. Nobody is entirely sure if the pigeons in captivity were actually sick from the disease or if they were just unable to breed in small groups. They also did not eat well in these small groups.
By the year 1900 it is believed that the species was nearly entirely gone. It is thought that the last known passenger pigeon died in 1914 in the Cincinnati Zoo in Ohio. They had named her Martha after Martha Washington. There is a statue and memorial of and for Martha at the Cincinnati Zoo. Martha was stuffed and mounted and now resides at the Smithsonian Institute.
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I dug further into the death of Paulin Benoit, my g-g-grandfather’s brother.
It turns out that Paulin and Joe Benoit were at a ball celebrating an upcoming marriage in Lafourche Parish when Paulin – who apparently liked to fight – got into a tussle with Texon Vicknair. According to one witness, Texon said he was tired of being made a buffoon, which spurred Paulin into action. Paulin punched Texon. A knife was drawn. Paulin ended up dead. Joe Benoit was injured.
Unfortunately, Joe Benoit was too ill to testify. I would love to have heard his account if only to get a better sense of him.
I found these records at Nicholls State University in Thibodaux. The university has the early criminal court records as well as coroner inquests for Lafourche Parish. It’s a treasure trove!
Texon was found not guilty. Here are the witness statements, which I transcribed. In some instances, I couldn’t decipher the chicken scratch.
Saw when his uncle Paulin (Benoit) came in contact with and struck one another.
That was last Saturday night.
When asked in what parish, stated in the parish of Lafourche.
It was on the gallery of the house of Mr. Neuville Hebert.
It was between 9 and 10 o’clock p.m.
His uncle Paulin struck the accused first with his fist, a little after that the accused responded with a knife or dagger he saw in the accused’s hands.
The two licks were nearly simultaneous.
When asked whether he had heard words between his uncle and the accused , at the time, he states that he did not.
He happened to arrive there just when the first lick was given.
When asked whether he saw whence the accused took the dagger or bowie knife, he states he did not and only saw the same, when he was in the act of striking.
It was a little dark on the gallery at the time. When asked whether he had heard the accused warn Paulin that he would strike him with a knife replied that he did not hear him say so. The blow with the fist did not knock down the accused. Paulin was a little more robust but not as tall as accused. Paulin was about 24 years of age.
After the accused struck Paulin, Paulin started towards the road and called upon the accused to come on the road. After Paulin struck he made two or three steps and fell.
He states that he did not see what became of the accused afterwards, so he at once followed after Paulin. When Joe Benoit saw that his brother was struck, he stood in his place. He struck the accused with a stick. The stick was a bout ½ inch in diameter. The accused was not knocked down by the lick.
Witness has had the stick in his hand. It is not very heavy.
He believes Joe Benoit struck the accused twice with his stick.
Joe Benoit was stabbed by the accused.
It was on the same day and place the other difficulty occurred.
He does not know whether the accused stabbed Joe Benoit after he had struck accused once or twice. He caught a glimpse of the knife or dagger the accused used. The blade was about 4 inches long – could not say whether it was a pocket knife or dagger. Witness is certain Paulin died of the effects of the wound then received.
Witness is certain that the accused now in court inflicted said wound.
The wound was in the left breast about 4 inches below the armpit.
Does not know whether Joe or Paulin Benoit was armed that night.
Does not know the cause of the difficulty between the parties.
Joe Benoit was smaller than Paulin but stouter and lower than witness.
Joe Benoit is younger than Paulin B.
Witness only became acquainted with accused on the night that act was committed.
Witness knew of no reason to expect a dispute between the parties.
The stick with which Joe Benoit struck accused had a ball of tar at the end.
DISTRICT ATTORNEY QUESTIONING
Witness states that Paulin died immediately. He believes he died starting up and falling down dead. He is certain in that he died from the effect of the wounds inflicted by accused.
Was on the gallery of Neuville Hebert’s house in the parish of Lafourche … last Saturday. Arthur Naquin leaning on the ? on my right and Paulin Benoit on my left side. Arthur Naquin called out to Zenon Vicknair. Accused answered: “Present. I am tired of being made a buffoon of.” Paulin Benoit got up sparring with his arms and went forward towards accused and struck him with his fist. Accused came forward and then went back to the upper part of the gallery. Witness heard strikings with a stick on accuser. He saw no knife nor did he see accused stab nor did he afterwards see the wound.
About three minutes after he saw Paulin strike accused, he saw Paulin dead in the yard.
Did not hear Paulin make any remark nor call out for the accused to go out on the road. He does not know the cause of Paulin’s death. Paulin is slightly shorter than accused but not taller. Paulin struck the accused with his fist, but did not knock him down.
Did not hear accused warn Paulin that he would cut or stab him with a knife.
Did not hear a word.
This difficulty occurred in the parish of Bayou Lafourche in the house of Mr. Neuville Hebert last Saturday between 10 and 9 o’clock p.m.
All he saw was Mr. Benoit who struck accused with his fist. That is all he saw. He followed Mr. Paulin Benoit in the yard and was by his side when he fell. When he reached him he was falling dead. Does not know what killed Paulin Benoit.
He was wounded in the left side by a stab with a knife or a dagger. He did not see any arm. The wound was bleeding. The wound was about 0-4 inches below the armpit on the left side.
I did not see any arm on Paulin’s body. Did not see any arm. He examined him as soon as he fell. Did not see Joe Benoit strike the accused with a stick. The blow Paulin struck accused did not knock him down.
Paulin Benoit was about 24-25 years old. Paulin was about of the heighth of witness but a little stouter. He was not quite as tall as accused.
Did not hear accused warn Paulin that he would strike him with a knife.
Does not know what was the cause of the difficulty between Paulin and accused.
Witness states that Paulin Benoit has a good character, that he was rather quick and always ready for a fight, that he has had a difficulty with said Benoit. That he has known of Benoit having had several difficulties, but that Benoit although quick to get into a fight, had to be provoker. Witness acknowledges that at the time he had a difficulty with him, witness was in the wrong and busted up Paulin himself. They were joking and Benoit had misunderstood witness. Benoit did not refuse to fight but they did not fight.
Was present at a ball at Mrs. Louis Oncale about a year of 1 ½ years ago when a difficulty occurred between Paulin Benoit and accused. He at the time did not see of the Benoits make fun of the accused.
DISTRICT ATTORNEY QUESTIONING
He does not know of Paulin’s ever having fought.
Mr. Paulin Benoit struck witness.
Witness heard Paulin had struck others but did not see it.
Does not know much about the case.
When he heard the fuss he went towards it but all was over when he got there. It happened on the gallery of his dwelling house. He was in the house at the time. There was a ball at his house. The ball was intended to celebrate the wedding of Armogene Gros with the daughter of Baptiste Noel.
When he got to the steps he heard the words: He is a dead one.
As he was the owner of the house, he went to see and saw that he was dead. After the body was carried in the house, they examined the body to see where the wound was. The wound was in the left side. Between 3 + 4 inches below the armpit. When the clothing was taken off he did not see any arms but he knows that his arms had been previously taken off in the yard.
That he was told so by one who gave witness the scabbard of a small dagger. He was told by Emile Naquin that some one else had taken the dagger out of his hands.
Was not present when the dagger and scabbard were taken off the body of Paulin. He was told this by Emile Naquin who went into the house and gave him the scabbard. The scabbard was 3-4 inches long. He returned the scabbard to one of the brothers (Felia).
Accused was on the gallery when witness arrived. I cannot say how long he stayed there.
As soon as I arrived there and heard called out: “There is one dead.” I went out into the yard. When he came back on the gallery, accused was gone.
It was maybe a quarter of an hour afterwards.
He heard previous to the difficulty that they were tantalizing accused. Could not say whether it was Mr. Benoit or who, but there was a company of them. He heard two or three times: “Let him come here and we will break his jaw.”
He cannot say whether accused was invited to the soiree. He did not occupy himself about this matter, supposes he was invited as he was present. The wound attended to was about ¾ to 1 inch in width. The wound must have been caused by a knife or dagger.
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Michael was born in Columbus, Ohio and moved to Tucson, Arizona at very early age. He married his wonderful wife Leesa 24 years ago and they have two beautiful children Michael Lewis and Danielle Kristine, who both attended schools in TUSD.
Michael obtained his Associates in General Studies from Pima Community College Tucson, Arizona and his Bachelors of Science in Leadership and Management from Charter Oaks State College New Britain, Connecticut. Michael retired from the City of Tucson 2 years ago as the Manager of Intelligent Transportation Systems (ITS) for the Department of Transportation. Michael currently works for Professional Transit Management as the Director of MIS/ITS and he also works as an adjunct faculty member at Pima Community College for over 30 years and in his spare time is a Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) RiderCoach.
Michael started his political aspirations in the early 80’s, when he was a member of the "Pima College Student Coalition for Better Leadership" and moved on to be District Student Body President. In 1985 Michael authored the Student Constitution for Pima Community College. Michael was inspired by his foster father Lewis C. Murphy who served as Mayor of Tucson from 1972 to 1989. Michael also served 8 years on the Tucson Unified School District #1 Board of Education and ended his term as the President of the Board.
Michael believes in full disclosure and is committed to bringing full transparency to Ward 4 and the Tucson community, where he will regularly call for public input and have not only open communication but encourage ideas from both all on how we can help improve Tucson as a whole for everyone.
“You only get as much as you give and I don’t know how to give less then 100% to anything I commit to”.
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§ THE LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COUNCIL (LORD PARMOOR)
My Lords, there is a short time before the next busi- 1382 ness of the House, which will be the Royal Commission, and I should like, with the permission of the House, to call to your Lordships' minds some statistics with which the Clerk of the Parliaments has kindly provided me, in order to show the very great amount of work which this House has done during the present Session. Of course I do not intend to touch on the position, or the constitution or the powers of this House. I am merely dealing with the question of the quantity of work, and that is very remarkable. In the Session of 1928, from February to August, there were 76 days on which the House of Lords sat and that does not include merely formal sittings. Those occasions are excluded, and I am giving only the days on which the House sat for substantial work. As regards the present Session we have sat 105 days, which I am told is 38 per cent. increase, and of course our work is not nearly completed. As everyone who is cognisant of the work of your Lordships' House knows, in the late days of the Session we have the hardest and most continuous work.
The statistics supplied to me appear to me to be of very great importance as showing the great amount of work which has been done by this House and which I do not think could have been carried through really by any other means. The number of public Bills which we have already considered is thirty-seven and the number of Bills originated in this House is fourteen. I may remind your Lordships that we have had the Road Traffic Bill, the Mental Treatment Bill and the Land Drainage Bill, all Bills of great importance and necessarily occupying considerable time, with the result that on the analysis before me we have given a considerably larger amount of time to each Bill, because they have all been more important, than on previous occasions. I also have the statistics for last Session, but that was curtailed, to I omit them, except to say that in that Session we sat only on sixty-six days. I thought it might be an encouragement to your Lordships, if I may say so, if I quoted these statistics, merely to show how willingly your Lordships have worked in a very busy Session and how much, so far as the number of days is concerned, we have done to perform our duties as a Second Chamber in assisting in a con- 1383 stitutional manner the legislation of the country.
§ THE MARQUESS OF SALISBURY
My Lords, I am sure that your Lordships will all have listened to the Leader of the House with a feeling of great satisfaction. He has been able to tell your Lordships how well we have behaved, and I felt a sort of glow of satisfaction, which I am sure all your Lordships felt, at the warmth of his words. It is all the more gratifying to us to think that it has fallen to the lot of a Government which, though very distinguished, is not particularly favourable to the general atmosphere of your Lordships' House, to produce so much work for the benefit of the country. I quite agree with the noble and learned Lord. I think it reflects great credit upon us and that anybody who has been present at our debates, whether as a member of your Lordships' House or as an onlooker, must have been satisfied that the work was done with great business capacity and without undue delay. That is very satisfactory and I am sure we shall all be glad. I can only hope that the results of our work may be not only satisfactory to ourselves but permanent in their character. That does not altogether depend upon ourselves, but after what the noble and learned Lord has said I am sure that he for one will do his utmost to make our work permanent.
§ EARL BEAUCHAMP
My Lords, I should like to add my thanks to the noble and learned Lord who leads the House for the figures that he has been good enough to give us, but I cannot help wishing that he had been good enough to give them to us upon another occasion. To explain to your Lordships how well and hard we have worked upon an occasion when we are having an unusually short sitting and when the House is unusually empty seemed to me, perhaps, to be choosing an inappropriate moment. In thanking the noble and learned Lord for the figures, I should like to say that I look forward to being able to examine them in some detail. As I understood him, the comparison covered the period from the beginning of 1928 to the end of the Session of 1929, which is not quite a normal period, since the General Election took place—
§ LORD PARMOOR
In the figures I gave I purposely omitted that. I took the Session before, so as to have a complete Session for the purpose of comparison.
§ EARL BEAUCHAMP
I am much obliged to tile noble and learned Lord. That only shows that, until one has the statistics before one, it is very difficult to make sure what they really mean. I do not want to say more except to ask the noble and learned Lord whether he would consider the question of examining the records of your Lordship' House with regard to the number of people who attend each Session? I believe we should find that the members who attend regularly are much more numerous than they used to be.
§ EARL BEAUCHAMP
Since the noble and learned Lord has taken an interest in the records of your Lordships' House and the amount of work that we do, I think it would also be interesting if he would investigate those figures also at his convenience and give them to us on some future occasion.
§ LORD PARMOOR
My Lords, I shall have to ask the authorities to supply the figures for which the noble Earl, Lord Beauchamp, has asked. I think they can be obtained, and they shall be obtained. I should like, by way of precaution, to say in regard to the remarks of the noble Marquess that I gave these statistics merely as statistics and did not draw all the inferences from them which he seems to think may be drawn.
§ House adjourned during pleasure.
§ House resumed.
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"Got Any Spare Parts? No? Then Get Out Of My Face." - His Usual 'Greeting'
B.I.P.R.O.D.U.C.T (Usually Addressed As Bi, Two Or Pro) Is a Cyborg Like Creation That Lives Inside an Abandoned 'Shack' Deep Within the West, Unexplored side of Hobo 13. He is currently used a lot for Black Market Trading, Along with Distributing And Buying Metal Parts for Scrap. He's been Stranded for most of his life but sometimes is known to leave the planet, Although it is unknown how. His Past Is Shrouded in Mystery and isn't really 'social He just puts up with organic life forms looking at him for Business.
Bi Has a very horrible, molded appearance that has even know to send people running. He is made out of various pieces of scrap, trash, and metal welded together that may be more ancient than he is. He barley stands together. Under the layers of trash would be his original 'body' that more or less looks like a metallic Human Skeleton with various coils on it. Inside of this skeletons rib cage area (That Can't Even Be Seen Anymore) Would be a set of 'organs' or something that resembles it. It has been seen that when punctured they ooze a thick brown liquid. When looking at him you can see a clear bipedal figure. He is Pretty Tall, Half of the things on his legs aren't even his original legs anymore. His face appears to be the most intact out of his body. Being various separate sections with a gap in the middle of each, E.G The Front, Upper Back, Lower Back, Neck. Inside these small slits wires could be seen, But by now the scrap has covered them up. One of his right arms has been completely removed and is now it's own item that has been built by Bi. On the end would be a pair of very sharp claws that appear to be Irken In Origin. His face isn't your usual bones and skin. It is more of a light beige like metal with cracks and crevasses in it. Well at least the front section is, the back and neck would be his normal Silver-ish color, But the trash again would replace parts of the metal that have been puncutred, etc, etc. His eyes would be very rusty and almost hardly blink, although they sometimes do. It doesn't look very pleasant though. His eyes would even have some form of crust in them like you would get when waking up, But with oil and gunk. His eyes would be a blue color which has now become dim and is slowly fading. He is that worn sometimes they make flicker off, but he can still see. They have been known to change to an orange color sometimes but this is very rare. The lower section of his body would be in a
horrible state of repair much like the rest, The one thing that stands out about his legs would be that his knees and feet would be the same beige color as his face, These are the only places on his body that share that similarity. Also on the front of his face would be a large red burn mark with the number two imprinted on it in white paint. This came from a spare part. Along with the fact that he does seem to have some kind of teeth under his mouth, although they are mechanical they do look real in a sense, almost as if they are decaying...
Across his back he would keep a large light brown cloak that is big enough to extend to his ankles and has a function to extend into a Hood, It is very worn and has various rips at the end along with the markings of centuries. Being Mechanical, He would still give off a very rancid smell. But one that is some how bearable. Around his waist would be a tool-belt with various pouches that he keeps his 'stuff' in.
A Long Time Ago, On a distant Alien Planet. There lived a man, a simple man. He had a family, a wife and Two Children. He was happy. One key event shaped the fate of his planets history, an Attempted Irken Invasion. This cripple a lot of the planets defenses and killed around 10% of the Gigantic planets population. After society was re-established and the Irken Threat was shrugged off. Scientists found a way to resurrect people with an artificial limbs. These people became known as Synths And for a unknown reason became Despised By the populous. Several people beat them, destroyed them and rioted around there existence. One of the people who was caught in the disaster was the previously mentioned man, He had sustained not fatal damage but was shot in the head and had severe brain damage that destroyed his sanity. It was best to put him in a synth body as he was in a critical condition but after some medical treatment before this decision he could walk, speak, etc, etc. He had become Insane though, And when I say Insane. I mean INSANE. He hated the Synths, he thought they were all made to kill him, he saw them crowd around his Hospital Bed and he assumed they wanted to get rid of him. He escaped the hospital with himself and an operating tool, Slaughtering around 13 People on his way out. Because of the damage he has taken in the attack half of his face was now already reconstructed with metal and he was deemed as a Synth. He hid in a public park from the authorities and slept there for around three night when one morning a group of Teenage Children came up to him and started laughing and throwing stones at him because he was a 'Synth' he snapped. Grabbing the Operating tool he had taken with him he slaughtered the children. Not even flinching. When the cries were heard local residents reported it to the Police. He ran, and ran, and ran. He eventually found himself in a large building with blinding lights. It was a building where they manufactured Synth suits, And not just the implants this was a suit that could be placed around the body and easily slotted in. He decided to hide in one as he had heard about them on the News as he lie in the Hospital. Luckily he made the right choice as the authorities came in seconds later. They didn't find him, Luckily. When he went to exit the suit he couldn't, He screamed but he couldn't talk. Then after bashing into a wall the mechanism inside the suit that projected the Metal Skeleton to support the revived user deployed. It crushed his entire body and ripped it apart piercing all of his skin. It trapped his body, And soon it rotted away. Leaving only his brain. The suit had activated emergency protocol and preserved the brain while the body decayed. His brain and some of His organs still rest with him.
After hundreds of years in the suit, It began to fall apart. But he repaired it, again, and again, and again. And he still will soon. He wont die. After a while of being in the suit, it 'repaired' his brain so he could regain his sanity. Now he wanders planets selling on the Black Market. Buying parts to stay alive. He currently resides on Hobo 13. A Common thing is said across Hobo 13...
Beware The Metal Man. If you go Of course, I've heard he wont flinch to slaughter you.
He has a very stern personality and is more or less anti social. He has seen numerous atrocities, and committed some himself. He hates his own existence in a sense, but doesn't even have the moral strength to end his own life. He has just become skilled in prolonging his life. When people talk to him he is extremely eager to make them leave as soon as possible unless it is for a good cause. He is very secretive about his past and does not like sharing it with others, Sometimes when talking when people ask him question he will simply respond with random words. If someone attempts to cross him then he becomes greatly enraged, He has been even know to Devour people who do this to him. There is no getting on his good side, Your rather dead, or a customer. He doesn't care about consequences, E.G If he is selling someone that could threaten the Galaxy then he wouldn't really hesitate that much to sell it.
[Possible More To Come]
His voice is a very cracked and glitchy male robotic voice. That is rather slow and low in pitch, It almost sounds as if he is in constant pain and doesn't enjoy talking. He has even been know to cough and stutter up fluid even though he is 'mechanical'. His voice almost sounds dry like someone who hasn't drank liquid in years. But it is not completely inaudible like small whispers, it is still 'clear' in a sense and can be heard by most people.
- He Was Appearance was Inspired By, The Characters From The Game: Borderlands. And The Music Video, We Only Attack Ourselves
- It is implied and speculated by his many 'friends' that it is possible that he was once a creature, Or Organic Lifeform and was transformed into a Cyborg against his own will.
- He sometimes makes small noises randomly under his breath that sounds like backwards text.
- For Some Strange Reason, He has the need to eat. He currently hunts down native animals on Hobo 13 And cooks them in his shack.
- He has a habit of going onto the course on the Hobo 13 Trial and kidnapping members for equipment and food.
- He barley has many shreds of Sympathy left.
- His Personality is Eerily Mirrored to the Character Skellig, From David Almond's "Skellig"
- When he moves, the sound of electrical joint moving and springs and a low hum can be heard. Like a stereotypical robot.
- He has become a local Urban Legend on Hobo 13, It is used to scare Cadets by saying he will eat them. This myth is actually true as he is prone to Cannibalism and sometimes eats Hobo 13 workers. Although the staff think it is just a joke.
- "Listen Kid, You Rather Have Something Or You Don't"
- "Hahaha, Now Get Out Of My Face"
- "I really don't envy you flesh sticks... Anymore"
- "A Bit Here, A Bit There. And Done"
- "Come Pay Up, Or I'll Kick You So Hard You Wont Feel Anymore"
- "Bring Me Food, NOW"
- "This Planet Is Mine.... It's Rightfully Mine..."
- "The Pain... Please Make The Pain Stop"
- "All Organic Lifeforms are LIVESTOCK TO ME"
- "I wouldn't flinch to devour you right now, I guess I'm just evolved that way"
A Unanimous Trade
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Suggested Further Reading: Deuteronomy 8:11-20
This forgetfulness of God is growing upon this perverse generation. Time was, in the old puritanic days, when every shower of rain was seen to come from heaven, when every ray of sunshine was blessed, and God was thanked for having given fair weather to ingather the fruits of the harvest. Then, men talked of God as doing everything. But in our days where is our God? We have the laws of matter. Alas! Alas! That names with little meaning should have destroyed our memory of the Eternal One. We talk now of phenomena, and of the chain of events, as if all things happened by machinery; as if the world were a huge clock which had been wound up in eternity, and continued to work without a present God. Nay, not only our philosophers, but even our poets rant in the same way. They sing of the works of nature. But who is that fair goddess, Nature?
Is she a heathen deity, or what? Do we not act as if we were ashamed of our God, or as if his name had become obsolete? Go abroad wherever you may, you hear little said concerning him who made the heavens, and who formed the earth and the sea; but everything is nature, and the laws of motion and of matter. And do not Christians often use words which would lead you to suppose that they believed in the old goddess, Luck, or rested in that equally false deity, Fortune, or trembled before the demon of Misfortune? Oh for the day when God shall be seen, and little else beside! Better, my brethren, that philosophical discoveries were lost, than that God should be concealed behind them. Better that our poets had ceased to write, and that all their flaming words were buried with their ashes, than that they should serve as a cloud before the face of the eternal Creator.
For meditation: When men replace Father God by mother nature, God leaves them to behave in ways which are unnatural and opposed to their false new deity (Romans 1:21-27).
Sermon no. 326
29 July (1860)
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I wrote this poem two years ago when I was pregnant with Isaac. These days in the wake of events in Ferguson, I still hold onto these worries and hopes of what it means to raise a white man today.
Mary, did you worry your son would grow up
to idealize the military and violence around him?
What did you sing in his ear?
What toys did you give him?
That taught him to put away the sword
and to give his life before shedding the blood of another.
Mary, did you worry that your son would follow society’s rules of oppressing women?
Who did you surround him with?
What history did you teach him?
That helped him to invite women to the table, receive their gifts,
and acknowledge their friendship and leadership.
Mary, did you worry that your son would desire wealth and push down the poor?
What reality lay outside your front door?
What God did you pray to?
That instilled in him a hunger for justice, a love for the poor,
and an understanding that it is good and right to give away all that we have and follow God.
This Advent, I walk beside you.
I carry a child, a son, within my womb.
And I worry.
I worry about this world he will be born into.
One that encourages him towards violence, arrogance, power, and wealth.
I look to you as a mother who raised a son to cry out against injustice,
to pause and heal those around him, and to build the beloved community.
Walk beside me. Teach me.
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Price $160 Available
- 1.6 lbs / 11” L x 2” Diam
Steam powered weapon designed by Bernard Maets. Mr. Maets specialized in a wide variety of weapons and tools using steam as the primary energy source.
Type and Function:
Designed for close in combat against steel sabers or other bladed weapons. High pressure steam of unknown composition sprays from center spout, but is pulled back into the saber bell around the spout. A “Blade” of about 2.5 to 3 feet was reported in the notes found with the weapon. Unfortunately, all attempts to activate the saber have been unsuccessful.
The Steam Saber was part of a crate of weapons and misc. parts located in a storage crypt in the Vatican. It was uncovered in 1988 during routine maintenance on the HVAC system and was initially thought to have been parts for the cooling system in the Vatican. Once its true identity was known it was transferred to the Maets Foundation for cataloging and further research.
This object has been studied and restored by Ed Kidera. Learn more about Ed
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Sherman County was created in 1889 out of the northeast corner of Wasco County. It was named for General William Techumseh Sherman of Civil War fame. Sherman County is located in north central Oregon and is bounded by the Columbia River on the north, the John Day River and Gilliam County on the east, and the Deschutes River, Buck Hollow, and Wasco County on the west and south. The only change made to the county's borders occurred in 1891 when the Legislative Assembly moved the county line 18 miles farther south.
Sherman County contains 831 square miles. The town of Wasco was designated the county seat by the Legislative Assembly although the selection was contested between Wasco and Moro. Moro benefited from the addition to the southern part of the county of a portion of Wasco County and was the eventual winner of a series of elections to select a county seat.
The county contracted in 1892 to construct a building and vault on the main street of Moro for use as an interim courthouse. A permanent courthouse was built in 1899 on a hill overlooking the town and is still in use today. That courthouse received a major renovation in 2018, including a new tower. A new adjacent building, called the courthouse addition, was also constructed in 2018. This building houses the circuit court, justice court, sheriff and other justice-related offices.
A county court has governed Sherman County since its creation. Administrative functions for Sherman County continue to be the responsibility of the county court consisting of the county judge and two commissioners. Other elected officials are the assessor, county clerk, district attorney, sheriff, and treasurer.
The population of the county has remained remarkably constant, in 1890 there were 1,792 residents and in 2018 there were 1,785 residents, a rise from 1,765 residents in 2010.
Sherman County is an agricultural county. It has a larger percentage of its 831 square miles under cultivation than any county in Oregon. Its farms are devoted to growing wheat and barley. Cattle raising also contributes to the county's economy as does recreation on the rivers bordering the county. In recent years, electricity generating wind turbines have sprouted in large wind farms in several areas such as east of Wasco. The income, both to landowners and to the county, has been a welcome economic boost. The Oregon Raceway Park, just outside of Grass Valley, also has added to the county economy.
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Why are we so addicted to watching dramas? I’m sure everyone has a reason of their own. Whether that be their favorite oppa is on screen or hey that plotline sounds interesting! We all on some level connect with the characters we are watching or enjoy some of the emotions they wring from us. There are some scenes from shows that really stick with us, the ones that make your heart ache or so amazingly courageous. They might not always be the climax moment, but rather that small snapshot.
Here are some of my (phoenix) favorite moments that remind me why I love dramas so much:
Healer (Episode 16) : “Come Back”
When Chae Young Shin finds out that her father may have been killed by Healer’s father. Yet, instead of them both being noble idiots, she urges him to find the evidence that his father didn’t do it and come back to her. She even says that if he doesn’t find the evidence, still come back to her. They aren’t going to let the past tragedies dictate their future happiness.
Heal Me Kill Me (Episode 7): “I am Cha Do Hyun”
The rooftop attempted suicide scene really pulled at my heart strings. Do Hyun, a man suffering from DID, almost dies as his suicidal alter decides to jump from a building in order to stop their loneliness. To a man who can’t even tell his family about his mental disorder and society who looks down upon such things, he is increasingly lonely as he wars with himself every single day. He never knows when his alters will pop up and what they will do, always leaving his main personality to clean up the consequences. However, Ri Jin, cares enough to call Do Hyun back from his trapped mind. She cares about healing Do Hyun, and not treating him like a monster. He has never known such comfort and the pain in his eyes really pierces through me.
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Yong Wen decides to go after the women in Khun Lin’s life. There is no information about Nark so far and she seems to have left town. His men tell him about Nan – a new Thai woman that accompanies Khun Lin everywhere now. Yong Wen guesses that Khun Lin is trying to protect Nark and therefore decides to go after Mei Jing first.
Khun Lin is furious. How could Yuttapong just send Nark to him like this? She could have been in danger. Yuttapong explains that he knew about Nark’s capacities and he also wanted her to do as well as his father (Lame excuse). Khun Lin tells Yuttapong that the debt is canceled in exchange for Nark. Yuttapong wants to understand why but Khun Lin is not in the mood to give explanations. Khun Lin leaves and Yuttapong turns to Jongsing. Does Khun Lin have feelings for Nark? Jongsing doesn’t directly answer but implies that yes. Yuttapong asks if Nark knows about it and how she feels about it. Jongsing can’t answer that. Yuttapong should ask Nark himself. Meanwhile Nan is persuaded that Khun Lin and her can develop a relationship. Nan doesn’t get the vibe that Khun Lin isn’t into her.
Puey Lin comes to apologize to Mina but Nark and the bodyguards won’t let him in. He puts the flowers in front of the door and leaves. Mina is conflicted and would have opened the door if it wasn’t for other people stopping her.
Tar Hai is able to convince Chin Fu to come get the package himself. He takes a picture of Chin Fu with his pen and sends it to Nark. She confirms Chin Fu’s identity and is thinking about her next move when Yong Wen’s man shows up. He pretends to have a delivery for Chin Fu. Nark rushes inside and is immediately recognized by Chin Fu. The latter first threatens her with his gun. Why is she here and what does she want?
Khun Lin is worried that Nark will leave his side. He is trying to spend more and more time with her, but she doesn’t notice that it’s more than work related. When they visit a temple, Khun Lin wants Nark to pray with him (Pretty intimate) and then takes her to a famous restaurant.
Yong Wen is seen crying at Bai Ling’s funeral. The other guest – including family, members of Chaihong Group, and Mei Jing – are also present. Why did Bai Ling die at such a young age? Mei Jing has some doubts about her death. Just the other day, Bai Ling was talking about having kids. Could it be that Yong Wen killed her? Khun Lin is doubtful. Why would Yong Wen kill the woman he deeply loved?
Nark gets her Rubik’s Cube taken away from her by a professor. The professor turns it in to Khun Lin since he is Nark’s guardian. When Khun Lin sees Nark, he asks her about the cube. Where is it? Nark lies that she left it at home. Danny and her go to the professor and beg to have it back. That’s when she learns that Khun Lin had it the all time. Nark goes to Khun Lin and asks for the cube back. She promises that she will be more careful in the future and not play with it in class. Khun Lin returns it to her and asks her to not be scared of him. I guess he is referring to her lying about having it at home and then avoiding him because of that. Nark explains that she has the feeling that Khun Lin doesn’t want to see her. He always has this threatening expression…
Mei Jing is playing mind games with Jongsing. Asking him if he thinks she is pretty or to unzip her dress. Jongsing is obviously not indifferent but resists the temptation. What would Khun Lin think if he were to be too close to Mei Jing?
Nark starts her job as a driver the next day. She takes Khun Lin to a private meeting while Jongsing subs for Khun Lin in a meeting with Sang Hui and Puey Lin. The meeting with Puey Lin and Sang Hui turns sour when they disagree with some of the decisions or contradict each other. Jongsing proposes that they wait for Khun Lin. Sang Hui notes that Jongsing doesn’t seem focused on the meeting. What is wrong with him? Puey Lin throws out that Jongsing might be scared that someone will try to kill Khun Lin (Bingo! You just made yourself Suspect 1). If something happens to Khun Lin, Sang Hui or Puey Lin will become president of the organization.
Nark is growing suspicous of Ah Seng and keeps an eye on him while waiting for Khun Lin to finish his meeting. She is right to do so… Khun Lin comes out of his meeting and is almost in the car when Ah Seng’s accomplices start shooting. Luckily Nark screams soon enough to alert Khun Lin. The latter takes out his gun and start shooting back. Ah Seng also starts shooting. Khun Lin and Ah Seng exchange several bullets. Nark is able to escape with an injured Khun Lin.
Khun Lin is more and more worried about Nark. First, he is worried because she drives a bike to go to school and work. What if she gets into an accident? Second, why is she still spending time with Danny? Khun Lin is pretty much ready to do anything to get rid of Danny. If Danny doesn’t do better in school he will be expelled (Power trip much). Nark promises to help Danny study but Danny tries to explain to her that Khun Lin doesn’t care about his grades; Khun Lin is jealous of his relationship with Nark. Nark thinks Danny is crazy. How could Khun Lin look at a girl like her?
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Little Father Time doesn't show up until really late in the novel, but boy does he make his role count. From the moment we meet the child of Jude and Arabella, we know something is a little off. He gets his nickname because he is "Age masquerading as Juvenility"—in other words, Little Father Time may be biologically a child, but spiritually, the kid is as old as Jiroemon Kimura. Jude's son by Arabella. He does not meet his father until Jude and Sue adopt him as 'an intelligent age.' The boy's nickname arises from his serious, almost morbid, nature.
Little Father Time in the Essays
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This author participates in the Readers' Favorite Book Review Exchange Program, which is open to all authors and is completely free. Simply put, you agree to provide an honest review an author's book in exchange for the author doing the same for you. What sites your reviews are posted on (B&N, Amazon, etc.) and whether you send digital (eBook, PDF, Word, etc.) or hard copies of your books to each other for review is up to you. To begin, click the purple email icon to send this author a private email, and be sure to describe your book or include a link to your Readers' Favorite review page or Amazon page.
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Reviewed by Michelle Randall for Readers' Favorite
Sarah has a large family, seven kids in all, but life is only good for a short time before something evil appears in the woods near her home. Sarah has the ability to recognize it, although no one else does, because she comes from a long line of women with a gift, or curse. She is able to receive visions, which to her have been as much of a curse as a gift. The evil that moved into the woods seems to focus on Sarah's family, and she doesn't understand why, and even the visions that she has showing her the past, she is unable to understand and connect to her family until the very end. She is sure that the evil wants her and that to get rid of it, she would have to sacrifice herself. Evil Stalks the Night is a complex tale of unleashing evil and it following a person through lives, taking its revenge over and over again. Author Kathryn Meyer Griffith weaves a well developed and multilayered story that is complex and compelling.
While Evil Stalks the Night focuses on the evil and Sarah, there is also her brother, Jimmy, whom she is very close to that plays a big part in the story. The more the story goes on, the more you realize that Jimmy has more and more to do with the evil. Even her younger brother, Charlie, who had his own problems in life, turns out to be a help in death. The things you think about people aren't always what you think they are, and they surprise you in the end. Author Kathryn Meyer Griffith has written a detailed and well developed story. Although there is no sex in the book there are a number of deaths, and although they are not described in detail, they are inferred to be quite gory. Therefore I would recommend this to adult readers.
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On the 29th of August, 1555, Mary bid her husband farewell. After he departed by water from Greenwich to Dover where he stayed for a few more days until the weather cleared up in September, to travel to the Low Countries. Mary had reluctantly agreed to her father-in-law and cousin Charles’ request to send Philip away, she had previously written to Charles expressing her fears that he would be gone for a long time. In this, she was not mistaken. Philip did not arrive until October of the following year, by then King of Spain and lord of the Netherlands after his father’s abdication. According to the Venetian Ambassador Michieli, Mary had insisted on accompanying Philip in a glorious ceremony through London three days prior and on the day of his departure:
“The Queen really on this occasion showed proper grief for a woman and a woman clothed as she was with royal state and dignity. There was no external manifestation of agitation, although it was evident she was in great trouble, and she chose to accompany the King through all the chambers and halls, as far as the head of the staircase: all the way she had a struggle to command herself and prevent any exhibition inconsistent with her high position from being perceptible to so many persons. But she was affected by the kissing of hands by the Spanish lords and especially at seeing the ladies taking leave of the King in tears, who, according to the custom of the country, kissed them one by one. On returning however to her apartments she lent on her elbows at a window overlooking the river, and there, not supposing herself any longer seen or observed by anyone, it was perceived that she gave free vent to her grief in floods of tears. She did not stir from the spot until she had seen the King embark and depart; looking till the last sight of him; he mounted on a raised and open part of the barge, so as to be better visible as long as he was in sight of the window, kept on raising his hat and making salutes with the most affectionate gestures.”
Michieli’s reports were exaggerated but they did convey a level of truth in expressing Mary’s anguish. Previously, Mary had written a letter to her father-in-law and cousin, Charles, expressing deep concern over Philip’s absence: “I firmly hope that the King’s absence will be brief … his presence in this kingdom has done much good and is of great importance for the good governance of this country.”
Mary wanted her country to benefit from the opportunities Spain offered and expand foreign policy, but she also needed Philip by her side to give her a male heir. Philip’s absence and new position complicated things. Boader, his secretary, expressed that he would not return until she agreed to share power with him -Something that our Queen, for all her sentimentalism, was not prepared to do. She was Queen of her realm and just as Philip was going to rule Spain, she was going to be her country’s sole ruler.
This was the beginning of the end for Mary. She would not die deposed or unopposed. As the rest of her family, she’d die as she lived, fighting until her last breath to hold everything together, under no illusions of what awaited her supporters and how she’d be remembered.
Always the pragmatist, but also a woman who was in need of allies and wished to make England one of the greatest nations in the world, as well as secure the Tudor Dynasty, Mary was aware that her union with Philip was becoming more unstable and if she didn’t give the appearance that things were okay then it would give her enemies another excuse to attack.
- Porter, Linda. The First Queen of England: The Myth of Bloody Mary. St. Martin’s Press 2008.
- Whitelock, Anna. Mary Tudor: Princess, Bastard, Queen. Random House. 2010.
- Erickson, Carolly. Bloody Mary: The Life of Mary Tudor. Robson Books. 2001.
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The pale mountains
Did you know that the Dolomites have not always had their current colour? If you don’t know, then read here, what happened many centuries ago.
Once there was a sad and desperate son of a king. He had everything you can imagine, but he still had just one cherished wish: He wanted to travel to the moon. The people on earth of course couldn’t fulfil his dream and so the prince was deeply unhappy. One night he got lost in the wood. Suddenly he heard some voices, so he followed them and finally he found two little old men in a shiny metal box.
The old bearded men proclaimed to come from the moon, so the prince begged them to take him to the moon, too and after a while they agreed. Once arrived at the moon, the prince was happier than ever and immediately he fell in love with the gorgeous daughter of the moon king. The moon princess was so delighted by the brilliant red rhododendrons, which the prince brought as a gift, that she immediately fell in love, too.
On the moon, you must know, all the flowers were white – just like everything else. First, the prince was thrilled, but then step by step his eyes began to go blind from too much white. He could no longer stay on the moon, and so he took the princess down on the earth. She brought some white flowers as a gift and began to plant them everywhere. The inhabitants were enchanted by the bright shining colour of these flowers, so they called it edelweiss.
At the beginning the moon princess liked it to live on earth, but it didn’t take that much until she felt ill. She went back to the moon, because she feared that the huge black mountains around her would come closer and mash her. The prince wasn’t able to leave her, so he flew to the moon with her again. Just before he went blind, he had to return to earth – this time without the moon princess.
Now he was sadder than ever, and so he left all the people and went into the woods, where he met a dwarf in a cave. The dwarf, who appeared to be a king, explained that he was looking for a country to live with his nation, the Salwàns, and he promised to reward the prince richly, if he would grant him a country. The prince told him his story and the dwarf king assured him to know a solution.
And so it was: One night all Salwàns climbed the black mountains and began to spin the moon. They plucked little shining threads of the moon and wrapped them around the whole mountain – until it began to glow white. This made it possible to the moon princess to come back to earth and the two lived happily ever after. And the Dolomites, the "Pale Mountains", kept their white colour to this day.
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A GENUINE VOICE FOR THE CONDAMINE Pat has lived his whole life in the Darling Downs region of Queensland. He grew up near Cecil Plains on the family property ‘Donegal’ where he produced grain and cotton, and ran a small cattle breeding herd. Agriculture has played a significant role in Pat’s life and continues to be interested in the primary industry sector and its future. ? In his younger days Pat enjoyed playing sport and became involved in cricket and golf in the Cecil Plains area. He served on the committees of the Cecil Plains Rodeo Association, and Cricket and Golf Clubs an experience which he enjoyed immensely and values highly to this day. ? Pat has always held a great interest in politics which led him to becoming the LNP candidate for the Condamine electorate, winning the seat at the 2015 State Election. In his first year in Parliament Pat was appointed as a member of the Parliamentary Finance and Administration Committee.
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Adventures in Brightvale Wisdom
Every day, hundreds of Neopians, from the toughest warrior from Shenkuu to the smallest JubJub from Mystery Island, line up outside of Brightvale Castle for a chance to share their wisdom with King Hagan, the intelligent ruler of the widely acclaimed kingdom of knowledge Brightvale, in hope of obtaining a prize, and most of all, respect.
Rose Lynn was no exception. An island Uni with a fiery spirit, she longed to meet the intelligent king and prove to him that Unis, although considered to be very vain, were indeed smart. A strong breeze blew from the south the day Rose decided to journey to Brightvale Castle, causing leaves from the golden, mahogany, and pumpkin colored autumn trees to swirl around in the air. The biting cold wind stung her cream colored, golden spotted fur, but she just tossed her green mane with blue flowers out of her face and pressed forward. After all, she thought, she hadn't spent all of the past few years studying so hard to give up now.
The pretty Uni grimaced as she remembered the bitter words her older sister, a spotted Uni, had stated when she began her intense studies.
"Unis don't study! And we don't care about knowledgeable words of wisdom to say to King Hagan. All we should care about is the newest product from Neoglo! So put down that book and spend your time doing more useful things!" Rose had been sitting in her favorite chair, reading Poetry for Peophins in their Brightvale cottage home, tucked deep in the peaceful forest. She shut the book, with a large thump and looked at her sister.
"I don't want to be a normal Uni!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to be the smartest Uni there ever was, and King Hagan will be happy to meet me. If it takes me forever, I'm going to expand my intelligence so that I can say something wise to the King." She was determined to be smart, and to be someone useful!
"Sierra's partially right," her older brother, William, a green Uni replied, as he gobbled some hot crossed buns. "There are many neopets more intelligent than you, and King Hagan is bound to appreciate them more. You might as well give up!"
Rose was furious. They didn't understand, did they? The mean remarks just forced her deeper and deeper into her studies and quest for knowledge.
Months passed as Rose devoured every single book she could possibly get her hooves on. The only time she was without a book was when she was sleeping, eating, and running the family store. Every title, any title – she read them all, from Blumaroo Love Stories to Algebra and even Not-So-Disgusting Dung Uses to 101 Calamari Recipes. With every book that vanished in a puff of colored smoke, she learned more and more and expanded to her knowledge.
Then, the day had finally come. Rose had finished her last book, and felt ready to impress King Hagan with her wisdom. She bade farewell to her siblings and began the five mile walk from the Brightvale forest to the castle, despite the cold weather.
Two hours later, Rose ascended the tall hill, which was the last obstacle before the city, and was met with a beautiful sight. Brightvale Castle stood as a strong barrier against the wind, and the hills surrounding the castle were dotted with shops and houses. Lights flickered in the stain glassed windows of Brightvale Glaziers and the smell of freshly made skeem jam wafted through the air as Rose made her journey to the gates of the castle.
"This is it," she thought, "I'm finally going to do it! I am going to impress King Hagan with my wisdom." As she walked closer and closer to the gates, she noticed big groups of neopets gathering in front of the castle.
"Excuse me? Yeah you, Uni," a snippy red Quiggle with round glasses jeered. "The line starts back there!" He pointed his scraggly finger to the back of the line, which from where she was, seemed like an eternity back. Embarrassed, pink flushed her cheeks as she headed to her respected place in line.
Rose's eyes were opened to all of the other hopeful Neopians, hoping to get a prize from the famed king. Warriors from Altador, smart witches from the Haunted Woods, intelligent sea creatures from Maraqua, hard working magma pets from Moltara... almost every kind of neopet imaginable was lined up, hoping, waiting for their meeting with King Hagan.
Rose took her respected spot at the end of the line, which was about two miles away from the gates. Six hours passed as she impatiently waited, nervous for her chance to finally meet King Hagan. The Kreludan moon, high in the sky, was full when it was finally her turn to meet the king.
"Are you ready to see the king or what?" Rose snapped her attention back to the castle guard, a Gelert knight. He led her into the tall entryway where King Hagan sat on his throne, raking his chubby green Skeith fingers through his blonde beard.
"Well... hurry up," he said grumpily, "I've been waiting for my dinner. Regardless of what these neopets seem to think, I have to eat too." Rose stood there complete shock, at loss for words, literally. She had not even thought about what she was going to say! Words jumbled in her head as she tried to distinguish something, anything, that could make enough sense to King Hagan and sound very smart.
"You know a friend once told me that pride is like..." she started, saying the words faster than a neopet running from the pant devil. The wise King just leaned back in his chair and put his chin in his hand, acting as if he had heard this "wisdom" a thousand times.
"Go on, please," he mumbled. Rose thought about it. She was going to have to say something that no other neopet thought of before, and it had to be something that he didn't know. Well what didn't he know? She thought long and hard, and came up with a crazy saying. She swallowed hard. Well, he would either like it, or he would not like it. But all Rose knew was that, she had not spent all this time studying to turn back now.
"What I mean to say is," she started, voice trembling, "is that wisdom is something that can't be, well, it's never complete. It's something that we have to acquire, and it's safe to say that no one, not even you, will ever completely obtain. It takes patience and time, and you sometimes have to go against what others may think of you to obtain it. I say neopets that never accept their wisdom as complete, and continue on their endless quests for knowledge are indeed the wisest."
Rose caught her breath, and her knees began to shake. Hagan looked at her in awe. He reached inside a drawer from a nearby table and pulled out a thick book.
"I must say, that is one of the best pieces of wisdom I have ever heard." He handed her the green book covered in golden chains. He winked at her. "Use this wisely, young neopet."
Rose looked at the cover. The Grimoire of Affluence? It couldn't possibly be... She smiled, and whispered a quick thanks to the king and headed home, bubbling with excitement over her prize.
"What are you going to do with it!" Sierra shouted, putting her paws all over it, her eyes wide, as if she just saw the ghost Lupe. "You could sell it for so much! We're rich, rich, RICH! Imagine, us being fine, notable Neopians..."
A look of dread washed over Sierra's face.
"I'm going to read it. After all, you can never stop learning and trying." She smiled, then went to her favorite reading chair and began to read.
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The Chicago & North Western Railway was widely regarded during the 1960s through the 1980s for its resourcefulness whereby it used virtually any type of diesel locomotive that was either cheap or it could continue to operate. A case in point was the Crandall Cab, a locomotive designed by one of the company's motive power officers. The model was essentially retrofitted from former Union Pacific E8Bs and E9Bs during the early 1970s with a home-built cab and control-stand added to make it a stand-alone locomotive that could be operated by a train crew. The C&NW only owned six of these units and all were used in commuter services around Chicago. The Crandall Cabs first saw use during the early 1970s and were only operated for about seven years before being sold to Chicago's Regional Transportation Authority (RTA) where they continued to pull commuter trains until the early 1980s. Eventually, the locomotives were sold to a scrap dealer thus closing the book on this unique design.
The idea for what became the Crandall Cabs began shortly after Amtrak began operations on May 1, 1971. As the new national passenger carrier sorted through its fleet of either worn down or simply worn out locomotives it attempted to trim down its size. Much of its handed-down diesels were EMD E8As/Bs and E9As/Bs, which while having logged hundreds of thousands of miles were generally reliable. One of the first things the company did was to retire these units as quickly as possible and replace them with the new SDP40F starting in 1973 (unfortunately, this model proved unreliable in passenger service and forced Amtrak to purchase new units just a few years later in 1976, the F40PH). Since Amtrak was offering the locomotives at very affordable prices and the C&NW needed power for its commuter operations around Chicago (this was before the service became state-funded) the railroad grabbed six B units and five A units in the spring of 1973.
All of these locomotives, as mentioned above were ex-UP, and the C&NW gave them road numbers of 501 through 511; #501-#506 included four E9Bs and two E8Bs while #507-#511 were all E8As except for one which was an E9A (EMD had built these units for UP between 1950 and 1962). Between April 3rd and August 16th, 1973 the C&NW began rebuilding the covered wagons with either updated 12-567C prime movers (giving them all a horsepower rating of 2,400) or other new features like Automatic Train Control, Automatic Train Stop, and Head End Power (or HEP, this replaced the antiquated steam generators). However, the railroad a problem with its B units in trying to figure how to retrofit them into self-contained units that could then be used in commuter service.
The answer to this came from the company's then Assistant Superintendent of Motive Power, M. H. Crandall. He proposed to construct a home-built cab on one end and add a control stand. The idea worked and what resulted was a rather ugly, but utilitarian, cowl look that became known as Crandall Cabs after their creator. In truth, the cabs of these units somewhat resembled the special wide versions built for the Canadian roads over the years like the SD50F, SD60F, M420, and M636 with a tapered nose and flat front windshield that angled at the corners (although the glass itself did not). Interestingly enough, the design still looks similar to the present wide-cabs used by Electro-Motive since roughly the 1980s.
For whatever reason the Chicago and North Western chose not to give these unique locomotives a name and they were only ever listed as E8Bs and E9Bs. As the 1970s wore on the RTA had been in operation since 1973 and began to increasingly subsidize commuter rail services around Chicago. As the C&NW began to wind down its personal obligation in this regard it sold its 11 Crandall Cabs and E8As/E9A to the RTA on December 31, 1977 which subsequently leased them back to the railroad. In doing so the units began to be repainted into RTA colors, which was completed by November of 1980. They continued to operate in this fashion until the spring of 1983 when the RTA retired all of the Crandall Cabs and the As between March and May of that year except for E8 #510 and E9 #511, which continued to see service until March 19, 1989.
After their retirement in 1983 the Cabs were sold to Naporano Iron & Metal of Naporano, New Jersey between June and July of 1985. After this point the units were subsequently scrapped. Despite the locomotives' unpopular look they operated as intended and saved the Chicago & North Western a significant amount of money, particularly when it had no interest by the 1970s in continue to operate commuter trains but was forced to do so. Additionally, being an EMD locomotive of the period with and featuring 12-567C model prime movers made them highly reliable.
For more reading about the 'North Western, Chicago & North Western Railway from Tom Murray is another of MBI's "Railroad Color History" series and provides an excellent general history of the C&NW from its humble beginnings to purchase by Union Pacific in 1995, all the while stuffed full of colored photographs (typical of "Railroad Color History" publications). Also, for more on the history of Electro-Motive's covered wagons noted historian Brian Solomon has published a book entitled, Electro-Motive E-Units and F-Units: The Illustrated History of North America's Favorite Locomotives, which superbly details the entire line from its early days in the mid-1930s to the end of production.
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Go East young man. Getting to America started with Prokofiev taking the Trans Siberian Railway to Vladivostok in May 1918. The slow journey through civil war torn Russia took 18 days including being stopped by Czech troops who were aiding the Whites. Shades of Pasternak – a pity Dr Zhivago had not yet been written because it would have made a great opera. During the journey Sergei was in fact studying Babylonian art. From Vladivostok he sailed to Japan for a brief stay. Western Music was little known there but an article had figured on Prokofiev to enable him to be invited to give some recitals in Tokyo and Yokohama to curious, albeit not greatly appreciative, audiences. Then onward by ship arriving in San Francisco in August. He was broke, kept in police custody for three days as a maximalist, a Bolshevik by another name. With $300 he had borrowed from a passenger he had met on board he was able to travel to New York, where he arrived in September. He was soon asked to give a recital. Whilst the critics railed against his savage music and steely, mechanistic playing, the public accorded him a better reception. His expectation soon turned to disappointment and the novelty of being a product of the emerging Bolshevik state cast a shadow on his new music. He was billed as the “Bolshevik Pianist” in promotional posters, and his playing was often described as “barbaric.” The negative reviews took their toll on Prokofiev. He quickly grew bitter about America; bitter of managers who arranged long tours for artists playing the same old hackneyed programme fifty times over; bitter of the lack of recognition to composers as opposed to the celebrity accorded to performers.
In December of 1918, he fared better with successful performances of his First Piano Concerto and Scythian Suite at Chicago. After these concerts, Cleofonte Campanini, manager of the Chicago Opera, asked if he could stage one of his operas. His only completed opera so far was “The Gambler” but he had left the score in Russia. Instead he offered to complete his unfinished opera, The Love of Three Oranges. Campanini, appreciating its Italian sources, enthusiastically accepted and a contract was signed for the following autumn. It was in fact finished and ready within three months.
Soon after, Sergei met Carolina Codina, an operatic soprano, known by her stage name, Lina Llubera. She had been born in Spain; her father was Spanish; her mother was of Polish and Alsatian descent. She and Prokofiev became an item, eventually marrying in Bavaria in 1923.
One success in 1919 came from a chance request from Zimro, an ensemble of Jewish musicians, whose members had known Prokofiev in the Conservatory days. Their concerts were promoted to raise funds towards the building of a university at Jerusalem in the hope of attracting Jewish audiences, Added to a conventional string quartet were a piano and clarinet. They gave Prokofiev a collection of Jewish folk music to write a piece for their sextet. At first he was hesitant as he preferred to work from his original ideas but his interest perked up and he took all of a day and a half to compose the Overture on Hebrew Themes. Its main theme has a klezmer flavour, semitic sounding but never schmaltzy. The secondary theme has a peaceful charm, quite the other side of the coin to the modernist, motoric themes for which Prokofiev was now largely known. In 1934 he was to orchestrate it but the later version does not have the seductive attraction of the original sextet.
Despite some successes, his performances in New York were now regularly reviled in the press, this from “Musical America in 1918: “Nor in the Classical Symphony, which the composer conducted, was there any cessation from the orgy of discordant sounds.” Now I ask you. Who in their right mind would refer to the Classical Symphony of all his works as an orgy of discordant sounds? Probably only a critic who was sitting throughout in the bar anyway. No wonder these were difficult times for Prokofiev and that he went down with diphtheria and scarlet fever.
Campanini died suddenly in December 1919 with the Love of Three Oranges in rehearsal. The management at Chicago Opera, uncertain of themselves, decided to postpone until the following year but without paying Prokofiev his commission. Concert appearances were drying up and Prokofiev, in the spring of 1920, finding himself out of work, embarked for France to seek out Diaghilev.
What had gone wrong? It was not only the money. It was the hostility, particularly in New York. He had gone there as the composer and they were wanting the pianist. He would have been sickened by the poster proclaiming “Stravinsky – composer: Prokofiev – pianist”. Managements were not interested in concerts devoted to any one composer, let alone a contemporary one and Prokofiev was not prepared, except to promote himself as a composer, to do the rounds of concert halls playing the piano, as was Rachmaninov. America was alive with established novelists, playwrights, poets, artists and musical performers but it had yet to develop itself as a country fit for composers. Indigenous talent, such as Gershwin and Copland was yet to emerge, Charles Ives excepted and unknown. The injection of European blood to add to this would be ten or more years away. It was all too early or as Prokofiev wrote “I had come here too soon; the child was not old enough to appreciate new music.”
Upon arriving in Paris, Prokofiev re-established relations with Diaghilev. There was outstanding business as it will be recalled that Diaghilev had commissioned Chout (The Buffoon) back in 1915. Now he asked Prokofiev to complete this ballet for the Ballets Russes. Prokofiev rented a house in Mantes, north west of Paris, and began revising the score for Chout. There his mother, who was in poor health, was able to join him in Paris as did Lina. The first performance of Chout took place in Paris in May 1921, followed in June in London. On the whole the public were impressed. Not so the critics who were particularly harsh in London. Generally this was more to do with the bizarre storyline than Prokofiev’s music. It starts with one of eight magicians pretending to kill his wife and bringing her back to life with a whip which he claims to be magical. The other seven want to have a go and each borrows the whip, kills his wife only to find its magical qualities don’t work! Chout was to have a short life on the stage but its music and the cubist decor won amongst new fans Henri Matisse, who went on to sketch a portrait of Prokofiev. Prokofiev also met Pablo Picasso and Maurice Ravel and was now taking his place alongside the leading artists of the day.
Back in France Prokofiev turned his attention back to his third piano concerto. He had started work on it in 1917 but could not get his ideas to gel. Now he was able to retrieve some of his jettisoned ideas from his more recent compositions and somehow, blending them together, completed his third piano concerto which sounds all of one piece. In no way does it belie the difficulties he had had and is undoubtedly his most popular concerto.
In the autumn of 1921 he made his third American tour where at long last the first performance of the Love of Three Oranges took place in Chicago as well as the third piano concerto which he himself performed. It is ironic that when The Love of Three Oranges finally did premiere in December 1920, it was an immediate hit in Chicago. Not so in New York a few months later where it provoked hostility. Prokofiev was bewildered by the opposite reactions: “The American season, which had begun so brilliantly, completely fizzled out.” Again the idiosyncratic American response to his music prompted an early return to Europe in whose opera houses The Love of Three Oranges was staged with great success and it remains his most successful opera.
On his return Prokofiev settled into a rented home in the town of Ettal in the Bavarian Alps. Here he would spend most of 1922-23 where he was to care for his ailing mother who was going blind. Lina at this time was studying opera in Milan which was comparatively nearby. They married in September of 1923. During this time he devoted most of his energies to a new opera, the Fiery Angel. This was a purely Prokofiev-inspired endeavour which languished, never to be performed while the composer was alive.
During this Ettal period, Sergei received an invitation to return to Russia to perform with the Leningrad Philharmonic. Moreover, his friends back in the Soviet Union, particularly Miaskovsky, had remained in touch during his American and European travels. They urged Prokofiev to return, letting him know that his music was being performed in Soviet concert halls. His recent marriage and continued devotion to the care of his mother in addition to the harsh economic conditions in the Soviet Union probably weighed heavily in Prokofiev’s decision to turn down this invite. He chose to return to France but he kept his options open for a possible return to his homeland.
And so he returned with Lina and his mother to Paris in the autumn of 1923, in time for the birth of their first son, Sviatoslav, the following February. His mother, Maria Prokofieva who had set him on his musical road, died in December. The events of 1924 had proved distracting to his composing and the only significant work to emerge in 1924 was the symphonic suite he drew from the Love of Three Oranges. Diaghileff also wanted to commission a ballet adaptation of the Love of Three Oranges but Prokofiev did not notgo alongwith it and the two fell out over this for a while
Now a new champion was to emerge in the shape of the conductor, Sergei Koussevitsky. He was Russian, a double bassist, whose second wife, Natalie was the heiress to a wealthy tea merchant. Her money enabled Koussevitsky to study conducting under Nikisch in Berlin and eventually he established the Concerts Koussevitsky in Paris between 1920 and 1929. He was also appointed conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in 1925 and turned it into the greatest American Orchestra as well as founding the Tanglewood Festival. For the orchestra’s fiftieth anniversary in 1930 Koussevitsky commissioned several European composers to produce new works. These included, Albert Roussel, Bohuslav Martinu, Igor Stravinsky (The Symphony of Psalms) and Sergei Prokofiev (the fourth symphony). For me his greatest commission was that given in 1942 to Benjamin Britten for the opera “Peter Grimes”.
Back in 1923 it was Koussevitzky who had previously commissioned Prokofiev to write his second symphony and whilst he was working on it Koussevitzky premiered in Paris works completed in that prolific year of 1917, but which had remained unperformed including the Cantata, “Seven, They are Seven”, and the First Violin Concerto. The first performance of the concerto in 1923 turned out to be disappointing for the wrong reasons. Expecting new, daring works by Prokofiev, the audience found the concerto too conventional and lyrical to begin with. Gradually this concerto was to gain favour; the Second Symphony enjoyed no such reprieve. Prokofiev aimed to make the symphony “as hard as iron and steel”. The first performance turned out a flop. Even Prokofiev himself, always frank and to the point, found it lacking: “Neither I nor the audience understood anything in it.” One gets the feeling that Prokofiev was somewhat like the character, Doc Martin , played by Martin Clunes, and said what he had to say, as it was. One person who did claim to like the symphony was Françis Poulenc but he was a bridge playing partner of Sergei and had to look him in the eye. He was probably being polite rather than perverse.
Diaghilev also showed enthusiasm and, wanting to make amends, proposed a new ballet, Le Pas d’Acier (The Steel Step). It was he who came up with the idea that the action be set in the Soviet Union. The story involved a romance between a sailor and a young girl factory worker and includes commissars, represented by two bassoons, and with a background of factory machines and sprocket wheels. Not that Diaghilev admired much about the Soviet Union. After the revolution of 1917, he had stayed abroad. The Soviet regime, having failed to lure him back, condemned him in perpetuity as an especially insidious example of bourgeois decadence. Soviet art historians wrote him out of the picture for more than 60 years. The title of the work is curious. I wonder if it had any reference to Stalin whose original name was Iosif Dzhugashvili but whose adopted name meant Man of Steel! Just a thought. Following a further American concert tour with Koussevitzky and the Boston Symphony, Prokofiev and Lina returned to Paris where he completed writing Le Pas d’Acier. The first performances in Paris and London in 1927 were both wildly successful with the public.
Two important events were to take place in 1927 and 1928. Following negotiations with the Soviet authorities on the terms of a concert tour Prokofiev’s first return visit to his homeland took place in January 1927. Everywhere he played, eager crowds packed the concert halls. This return tour was a resounding success. He was celebrated as a Russian hero whose revolutionary music had conquered the West. These accolades were perhaps out of proportion to his real stature in Western music. In December 1928 Prokofiev’s second son Oleg was born in Paris. Matthew has paid homage to him and you will see on the wall opposite as you arrive at the first floor landing Oleg’s sculpted portrait of his father. Oleg lived amongst us in Blackheath from 1970 to his death in 1998 and supported the Halls when they were being restored.
The failure of his Second Symphony weighed heavily with Prokofiev when he returned to Paris. Within the next two years the third and fourth symphonies were to appear and curiously they came into being in almost identical circumstances. Koussevitzky had recently conducted orchestral performances of some excerpts from The Fiery Angel. Prokofiev then set about creating a symphonic suite based on the work which led in turn to thoughts on developing the material into a third symphony. This was given its first performance in May 1929 in Paris. The critics, and Prokofiev for that matter, were much happier with the result.
Meantime, before the completion of the third symphony Diaghilev commissioned Prokofiev to create another ballet. This was to be the based on the New Testament tale of the Prodigal Son which was completed fairly quickly. Then in biblical style there came drama. The designer, Georges Rouault, known for his inspirational Christian paintings, did not deliver the sketches for the sets as promised and Diaghilev resorted to Watergate methods to break into his apartment and take them. Then there followed comedy with the leading dancer, Serge Lifar, refusing to turn up at the theatre on the opening night because he disliked his role. So he decided to take to his bed until pangs of guilt at abandoning Diaghilev prompted him to reconsider and turn up late. Finally the good Lord took Diaghilev himself who died two months later in Venice. He was buried at St Michele where over 40 years later he was joined by his old companion in revolution, Igor Stravinsky, each being buried within hailing distance of each other. The loss was an important factor that must have weighed in Prokofiev’s eventual decision to return to the Soviet Union.
It will be recalled that Koussevitsky had commissioned a fourth symphony from Prokofiev for the fiftieth anniversary of his Boston Orchestra. For his part Prokofiev with all the drama surrounding The Prodigal Son, hadn’t had much opportunity to get down to the task. Instead, just as Prokofiev had utilised the Fiery Angel as the genesis for his third symphony, so borrowings from the Prodigal son were made for the new fourth symphony. He was able to justify this in his memoirs thus “ Merely, in the symphony I had the possibility to develop symphonically what a ballet form did not enable me to do. A precedent may be recalled with Beethoven’s ballet, The Creatures of Prometheus, and his Symphony No. 3. (the Eroica)”.
Koussevitzky conducted the first performance in November1930. The public reception was lukewarm with accusations of too much borrowing from The Prodigal Son. This sounds like the result of know it all critics who must have been at work as it is hardly likely that they or the public would have been familiar with the Prodigal Son. Prokofiev did revisit the work in 1947 when he made substantial revisions. My own recording is the original version and although it does not set the world on fire – it is restrained by Prokofiev’s standards – it is worth getting to know.
This visit to the United States in 1930 also resulted in a commission from the Library of Congress, the string quartet No 1. Prokofiev states that he made a study of Beethoven quartets and methods and that this quartet was influenced accordingly. The success of the quartet may well have been down to Prokofiev being more free to write as he wished without having to prove yet again his modernist credentials. He wrote for its finale a profound slow movement, an andante, which he re-scored separately for string orchestra.
His last tour in the USA took place in 1932. However compositionally he seems to have lost direction and there followed a number of poorly received works. First a ballet commissioned by the Paris Opera, “On the Dneiper” renamed “Sur le Borysthène” which closed shortly after it opened. This was followed by the Fourth Piano Concerto for left hand, commissioned in 1931 by the Austrian pianist Paul Wittgenstein who had lost his right arm in World War I. It was one in a number of piano works for left hand Wittgenstein had commissioned from major composers including Strauss, Korngold, Hindemith, Britten and most famously, Ravel. Wittgenstein was bitter and a pain in the posterior into the bargain. At his insistence he owned the rights in all these works. He disliked them and was in a position to refuse any performance in his lifetime. When Prokofiev, who was no exception, sent him the completed score, Wittgenstein promptly returned it with a note attached: “I thank you for your concerto, but I do not understand a single note and I shall not play it.”
Soon Prokofiev was at work on a fifth piano concerto. He had not intended the concerto to be difficult but in the end it turned out to be so, as indeed was the case with a good many other compositions of this period. What was the explanation? “In my desire for simplicity I was hampered by the fear of repeating old formulas, of reverting to ‘old simplicity’, which is something all modern composers seek to avoid.” Of the fifth he wrote, “I had enough melodies to make three concertos.” He compacted these numerous ideas into a five movement concerto that lasts only twenty odd minutes. He himself gave the first performance in October 1932 with the Berlin Philharmonic under Furtwängler. There are interesting themes in both the concertos. The fifth seems to owe something to Les Six but it remains obviously Prokofiev. What each of the two seem me to lack is a sense of connection within each work between movements. I do not know if Matthew feels the same but as he wont to say, “The penny has yet to drop”.
Back in 1929 Prokofiev had made a second return to the Soviet Union which had been marked with controversy, the Bolshoi having refused to stage Le Pas d’Acier after pressure from the Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians (RAPM). Now in 1932 Prokofiev embarked on his third concert tour. This tour was a turning point. The RAPM had dissolved and criticism of “anti-Soviet” ideas had died down. Sergei had now entered his forties. Perhaps his middle age moment had come. He was greeted by the public as their hero, with adoration, and he was recognized as one of Russia’s greatest living composers. If the third tour in 1932 began further to convince Prokofiev that he should return for good, the Soviet government employed some good old-fashioned capitalist further incentives to persuade him to stay — they promised him an apartment in Moscow and a new car.
Prokofiev did not however return immediately. He took another four years contemplating his chess board of options during which time he continued living in Paris and composing there the commissions now coming his way from the Soviet Union . In 1936 he suddenly shocked the world by packing his bags for one last time and returning to Russia. My next note will look more closely at the reasons. Meantime, this is what Prokofiev wrote:
“Here is how I feel about it. I care nothing for politics. I’m a composer first and last. Any government that lets me write my music in peace, publishes everything I compose before the ink is dry, and performs every note that comes from my pen is all right with me. In Europe, we all have to fish for performances, cajole conductors and theatre directors; in Russia, they come to me. I can hardly keep up with the demand”
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Tolerance and understanding is a topic that can get me going and fill Hiawatha House with a few posts. A few posts ago I wrote Visible Minority and it got me thinking about differences which we encounter from time to time.
When I was teaching I used the small novel, The Cay, with my grade seven classes. This novel had several obvious themes that made it easy to discuss racial prejudice at a level grade seven students could easily understand.
The novel was about an eleven year old boy who gets shipwrecked in the Carribean. He washes up on a small island with an elderly black man who was part of the crew. The boy had received a head injury and was blinded. The elderly black man is skilled in survival skills and helps the boy to survive, as they were not found for about nine months. Old Timothy helps the boy through his loneliness and homesickness, all the while teaching him about racial tolerance and understanding. For a little boy who was quite prejudiced , he had much to learn. One quote from Old Timothy that I really liked was that, "We are all the same color inside." That quote really made kids think about things from another perspective.
For a first novel study, I would read most of the story so that we could stop and leisurely discuss at opportune times. Students were given a couple of comprehension and understanding questions to make sure that they were really following the story and not just having a nap. Most kids were on task as they found the story interesting and they wanted to find out if Timothy and the boy were rescued. There was also a very old movie version of the story that we could watch after we finished reading the novel.
I hope that many of my students picked up a few things and were able to see others as human beings who are either good or bad and see individual characteristics in each person, rather than label somebody with a set of general characteristics gathered from prejudice. http://abookishmom.blogspot.com/
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7th and 8th grade students follow an original curriculum called The Jesus Project, developed at St. Anne’s. They consider the life and identity of Jesus: Who was he? What did he do? And why does it matter for us? As they begin to take responsibility for their own lives, students engage with questions about their faith and our church.
Confirmation is the ritual by which Episcopalians reaffirm the promises made on their behalf at their baptism, take responsibility for their lives as adult members of the Church, and receive strength for their lives as Christians through the bishop’s prayer and laying on of hands. Students preparing for confirmation meet regularly with the clergy, preparing for the confirmation service and studying the history and spirituality of the Episcopal Church.
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Who are the 100 Greatest Geordies to have ever lived?
We’ve taken on the task of naming them with a little help from our readers and today our exclusive countdown continues.
It’s controversial as famous historical figures clash with 21st Century culture. Our list includes people from all walks of life, from the world of sports, science, the arts, politics and music, not to mention community leaders.
What they all have in common is they were either born a Geordie or have made a lasting or significant impact on the Geordie nation. That means our list includes people not just from Newcastle but the whole of Tyne & Wear as well as Northumberland, County Durham and beyond.
There will definitely be more surprises and we also want you, our readers, to have your say.
Today we continue with numbers 24 to 22.
No 24: Venerable Bede
Born 672 or 673. Died: May 27, 735
ALTHOUGH no one can quite establish when he got the title “Venerable”, there’s no disputing he deserved it.
And “bede” is the old Saxon word for prayer, so it is not known whether that was even his real name. What is known is that he wrote around 50 books, mostly on history and theology, which led to him being acknowledged as the greatest of all the Anglo-Saxon scholars.
His best-known work, Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum – The Ecclesiastical History of the English People – covered a vast period, from Roman times in Britain under Caesar up to when he completed the book in 731AD.
It is the first work of history in which the AD system of dating is used and for this he was called “The father of English history”.
Little is known of his early childhood, although some say he was “probably” born in Monkton, Durham. Was he of noble birth? Nobody is certain.
Some of the gaps were filled in by Bede in notes he added about himself in the Historia. He said he was placed in the Northumbrian monastery of Saint Peter in Wearmouth at the age of just seven.
To start with he was tutored by Abbot Benedict Biscop. He was then put in the charge of another abbot called Ceolfrith, with whom Bede moved to a monastery at Jarrow in 681 and where reports from the time said the pair were the only survivors of a plague.
Bede stayed as a monk at Jarrow for the rest of his life, showing himself to be an outstanding student. First he was ordained as a Deacon at 19 when the title was supposed to be conferred on those 25 or over, before becoming a priest at 30.
What really set him aside from the rest was the variety and quality of the work he produced. His biblical commentaries were hugely popular.
Bede was buried at Jarrow before being re-interred inside Durham Cathedral. The importance of Bede and his work to Catholicism was recognised in 1899 when he was declared a Doctor of the Church, as St Bede The Venerable. He is the patron saint of scholars and historians.
No 23: Sting
Born October 2, 1951
SINGER, musician, songwriter, actor, activist and tantric sex expert (allegedly), the name Sting is synonymous with many things.
And this makes him probably the greatest Geordie pop star of them all, who, even past his 60th year, is still going strong.
In his 35-year career so far he has won numerous awards both with the rock band The Police and as a solo artist, selling tens of millions of records and cementing his place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
He’s come a long way since he was born Gordon Matthew Sumner in Wallsend, North Tyneside, the son of a milkman and engineer and a mother who was a classically-trained pianist.
Like Neil Tennant of Pet Shop Boys fame, he went to St Cuthbert’s Grammar School in Newcastle. His early jobs included bus conductor and labourer before he qualified to be a teacher, working at St Paul’s First School in Cramlington for two years.
He performed in jazz bands and it was a fellow musician who inspired his famous soubriquet when he wore a black and yellow jersey, saying he looked like a bee.
In January 1977 he quit Newcastle for London to chase his dream of being a successful musician and he soon hooked up with US drummer Stewart Copeland and guitarist Andy Summers to form The Police. In five years from 1978 to 1983 they released five hit albums and numerous hit singles, including such pop classics as Roxanne (initially banned by the BBC as it was about a prostitute), Message in a Bottle, Walking on the Moon and Every Breath You Take.
The band split while at the top and Sting began an equally successful solo career, his first album, Dream of the Blue Turtles, revealing a wide range of musical influences.
In all he has released 10 solo albums up to 2010’s Symphonicities and over that period has performed and collaborated with a host of stars, including Dire Straits and Tina Turner.
Never afraid to try something new, in 2006 he recorded an album of 16th Century music performed entirely on the lute.
His acting career includes roles in Mike Figgis’s Tyneside-set gangster film Stormy Mondays, and an appearance in Lock, Stock and two Smoking Barrels.
Meanwhile, his activism has seen him closely associated with human rights organisation Amnesty. He also established the Rainforest Foundation Fund with wife Trudie Styler to save the rainforests, and sang in the Band Aid single Do They Know It’s Christmas?
It’s one of the most varied CVs on our Greatest Geordies list.
No 22: Bobby Thompson
Born Nov 18, 1911. Died April 16, 1988
HE’S perhaps the greatest Geordie comic ever and, even though he died more than 20 years ago, the mention of his name still brings a smile of recognition to old and young fans alike.
Thompson was nicknamed The Little Waster because he was short in stature ... 5ft 3in and nine stone in weight, soaking wet.
He was the master of self-deprecating humour and the mother-in-law joke, all delivered in his broad County Durham pit village accent, known as “pitmatic”.
Born in Penshaw, he was an orphan by the age of eight. He was raised by his elder sister in Fatfield and at 14 followed his father down the pit at North Biddick Colliery, until it closed eight years later.
There followed eight years on the dole, during which time he developed his sense of humour. He became a regular outside pubs and clubs with a song and dance act which landed him a spot at the New Silksworth Buffs Club.
Thompson was called up in 1941 and after the war he found work at the Royal Ordnance Factory at Birtley. However, in the early 1950s he landed a spot on the radio series Wot Cheor Geordie made by the BBC in Newcastle, earning him the princely sum of £5 for five minutes work ... the equivalent of a week’s wages at the factory. When offered a second spot he handed in his notice at the factory.
By Christmas 1958 he was top of the bill at Newcastle Theatre Royal’s pantomime and he even got his own programme, The Bobby Thompson Show on TV. However it wasn’t a success, Thompson having to work from a script when he preferred to improvise.
Thompson was a heavy gambler and financial problems landed him in court several times thanks to several run-ins with the tax man. He also enjoyed a drink and this, coupled with his financial woes and health problems, affected his career in the 1970s but his club act remained popular in the region until his death.
A true comedy great, Thompson deserves a place as one of our Greatest Geordies.
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Insert text here.
Storms on sea and land. Jesus walked from one right into another.
Jesus arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace, be still!" The wind ceased and there was a great calm. But He said to them [his disciples], "Why are you so fearful? How is it that you have no faith?"
And they feared exceedingly, and said to one another, "Who can this be, that even the wind and the sea obey Him!"
Then they came to the other side of the sea, to the country of the Gadarenes. When Jesus had come out of the boat, immediately there met Him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no one could bind him, not even with chains, because he had often been bound with shackles and chains. And the chains had been pulled apart by him, and the shackles broken in pieces; neither could anyone tame him.
Always, night and day, he was in the mountains and in the tombs, crying out and cutting himself with stones.
Mark 4:39 - 5:5 NKJV, condensed
Fears on the middle of the lake were only the prelude. Just wait till you guys reach the shore and see who is waiting for you! It's probably good we can't see into the future, because many times we would not want to go there. The disciples had rowed all night and survived a boisterous storm. They received, not praise for their efforts, but a reprimand for their faithlessness. As they processed the events of the last 12 hours, they felt something akin to terror when in their memory they played back those scenes of Jesus putting a muzzle on the tempest. Who is this man? And what am I doing here with him?
The Gospel writer, Mark, made these questions a major theme. From those in the crowds and the people of Jesus' home town, to the scribes and Pharisees, now the disciples, and in the future the Roman governor Pilate--everyone will wrestle with the same question. Who is this man? He is like none other! And the related question, Why do I even care and want to know who he is?
The storm was past history. Now the disciples were fearful of Jesus, the great Teacher who called them to discipleship. Who is this who can speak to the wind and the waves and make them obey? Did they really want to be his disciple! It's probably good they were so far from home. That way they could give it more thought before making any decisive move. Incidentally, there is no indication in any of the Gospels that Jesus ever considered dismissing any of his disciples.
As I write these words, I realize this is my story, too. Looking closely at these Gospel stories, reflecting on their meaning and message and then scribbling out my take on them, I receive inspiration from God, from those around me and my entire life experience which now totals 65 years. Some moments I feel blest being so immersed in the Gospel stories. Other moments my well is dry, my task so undoable. Sometimes I really like the image of Jesus. Other times I don't like what I see as I read his story. Meek and mild he is not, even though he claimed to be. Smart and clever, yes, he's definitely that. But did he really show us what God is like?
As the disciples watched Jesus day after day, they wondered who he really was and what they were doing following after him. If Jesus wasn't from God, then how could he do the amazing things he did--the miracles of healing, exorcising demons, talking to the wind and waves and making them obey! They wondered, Should we continue on with Jesus? Or do we end it and just go home? What in the world are we doing here, between the tempest on the water and the wild man on the shore! Decisions are difficult to make. In hindsight we can evaluate what we have done with our lives, but by then those keen insights come too late.
In the midst of it all, we make our decisions. The disciples made theirs based on faith and hope. They wagered their lives on the possibility this could be a man sent by God to redeem that which can be salvaged from our miserable world. Sent by God to call forth the better angels of our souls, to claim us once more and return us to our loving heavenly Father.
So I, too, wonder what I am doing between the tempest on the water and the wild man on the shore? Will I continue on, going further--despite my questions and doubting, my fears and reservations--to pursue my quest to discover who Jesus is and understand his revelation of God? Will I move ahead and press in toward my Maker for meaning and purpose? Is this the best I can do with the next few years of my life? There are many other options.
I have been asking myself the last few days, Why do I think I have so much that is worth saying? (Which is part II of the original self-doubt question, Who do you think you are?) That wild man of Gadara is lurking in the shadows. Do I really want to go there! Part of me says, Yes, and runs eagerly straight into the melee. Part of me hesitates on the sidelines. Part of me prefers the distractions of whatever catches my fancy. Part of me escapes through the back door. You know what! I have so many selves, that wild man named Legion is not so strange after all.
Like the terrified disciples who agonized over their role in the immediate scene before them and in the many days ahead, we also face a myriad of possibilities and choices. With the disciples we ask, Is this what I really want for my life? This man, Jesus, is he the one?
Use the following questions for small groups, journaling, further study or reflection.
Icebreaker: We all, throughout our lifetimes, have seen some really sad scenes. What is a particular one which you recall?
In Mark's Gospel he described the reaction of the disciples to Jesus' miracle on the water as more than fear. It was an exceedingly great fear. Some versions say they were terrified. When Luke told the story, he said the disciples were afraid and marveled. Why would this miracle evoke such a strong response? Had you been there, how might you have reacted? How was this fear different from their typical fears when their lives were not threatened by a storm?
How do you think the disciples answered their own question about who Jesus was? When have you asked a similar question? Do you have a satisfactory answer for your question? Why do we even care and want to know who Jesus is?Sometimes we have thoughts in our heads but find it difficult to articulate it. If you are in a group, ask the other people to help put your thoughts into words.
When you read the Gospels, are there scenes in which you don't like what Jesus said or did? If so, give some examples. Is it difficult or easy for you to object to something in the Bible and express those sentiments to someone else?Some people are able to set such things aside, awaiting further light. Or put it on the back burner and leave it there. What do you do with your objections?
For the moment, the disciples were trapped . Circumstances didn't allow much freedom for them to go their own way. As a present-day disciple, when have you felt the same way?
What have been some decisive moments for you when you changed your course, set goals, made promises and commitments, etc.? Or when you extricated yourself from old commitments?
Jesus never "fired" any disciples or followers. What does this tell us about Jesus and discipleship?
Those of you who have positions of leadership or volunteer jobs in your local house of worship, what is it that keeps you going forward with and for God?
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When Aidan woke the next morning, he pulled a still sleeping Skye tight to him, holding her close. She made a soft sound and tucked her body into his before settling back into sleep. Breathing in her hair, he moved his hand to cup one small, yet full breast, his cock hardening at her back, her little, naked body too warm, too inviting to resist. And he didn’t have to resist anymore. At least if he ignored that voice of reason inside him, that is. He was falling for her, hell, he already had, and he was sure she had feelings for him. There was no doubt about that. But could he keep her after this was over? Only if the Morenov’s were dead.
He turned onto his back, releasing her. He hadn’t shown his scars to anyone, ever, but he couldn’t remain distant with her. Couldn’t keep her out. He had no choice but to let her in.
Skye stirred beside him, turning to face him, one leg coming over his, her hand to his broad chest then down over his muscled abs, her fingers slowly working their way down through the dark hair toward his already hard cock. She shifted her position, resting her head on his belly while her fingertips tickled his length. But when she fisted his cock at the base and squeezed, he covered her hand with his and muttered a curse.
Aidan watched her rise up on one elbow while he guided her hand in stroking him. She held him tight, squeezing, and brought the tip of her pretty little tongue to lick the first drops from the head of his cock, her eyes that of a seductress when they met his. He watched her while she licked his length, teasing him with her tongue, and when she closed her mouth over his cock, he leaned his head back and moaned, the hand that covered hers now taking a handful of her hair, watching her again with his cock stuffed in her mouth as he held her, pushing deeper into her.
“Good girl,” he coaxed, petting her head when she choked the first time. “But if you’re going to suck my cock,” he began, “You’re going to do it right. Take it, Skye. Take it deep.” He held on to her, guiding her slowly, the feel of her hot, wet mouth wrapped around his cock making him grow bigger, harder. Releasing her hair, he grabbed hold of one leg and guided her to straddle him, her wet, dripping cunt now just over his face, the scent of her arousal intoxicating. With his hands on either side of her pussy lips, he pulled them wide and when he pushed his tongue into her, her fingers dug into his thighs and she paused, no longer sucking.
Aidan lifted up a little and slapped her ass once. It was a playful slap, but she still gasped.
“Suck my cock, Skye. Suck it hard while I fuck you with my tongue. But if you come, you’ll owe time in the punishment room, understand?” he asked.
She only groaned while her mouth worked his cock. He smiled, knowing he was going to enjoy this as he pulled her back over his face and his tongue found her swollen, hard clit. She paused again and he continued to alternately lick and suck her clit, holding back a chuckle at her poor attempt to continue to suck him while he licked her pussy. It wasn’t long before she began to grind herself against his face, her moans growing louder while she didn’t even pretend to be sucking his cock anymore. He knew she would be ultra-sensitive now and he slid one finger into her pussy once, twice, smearing her juices all around it before tracing it up to her back hole, circling there, still licking her nub until she relaxed once again and when she did, he pushed his finger into her ass and sucked hard on her clit, making her call out as she came, her hips bucking, her breath ragged, until the wave passed and she collapsed on top of him, shuddering when he pulled his finger from inside her ass.
“Skye,” he whispered, holding her in place when she tried to move off him.
“Let me go,” she managed, her voice small.
He sat up but held her as she was so that her bottom was just inches from his face, spread wide given the position of her legs, so he could see every inch of her.
“I like looking at you like this,” he said, his cock still hard, wanting her warmth around it again.
“Please, Aidan,” she begged, trying again to move off of him.
“All right,” he said, taking her hips and lifting her so she knelt with her back to him, her pussy just lining up with his thick, ready cock. “I’m going to fuck your pussy first, take my pleasure from you, before sending you to the punishment room to teach you how to suck my cock properly,” he said. “Put your hands on my thighs and lean forward. I want to watch your pussy take my cock.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at him and he could see in her eyes her renewed arousal as she did as she was told, leaning forward, holding onto his thighs, her pussy gaping just over his cock.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, dripping on him while trying to mount him.
“You are a naughty girl,” he said while in one swift move, he impaled her on himself, the feel of her tight, wet, hot passage making him dig his hands into her hips to force himself to go slowly, to draw this out, to begin her torment with this fucking. “So greedy,” he said, slowly lifting her up off his cock only to pull her back hard again.
“Please,” she began. “It’s too much.”
“Is your pussy a little sensitive?” he asked, repeating the motion of impaling her onto himself. “You’ll need to learn you’re never to come without permission,” he said, this time moving the thumb of one hand to her dark back hole, causing her to gasp again.
Unable to hold back, he shifted their position, kneeling behind her, and pushed her down so that her face was in the bed and her ass was raised high.
“I think you like this,” he said, fucking her pussy, his finger pushing into her ass. “I think you like my finger in your ass while I fuck you. I wonder,” he said, adding a second finger, stretching her, knowing she was at her edge just on this side of pain. “I wonder how you’ll like my cock fucking your ass,” he said, the thought of it pushing him over the edge, forcing two more final, punishing thrusts before he buried himself deep inside her, his seed bursting from him as he held her close to his body while his cock throbbed, the walls of her pussy once again clamping down around him to signal her second stolen orgasm.
Skye lay on her belly, her breath coming in gasps. She didn’t have much experience sexually but she’d be willing to bet Aidan Hastings was master of his game. She turned to watch Aidan move off the bed and rose slowly herself, her eyes on his powerful, naked, beautiful body. His shoulders and arms were wide and thick with muscle, his chest and belly as if sculpted from solid stone, his cock still hard and slick. She began to straighten but leaned on her side again, her face flushing red when she felt his seed slide out of her. Meanwhile Aidan just watched her, grinning.
“What?” she asked, suddenly remembering what he’d said earlier.
He walked toward her completely comfortable in his nakedness. “You have a short memory,” he said.
She searched his eyes, her face reddening yet again at what they’d just done, at how he’d talked to her, how he’d put his finger inside her bottom and how she’d liked it. And no, he was wrong about her having a short memory.
“Were you allowed to come, Skye?” he asked, pulling on a pair of jeans.
His tone was different just by a hair but it was enough. He was disciplinarian now.
“No, sir,” she answered.
“Sit up,” he said.
She did, slowly, as if she could somehow keep his semen from spilling out of her.
“And how many times did you come?”
“What did I promise you?”
“A trip to the punishment room.”
“That’s right. Let’s get you cleaned up first though.”
“Are you going to spank me?”
He grinned. “I haven’t yet decided. Up, come on.”
She got up on her feet, flushing red once again as she felt the stuff slide down her inner thighs.
“I can have a shower alone,” she said when they got into the bathroom.
He shook his head. “No, I think I’ll scrub you clean myself today,” he said, grinning as he ran a bath. “Go ahead and use the bathroom.”
“In front of you?” she asked, her eyebrows shooting up.
He nodded. “You’re about to get a very intimate cleaning from me, Skye. By the time I’m done washing you, going to the bathroom with me in the room will be nothing.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You can’t be serious.”
He only grinned and turned his attention to checking the water temperature in the tub and took his time before addressing her again. “If you’re that shy about it, you may use the bathroom down the hall, but if you do that, you’ll then take six strokes of the paddle. Your choice.”
Six strokes for using the bathroom in private! Well, she could take six. That was fine. He’d beaten her butt with way more than six the last time. Without a word, she left to use the other bathroom before returning to find him waiting in the tub for her.
“Water’s perfect,” he said, gesturing for her to climb in.
She did, appreciating the warmth of the water, liking being so close to him. If this was what he meant by an intimate cleaning, that was fine by her.
Aidan turned her so that she sat with her back to him and his big arms wrapped around her. She felt so relaxed that she lay her head on his chest, not minding at all when he picked up a washcloth and poured body wash over it, rubbing it until it foamed. She even sighed when he began to rub along her shoulders and neck with it before moving to scrub each arm, each finger of each hand. He then moved to her neck and chest, taking special care with each of her breasts, re-igniting the heat between her legs, something she thought impossible after the orgasms she’d just had. Once he was finished with her upper body, he had her turn to lean against the opposite side of the tub and paid the same attention to her legs and feet as he had the rest of her.
“God, Aidan, this is better than any massage I’ve ever had,” she said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
“Enjoy it, baby,” he said, but something in his voice made her suspicious. “There, come on back over here.”
She smiled and resumed her place in front of him and watched when he began to drain the tub.
“We have to get out already?” Disappointment made her sound pouty.
“Oh no,” he said, closing the drain once the tub was a little more than half full. “Not yet.”
The look in his eyes told her she should have remained wary all along, but he didn’t give her any time to act on this thought.
“Kneel up, honey,” he said, taking the washcloth and refreshing the body wash on it. “Kneel up and lean forward so you’re laying your face on the towel I set on the edge of the tub. You’re going to need your hands so you won’t have those for support.”
“Aidan…” she began, her face reddening at the thought of doing as he’d said even though she’d done exactly that not half an hour ago. Not to mention what had happened yesterday.
“I’ve seen every inch of you and I’ve tasted every inch of you, Skye. Now don’t be shy because if this embarrasses you, well, I’m not sure you’re going to like the next part even one little bit. Bend over. Get that naughty bottom up in the air so I can clean it.”
Why did his words make her pussy so incredibly hot? It was wrong. He was so… base.
“Would you like to add six more strokes to the six you have coming?” he asked.
He meant it. He meant every word and she knew it. With a groan, Skye stood on her knees and brought her hands to the edge of the tub where he’d made a pillow of a thick towel.
“Good girl, that’s not so bad, is it?” he asked, not yet starting with the cloth. “Besides, I like the look of your ass, Skye. I like having you spread like this and open for me to look at and enjoy. I like seeing your pussy lips open for me, I like seeing them get wet at my words,” he paused, the space of that moment adding even more embarrassment to his next sentence. “But I can’t quite see that sexy little asshole. Rest your face on the towel, reach back and spread yourself open for me, honey.”
Oh. My. God.
Certainly he could not have said what she’d just heard. She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. It wasn’t enough that he had her bending over in front of him, it wasn’t enough that he would clean her bottom hole, he wanted her to open herself to him, assist him in her humiliation.
“OK, we’ll take it to seven strokes. How many do you think it will be before you do as you’re told?”
She glanced back now and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for her reply.
“Reach back and spread your bottom open for me to clean your little asshole, Skye. We’re up to eight.”
She closed her eyes and reached back, fingers gripping her bottom cheeks to pull them open.
“That’s better. Now pull wider.”
She did, her face hot, burning a blazing red as she did.
Before she could even process his words, he rose up on his knees behind her, sending water splashing along the walls of the tub while he began to clean her bottom cheeks with the cloth. He took his time circling each one, and when it was finished, he set the cloth down.
“This more intimate cleaning I’ll do with my fingers,” he said. “Tell me.” He reached his hand to her pussy and began to rub it clean. “Have you ever shown a man your ass like this before or am I the first? I know you’re not a virgin but have you ever done this?”
He was rubbing her clit and she was losing her mind. “No…” she croaked out when he changed the rhythm. God she was going to come again and her arousal in part was due to the very thing that was making her blush so furiously: the humiliation of holding herself like she was, her bottom cheeks spread wide, exposing herself fully to him.
“No, what?” he asked, his voice low, seductive while his hand worked to clean her pussy before trailing up her cleft toward her back hole. “Tell me in detail, Skye.”
“No, I’ve never shown a man… like this… before.”
“Shown a man what exactly?”
If it were possible, she’d spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
“I’m waiting, Skye,” he said, his hand working all along, cleaning her most private places, making her face burn the brightest red in embarrassment.
“I’ve never shown a man my bottom like this before.”
“And has anyone touched you here?” he asked, one finger smearing soap onto her back hole.
Her muscles clenched for a moment, then released as he slowly, gently circled her virgin entrance.
“Skye?” he asked, still working that delicate, private place.
“No, sir,” she said. “You’re the first to touch me there.”
Some part of Aidan reared up at that. He would be the only one to touch her there if he had anything to say about it.
He shook his head, forcing that thought away. It was time to concentrate on Skye, to tease her until she very nearly exploded, and stopping just short of release. He almost felt sorry for her given what he had planned.
“It’s time to get your bottom really clean now.”
She didn’t utter a single sound, didn’t make the tiniest movement, but held her position, waiting.
“I’m going to push my finger inside your little hole, Skye. Arch your back and push your bottom out to me.”
She did as he said, lifting to him, the sight of her like this driving him nearly out of his mind.
Without hesitating, he penetrated the tight ring of her bottom with his soapy finger, fucking her gently with it, all the while aware of how wet her pussy was growing at the stimulation of her bottom, and also extremely aware of how his cock was swelling in response. He took his time, turning his finger, pushing it deeper, pulling it out and repeating, wondering how the tight, hot hole would feel stretched around his cock.
“There,” he said, after a few more moments. “All clean.”
He settled back down and pulled her to him. She remained silent, refusing to look at him, the hue of red he could see from his angle telling him she was too embarrassed to speak, but he was well aware how the humiliation was turning her on at the same time.
Well, she had a lot more of that coming.
After washing his hands, Aidan wrapped Skye in a large, soft towel and walked her to the punishment room.
“Leave your towel here. When you’re sent to the punishment room, you’re to enter it fully naked, is that clear?”
She swallowed, nodded and stood staring up at him.
Aidan smiled at her. She was sweet, and from the look on her face, more than a little intimidated, but not afraid. He pulled her in to him and kissed her forehead before taking the towel from her and opening the door. She looked around as if it were her first time to see it.
“To the far corner, Skye. Stand with your nose to the wall, hands at the back of your head until I return.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, her eyes growing huge.
“Just going to the kitchen to get some things. I’ll be back in no time. Now go stand in the corner with that naughty little bottom on display.”
She looked for a moment as if she were about to protest, but then turned and walked to the corner he’d pointed to. He watched her as she quietly placed her hands at the back of her head and settled in before turning to go. Corner time was a good start. It got her into the proper mindset to submit.
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In her work with Consilium, Denise Willis currently sees patients at a correctional facility in Virginia. Throughout her career, she also has provided care in settings that include rural health, family medicine, urgent care, occupational medicine, internal medicine, geriatrics, behavioral health, and pharmacy.
If you were to enumerate the challenges on the path to becoming a pharmacist, academic lecturer, and physician assistant, chances are that list would not include half the obstacles faced by Denise Willis, Consilium physician assistant and poster child for persistence and determination.
“I never thought I would make it this far, to be quite honest,” Willis said. “I always wanted to succeed, and I was willing to do whatever that required, but there were many times it seemed impossible despite my dedication. Sometimes I still can’t believe I made it through.”
Willis, who was raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, said she had been captivated by the study of medicine from the time she was a young girl. Some of her earliest memories consist of walking down to the corner drugstore with her father, where a pharmacist everyone called “Doc” would let her come behind the counter and try pronouncing the names of the medications in stock.
“As a child, I read everything I could get my hands on,” Willis said. “My mother used to laugh at me for it, because it didn’t matter if it was the back of a bottle of detergent—I was going to read it. Afterward, I would write down the names of the ingredients and try to figure out what each one was and what it did.”
Though the earliest years of her childhood were marked by some degree of normalcy, that had changed in a big way by the time she turned 7. Her parents split up and her mother fell very ill, leaving a very young Willis with the responsibility of caring for her younger siblings. When she was 12 years old, her mother succumbed to her drawn-out illness—which turned out to be cancer—and Willis was placed in the foster care system.
“It was difficult, and I do think my childhood experiences have a lot to do with my chosen career path,” Willis said. “I had that innate curiosity and passion for medicine, yes, but I also saw up close what it means to have—or not have—adequate medical care. My youngest brother had a lot of health problems too, and those sorts of experiences just stick with you for the rest of your life.”
Despite her circumstances, Willis—determined to succeed—excelled in school. She completed college and then attended the Temple University School of Pharmacy in Philadelphia, where she was able to follow in the footsteps of “Doc,” who had first sparked her interest in pharmacy all those years ago. Bringing full circle those formative walks down to Doc’s clinic, as a young adult Willis also reconnected with her father, who revealed that Willis had a number of relatives whom she had neither met nor heard of as a child. Willis and her husband—who were already considering a move further south—met the long-lost Virginia branch of her family and soon decided that was exactly where they wanted to be for the foreseeable future.
“It’s crazy thinking about it now, but I truly didn’t have a reliable support system until I got married to my husband,” Willis said. “Having my father back in my life has made such a difference, and it has been just wonderful to suddenly have family by my side.”
Willis moved to Virginia in 1989, and since then has worked as a pharmacist, pharmacy supervisor, in-house department educator, preceptor for pharmacy and pharmacy tech students, and as a lecturer at the junior college and university levels.
“I even had my own pharmacy for a while back in the ‘90s, which had always been a dream of mine,” Willis said. “It only lasted a few years—up until a chain pharmacy opened right across from us—but I am proud that I was able to achieve that goal even if it wasn’t in the cards long-term.”
By the late ‘90s, Willis had decided that she was just not passionate about pharmacy the way she had been before—she wanted the opportunity to better connect with patients and have a direct hand in their care. To best achieve her ideal patient-provider relationship, she set her sights on becoming a physician assistant. She enrolled in the Master of Physician Assistant (MPA) Program at Eastern Virginia Medical School, a program that aligned with her belief in providing inclusive, patient-centered care and fostering strong clinical and community partnerships.
When asked about her most memorable moment as a PA, Willis said there is one patient in particular who she could never forget. He was working as a custodian, and upon their meeting it was visibly clear to her that something was very, very wrong.
“This gentleman had severe, severe jaundice, and it was obvious even with his dark complexion,” Willis said. “His eyes, lips, fingertips, overall hue…all of it was just ‘off.’ I asked him to please, please see a doctor as soon as possible.”
Instead, the man came to see Willis, who he trusted would help him get the care he needed. He said he had seen a physician several months prior who—despite clear lab results—had not provided any answers or assistance. The patient’s gamma-glutamyl transpeptidase (GGT)—a chemical that might normally be around 60 units per liter (U/L)—was measured at more than 2,000 U/L. Lo and behold, further testing soon determined that the man had cancer.
“I could not believe that it took so long for him to receive treatment,” Willis said. “But because he agreed to come in, he lived much longer than he would have otherwise. I actually discovered that one day several years later when he recognized me at a local grocery store and ran up to thank me. He looked just wonderful, and I’ll never forget the stark difference compared to the first time I saw him.”
Given her vast experience in an array of clinical settings, Willis had been familiar with locum tenens for a number of years, even working an agency assignment as a pharmacist at a Minnesota Indian Health Services facility. Despite positive prior experiences in temporary pharmacy assignments, she was initially wary of taking on locum tenens assignments as a physician assistant.
“If I had to give one piece of advice to other providers who are on the fence about doing locums, I would say to just try it,” Willis said. “It’s not a permanent move if you don’t want it to be, so why not? I hesitated at first because I didn’t know what the experience would be like as a PA—I wish I had made this leap much earlier.”
Despite her lifelong love for learning (and resulting tendency to eagerly take on new opportunities), Willis says she is at a point in her life where she would like to “slow down a little bit,” which is part of why she appreciates the ability to set her own schedule. Willis has partnered with Consilium since 2014, and she specifies flexibility and her working relationship with Landon Webb, her account manager, as reasons she plans to stay with Consilium long-term.
“I stay with Consilium not only because I believe in the company mission, but also because I have truly been enriched by my interactions with everyone I have spoken to,” Willis said. “I know I can always call Landon with anything I might need (even after-hours!), and that’s a huge comfort. It’s just easy with Consilium, and I will never forget the care they showed me after my accident this year.”
In June of 2017, just before starting another assignment with Consilium, Willis had been in a car wreck that resulted in a severe concussion and left her unable to work for nearly two months. She cites the care shown by Consilium team members as a source of support during a very difficult time, serving as further confirmation that she is exactly where she was meant to be.
“They never pressured me to come back before I was ready, and I knew that their concern was for me as a person, not just as a provider,” Willis said. “They worried about me, they called to check on me, and they prayed for me. All of that really meant something to me. When I was ready to work, I called Landon and told him it was time to give it a try, and we jumped right back in where we had left off. My work begins with patient care, and I truly believe that at Consilium, they start with care for their providers. I plan to stay with Consilium for a long, long time.”
More from Consilium’s partnering locum tenens providers:
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The song entitled, Smiling Faces written by Norman Whitfield and Barrett Norman encompassed a thought that dawned on me when I picked up my elementary yearbook. As I flipped through, I remember vaguely, children not being able to understand the process. The question of why were they were alone, why there was props, a backdrop, and why would they need to smile.
I became interested with the moment that everyone learns about photographical portraits. More importantly, the purpose of a portrait especially if the photograph had the subjects eyes close but posing with a smile. Everyone has been in one of these situations but I thought it was interesting to explore how sincere people can be without eyes and with a happy facial expression. As I explored old bookshops for yearbooks and photo booth pictures, cultural significant of portraiture has been a heighten awareness today. I took a few friends to have individual portraits taken in photo booths with their eyes closed. As a documentation of the personal purpose of expression through closed eyes.
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Otherwise Known As Sheila the Great
Otherwise Known As Sheila the Great is a young adult book written by Judy Blume and first published in 1972. It is the second book in the Fudge series. The story is told from the perspective of ten-year-old Shelia Tubman, first seen in Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, who lives with her mother, father, and older sister Libby. Shelia is very insecure and terrified of many things, and she masks her fears by lying.
I first experienced this book in the fourth grade when my teacher read it to the class over the course of a couple weeks. I ended up missing one chapter because I was misbehaving and had to sit out in the hall. I never read the book again until my late 30s, and I was surprised at how much I still remembered.
— This section contains spoilers! —
- I like how the book describes Shelia's lying, how it puts her in awkward situations, and, how she eventually becomes more confident.
- Shelia, when she actually tries to accomplish something, like learning to swim, is able to do it, and her friends cheer her on.
- The slam book was a nice addition which shows the difficulty of accepting harsh truths about yourself from your peers.
- Shelia is annoying. She's mean to her friends, lies to everyone, and doesn't have very many redeemable traits.
- A fair amount of the book doesn't really go anywhere. The Peter Pan play, for example, didn't really need to be in the book.
- The book kind of just peters out without a meaningful ending.
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back at 11.30 a.m. At 1.30 p.m. we were ordered to advance through the woods and swamp and drive the enemy from it again. We advanced through the swamp until we gained the open field, which position we held until relieved by General Palmer's brigade at 6.30 p.m. On the 26th instant we were held as a reserve in the trenches. The 27th spent in camp. The 28th we occupied the trenches in our regular tour of duty. On the morning of the 29th, at 6.30, we fell back to the second line of defense, lay there until 3 p.m. when we took up our line of march for James River. We bivouacked at 7.50 p.m. on the south side of the Charles City road. At 9.30 a.m. on the 30th instant moved the regiment to the Quaker City road, and formed line of battle at 1.30 p.m. to support a brigade of General McCall's. At 1.30 a.m. July 1 I was ordered to fall back. Halted at 5 o'clock a.m. in an open field and remained until 10 a.m. I was then ordered on picket in the woods to the front of our position. At 6.30 p.m. I received an order to assemble my pickets and move to the support of a brigade of Porter's division, which order was obeyed at a double-quick. At 2 o'clock a.m. July 2 I was ordered to fall back and make Harrison's Landing, which we did in good order. On the afternoon of the 3rd of July I received orders to break camp. We marched at 4 o'clock p.m., and bivouacked in an open field. At 7 p.m. on the 4th I was ordered to march to the front, and bivouacked at 9 p.m. in the field we now occupy as a camp.
Our loss since June 25 has been 6 killed, 11 wounded and 1 missing. I have the honor to be, very respectfully, your obedient servant,
Commanding First Regiment.
Captain O. H. HART, Assistant Adjutant-General.
What regiment did Major Holt relieve?
What order did he receive and from whom?
Whether from General Porter or General Couch?
What positions did the regiment occupy?
What loss, if any, was sustained?
Was the regiment engaged with the enemy?
P. S.-CAPTAIN: I have the honor to report, in compliance with inquiries made on the foregoing that on the 1st of July at about 6 o'clock, p.m. whilst on picket, I received orders from Lieutenant Tremain, aide-de-camp of General Sickles, to withdraw my pickets immediately and move at double-quick to support a brigade of General Porter's division. After moving to the front and halting under the fire of the enemy I was ordered to advance about 500 yards, and was there ordered to remain in line of battle by General Sickles until I received orders from him. We remained in this position about one hour, when I received orders from an aide-de-camp of General Howe, stating that it was an order from General Sickles to advance to the front and form in line of battle to relieve a regiment I believe to be the Eighty-first Pennsylvania, but I am not certain, in which position I remained until about 2 a.m. when I was relieved by orders of General Sickles in person. The Fourth Regiment was under my command, and acted in conjunction with me during the whole day.
I have the honor to be, very respectfully, your obedient servant,
Major, Commanding First Regiment.
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|I woke up to find myself in a strange room, one that I did not recognize. I remembered going to sleep last night in my own bed but now I found myself awake in this strange new place.
As I turned around I found myself face to pec with a behemoth, he stood well over 6'8" and had to weigh a good 400lbs. Never in my life have I witnessed, or for that matter been in contact with such a mass mountain of pure rock hard bulging muscle. The stretch shirt he was wearing was a joke as it tried to contain that chest and arms of death. I slowly moved my focus through a deep canal between his pecs up to a face of a young, blue eyed, blond boy smirking back down at me.
"Watch it PUNK!" he said as he bounced his pecs, which threw me back two feet into the wall behind me. He chuckled and moved in on me towering over me seemingly more then enjoying, almost basking in the enjoyment of intimidating me with his massiveness.
"I decided to come out and play today, you look like a nice man, so I think I'll play with you. I can tell by the look of lust and desire on your face that you fit the qualifications for a play friend. Someone who is not only intimidated by my phenomenal size and strength" as he flexes his right bicep in my face, "but who also is a wimpy slave to this muscle man - HUH?" As he flex his left bicep on the other side of me.
I could do nothing but stand there with my mouth a gape in disbelief. This was a young kid with the body and power of at least ten bodybuilders.
"I have a feeling that I could easily have you wrapped around my pinkie by just sowing off my strength and flexing these massive mounds of muscle, huh little punk man." Then he threw his head back and just started laughing.
I saw this as my moment to escape from the wall behind me and this wall in front of me. Just as I moved passed him I suddenly realized that my feet were still moving but I was not gaining any ground. I look down to find my feet were at least two feet off the ground.
I look behind me to see that stud's face was just smirking away at me. He was holding me in the air with one hand with little to no effort. Then after shaking me around a little like a rag doll he laughed some more then pulled me up to his face.
"And where do you think your going you going you little pathetic weakling of a man. I said that I wanted to play and since I am as strong as all the Gods and your are as weak as my little finger I'd say that you are going to stay here and do what ever this muscle monster stud says - huh?"
With that he grabbed the front of my shirt with two fingers and started doing curls with me. Even after a hundred, he was still not breaking a sweat and still laughing at me as to totally intimidate and humiliate me, which was working quite well. Then he let go of me and I dropped to the floor.
"I just noticed something," he said, "that my massive forearm is bigger then your thigh." He proceeded to bend over me and flex his mammoth forearm next to my quivering leg. He was not exaggerating, his forearm was bigger then my thigh.
"Just look at that, this studs forearm is bigger then you tight isn't that a sight, little man? You know what this probably means as well you little bug? I'll just bet that this boulder of a muscle called my bicep is bigger around then your waist. Let's just see…"
With that he flexed his arm and I heard a tearing sound. He was totally ripping his sleeve right down the seam, with ease, as this huge rock solid hill, not rock, rose.
"I just love ripping my clothes to shreds like that, such power and strength, wouldn't you say you little man?" as he patted me on the head with his other hand as I stood there to stunned to move, starring at this incredible sight before me.
"Never seen anything that big in your life have you little man?" As he flexed and unflexed his arm the shirt ripped up to his massive shoulder and once again here was that taunting laugh followed by another patronizing pat on the head.
"Does this wimp of a man want to feel this stud's bicep?"
I started to reach for it and he stopped me and suggested that since my hands were so minute next to his mass that I use both of my hands to feel his God like body. Doing what I was told I placed both my hands on his one bicep. It couldn't be real, a bicep this big and hard, it just couldn't be. Seeing the stunned disbelief on my face and him eating it up, he flex and unflexed his arm over and over bouncing around what could only be compared to the size of a wrecking ball.
Then from behind and underneath my crotch came his other arm and he proceeded to stand up with no effort, smirking all the way over to a wall of mirrors so that he could watch himself playing with a full grown man like a little toy totally in his control.
"Look at that little wimp of a man sitting high atop my muscles. Wanna ride a little bronking buck?"
Before I had a chance to realize what he was about to do I found myself flailing around being tossed and thrown by the flexing power of this hulking God of a stud.
As I tried to grab on to his arm he just kept flexing watching me helpless and laughing at me totally helpless against his power. He stopped the bouncing and I found I had settled straddling, my legs bowed outward, around this huge round solid muscle.
"Go ahead try and wrap your legs around my beautiful bicep."
As I tried in vain more laughter filled the room this stud was triumphant with this game of domination.
"And what have we got here little man?" as a finger the size of some peoples hand, started flicking at my now throbbing, rock solid cock.
"So does this little wimp like this stud man's body of muscle that much? Well, I think we should rid ourselves of these clothes of yours so that I can watch this little man's dick worship my Godliness. What do you think little man?" As he brought his face to mine.
"Let's start with this shirt," and with that he held me by one leg upside down and ripped my shirt to shreds with ease. He then grabbed my wrist and dangled me high in the air as he, with two fingers, snapped and broke off the metal buttons on my jeans. Then, like the shirt, he shredded them with ease. Then he preceded to life me up and down fifty times or more just to show me how utterly helpless I was against his muscle monster.
"Your fun to play with little guy and just look at how that woody is so rock solid hard standing at such appreciative attention for the mass of muscle before him, wouldn't you say wimp?" as he started laughing at me again.
As he put me down, I now stood there in all my glory before this monster of a man, a man that I still could not believe existed. A man that could and would do to me what ever he pleases.
"Come here little man," he said as two of his fingers encompassed the head of my dick as he pulled me over to the bench and then placed both his hands underneath my arms and lifted me, as an adult would an infant, onto the bench. I found myself-staring right into this behemoths eyes.
"I think I'm ready to loose the rest of this confining shirt, what do you think?" With this said I was hit hard in the chest and stomach and my thigh with what felt like a bullet as the buttons of his shirt went flying against me as he flexed his mighty chest. Once again, he laughed at his power, took one of my hands, and placed it on one of his pecs and one on the other. He then started bouncing them as the sound of tearing material surrounded me again as his shirt burst into shreds around me. My hands looked like a miniature dolls hands compared to the massiveness of his huge plates of granite rumbling under my touch.
This is when I could take no more; I started blowing my first wade, all over this incredibly massive hairy chest.
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Prophet Lot's (pbuh) life
Prophet Abraham and Prophet Lot lived in the same time and the same region. Although they lived among different people, they still supported one another.
Like all of the prophets, Prophet Lot was a chosen individual who left an example for all people of sincerity and submission to God.
However, a perversion definitively prohibited by God was prevalent among the people of Prophet Lot:
Prophet Lot called on his tribe to fear and respect God, abandon their homosexuality, and live a life that would please Him.
But they responded to his words with hostility.
They even threatened him and the believers with exile.
Yet he never gave up, and continued to communicate his message to obtain God’s good pleasure. That is because he had a strong faith in and a deep fear of God ...
Prophet Lot called on his people to abandon their indecent acts and to follow him.
He told them how great was the immorality of the life they were leading. This message of his is related thus in the Qur’an:
[Lot said:] “Of all beings, do you lie with males, leaving the wives God has created for you? You are a people who have overstepped the limits.” They said: “Lot, if you do not desist, you will be expelled.” He said: “I am someone who detests the deed you perpetrate.” (Qur’an, 26:165-68)
However, the deniers in the tribe were unaware of what was about to befall them and continued to reject his message.
Until they experienced God’s terrible retribution ...
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Harry Hole is back on his home turf of Oslo for this story which has a rather engaging and complex WWII back-story. Having spotted the illegal import of a type of rifle usually reserved for assassins, Hole is trying to track down the buyer while a series of murders appears to be related to his case. Investigating themes of nationalism, patriotism, neo-Nazism and long-held grudges from the Eastern front this story is a great step forward in storytelling by Nesbo.
There is the accustomed sprinkling of poetic imagery that you would expect from a retired songwriter and no shortage of red herrings and cliff hanger chapters. The chapters are doled out in lengths according to Nesbo’s pacing requirements and are sometimes as short as one paragraph – an informal style of delivery shared with the likes of Stephen King which certainly draws you in and makes you want to turn pages.
The main character is still prone to hitting the bottle to deal with the deaths that seem to accompany him in his chosen line of work, still awkward with women and still making mistakes. He has few friends, but loves the ones he has dearly and is cautious but wholly committed when he finds a woman he thinks he can start a meaningful relationship with. It’s all these qualities that make the character so endearing. Everyone likes a three-dimensional slightly maladjusted hero.
I have only one negative comment and that is that the storyline about his sister having been assaulted that appeared briefly in Cockroaches is nowhere to be seen in this book – but that is a rather minor point. The Redbreast is certainly the best Jo Nesbo book I have read so far.
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Su Sayer CBE is chair of CPRE and was the co-founder and chief executive at United Response for 40 years until she stepped down in 2014 to take on a part-time post as founder director for three years.
United Response supports people with learning disabilities, acquired brain inuries, mental health problems and dementia, with almost 3,000 staff and 250 residential units throughout England and Wales.
Awarded an OBE in 2000 for services to disabled people and a CBE in 2013, Sayer also received the Outstanding Achievement Award at the 2003 Charity Awards.
She has served on the boards of several government bodies and charities and is currently also a trustee of the Silverline Helpline and the Urology Foundation.
Sayer is also an honorary senior visiting fellow in the faculty of management at Cass Business School, City University and vice chair of Seaford College.
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What is important in the child is his primal utterance, his response to being, his own free cries and signs, his admiration. —Thomas Merton
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice… —Walt Whitman
In the beginning was the electric noise of a sonogram, a hum fluttering in my ears, drowning out all else, not from decibel force, not from loudness, but from its soft yet demanding call to listen: the kind of call that attends the murmur of half-sleep, the momentary vibrations of moth wings on a windowpane, the embracing and pulsating silence beneath a still river pool surrounded by rapids and falls, echoing granite. The nurse told us that was our child’s heartbeat.
* * *
Months later we hung ornaments from the door frames, twelve little stained glass disks, each depicting one of the twelve days of Christmas. My wife was grumpy and uncomfortable but still she hung them carefully, ritually. The ornaments from her childhood dangled from multi-colored thumbtacks and spun in dim light.
Our families were on their way for Christmas Eve supper. I was putting together last-minute gifts as they arrived: reindeer made of logs from the backyard, branches for antlers, sweet gum balls nailed down for noses, using the washing machine and dryer as sawhorses. I’d seen someone selling these ornamental reindeer for $25 each at a roadside stand and figured I could make them myself. I cut into one of the logs and termites poured from their hollow abode onto the floor. I swept them from mudroom into the cold yard.
Soon our house was full—brothers, sisters, parents, in-laws, dogs. Deana got hot and set the thermostat low and soon people complained of being cold. I put on long sleeves and those who were the coldest retrieved their jackets. My brother-in-law took a phone call and held the top of the hallway door frame as he spoke. “No, no, not labor yet, just little contractions,” he said into the phone. He knocked down the ornament with a picture of a maid-a-milking and it shattered on the wood floor. Deana glared at him and turned the heat down one more notch. I poured myself a couple beers into a tall handmade stein that I bring out for special occasions. And this certainly was one: Christmas Eve, my son on the way. A New Year’s birthday, maybe.
Deana glared at me, too. In retrospect, she knew, or at least had a strong feeling, that I’d be driving later, through the rain, to the hospital. But the way I saw it, the Braxton Hicks contractions had been going on for several days; what was to say they would not go on for several more? I swigged my beer, sat back in my chair, and thought what a pleasant Christmas Eve it was.
* * *
Everyone left after supper, except for my in-laws who were staying with us through the holidays, and things got a little quieter. I was sitting in the dining room having one last beer with my brother-in-law when I heard the moaning down the hall. It was rather awkward sitting there with my brother-in-law at that moment, his sister’s early labor moans reverberating through the house. He’d told me earlier in Deana’s pregnancy that since Deana was pregnant, he knew I’d had sex with her, but he was okay with it. And so the beer helped.
Deana was sitting at the edge of our bed, still moaning, grimacing, holding her back with one hand and her belly with the other, rocking back and forth as I entered our room. This was no false labor contraction. I stood beside her, asked what I could do to help, and put my hand on her shoulder; she swatted it away. I waited. The contraction passed.
Our two dogs, both rescue mutts, followed at my heels. They whined and jumped on the bed beside Deana; Daisy sniffed her belly, Gracie licked her face, and both looked at me as though I knew what to do. On my way back to the kitchen to microwave a tube sock full of uncooked rice to put on Deana’s back, I told my brother-in-law that it looked like my son would have at least one thing in common with Jesus. And I assumed he knew I was referring to a shared birthday and not to an immaculate conception.
* * *
We started timing the contractions at about 10:00 and I logged them all on the back inside cover of What to Expect When You’re Expecting in scribbles that now seem hieroglyphic. Between contractions I rubbed Deana’s back and held the hot rice sock to it; during the contractions I pressed her lower back to counteract some of her pressure and pain—pain that the King James Bible calls “sorrow”—offering my arms and hands for her to brace herself. She clenched my arms and leaned forward as the contractions came, our dogs keeping watch between us. On my next trip to the kitchen to warm up the rice sock, I realized that everyone in the house was awake, sitting, listening, waiting.
At 2 AM, after a call to the hospital midwife, I threw some clothes in a bag and led Deana out into the cold rain and darkness of Christmas morning, her parents behind us, loading up their own car, my brother-in-law staying behind to watch the dogs. In the rearview mirror I watched as my father-in-law slipped on the soaked grass and slid down the hill to the street. After a few seconds he stood, his jeans and plaid shirt slicked in mud. I asked Deana if we should wait and she groaned and told me to go. And so I went.
Out on the interstate, the rain picked up and red lights flared and yellow lights shimmered and industrial wire Christmas trees shone blue and white from the tops of buildings. I called my parents and sisters and when I used the phrase “I’m fairly certain she’s in labor,” Deana yelled at me to hang up and drive. I hung up and drove, silence on the great highway but for tires treading wet asphalt, but for the cries of a lovely and hurting woman full of life, of life and sorrow, of sorrow and joy—of joy, somehow, unaccounted for.
* * *
“In the massed crowd,” wrote Thomas Merton in a Christmas reflection called “The Time of the End is the Time of No Room,”
…there are always new tidings of joy and disaster. Where each new announcement is the greatest of announcements, where every day’s disaster is beyond compare, every day’s danger demands the ultimate sacrifice, all news and all judgment is reduced to zero. News becomes merely a new noise in the mind, briefly replacing the noise that went before it and yielding to the noise that comes after it, so that eventually everything blends into the same monotonous and meaningless rumor. News? There is so much news that there is no room left for the true tidings, the ‘Good News,’ The Great Joy. Hence, The Great Joy is announced, after all, in silence, loneliness and darkness…
In silence we entered the hospital and signed the papers and a kind nurse working such an awful shift that frigid Christmas morning checked us into a room and said the midwife on call was on her way. She told us that many of the mothers-to-be there had for some reason scheduled C-sections for Christmas morning, but that one poor woman had delivered her baby shortly after midnight in her car in the hospital parking lot.
* * *
Sin, the dogma goes, is our inheritance from Adam. We are born into that inheritance, and so in that sense it is “original.” We have only to enter the world, to float the channels of a natural process, and we are in sin, stained by it from infancy on.
We are not born into innocence, say the preachers; but Christ, being born of a virgin, was born into innocence. Thus they affirm the link between sin and sex, between sin and birth, between birth and the need for salvation.
* * *
I held a small trash can for Deana as she threw up, wiped the bile from her face and gown when she finished, and got her a bucket of ice chips. She wanted to have our son as naturally as is possible in a hospital, and so she pushed and labored for three hours after we arrived, the midwife holding one of her legs, me holding the other.
The midwife and the nurses whispered to each other, spoke in the hall. At about 5 AM, they gave Deana an epidural. She shook, shivered, and cried. A couple hours later, she started pushing again, threw up several times more as she was pushing, and the midwife told us the baby was not descending. Deana pushed until about 9:00 when the midwife said the baby still had not moved and that a C-section was needed to prevent an emergency, that our son’s lungs were filling with amniotic fluid and meconium, that he was simply not going to come out on his own.
The nurses turned up Deana’s epidural and pricked her with a needle until the anesthesiologist was convinced she was numb to the chest, and they gave me a set of blue scrubs.
* * *
“We are human,” wrote Thomas Merton, “and the only thing stopping us from living humanly is our own deeply ingrained habit of delusion, a habit which some of us stubbornly continue to associate with original sin.”
* * *
We are human. Deana was crying when I joined her in the operating room. I sat in a swivel chair by the table and held her hand and touched her face. Condensation and snot from my own tears clung to the inside of the surgical mask they’d given me.
The white antiseptic room, the silver steel machines, the failure to descend, pelvis too small, the curtain before the blood, lights above her wound, the time of the end, the time of no room. “Daddy, stand and see your boy.”
I stood and looked over the curtain and saw them take him from her. They lifted him from the dark, from the sunrise and rain of the early morning, from burned and cut veins, cushion of organs. He was cold and trembling. She asked me what he looked like and I was trembling, too. I just said “He’s beautiful” but that did not account for it all.
Cannon was silent, not breathing, blue as a heron feather, though I did not tell Deana. I did not tell her that he looked to be gasping as I stood, holding her hand, watching the doctors laying him onto a table, placing a suction over his mouth. I went to him and took his hand and he held my thumb. The doctor turned on the machine. Some meconium rose but most did not and there was still no sound.
A few more times. A few more silences. And then he cried.
* * *
“Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine,” sang Whitman, “and let us hasten forth… Long enough have you dream’d contemptible dreams, / Now I wash the gum from your eyes, / You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.” Hay and oxen, holy lights, cold and damp, visitations. I lost what little belief I still had in original sin that day. I lost belief, too, lost it for being, for the reality and presence of the sorrow, the blood, the blue, the mother, the boy. He cried and that was a voice calling. He cried and that was the first sound I really heard.
Background image: Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Census at Bethlehem (oil on panel, 1566)
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Sawyer, age 16
Shirts discarded and arms entangled around torsos, the young men rolled around the bed as if wrestling. Hidden, she watched from the doorway in fascination, not disgust or horror. Her mind struggled to make sense of something her heart had already accepted. As the boys’ lips met in a sensual kiss, she brought her hand up to cover her surprise. She knew, instinctively, the act happening in front of her was what Sawyer had been missing, seeking, craving.
Knowing she should look away, afford them privacy, she couldn’t unglue her eyes from the awkwardly arousing scene transpiring before her. Hands roamed, cupping ass cheeks; hips and tongues thrust in simultaneous dances. Red basketball shorts and tight gray boxer briefs slid down firm, muscular legs followed quickly by black shorts and black briefs moving down a second pair of toned legs. She’d seen the male anatomy in Health class, but the young men on the bed were aroused from their sensuous exploration and she felt her eyes widening in impressed awe at the size of their...male anatomy. Sawyer, the dark haired one, reached a hand down and grasped the other boy; the act was reciprocated and a delightful display began to play out before her. Mouths, teeth, and tongues clashed as hips thrust and fists pumped; rough breaths, sexually charged, resonated in the otherwise silent room.
She knew she should have left, should have allowed him this intimate moment, but it was too late; an ill-timed sneeze, obstructed by a quick pinch to the nose, but not thwarted completely, literally blew her cover.
She froze in the doorway as two heads, rosy-cheeked and breathing heavily, popped up and fists quickly abandoned that which they craved to hold tightly. The lip she bit and the tears which sprang to her eyes weren’t for herself; her heart broke for Sawyer. She knew he had worked to cover up the feelings and longings in his heart; she knew he strived for normal and easy and drama-free. Her heart was hurt for him, not because he was her boyfriend and had been caught making out with another guy, but because she knew he was already struggling and the challenging, uphill strife he faced would be a burden on his beautiful heart.
With shorts quickly replaced and shirts pulled over heads, the two young men stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, warily observing her. She wondered who would speak first and what those infamous first words would be.
“So, um, Josh, this is Katie. My girlfriend. Katie, this is Josh.” Sawyer had the decency to look embarrassed, but Katie wanted to ease his discomfort. She had fancied herself in love with him for a while, but in her heart she’d known there was something missing when they were together. Watching him at that moment, she knew she’d never seen her best friend look so alive, so interested, so radiant.
“Hi, Josh, it’s nice to meet you.” Katie smiled at Josh who seemed a bit more freaked out by the situation unfolding in front of him than Sawyer or Katie. Turning to her boyfriend, Katie spoke, “Hey, Sawyer, maybe you and I could have some time to talk and you could call Josh later?”
As if roused from a hypnotic state, Sawyer blushed and nodded. “Yeah, um, that would be good. So, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Josh. Um, maybe we could, um....yeah, bye.” Sawyer’s stumbled words were enough of a reason for Josh to hightail it from the room without a backward glance.
“Okay, so that was awkward all around. Want to get out of here and talk about what just went down?” Katie held her hand out to Sawyer and he knew in that exact moment that he would love her for the rest of his life; aside from his twin brother and cousins, she was his heart and best friend.
They left his house with him wondering in absolute horror what would have happened if his brother or parents had been the ones to walk in on him in bed with another guy. Reaching the main park in Torey Hope, they walked to the shelter house and perched themselves on top of a picnic table. Facing each other, sitting cross-legged, their knees touching, Katie reached for his hands.
“So, you know I love you, Sawyer, and that will never change. I think if I can witness what I just saw and still profess my love, I’m pretty solid in this relationship.” He smirked and saw her smile at him in relief. “However, I think there are some things we need to get out in the open. First, I’m sure this is pretty obvious, I’m breaking up with you.”
Sawyer threw his head back and laughed. Feeling the pent up frustration and anxiety leave his body calmed him. “Katie, I’m sorry for what you just saw...no, I’m not sorry you saw it, and I’m not sorry it happened; I’m sorry I didn’t share my feelings with you before you had to walk in on it.” He leaned in and kissed her gently, “I will forever love you, as my best friend, Katie. But, you’re right, we can’t be together, not in that way; it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
They sat silently for a moment. Sawyer, deep in thought, his dark eyes focused on their hands. He appreciated Katie giving him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.
“So, I think I like guys; I think I’m gay, Katie-girl.” He said it on a whoosh and then sat apprehensively as if the universe was going to strike him down. In a strangled whisper he repeated, “I think I’m gay.”
She felt those words in her soul; the relief he felt in speaking them, the fear he felt in admitting them. But the words from his mouth spoke of more to her heart; she heard his despair, his doubt, his dismay.
“Sawyer Morgan, look at me. You are gay. You’re not a murderer or a pedophile or a thief; you have a great family and friends, they will support you no matter what. It will be harder for some of them at first, but they will come around. If they don’t, you’ll always have me.”
She was taken aback at the vehement shaking of his head and his quick, “No! I’m not ready to tell anyone else.”
She rubbed his hands in hers and raised an eyebrow. “Why not, Sawyer? Your family loves you like none other; they are one of the most loved families in Torey Hope. They would never not stand behind you.”
“That’s just it, Katie. I can’t tell them right now. This is brand-new to me; I’m just admitting it and accepting it. If I tell them now, they will have to deal with the stress and possible embarrassment and drama it may bring; I can’t do that to them right now. What if it causes problems at The Center? Let me figure this out within myself a little more first, then I can break it to them.” His dark brown eyes pleaded with hers.
“Well, I want it stated on record that I think you’re making a mistake, but I promise to support you; as long as you’re not endangering yourself, I’ll let you keep your secret. And it will be my secret, too.” She squeezed his hand and felt his body relax. “So, how about you tell me about this revelation. How long have you known? How do you know?”
“I think I started suspecting when I was about twelve. I remember seeing some guys at The Center who had taken their shirts off to play basketball, and I thought they were absolutely beautiful. I’d seen girls and women in swimsuits and felt nothing, but an attractive guy with his shirt off made my heart beat faster.” Sawyer’s eyes had a faraway look as he recalled the vast difference in feelings he’d had for males and females.
“Then, I met you and I wanted so badly to just fall in love and be normal. I’m so sorry, Katie, I really haven’t been fair to you at all. It’s not that kissing you isn’t nice, but it doesn’t light me on fire like kissing Josh does. I’m so very sorry you had to find out this way.” Sawyer’s head hung in shame.
“Sawyer, don’t apologize.” She felt tears build in her own eyes as the tears began to spill out of his. “I’ll admit it was a bit of a shock to walk in and see that. But, if I’m being honest with myself, I really wasn’t that surprised. I love you and kissing you was nice, but I never felt all the butterflies and glitter that the girls talk about when they are gossiping about kissing boys. Seeing you with Josh, the way your body responded to his, knowing that our bodies had never responded to each other in that way, I knew in my heart that you were meant to just be my best friend.” They dried their tears; they both erupted in laughter when Katie quipped, “At least you were gay before me; I’m not sure I could stand the social outcasting if the rumor started that I turned you gay.”
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“Yet one doubt remains: could I count on your complete desire to win, or would you yield to the temptation to flatter me by playing beneath your level, simply to guarantee yourself a life of comfort? I therefore decided that we required a stake. Whoever puts up a stake, no matter how small, cannot permit himself the luxury of sloppy play.”
A chess playing master Frisch is found dead at his home. He leads a life of order and control and his death is a mystery. But as the story of his last journey unfolds a tale of hatred, fear and the holocaust unfolds. The key to the story is chess. After initial misgivings, given my last game of chess was when I was a teenager, the story itself does enough to grab you.
As the narrator tells you of how he wandered through chess clubs trying to get the attention of the mysterious Tabori a relationship is formed that initially helps the young man fulfil his chess ambitions. But as his master lies dying in hospital he is tasked with fulfilling a mission that prevented Tabori from playing the game he loved for forty years.
At that point the young man enters Frisch’s train carriage on the man’s last journey home and tells the old man a story that finally overlaps with his own. The final pieces of the jigsaw are left unsaid and I’m not going to spoil the plot but needless to say justice is served.
The reason this book leapt out from the shelves was the blurb that described Maurensig as a great writer. He is good but the puff might be slightly over blown. At the start this is sold as some sort of murder mystery and the fact it is much more than that and has a great deal more to say about human cruelty doesn’t emerge until some readers might have lost interest which is a shame.
This starts feeling like a murder mystery novel with a top chess player found dead at his home. But it quickly moves into other territory. You fear that you might need to know stuff about chess as the story moves into talk of grand masters and learning moves but the characters that Maurensig describes carry it through. As the end game begins you want to know where it goes.
Although this book comes from an author living in Italy and the action is set in Vienna the location is not perhaps as important or as pronounced as other European literature. That’s because the action and the moves largely take place on a chess board which is a plain of action that is of course not fixed to a single location.
Final half of book and overview in a review soon…
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Stone whiskey :
For lovers of whisky, in the pure state, there is the stone with whisky. Thanks to it, your whisky will be refreshed without water supply in your favourite drink. All its aromas and flavors will be well preserved.
Soapstone, since it is she that it is is a stone from Scandinavia which has the characteristic to keep the cold out. It is known since long by the inhabitants of these regions who use it as well for its properties to keep out the cold than the hot.
You can also put them in the microwave to keep warm all kinds of drinks. Users of stones, also use it for warm hands in the winter by putting them in the pockets of their coat.
What use do you make of your stones whiskey?
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Ellen and William Craft were slaves from Georgia who escaped and traveled north via train and steamboat in 1848. They traveled openly. She posed as a white male planter since she was a light skinned mulatto and he as her servant. They passed through Aquia Landing on their trip to Boston. Later, they wrote a book about their escape. They had five children. Several years ago, Stafford County hosted their descendants to a reception at Stafford’s Administration Building. They visited Aquia Landing to see where their ancestors passed through.
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1 To the Chief Musician. A Psalm of David the servant of the LORD, who spoke to the LORD the words of this song on the day that the LORD delivered him from the hand of all his enemies, and from the hand of Saul. And he said, I will love you, O LORD, my strength.
2 The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my shield, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.
3 I will call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from my enemies.
4 The sorrows of death surrounded me, and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid.
5 The sorrows of sheol surrounded me: the snares of death confronted me.
6 In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears.
7 Then the earth shook and trembled; the foundations also of the hills moved and were shaken, because he was angry.
8 There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured: coals were kindled by it.
9 He bowed the heavens also, and came down: and darkness was under his feet.
10 And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly: yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind.
11 He made darkness his secret place; his canopy round about him were dark waters and thick clouds of the skies.
12 At the brightness that was before him his thick clouds passed, with hailstones and coals of fire.
13 The LORD also thundered in the heavens, and the Highest gave his voice; hail stones and coals of fire.
14 Yea, he sent out his arrows, and scattered them; and he shot out lightnings, and vanquished them.
15 Then the channels of the sea were seen, and the foundations of the world were uncovered at your rebuke, O LORD, at the blast of the breath of your nostrils.
16 He sent from above, he took me, he drew me out of many waters.
17 He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them who hated me: for they were too strong for me.
18 They confronted me in the day of my calamity: but the LORD was my stay.
19 He brought me forth also into a large place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me.
20 The LORD rewarded me according to my righteousness; according to the cleanness of my hands has he recompensed me.
21 For I have kept the ways of the LORD, and have not wickedly departed from my God.
22 For all his judgments were before me, and I did not put away his statutes from me.
23 I was also upright before him, and I kept myself from my iniquity.
24 Therefore has the LORD recompensed me according to my righteousness, according to the cleanness of my hands in his eyesight.
25 With the merciful you will show yourself merciful; with an upright man you will show yourself upright;
26 With the pure you will show yourself pure; and with the devious you will show yourself shrewd.
27 For you will save the humble people; but will bring down haughty looks.
28 For you will light my lamp: the LORD my God will enlighten my darkness.
29 For by you I have advanced against a troop; and by my God have I leaped over a wall.
30 As for God, his way is perfect: the word of the LORD is proven: he is a shield to all those that trust in him.
31 For who is God except the LORD? or who is a rock except our God?
32 It is God that girds me with strength, and makes my way perfect.
33 He makes my feet like hinds' feet, and sets me upon my high places.
34 He teaches my hands to make war, so that a bow of bronze is bent by my arms.
35 You have also given me the shield of your salvation: and your right hand has held me up, and your gentleness has made me great.
36 You have enlarged my path under me, that my feet did not slip.
37 I have pursued my enemies, and overtaken them: neither did I turn again till they were consumed.
38 I have wounded them that they were not able to rise: they are fallen under my feet.
39 For you have girded me with strength unto the battle: you have subdued under me those that rose up against me.
40 You have also given me the necks of my enemies; that I might destroy them that hate me.
41 They cried, but there was none to save them: even unto the LORD, but he answered them not.
42 Then did I beat them as fine as the dust before the wind: I did cast them out as the dirt in the streets.
43 You have delivered me from the strivings of the people; and you have made me the head of the nations: a people whom I have not known shall serve me.
44 As soon as they hear of me, they shall obey me: the foreigners shall submit themselves unto me.
45 The foreigners shall fade away, and be frightened out of their fortresses.
46 The LORD lives; and blessed be my rock; and let the God of my salvation be exalted.
47 It is God that avenges me, and subdues the people under me.
48 He delivers me from my enemies: yea, you lift me up above those that rise up against me: you have delivered me from the violent man.
49 Therefore will I give thanks unto you, O LORD, among the nations, and sing praises unto your name.
50 Great deliverance gives he to his king; and shows mercy to his anointed, to David, and to his descendants forevermore.
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Sharmine was walking home after her work ended at the call centre for StarHub and it was close to midnight when her shift ended. Living in a HDB estate, there were occasional people heading in the same direction, so it wasn’t anything anything suspicious to her when a man with full arm of tattoos were walking behind her. As she was staying in the blocks where the lifts were still being built, she took a lift with the man to the tenth storey, before leaving him to head to three levels above her floor.
She strolled slowly up the stairs while playing Candy Crush on her iPhone and could hear the lift beeping on the top floors, nothing out of the ordinary right? The sounds of slippers then echoed in the stairwell and she got a shock when he appeared in front of him. He ran down the stairs towards her the moment she stopped, and shoved her against the wall the moment he stood in front of her. Sharmine’s head knocked hard against the hard concrete and he pushed her shoulders down.
Man (whispering loudly): ‘Keep quiet! If not I will hurt you!’
She opened her mouth ready to scream but another push of her head to the wall shut her up abruptly and her phone flung a distance away. He pressed her back painfully downwards in a sitting position and tugged at her cardigan to her arms, hastily tying it into a knot to limit her movements. Everything was happening so fast that Sharmine did not know how to react at all. She was still in a state of shock while tears was slowly filling up her eyes.
The man then gave her another push to the wall, resulting in the more hurt on the same spot of her head. The clinking of his belt confirmed her fear of being raped, and she was more confused about why he had picked her. Once his dick sprang into sight, she quickly identified the long foreskin that was wrapped around his shaft. He was uncut, and had finally lost control of himself after being unable to get laid with any girls.
His hand went behind her head and forced her on his dick, which took a little more effort than he expected. But her resistance was nothing compared to his strength. A hard slap across her face made her relaxed and he had managed to put the tip of his dick into her mouth. In a half-squatting angle, he could reach her chest that was covered by a white spaghetti top that was a little loose. He wriggled into her top and bra, granting her a painful squeeze on her boobs before she gave in.
Sharmine’s mouth could taste the bit of saltiness from the tip, she used her teeth to push his foreskin back, unknown to her, would be the wrongest move she made. A bitter-salty taste overwhelmed her tongue and for the first time, the man felt an awesome explosion of sensitivity and intimate warmth on his dickhead. He moved his legs closer to her and used the wall as support for her head. What came next was needless to say, he shoved his hips towards her mouth, forcing the 30+ years of disgustingly unwashed head of his penis down her throat and moved like an amateur, mouth-fucking her in delight.
The desperation on her palette was nausea causing and she was choking from the stench her nose picked up. His hand had long left her breasts and she was used like a sex doll at the corner of the stairwell. But something was also churning in her clouded mind, she had found herself losing control to the dizziness and the slight pleasure of having this big cock in her mouth, empowered by the new found sensation. Her panties was also soaking up the wetness that was leaking out of her pussy uncontrollably.
After five minutes of stagnant pumping at her mouth, the man had enough of it and lifted her up to her feet. He turned her violently towards the wall and pinned her body against it. Flipping her cotton bandage skirt to her waist, he pulled her panties down in one swift motion and spotted the wet patch at the groin area of her undies.
Man (whispering by her ear): ‘Someone is all horny huh?’
That statement couldn’t make her feel anymore slutty, but she could not deny the fact either. She felt his hands peeling her ass cheeks open and the cold hips of his landed on her butt. He had ran his dick along her slit to her butt and was lowering his body so the dick could enter. Slowly, she felt his dick reach into her pussy and the length was filling her moisture coated cunt.
An impatient thrust let his dick ram all the way into her without any preparation on her part, causing her vagina to stretch in both width and length to contain his meat. The sudden flooding of warmth weakened her legs but she could still manage it. Without wasting any time, the man started to pound his body onto her and the slurping sounds of his dick going in and out of her pussy was getting quicker by the seconds.
The fainting spell was draining her consciousness and the pleasure that was replacing it was getting a little too addictive. He felt her pussy squeeze tightly on his rod and increased his pace, slapping against her butt hard. With her body jerking along the wall, she had secretly reached under her spag top and bra, massaging her boobs while the man behind satisfied her pussy.
Her nipples enjoyed being twisted to an ache and her pussy now too enjoy being raped by this freshly trained dick. A part of her was begging for more, but her mind did not agree at all. The raw contact between her pussy and the thick veins on his dick was proving to be too much for her as the third orgasm caused another wave of vacuum inside of her, sucking him back harder as he lost control as well. Pumping his dick vigorously into her, the man groaned in pleasure and the volume was loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
Sharmine too, had lost herself in this encounter, moaning in response to his assult. Unknown to the man, he had lasted longer than his usual masturbation sessions and it was an ability he was thankful for. The two of them continued their unusual thrill of non-stop sex in the public stairwell, until the man could barely hold back anymore.
Man (whispering by her ear): ‘Where should I shoot baby?’
Sharmine: ‘In my mouth!’
Shit! Why did I say that? Sharmine had no idea as well. He pulled out of her and she turned around, kneeling onto his toes while his dick closed in on her mouth like a shark approaching its prey. Her mouth opened and he did not have to hold her still this time. Her hand went to his hairy pubic and held the base firmly at a comfortable angle before her mouth took over, sucking like a pro on that well-endowed throbbing rod.
Forcing her own head down his shaft, he placed an arm on the wall to balance himself, while his head tilted backwards to let his senses flow better. A little bite did surprised him, but the smile with her busy mouth showed that it was just to enhance the end. She kept going with the oral sex and the groans he made gave her a standing of how good she was at it.
About five minutes later, her tired mouth was finally at the last lap and he was about to cum as well, from the sudden silence. She reached for his balls with her fingers and felt the shrinking. A split second later, the thick hot juices gushed out of his pee hole and poured into her mouth, flooding her tongue with an expected sweet taste to it. With her mouth filling up quickly, she gave a light suck and ran her lips down his shaft for the last few times, ensuring he had emptied however much he had.
A pop sound ended the cum-in-mouth and he stumbled backwards to the railings. Sharmine got up and went to him, with the panties still at her ankle. She opened her mouth and showed him how much he had released.
Man: ‘Swallow it.’
Her mouth closed, and a gulp cleared her throat. He pinched her cheeks to see that everything was not wasted and then left her to pull his pants back up, taking his time since he got what he wanted. After he was done, he went back to Sharmine, and pressed her against the wall.
Man: ‘I’m going to keep your panties.’
She stepped out of the undies and ran up the steps to her place, officially escaping from the unwanted sex she got. Juices were still leaking down her legs, but nonetheless the worst was over. The man left the area once out of her sight and had in fact given Sharmine an experience she would not forget. He was the man her family had always bought fruits from at a wet market nearby, but as a jewel of the family, Sharmine did not remember much of the fortnightly visits to the market, perhaps when they meet again, she would recall better this time.
The feeling of his throbbing dick resonated in her mind whenever she thought of what happened, and her pussy would get wet instinctively, as though she wanted it to happen again.
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Jack continued to work against the clock to uncover Margot’s plot to take out President Heller. Will Jack be able to stop Margot in the end?
The May 19 episode of 24: Live Another Day was an action-packed and highly-intense episode. Jack (Kiefer Sutherland) raced to prove the drone assassination attempt on President Heller (William Devane), Kate (Yvonne Strahovski) started to question her beliefs yet again and Jack entered Audrey’s (Kim Raver) orbit for the first time in years! Read on for all the details on tonight’s episode!
’24: Live Another Day’ Recap: Escape Plan
When the May 19 episode of 24: Live Another Day resumed, the situation outside the Embassy was still as chaotic as ever. Jack was already inside the Embassy, but Kate was onto him. Jack easily knocked out a security officer and slipped into his clothes. Jack was after Tanner (John Boyega), in order to prove the impending attack on President Heller. Chloe (Mary Lynn Rajskub) helped Jack get deep inside the building. However, she realized that Adrian (Michael Wincott) was responsible for Jack being denied initial entry into the Embassy. Despite Adrian’s reservations about Jack, Chloe vowed to help him. “I owe Jack,” she said. “I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.”
Jack found his way to Tanner’s room, but a Marine guard was keeping watch. When the guard didn’t do what he asked, Jack knocked him out. Jack knew Tanner wasn’t guilty and told him about the potential terrorist attack on Heller. Tanner was still wary of Jack’s intentions. Jack told Tanner he believed his story and his only shot to get cleared was to trust him.
Meanwhile, Kate was close. Jack left Tanner and went to escape. When Kate entered Tanner’s room, she knew Bauer had taken Tanner’s flight key and had a security pass. This prompted an Embassy lockdown, which made it increasingly difficult for Jack to escape. Chloe said it was over and he was going to get caught. However, Jack always finds a way.
’24: Live Another Day’ Recap: Keeping Secrets
Margot (Michelle Fairley) and her son continued to work on the drone plan. He said he would be able to take control of the drones within the hour. Simone (Emily Berrington) and Navid (Sacha Dhawan) reunited after a week apart. He was unsure of Margot’s plan and wanted to run away. Simone pleaded with him to go through with the plan and then they could be together. He forced her to choose and she chose him, but didn’t look so sure about it.
Jack was still trying to escape and made Chloe promise him to get the information to Heller, no matter what happened to him. She gave him her word. Jack found a communications room where he could unload the data from the flight key. However, it was encrypted and would take some time. He barricaded himself inside and when he had one of the hostages open the door, he shot at incoming Marines!
Margot knew something was up with Simone as soon as she saw her. Margot confessed that Navid didn’t want to pilot the drones and wanted to leave with Simone in tow. Simone asked her mother not to kill Navid because she loved him. Margot told her that she would do whatever was necessary to get him to pilot the drones. (And she sure meant anything.)
Heller was still speaking to Parliament and how they could move forward from the attack. During his speech, Mark (Tate Donovan) received a call from Navarro (Benjamin Bratt) about Jack’s situation. Navarro told Mark that Jack had holed himself inside the communications room and had hostages. Keeping Jack a secret from Heller and Audrey was no longer an option for Mark. After Heller finished off strong in front of Parliament, Mark broke the news to Heller and Audrey. Audrey was shocked to have just heard about Jack. Mark pleaded with Heller to develop a plan of attack, but Heller wasn’t going to do anything until he spoke to Jack.
As Jack watched the encryption program unload the data from the flight key, the Marines outside were planning to close in on the room. Jack told the Captain to stay back or he would kill the hostages. However, Jack told the hostages he had no intention of killing them. Kate and Erik (Gbenga Akinnagbe) tried to talk to Tanner about what he knew about Bauer. Tanner said Bauer was the only one who believed him. He also revealed that Jack believed there would be a full-scale terrorist attack coming soon and Kate started to question whether Jack was actually telling the truth.
’24: Live Another Day’ Recap: Don’t Mess With Margot
As Navid was packing to leave, Simone and Margot entered his room. Margot told him she was going to give him only one chance to change his mind. He wasn’t going to murder innocent people. Margot called his beliefs cowardice. She assured him that he would pilot the drones. In order for him to comply, Margot told her men to chop off Simone’s wedding ring finger!
Kate called Navarro and told him what she knew about Jack. Kate wanted Navarro to get her patched into the call between President Heller and Jack. Jordan (Giles Matthey) started to believe Kate’s feelings about Jack, but Navarro told him that his own feelings toward Kate were clouding his judgment.
After years of radio silence, Heller and Jack finally spoke. Jack told Heller right away that the drones were compromised and an attack was imminent. Tanner’s drone flight was a test to show that the drone technology worked. He said that Margot would use the drone without mercy. Jack offered to turn himself in after it was all over. Heller asked why Jack didn’t come to him initially, but Jack pulled the “you had me labeled as a terrorist” card and said he didn’t feel comfortable.
After the call, Audrey knew Jack wasn’t making the attack up. Mark said Jack had just broken Chloe out of government holding and she was involved in the release of highly-classified government documents. Mark thought the terrorist threat was a cover up. Audrey and Mark continued to go at it over Jack and tensions became high between the married couple. However, Audrey had another person to be angry with: Her father. Heller told the Marines to go in on Jack when they were ready. (Uh oh.)
’24: Live Another Day’ Recap: Surrender & Cease Fire
Chloe showed Adrian how much damage Margot would do with 10 drones at her disposal. She pleaded with him to help her. Adrian refused and asked why Chloe was so wrapped up with Jack. Chloe refused to answer.
Audrey was still angry at Mark for not telling her about Jack. Mark said she was letting her personal feelings get in the way of her judgments. However, Audrey said it was his personal feelings that were getting in the way. Audrey knew Mark was making the wrong call. “God help us if I’m right,” she said.
The Captain told his Marine to take a shot at Bauer when he got the chance. Navarro was finding out all he could about Margot, but that wasn’t enough for Kate. She found a vent that led directly into the communications room. Kate was willing to take the risk, even though Jack could kill her. The upload was nearly finished and then the cameras cut off. Chloe told Jack to surrender, but he was going to stall security as long as possible. Erik told the Marines that Kate was trying to enter the room. Kate was just above the room and asked Jack to hold his fire. She told him that she could get him out alive. If he gave her the flight key, she would finish the upload. Jack asked why he should trust her and she replied that she believed his claims!
Suddenly, the Marines blew open the door, but Kate said Jack was her priority now. She got the Marines to back off and was ready to take Jack into her custody! However, Kate and Jack better act quick because Margot plan was underway and Navid was set to take over the drones!
HollywoodLifers, what did you think of tonight’s 24: Live Another Day? Does Kate really believe Jack? Are Audrey and Mark walking on thin ice? Will Margot’s plan succeed? Let us know your thoughts!
— Avery Thompson
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I took the day to read Edmund Clowney’s Called to the Ministry and it was a little book of good reminders as I process how all Christians are called to ministry.
I am further challenged to think that the “fruit” Jesus is talking about in John 14 & 15 is that of an evangelistic nature. He is sending his men out to make disciples and enlarge the kingdom – their fruit is those added to Christ in belief. This is the call then for all believers – to be about fruit of salvation, a fruit others enjoy as they meet Christ.
Some of us may be called to vocational ministry as well and by no means is this a more important call or one that holds all the responsibility to share the gospel. Instead it is a call of equipping, living in such a way that believers around us are prepared to evangelize and truly live the gospel. Vocational ministers are the example not the exclusive worker.
What does your ministry look like and why have you been denying your call to it? These are questions the believer must answer daily as we live to share what we have…
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Seals 'brought TB to the Americas before Europeans'
The long-held idea that Europeans were the first to bring tuberculosis to the Americas when they arrived in the 15th Century has been thrown into doubt.
Instead, a study suggests that the deadly disease was present in the area hundreds of years before Christopher Columbus made landfall.
Genetic tests reveal that humans were probably not responsible for moving TB to the New World at all - instead, seals carried it there.
Johannes Krause, from the University of Tuebingen, in Germany, said: "Who would have thought seals were actually transmitting one of the deadliest diseases to South America about a thousand years ago?
"That was definitely a big surprise."
When the Europeans arrived in the New World, they brought with them a deadly wave of diseases. It is estimated that 90% of Native Americans were wiped out by new infections.
But this study suggests at least one of these bugs - tuberculosis - was already circulating there.
Scientists have unearthed three ancient Peruvian skeletons that contain DNA from strains of TB. These 1,000-year-old remains predate the Europeans' arrival by about 500 years.
"We compared the genome - the entire genetic information - of these ancient strains with the modern bacterium that forms today's Mycobacterium tuberculosis complex and what we found was the ancient Peruvian strains were not typical European, Asian or African strains that we find in humans today," Prof Krause told BBC Radio 4's Inside Science programme.
The puzzle was that while TB was spreading around Africa, Europe and Asia 1,000 years ago, scientists were unsure how a new and unusual strain jumped across the ocean to hit American people.
"We were thinking to ourselves: 'How did it get to Americas?' We were joking: 'Was it flying? Was it swimming?'" said Prof Krause.
"But then we saw it was indeed swimming. It was disseminated by seals."
Seal for dinner
The researchers found that the TB strain present in the Peruvian skeletons was very similar to strains of TB that are found in seals and sea lions today.
The researchers believe the marine mammals picked up the disease from people in Africa, where tuberculosis originated, and then carried it across the ocean.
It then spread to Native Americans, who hunted seals and most likely ate contaminated meat.
Prof Krause explained: "There is evidence of seal exploitation on the coast of Peru.
"Seals have been a very important economic factor. They were hunted, their hides were used, their meat was used, the oil was used. They were really quite an important animal there."
What is unclear is whether people in America picked up each case of TB from a seal, or whether, once they had contracted the disease, it was able to spread from human to human.
But while seals were most likely the first to bring TB to the Americas, evidence suggests the first Europeans to arrive there were probably carrying another deadly strain of the disease.
"The Spaniards brought the European TB with them too, and these probably caused mass epidemics in North and South America," said Prof Krause.
"It seems pretty clear that what we have today in North and South America is a European version of tuberculosis."
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I met him in a church we were attending. I’ll call him Bob Rice. That’s not his real name, but it will do. From the first moment we met, it was clear that Bob wasn’t in good physical shape at all. He was beyond middle-age, but many of his problems were not age-related. We became friends and one day he told me his story. It’s a rather strange story that I will pass on to you.
When he was young man, Bob, was a hard worker. He did construction and like a lot of young guys in that business, when he wasn’t working he liked to party. Hard. He was a hard drinker. Needless to say, but I will anyway, Bob wasn’t interested in religion of any kind, certainly not Christianity. In fact, his favorite swear words were JESUS CHRIST!!! He used them often.
One night after he had been doing a lot of drinking, he got in his truck (he was proud of that truck) and headed home. But he went just a little too fast. Instead, making it home, he ran off the road and crashed. The truck was totaled and he about totaled his body. As messed up as he was, he should have died. Instead, Bob went into a coma that lasted six months. During that time, he wasn’t aware of anything. Basically, he was a vegetable. And that’s the way his family expected he would remain. But at the end of six months, something happened.
Bob “awoke” to find himself standing on a flat desert. There was nothing in any direction as far as he could see. As strange as it was, everything was completely real, not like a dream at all. Suddenly, in the distance he saw something. A figure was walking toward him. When it got closer he could tell that it was a man. Then he got really close and Bob saw who it was. And it was the last person he ever expected to meet. It was Jesus. Of course, because he didn’t believe in Him, Bob was absolutely shocked. Unfortunately, when he was shocked he had a very limited vocabulary, in fact, basically, one response, which he used at that very moment.
Staring wide-eyed, he yelled, “JESUS CHRIST!!!”
To which, Jesus stared right back and yelled, “BOB RICE!!!”
Well, they had a long, serious talk. Soon afterward, Bob awoke from his coma and his life was never the same. There was physical damage that would stay with him. But far more important, he gave his life to Jesus. After all, he had met Him personally.
So that’s Bob’s little story. He’s not what you would call a sophisticated man, but he’s a good man who loves Jesus very much.
I was thinking about swear words the other day. I have a lot of friends who use JESUS CHRIST!!! the same way Bob did. A lot of good Christians get very upset by that. I have a feeling that it doesn’t bother Jesus at all. Think about it. If someone constantly used your name that way how would you feel? If someone yelled COLEMAN LUCK!!! all the time, I’m afraid I’d be laughing at the straight-out silliness of it.
But there is something to consider. When you yell, JESUS CHRIST!!!, He hears and you may get His special attention. Just like Bob Rice, He knows your name too, and He cares about you. It may be more like a prayer than you realize.
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Last night was eventful in ways I do not wish to consider right now. So many little things occurred in such short time that I neglected to force myself to really think. My superstitions and uncertainty took over and I was left a sniveling child longing for her mother’s arms.
Terror is a feeling I was familiar with as a child. It was brought on by that which I could touch and feel, and the horrifying imaginations those things left me with. I’ve denied myself the luxury of that feeling since the day I left home. Last night was the single exception in all of these years. So many pieces fell into place in the deep and dark of the night, that I could not gather myself, or make strong. However, I’m happy that it happened.
I think that, perhaps, the events that transpired last night were needed in order to cleanse me of my arrogance where this place is concerned. Since He died, I’ve forced myself to endure the black night with no fear, when storms took the light away and the darkness was all encompassing and unscathed by manmade light. I have refused fear of the noises and frightening tidbits that He would address for me, when He lived. I have refused to so much as pick up my gun, even when I was certain that trouble lurked somewhere beyond my sight. Last night, I learned that all of these self imposed lessons meant nothing if I allowed my guard to come down; if I failed to respect the truth in the natural world I live in and allow superstition and fear to run their course.
Looking back, I see the pieces of the night and how they fit together to create the sheer terror that I felt. I see the moment in which I gave in to that terror. ‘Fear’ simply does not touch on the extreme emotion that caused my heart to pound, ears ringing from the vantablack horrifica and the unseen weapons it presented and used against me. Yet, with a few hours sleep and the light of day, I feel purged of something…something that I can’t quite put a finger on. I feel clean and solidly at peace with myself. Terror is an all-engaging emotion. It leaves no part of your body, soul or spirit untouched by its power. It’s an internal test of faith and strength and all such things that allow us to walk bravely through this world. Terror will strip you to the bone, deconstructing and rearranging your perception. It is an anesthetic that paralyzes everything strong within you. It is an adversary that you cannot allow to win.
I never missed my beloved desert as much as I did last night. In this place, trees lock you in like prison bars and deny you view of what lies beyond. The desert, a proud and treacherous lady, is still gracious enough to grant you clear view of what might come from miles around. There is more comfort in that than I ever realized. Until last night.
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This post is in praise of Enid, a character from Daniel Clowes’ graphic novel Ghost World, which was made into a great cult film starring Thora Birch and Scarlett Johannson. Thora is brilliant in this film. I fell in love with her portrayal of Enid. Enid is me. I am Enid, She is my inner female, without a doubt. If I were a woman, I would be Enid. She is witty, sexy, and kind of otherworldly. You can’t hope to really get to know her, you can only marvel at her existence. Daniel Clowes’ version is a bit darker than the film version. Thora brings a sweetness to the character, hidden beneath her constant stream of sarcasm. This is the Enid I prefer. She wants everyone to think she doesn’t give a damn, but secretly she cares. A lot! Just like me.
Enid spots this fetish item in a porn shop and cannot resist putting it on. She sees humor in the sordid, as do I. Hey, look I’m Batgirl! She doesn’t say that in the film, but she should have! Daniel Clowes created an enigma with the Enid character. You want to get inside her head and examine her brain. She is drawn to the rejected, the lonely, the crazy lost souls of Ghost World. Ghost World is clearly her world. She is vibrantly alive, surrounded by ghosts.
I was struck by the scene shown below, in which Enid and her friend talk to the crazy old guy that always sits at an abandoned bustop. They try to explain that the bus doesn’t stop there anymore, but he insists it does. At the end of the film, a bus does arrive at this bustop and Enid boards it. This bus is from ‘another place’, as David Lynch would put it, and now Enid is where she belongs, far far away from the dismal Ghost World the rest of us have to endure. She is dressed in red, which is rich in symbolic meaning which I won’t go into here.
I feel as though I know Enid, as though she is a real person. I can feel her presence, commenting acidly on our current cultural stupidity. She pretends to be shocked, but she never is. Nothing gets past Enid.
The movie doesn’t give us the pleasure of seeing Enid as a little girl, although Clowes’ did a few Ghost World comics with little Enid. I bought a great Little Enid action figure which I have to share with you, because it is unbearably cute.
It was unfortunate that the film did not include the reason for the film’s name. The name Ghost World came from graffiti the girls saw scrawled on a garage door. I love that image. It could have been at the end of the opening credits or something. If only they could have had me there to advise them!
Finally, I will leave you with a great shot from the film. The genius of this film was in capturing how kids fresh out of high school really look and act. Enid is the essence of cool, but also a confused young woman too wise for her years.
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Wellington Jarard Reynolds (1865 – 1949) was born on April 9, 1865 on the family farm in New Lenox, Illinois. His parents, Susan and Joseph Smith Reynolds had eight children, but only two were alive to witness the birth of Wellington, the eighth child.
Reynolds entered the school of the recently established Art Institute of Chicago in the fall of 1885. In the Annual Exhibition of June, 1887 he was awarded First Prize in the Antiques Department for a group of seven works. The award was accompanied by a tuition receipt for one term. Reynolds did not apply the award in the fall of 1887, however, for he and his new wife, Frances, left for Europe that October. The couple established themselves in Munich where Wellington entered the Royal Academy. He also studied privately with Simon Hollósy at a small private school called the Hollósy Academy. His wife fell ill however, so the couple returned to the Midwest where Frances died in 1889. Reynolds later returned to Munich with his young son, Ralph, to continue his art studies.
Sometime before leaving Munich for Paris in 1894 Wellington married a Chicago miniature artist by the name of Virginia R. Keeney. So it was that Reynolds, together with his second wife, Virginia, and his son, Ralph, established themselves in Paris in the early fall of 1894. Reynolds enrolled at the Académie Julian where he studied with Benjamin Constant and Jean-Paul Laurens. Later he became a student at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts.
Reynolds and his family returned to Chicago in 1898 where they took residence in the Tree Studio Building. It was not long before the artist was recognized as one of the best known portrait painters in the city. Tragedy struck again when Virginia died of an embolism on June 11, 1903 while the family was on vacation in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. A year later Reynolds accepted a position on the faculty of the Academy of Fine Arts as instructor in anatomy. He won a medal in 1908 in the Marshall Field Exhibition and in 1910 the Chicago Society of Artists presented its Medal of Honor to Reynolds for a group of eight portraits and scenes which he had displayed at the Art Institute of Chicago that year.
In the fall of 1913 Reynolds joined the Faculty of the Art Institute of Chicago at the invitation of its director, William M. R. French. Reynolds taught at the School of the Art Institute until he was retired with a small pension, the first teacher ever to receive a pension at that institution, in 1938. In 1921 his Ave Maria won the Norman Wait Harris Bronze Medal at the Art Institute; this painting was entered in the Paris Salon in 1925 and won a Silver Medal for Reynolds, the highest award which could be bestowed upon an artist who was not a resident of France.
Upon his retirement in 1938 Reynolds returned to the Academy of Fine Art and he reestablished a private studio as well which almost cost him his Art Institute pension. However, ill health and an injury to his back suffered in a fall resulted in the artist being committed to Manteno State Hospital for a period of several years. Eleanor Jewett, the art critic of the Chicago Tribune for over thirty years, and several of her society friends (one of whom had been a student of the artist), secured Reynolds release and established him in a studio in the Artists Colony on East 57th Street near the Museum of Science and Industry. His frailty and dependencies had precluded his ability to earn his living as a teacher, however, and his impaired vision had reduced his ability to produce a body of salable works. Reynolds died while a charity patient in Cook County Hospital on January 22, 1949.
Work Available For Sale
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A man had the habit of using drugs, then he repented and Allah guided him to the straight path. So what is your guidance for him and the one who is in a similar situation? If he has debts due to people for these drugs or people request money from him due to these drugs, does he take the money he has and pay what is owing on him knowing it is for drugs?
First: We congratulate this man whom Allah blessed with steadfastness and leaving off nonsense affairs and the destroyers of the souls. We say, ‘All praise is due to Allah for this rescue which by it you have been saved.’
Second: everything that he earned from this unlawful way is unlawful upon him. However, as for what is with him then Allah, the Exalted said:
فَمَنْ جَاءَهُ مَوْعِظَةٌ مِنْ رَبِّهِ فَانتَهَى فَلَهُ مَا سَلَفَ وَأَمْرُهُ إِلَى اللَّه
So whosoever receives an admonition from his Lord and stops eating Riba (usury) shall not be punished for the past; his case is for Allah (to judge);
Except that if he has the drugs themselves, then it is obligatory to destroy them. As for the receivables of the people, then he has taken it from them. However, he gives it in charity to free himself from it, not as a means to draw near to Allah. It is not possible that he returns it to the people so that they combine between the compensation [for the product] and the product. Rather we say: take what is from their receivables and give it in charity and do not enter it into your wealth. Rather, give it as charity to get rid of it and that will solve the issue.
As for what he owes the people for the cost of these drugs, then he should prevent paying it back. He should say, ‘I will not pay you because this is something unlawful. Unlawful things do not have price in the legislation.’ However, in this situation, he gives charity in the amount he took from the people so that he does not combine between having the compensation [for the product] and the product.
[Liqaa ash-Shahri no. 15 found here]
Faisal Ibn Abdul Qaadir Ibn Hassan
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Yoshihisa Maitani who designed the legendary Olympus Pen series of film cameras has died just a month after the classic design was re-launched for the digital era.rnrn
Yoshihisa Maitani who designed the legendary Olympus Pen series of film cameras (pictured) has died just a month after the classic design was re-launched for the digital era.
The Olympus Pen first appeared in 1959 and 17m were sold worldwide, according to Olympus.
Maitani created the camera to be ‘ as easy to use and carry as a pen’.
On its website chronicling the history of the Pen-series camera, the firm states: ‘The design process began with the concept of creating a camera that could be sold for Yen 6,000. The Pen combined the superb photographic performance of the D-Zuiko lens with excellent portability, and it was also used by professional photographers as a secondary camera.’
Last month Olympus took the wraps of the E-P1 (pictured below), a Micro Four Thirds digital camera that Olympus hopes will emulate the success of its classic forefather.
Maitani is understood to have died from respiratory failure at a hospital in Tokyo.
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Oh, wait, You're Here!
Todd has us flushing out the lies we believe about ourselves and recognizing the true self of the Christ in us. Looking in Luke 1 at how Mary responded to the truth of her overshadowing by the Holy Spirit and how she fully believed and received, in her now, her qualification even in her lowliness. God has never been un-accepting of you, ever. He is always here and always for you. We need to really get this settled in our soul.
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Click to enlarge.
The first Dutch settlement in the New World was at Communipaw, about 1615—before the landing of the Mayflower. It was from here that colonisation went out to the island of Manhattan across the river; so that, in reality, New York was a colony of Jersey City originally. For the Hudson estuary, Jersey City is the "mother city," from which, if we are to follow the original meanings of words, Jersey City would be the real "metropolis" of that region.
To the Dutch settlers, the west side of the Hudson was "the hills"—Bergen in Dutch. Names like North Bergen, Bergen Square, and Bergen Avenue, perpetuate this name around Jersey City; and, in fact the name of Bergen was formerly given to the village which included the Journal Square district. After the restoration of English monarchy in 1660, King Charles II decided to assert his alleged claim of "discovery" to the New Netherlands, and, before gaining possession, assigned the ownership of that piece of real estate to his brother James (later King James II, but then entitled Duke of York and Albany). Duke James, in turn, assigned part of his claim, a strip between the Hudson and the Delaware, to Lord Carteret of the Isle of Jersey in l663.
(Note: The Isle of Jersey was originally called Caesarea, of which its present name is the modern French version. That island is off the coast of Normandy, and it was from there that both Caesar and William the Conqueror started on their invasion of Britain; therefore the Jersiais claim that England is Jersey's possession, and not vice versa. The island was named for Caesar.)
Lord Carteret, in addition to buying the land from Duke James, then went to Holland and bought it over again from the Dutch. He brought a colony of English over to his land, leaving his wife, Lady Elizabeth Carteret, in charge of actual governing of the colony, the English colonists’ town being named Elizabeth after her. Her headquarters was a house in that town which was then known as "The "White House"—possibly it was from the New Jersey house that the one in Washington has inherited that title. Elizabeth Carteret appears to have been the first woman governor of any province of European settlement. The arrangement the Carterets set out provided for a representative assembly in an advisory capacity—a comparatively new thing in that time, as Virginia's House of Burgesses had not yet attained real recognition, and New York did not acquire any form of representative government till some 25 years later. The Carterets also decreed universal tolerance of all religious beliefs on an equal basis; which was more than England had at the time. The colony was named for the Isle of Jersey, a name still borne by New Jersey and by Jersey City.
The Andros dictatorship (1685-89) took possession of New Jersey in 1688. It was ended by a revolt in Boston (April l8, l689), and in New York (June 6, 1689). In this case, the Carteret regime was restored in New Jersey while New York still remained loyal to the dictatorship.
In the American Revolution, New York City was headquarters for British forces and for the Tories in this country, while New Jersey was the chief point from which rebels struck at the forces in New York. After the peace, United States was able to annex New York City, and it was in Jersey City (at the crossing of Grand and Washington Streets) that General Washington dismissed the Continental army.
Jersey City played a certain part in the start of the Civil War; for there, at the B. & O. Station, started the first Northern regiment to start for the South, on April 19, 1861 (the 6th Massachusetts regiment); a few hours later, the first bloodshed of the war took place in Baltimore.
Several inventions have been made in Jersey City; particularly some of Edison’s inventions, as he had, for a while, a laboratory in the Marion section of the city. There, on some trial tracks running close to the Pennsylvania R. R. tracks, were operated the first workable electric cars; and there much of the experimenting for electric lights was done.
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Thursday 7 March 1666/67
So up, and to the office, my head full of Carcasse’s business; then hearing that Knipp is at my house, I home, and it was about a ticket for a friend of hers. I do love the humour of the jade very well. So to the office again, not being able to stay, and there about noon my Lord Bruncker did begin to talk of Carcasse’s business. Only Commissioner Pett, my Lord, and I there, and it was pretty to see how Pett hugged the occasion of having anything against Sir W. Batten, which I am not much troubled at, for I love him not neither. Though I did really endeavour to quash it all I could, because I would prevent their malice taking effect. My Lord I see is fully resolved to vindicate Carcasse, though to the undoing of Sir W. Batten, but I believe he will find himself in a mistake, and do himself no good, and that I shall be glad of, for though I love the treason I hate the traitor. But he is vexed at my moving it to the Duke of York yesterday, which I answered well, so as I think he could not answer. But, Lord! it is pretty to see how Pett hugs this business, and how he favours my Lord Bruncker; who to my knowledge hates him, and has said more to his disadvantage, in my presence, to the King and Duke of York than any man in England, and so let them thrive one with another by cheating one another, for that is all I observe among them. Thence home late, and find my wife hath dined, and she and Mrs. Hewer going to a play. Here was Creed, and he and I to Devonshire House, to a burial of a kinsman of Sir R. Viner’s; and there I received a ring, and so away presently to Creed, who staid for me at an alehouse hard by, and thence to the Duke’s playhouse, where he parted, and I in and find my wife and Mrs. Hewer, and sat by them and saw “The English Princesse, or Richard the Third;” a most sad, melancholy play, and pretty good; but nothing eminent in it, as some tragedys are; only little Mis. Davis did dance a jig after the end of the play, and there telling the next day’s play; so that it come in by force only to please the company to see her dance in boy’s ‘clothes; and, the truth is, there is no comparison between Nell’s dancing the other day at the King’s house in boy’s clothes and this, this being infinitely beyond the other. Here was Mrs. Clerke and Pierce, to whom one word only of “How do you,” and so away home, Mrs. Hewer with us, and I to the office and so to [Sir] W. Batten’s, and there talked privately with him and [Sir] W. Pen about business of Carcasse against tomorrow, wherein I think I did give them proof enough of my ability as well as friendship to [Sir] W. Batten, and the honour of the office, in my sense of the rogue’s business. So back to finish my office business, and then home to supper, and to bed. This day, Commissioner Taylor come to me for advice, and would force me to take ten pieces in gold of him, which I had no mind to, he being become one of our number at the Board. This day was reckoned by all people the coldest day that ever was remembered in England; and, God knows! coals at a very great price.
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Anitelea Tuilagi " Rugby " Autograph £8.00
This is an In Person signed white card 6" x 4" by the Samoan Rugby Union footballer obtained when with Sale Sharks.
Anitelea "Andy" Tuilagi (born 5 June 1986) is a Samoan rugby union player who most recently played for Sale Sharks in the Aviva Premiership either at wing or outside centre. He has played for Samoa, as well as club rugby for Leicester Tigers, in the Guinness Premiership, and a season loan at Leeds Tykes, now Leeds Carnegie, in National Division One. Tuilagi made his Leicester debut at Welford Road against Gloucester as a replacement. Tuilagi is the younger brother of Henry, Freddie and Alex who are also Samoan internationals and all of whom have played for Leicester Tigers. He became the fourth member of the Tuilagi family to play at Leicester since elder brother Freddie Tuilagi made the move from St Helens rugby league club in June 2000. Two younger brothers, Vavae and Manu have also played for the Tigers. He has gained seven caps for Samoa.
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Exodus 32:4, "And he received them at their hand, and fashioned it with a graving tool, after he had made it a molten calf: and they said, These be thy gods Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt."
This morning, there is so much to distract the child of God from his devotion and thoughts of Christ. Recently, I read a report that more than 60% of people in this country spend more of their waking hours on their cell phone than any other activity. Every day the distractions increase, become easier to engage in, and sweep up large chunks of our time. More often than not, activities such as these are not intrinsically sinful, but the prolific occurrence of them makes them so. In recent meditations and writings, I have been reminded once again that the greatest threat and enemy to a church or individual is idolatry. When something takes an equal or higher position to our Lord, His kingdom, and His service, we have fallen prey and guilty once again to one of the most heinous offences before the Almighty. As Scripture declares, idolatry revolves around a basic motivation: covetousness. (Colossians 3:5) Whenever we want something for ourselves more than doing for the Lord, we have idolized that person or thing that we covet after. However, one of the utterly amazing things about idolatry is that by standing back a bit and viewing the scene objectively, idolatry is seen better for how it really is: completely and totally ridiculous.
In the passage our study verse resides in, we can look at many different circumstances that make our study verse seem all the more surreal. However, by the end of the lesson, the surreal nature of it will take on a much more painful tone: injuring our own silly and prideful notions. Moses is currently on top of Mt Sinai with the Lord receiving the 10 Commandments and other patterns of worship directly from the Lord. He has been up there so long that the people's impatience grows into convincing Aaron to make them an idol, which he does in our verse. By taking their gold, he makes a calf, and fashions it into – doubtless – a naturally good-looking piece of craftsmanship. The sight of this craftsmanship incites the people to proclaim this non-living piece of metal a god that delivered them out of Egypt.
The more I consider this scene, the more I find that makes an objective observer's gaze both sad and amusing. Let us take note of a few things in this scene that make their actions all the more foolish. Simply because Moses had been gone up into the mount for a long time, they decided to choose a different path based on how they felt. Their statement was that they did not know what had become of Moses (Verse 1), so they were going to do things that they felt were right. Friends, that is always a dangerous road to start down, and consider how much they still had before them to prove to them they did not need to choose a path of their own making. Though Moses was still in the mount, the mountain still had a cloud upon it denoting that the Lord was still in their midst. This sight of the mountain was go great and terrible that even Moses himself feared, but the people even moreso. (Exodus 24:16, Hebrews 12:21)
Whether day or night, they always had a pillar of cloud or pillar of fire to guide them and show the Lord's presence with them. (Exodus 13:21) Therefore, no matter how many days and nights it took Moses on their mountain, they had every evidence necessary that God was still with them. In fact, they were shown whether to stay camped or arise and move based on the pillar's movement or lack thereof. So, if the cloud and fire had been stationary all the while that Moses was on Sinai, then they had no reason to even think that it was time to go anywhere. Looking at the evidences that God had placed, one could reasonably say, "God was manifest all around them, above them, before, and beside them." Truly, He had set great signs and wonders to show forth His glory in their midst so that it would seem impossible that someone in such a position could doubt, stray, or turn from the right path.
Have you ever run into the mindset (or had it yourself), "If I could see the things the Bible talks about, I wouldn't doubt, and my fears that I struggle with would be taken away." I have encountered many people with that mindset, but interestingly, the people that did experience these things were guilty of the same doubts, fears, and stumblings that we have today. Even with God evidently all around them, they still idolatrously ran after their own fallen and frail ways. Lest we come down too harshly on these wayward people (though they justly deserve consternation for their actions), Paul clearly makes a point that we are very much like them. (I Corinthians 10:1-13) Though we should learn not to do many of the things that they did, we still are guilty of the same things with a similar set of circumstances.
One might protest here, "Preacher, I've never crafted a golden calf and called that my god that delivered me." Nor have I. However, idolatry comes in many forms, but every time, we have a set of manifest circumstances like they had that make our decisions seem even more foolish. No, we do not see a mount that burns with fire and has a cloud of glory descend upon it like they saw on Sinai that day, nor do we have a pillar of cloud and fire that tells us when to move and when to stop. However, consider what we do have all around us. The Lord promised that He would continue the ordinances of the sun and moon by day and night. (Jeremiah 31:35-36) Every day that we live, the sun rises and sets during the day, while the moon continues as a light by night. Why do these ordinances remain? God commanded them so, and whether in the day or night, we have clear evidence that God still rules and reigns on His throne. Just as they had the pillar by day and night, we have the firm promise that ordinances will be seen in heaven that declare to us that God is in our midst.
In looking at what we do have today as opposed to that day at Sinai, Paul describes much of what we have in our mountain (Zion) that supersedes Sinai in many respects. (Hebrews 12:18-24) While we do not see literal smoke and fire upon a literal mountain, our worship in Mount Zion shows more glory than they had then. We do not have literal tables of stone written on by the finger of God like they did then, but our Book has more glory and sureness than they did then. Our mountain has the glory of the Lord in the descending of the Holy Ghost (I Peter 1:12), and the Bible of God's word from which we preach was Divinely breathed into existence by God's inspiration. Every time the Lord takes a mortal man and blesses him with power from the demonstration of the Holy Ghost and accompanies that power with assurance to the hearts and souls of the saints, we experience more glory and majesty than they had that day. (I Thessalonians 1:5)
What about falling into idolatry? We so often put things before our eyes that end up commanding the lion's share of our time and attention. Though we have daily reminders through the creation that God is still here and reigning as He promised, we forget Him often through our journeys of life. Though He has blessed us with awesome power and majesty in the mountain of His church, we neglect so often to honour that glory with our presence, prayers, and/or energy. We might find a reason not to be there, or when we get there, we might find a reason to worship and praise Him with little to no energy of service. Is this any different than making a molten calf and calling it your god? Not really. Consider.
The result of making this idol was that the people ate, drank, and played before it (Verse 6). It became a source of entertainment and fulfillment of fleshly pleasure for them, and should it have remained long enough, they would have followed it whithersoever it went. So are the idols of today. They become the source of people's entertainment and fulfillment of fleshly pleasure. Whether it pertains to recreation of sports and leisure, occupation of job and moneymaking, or relationships of family or otherwise, each idol serves to source our entertainment and fulfill some fleshly longing. Again, many of these idols are not intrinsically bad just as molten craftsmanship in that day was not synonymous with idolatry. They become so when we attach levels of appreciation to them that no one or nothing deserves outside of God Almighty.
Friends, we have countless evidences in the creation that God still rules and reigns. We have countless evidences in His church that He will meets with us in a place of glory. No matter how impatient we may get over the circumstances we face, let us never give in to delusions of grandeur from self-centered thinking. It leads to idolatry every time. We will – as creatures – worship something. It may be ourselves or our own worth, but we will worship something. May we contain our worship to the One that truly delivered us from ourselves and the cruel mastery of Egypt's blackness. He has not left us, and the evidences are tremendous. Finally, when we read accounts like this one and think of how foolish these people appear, may we step back and observe our own paths. To someone reading an account of our activities, how foolish would we look to them? Let us adore Him for all that He has done, is doing, and will continue to do for all eternity.
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The sailboat skimmed along at great speed, parting the waves and joyfully jumping through troughs and crests. Invigorated by the air and the wind, Patrick, the skipper, sailed on in total abandon, enjoying the excitement of the moment as the boat sped on. What an extraordinary sensation of freedom! Patrick had been waiting for a long time for this outing and the reality was well beyond his greatest expectations. It was an excellent start to his vacation.
The sport filled afternoon was exhilarating, but Patrick had an appointment with a friend in Saint-Sauveur later in the day. The time moved on, but Patrick decided to prolong the pleasure, even though the sun was dipping towards the horizon. He finally surrendered to reality, but still had to bring the boat back to shore, transfer (Movement of the body from one surface to another, for example from the bed to a wheelchair. ) to the wheelchair, dress, and prepare for the evening… when you have a spinal cord injury (Refers to damage to the spinal medulla. ), ordinary activities take more time. It was already six o’clock! Patrick had to hurry, take a quick shower, pull on his pants and jump in the car. He spent a wonderful evening, reminiscing about the memories and events that had taken two old friends on different paths in life. After returning to the inn, Patrick was still quite thrilled.
However, his joy quickly faded and worry set in as he attended to his personal hygiene: two “fresh” wounds were visible on his buttocks. He quickly reviewed his dream day: boating on the water, wet skin, his rear end on a hard bench all afternoon, the quick shower (barely taking the time to towel dry!), the evening spent immobile in the wheelchair (over-absorbed in the joys of the moment, of course he forgot to transfer (Movement of the body from one surface to another, for example from the bed to a wheelchair. ) his weight!), the humidity in the air... All the ingredients needed for the skin of his buttocks to give way to the sustained aggression of pressure, friction, and humidity. The only elements lacking were sunburn and sea salt!
Although usually very disciplined, Patrick remembers the event: “It was not a pretty sight. It was the first day of my vacation and I totally forgot to pay attention to my skin. Complete recklessness! Unfortunately, my skin does not do well on vacation. I have lost all sensitivity and motor skills in my lower limbs. The depleted muscular mass and the immobility in a wheelchair create pressure on the skin of the buttocks.
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Dave Johnson, previously of Campaign for America's Future/People's Action and Center for Media and Democracy primarily writes about American trade, economic and labor issues. Prior to his work in politics he had more than 20 years of technology industry experience. His earlier career included senior positions including CEO and VP of Sales and Marketing. Before that he held technical positions, including video game design at Atari. He was a pioneer in design and development of productivity and educational applications of personal computers. More recently he helped co-found a company developing desktop systems to validate carbon trading in the US.
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The story of the excellent leaf by Catherine Broughton
Once upon a time a leaf was born on a tree.
He was a teeny weeny little leaf, all curled up so that at first he didn’t look like a leaf at all. In fact, at the very beginning he wasn’t even green, and everybody knows that leaves are usually green. He was a yellowy-pinkey colour, but as he grew he started to turn mostly yellow, then yellow-green. And at the same time he started to unfurl, a little more each hour, till all of a sudden there he was ! A beautiful bright green leaf.
He sat on the tree and he waved. He waved at the other leaves and at the other trees. He waved at the people that came by and at the grass and at the sky. Sometimes he got really wet when it rained, and sometimes he got really warm when the sun shone on him. He loved it on his tree, and he watched children playing in the park below and thought how lucky he was that he could just wave in the breeze all day long.
“I love it here on my tree,” said the leaf.
“It is not your tree,” said an older leaf. “It is everybody’s tree, and we are here only for a short while. Our job is to give shade if it is hot and shelter if it rains. Our job is to look beautiful so that people can admire us and all these lovely leaves.”
“I am the brightest green of all!” said the little leaf.
“For now you are,” said the older leaf, “but one day soon you will turn dark green.”
“Oh ….” the little leaf was disappointed.
“You will get bigger and dark green. Then, as the weeks go by and the weather gets colder, you will turn yellow again, and yellow red, and red-brown. That is when you will be your most beautiful.”
“Oh!” the little leaf was pleased.
“And then,” continued the big leaf, “you will be admired by all who see you.”
The little leaf was very very pleased about this.
“And what happens next?” he asked.
“As the days get colder and more windy, you will fall off.”
“No!” the little leaf was horrified.
“That is what we all do,” explained the older leaf. “It is called autumn. We turn our most beautiful colour and then we fall to the ground. It is fine. It is like flying.”
“But I want to stay on this tree for ever and ever,” sighed the little leaf.
“You will be somewhere else,” said the older leaf. “Perhaps you will nourish the ground under the tree, and perhaps you will be picked up and put in a child’s scrap book. Or you might be part of a lovely display in a vase. You will have to wait and see.”
Sure enough, just as the older leaf had explained, the little leaf got bigger and darker. He was stronger too, and he loved watching the children who came and went off and on all day and played on the swings and the slides. The days went by and the little leaf started to turn a bit yellow at the edges, then a bit reddish and brownish. The weather was no longer so warm. And the leaf got redder and browner. He looked around him and saw that the older leaves were already starting to fall off the tree.
“Soon it will be my turn,” he thought.
Then one day a whole crowd of children came to the park. They ran around and picked up sticks and leaves, and there was a lady with them and they called her “Miss Gains”. She kept calling things out to the children and clapping her hands.
Suddenly the little leaf realized he was about to fall.
“Oh no!” he cried.
Just as the older leaf had told him, it was just like flying. Weeeeeeeee! He drifted through the air and floated on the breeze. Weeeeee! He travelled a little this way and that, across the swings, and landed gently on the grass.
“Hey look!” he heard a little boy shout, “look at the colours on this leaf!”
And before he realised what was happening, the leaf had been scooped up in to the hands of a child, and all the other children and their teacher crowded round to see.
“Beautiful!” they said, “really lovely!”
The leaf had never felt so proud in his life.
Then all the children went back in to their classroom, carrying the leaf – and lots of other leaves – with them.
And where do you think the leaf is now ? Well, he is on some paper with a lot of his friends, up on the classroom wall. From there he can watch the children every single day, and out of the window he can see that his tree has turned dark and wet and gloomy, and all the leaves have gone. And he is very glad he is not out there any more.
by Catherine Broughton
Catherine Broughton is a novelist. Her books are on Amazon – order them there!
For details of Catherine’s holiday properties in France go to www.seasidefrance.com
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Art Hupy, dead at 78
Top photographer founded art museum
Pinned down by German gunfire during World War II with no Allied officers on the scene to take charge, a young private named Art Hupy realized he must be a leader.
"Everybody was looking at him," said longtime friend Frank Hull. "When there's an emergency and everybody turns to you, it tells you something. Before that, I don't think he'd thought of himself as anything special. After that, he knew. He couldn't help but notice that thanks to him, everybody got out alive."
Founder of the Museum of Northwest Art in La Conner and acclaimed portrait photographer, Mr. Hupy died last week after a long illness. He was 78.
"There wouldn't be a Museum of Northwest Art without him," said museum director Kris Molesworth.
Twenty-thousand of Mr. Hupy's negatives, 11,000 of his prints and 8,000 slides were donated to the University of Washington.
Born in Seattle in 1924, Mr. Hupy married Rita Manning after the war and moved to Los Angeles to study photography. Returning to Seattle, he worked as a free-lancer for United Press International, Sunset and Time, developing a reputation for warm, powerful photos of Northwest artists.
In the 1960s, discouraged by the Vietnam War, he talked his wife into a radical move. As Mark Twain would put it, they lit off to the territories, landing on a small, unimproved island 35 miles above the Campbell River in British Columbia.
"I was terrified of cougars but had confidence in Art," said Mrs. Hupy. "There was no electricity or running water. ... It was a wonderful adventure."
Returning in the 1970s, they settled in La Conner.
Mr. Hupy was part of the movement to save the historic Gaches Mansion after it was damaged by fire. Eventually, with support from art patron Anne Gould Hauberg, he decided the mansion should house a museum devoted solely to Northwest art.
Mr. Hupy served as director until a dispute with the board forced his resignation. "His plans were too ambitious for this community," said Hull. "He didn't want to compromise."
"He could be gruff," said Clayton James, "but he was a good photographer and the kind of person who got things done."
Besides his wife of 54 years, Mr. Hupy is survived by three sons -- Hal of La Conner, Guy of Port Townsend and Tod of Burlington -- and 10 grandchildren.
A memorial service will be held Saturday at 5 p.m. at La Conner's Gaches Mansion, 703 S. Second St.
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St. Pantaleon Day, in the eighth year of King Richard II
Young Jack often asks me why I have chosen my current profession. Of course, “choice” is a matter of perspective. Had I truly had a choice I would not being doing so at all. I should not be living on the Shambles, I should not be housing a cutpurse, I should not be mingling amongst the lower classes.
But such is choice.
When, eight years ago, I was cast out of court, it was in a state of disbelief. Already somewhat starved and certainly in poor health from my stay in Newgate, I confess to a certain amount of confusion. The fact that I was alive was foremost my greatest cause of disbelief. And that now I was a pauper in the strictest sense was incredible. When one lives on an estate one can be low on funds to the point of near poverty, but there is always some source of income. The tenants’ rent can be raised, the produce and stock sold, plate broken and bartered. But this was different. So different. And none of my kinsmen–though few there were–were allowed to help me, if indeed they were so inclined.
No, it took me a full week to understand my complete predicament. I spent the night in entryways, on church porches, and–God help me–in privies. Shelter was shelter. And after full starvation grasped its skeletal hands about my neck, I finally got myself to the almsdoor of the monesteries. I made the acquaintance of a kind monk or two, especially at Westminster Abbey, and fed myself from its meager charity.
But this could not go on. I had been a knight, a lord of a manor. Men in my predicament took to the highways and robbed strangers for their meat and coin. It took less than a heartbeat for me to decide that this I would never do. It was I who had gotten myself in this state. How could I take what was not mine, even by necessity?
I had no prospects. I was in the same red cote-hardie I had been arrested in some six months prior. My clothing was filthy. I stank. Who would take me in?
As befitting my state, I took the job as a gong farmer, those poor fools who cleaned out the privies. I did this for six months. When I had enough coin to get myself cleaner and in better order, I hired myself as a henchman. It was certainly not my preferred task and little better I was than a highwayman, but it earned more coin and a place of shelter.
From thence, I fell into the occupation of a scribe, for I measured my skills and found that I could take on the work of a clerk when required. I met Gilbert and Eleanor Langton about that time, acquainting myself with the taste of the wine at the Boar’s Tusk and learning to like it. And learning to appreciate the tender kindness from the tavern’s proprietors as well.
When my master’s wife lost a valuable necklace, it was by my shrewd diligence and careful questioning that I found not only the culprit but the necklace itself, that I began to wonder if there was such a need for a private sheriff, a man to go to if one was in need but who didn’t want the eye of the crown turned in his direction. I soon found many such men needed a private sheriff and it was not long until I became he. They called me the Tracker, for as a hunter finds the tracks of its prey, so, too, did I. The name seemed fitting.
So choice, Young Jack, is in the eye of the beholder. Though it pays less than my work as a clerk, for the wage is not as regular as that of a man with a quill, I much prefer to work for myself, to be my own master as I was used to. That is worth more gold than I used to possess.
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.........I missed out on knowing you, your mother, your aunts. I remember visiting your sister once. My mother took us there, I believe to scare us. It was dark outside when we arrived, it was dark inside her house except for the dim glow from a light over the sink in the kitchen.
I remember sitting there at the table saying nothing. I didn't look around. I sat perfectly still. I wasn't sure why I was there. My mother asked questions but to tell you the truth, it didn't seem real. Nothing about that moment felt real.
My mother had already told us to be mindful of the voodoo. Yeah, ok, but why are we here? Back in the car she said that his sister claimed she hadn't seen or heard from him in years. My mother sounded as if she didn't believe her. That's the last contact we had with his family. She said they didn't care about us so we never went back. The location of her home is forever burned in my mind. I will not forget.
This next part of this entry is emotionally provocative. However, every word of it is true. It's how my mother gained obedience from me and my sister without question.
A Mother's Rules of Combat to Condition and Control Her Children
- Tell them they aren't wanted by others.
- Isolate them from reality.
- Give them gifts. Harm them. Tell them it was their fault. Give them more gifts. Repeat the cycle.
- Tell them things would be worse if they were taken by the police.
- Tell them the police will take them away, not you.
- Isolate. Isolate. Isolate.
- Distort reality so that they don't know up from down unless you, in all your wisdom, explain it.
- Tell them you care but no one else does. The world is a wicked, sick place. The child is better off, safer with you.
- You are the only person in the world that can save them.
- Name off all the vermin you can think of that would be in a hole the child would be thrown in if "they" ever came to take the child away.
- Tell them the world is against you because of the wickedness of the child.
- Humiliate. Show your physical power over the child.
- Create panic drills so that the child responds to your commands on a dime. The child should constantly wait for your commands. When done correctly, the child should respond before your last syllable.
- Remind the child of "what" they are. Be as demeaning as possible then offer gifts. At the slightest infraction take it back. Have the child walk with the gift to the trash and toss it in herself.
- Make it clear that after "sessions" nothing is spoken of. You just go to the dinner table like nothing ever happened. Make small talk with that child, smile, make jokes, eat your peas.
- Last, and most important of all, hope to God the child doesn't quite understand the enormity of the abuse until well along in years when she can reason against killing you for what you've done.
Thank goodness I don't see commercials telling me how I should love and show my appreciation for all the hard work and sacrifices made to raise me.
Yes, I'm still hurt from being rejected by Betty as her daughter. I spoke to Snow about it who said, I am your sister. She nearly made me cry. I have a sister who chose me and likes me. I want to love that idea but I need a little healing time. It'll happen. I know I'll always ache to have a family, to be part of something, to belong to someone, to have a family name. I'll vacillate between being okay with not having one and feeling lonely, hurt, isolated, not human. Most of all I'll move forward, refusing to give an inch of ground I earned to heal.
Faith Magdalene Austin
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To err is human, but to really screw things up, get involved with the ancient gods.
Dr. Megeara Kafieri watched her father ruin himself and his reputation as he searched to prove Atlantis was real. Her deathbed promise to him to salvage his reputation has now brought her to Greece where she intends to prove once and for all that the fabled island is right where her father said it was. But frustration and bad luck dog her every step. Especially the day they find a stranger floating in the sea. His is a face shes seen many times…. in her dreams.
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I am a historian, re-enactor and educator. I have worked in the film industry as a historic advisor, actor, and armourer. My company, "Rich in History" is able to provide educational services to schools and colleges, interest groups, and a wide variety of organisations.
My main area of historical interest is the late Victorian and the Edwardian periods, although I sometimes work outside these periods.
I am a member of several Living History and Re-enactment groups covering the Great War and Victoria's Wars.
I am also a member of "Six of One", the Prisoner Appreciation Society, who meet to bring to life the 1960s television series in Portmeirion, the village in North Wales where the series was filmed. I take a leading role in the Prisoner re-enactments at the annual convention, making use of my Performing Arts qualifications. I am a member of the annual Convention Organisation and Planning Team.
I have worked in several museums, including a canal museum in Sandwell, a glass museum in Stourbridge, and at Dudley Central Museum.
I have also been involved with several film and television productions, both as an actor and as a member of the crew. I was the Armourer at the location trench scenes in the film "Journey's End", released in UK cinemas on 2 February 2018.
Please feel free to browse my website in order to find out more about my interests.
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Chapter 1: Kustard for dessert!
Red and Edge were in the AU undertale for the time being since cross decided to rip apart the code within their game files, it's been a few weeks since they arrived. Introduced by ink they began on the wrong foot, obviously... Sans was very protective of his brother papyrus but what can you expect when faced with a very edgy and scarred version of yourself and your brother. Papyrus being the nice skelly bro he is wanted to greet his new friends and almost got himself killed, Sans had to step in and fight Red for the first time... they ended up tiring each other out so much that they pass out.
Papyrus and Edge managed to keep things civil between themselves and take care of there sleeping, brothers. They walked to the classics house and settled in. Sans and Red were both placed in Sans' bed. The taller brothers decided it would be a good idea for them to share a room and then papyrus and Edge share a room since they were both a papyrus. Making their way downstairs papyrus and Edge worked together to make sure their brothers would not engage in another fight when they awake.
Red was the first to wake, He opened his sleepy eyes and directed his vision to the warmth in front of him. It didn't take him long at all to realize who it was and jumped up off the bed shouting, "WHAT THE FUCK!" His loud voice echoed throughout the small room waking sans up with a jolt making him smack Red in the face.
Red held onto his face in pain "mph" he mumbled under his breath "Fucking bastard..." Sans' head snapped to Red " I was going to say sorry but now I'm not, I mean you are the one who tried to kill my brother" he huffed and threw the covers off him leaving red with the covers now over him.
"Now listen here you little shit" Throws the covers off his head. Red begins again but is instantly silenced by sans placing his finger over red's mouth. "Now I'm going to stop you right there. Number one, Don't swear especially in front of my brother, Secondly Don't start fights in my AU in this world its not Kill or be Killed I do not want anything to be changed or altered I have enough of it with Frisk" Sans says with a striking tone, Red gets the memo and shuts up.
Red sighs "Look sorry for trinna kill ya bro, I'm not used to all this pacifist shit" Sans just nods and makes his way to the door, he opens it and signals for Red to follow him. They both exit Sans' room and watch there two brothers from the balcony. Edge and Pap were on the sofa watching mettaton on the TV, they could both tell that Edge was actually quite interested in this alternate universe more then they expected.
Sans smiles looking down at his brother. Edge and Papyrus clearly didn't notice the two above. "they actually seem to be getting along really well" Red nods "Yeah boss seems happy too..." Sans looks at Red a slight bit confused, "Why do you call your paps boss?" Red flinches not expecting that at all "Umm.. well he's captain of the royal guard so that's one reason I guess" Red shrugs finishing his sentence.
Red holds his head remembering all the things Edge has done, he begins to breathe heavily. Sans notices this and places a hand on Reds shoulder, "you alright bud?" Red nods closing his eyes losing his balance, Sans catches red just before he hits his head on the floor. "Whoa hey, careful there maybe you should lie down or somethin'?" Red doesn't respond so sans decided to act on his own and take Red back into what is now there shared room.
Sans places Red on the bed sitting him upright. He sits beside him, Red rests his head on Sans' shoulder sobbing. "What's up? Why the sudden outburst?" Red shakes his head not wanting to talk about it. Sans places his hand on Reds arm and starts to rub it trying to calm Red down.
Reds breathing slows to its normal pace, Sans smiles. "Better?" Red just nods in response lifting his head smiling at the skeleton in front of him. Red has a troubled look on his face, he shakes his head to get the thoughts from his brain. Red looks down towards his lap. Avoiding Sans eyes scared he would get lost in them.
Sans genuinely looks concerned for his new friend. Classic places his hand on Reds leg, "Hey Red you sure your alri-- mpph!" Red grabbed the collar of Sans jacket and gives sans a good oll smoochin'. Sans hesitates at first but after a few seconds of pondering what to do he ends up kissing back. Red soon becomes flustered as Sans pushes Red down onto the bed sliding his jacket off his shoulders.
They part from the smooch panting, "S-- Sans, I.. I need-" Sans places a finger over Reds mouth, " I know" is all Sans says before moving down to Reds neck kissing and sucking at it. Red jolts in place. He puts a hand on the back of Sans skull. Small moans and pants escape Reds mouth. Red can feel Sans smirk on his neck hearing the noises come from the skeleton under him.
"A-ah hah~" Red tilts his head back, Sans pushes Red further down onto the bed so he's lying flat. Sans pushes off Reds jacket completely and trails his hands under Reds shirt. Sans runs his hands along Reds ribs causing Red to arch his back and move his head to the side. "O-oh god~ hah hah~" He pants.
Sans continues to tease Red for as long as he can, surprisingly he wanted this to last. Sans moves one of his hands under Reds ribs and clutches his soul gently causing Red to moan rather loudly. "Shh... don't want to get caught do you?" Sans pulls away from Reds neck and tends to his soul licking and biting it.
Red moves his hand up to his mouth to suppress his moans. "Sa--Ah~ns, please... don't t-tease me I ne-eeed you mmm~" Red whines, his pants become heavier. Sans smirks at Reds begs, he puts Reds soul back where it belongs and moves his shirt up placing loving kisses on Reds scarred ribs.
Reds pants are completely audible, he whines and tosses his head from side to side wanting sans to do more. Sans notices him begin very impatient and moves a hand down to his pelvis massaging the bulge that was clearly visible. Red opens his mouth and lets his tongue loll out. His half-lidded eyes say everything about what he is feeling. "O-OH STars!..mmm~ P-please sa- ah~ ns~"
Sans smirks at Reds reaction to his touch "Your more sensitive then I thought even though you are technically me" Sans slides down Reds body pulling down Reds shorts in the process and tossing them else were, Reds rather large dick springs free from its cage hitting sans in the face, Red panics and goes to apologize but Sans' stops him with a kiss and a jerk of his hand on his glowing cock.
Sans jerks his hand slowly on Reds cock getting an instant reaction from the skeleton below him. Sans loved to hear Reds moans he also didn't know he could be so needy. "HAh~ hAH~...mmm~ M-More plea-se Ha... Ha~" Red is a complete mess already and they have only just gotten started. Sans continues to jerk Red off as he slides back down his body licking his rips on the way.
Sans looks up at Red from between his legs smirking, A playful and lustful grin spread across his face. Still jerking off Red he moves his face down to Reds glowing cock and with his tongue, he takes a long lick from the base go the tip causing Red to cry and whine. Pre-cum leaked from the tip of Reds dick, Sans leaned in once again to lick up the thicc and sticky substance.
Red shudders under Sans' touch constantly asking for more and more. Of course, Sans gives Red what he wants and puts the head of Reds throbbing cock in his mouth giving it a good succ. "AH!~ A-ah... MMmm~ Oh St-- AH~ RS!... S-sans!"
Sans couldn't lie, he loved to hear Red scream and moan his name. Sans tries to fit as much of Red as he can in his mouth as he does so he ends up gagging and choking a bit. Red was defiantly bigger then Sans had anticipated. Red tosses his head to the side covering his mouth with his hand and gripping the sheets with the other. His breath hitches when sans uses his tongue to curl under the head sending lightning strikes of pleasure though Reds body, Red arched his back in bliss.
Sans begins to succ harder and move his hand faster making Red almost lose consciousness from bliss. "Y-yes~ oh god sans...I'm so...hnnn ~ close..."
Sans takes his mouth off Reds cock with a pop, he looks too red. Red is a complete MESS, He was panting and whining at sans to keep going. "S-Sans..." he manages to say between pants, "Wha-- why did you stop?..." Sans brings his hand up to his mouth and licks it making it wet, he then proceeds to pull down letting his throbbing ecto dick spring free from its cage. He gives it a few rubs on his hand grunting and panting as he does so. Red whines watching Sans in anticipation.
"Saaaans~..." Red whines. Sans leans over placing a kiss on Reds lips, He deepens the kiss in need and Sans happily follows along with the kiss. He rubs his cock against Reds causing pleasure to surge through both of them making them moan into the heated kiss. They part from the kiss and Red grabs onto Sans' neck "Y-You ready sugar~..." Red wiggles with anticipation "just hurry up and fuck me." Sans smirks widely and thrusts in rough making Red Scream and throws his head back violently. "SANS!!~ H-HOLY SHIT!~" Sans closes his eyes at the feeling of being inside Red, he puts a hand over Reds mouth. "S-shhh, Quiet down sugar there only downstairs" Red whines with eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "p-please... ah~ move, hurry up...~" Sans chuckles and starts to slowly thrust into Red. "HNnN... hah~ Sans please~ f-- AH~ sTeR~" Sans does as Red says and speeds up his pace beginning to grunt and pant.
"AH,~ yeeeess... mmm~ ha~ hah~" Sans was surprised at how vocal Red was considering he wasn't much himself. Sans grabs onto Reds legs and bends them back towards Red this allows Sans to go deeper into Red. "AHH~ O-OH SANS... RIGHT THERE FFFFFFFUUUCK YESSS!!~" He screams out overwhelmed by pleasure.
Sans proceeds to slam into Red with no remorse, Red somehow turns into more of a mess then he already is. At this point, Sans no longer cares if the boys downstairs hear them.
Red arches his back and grabs at the pillow behind his head with both hands, his head tossed to the side. His pants and moans become louder and louder as he gets closer to his climax. "SANS~ I'm close...I'm close~ I'm sooo hnnnaaahh~ clossee...hah.. hah"
Sans leaned down to Red and gave him a kiss before whispering "Go on sugar~ Cum..." Sans began to grunt each time he thrust into Red. Soon enough red reached his limit and came with a scream of pleasure.
"S-SHIT SANS OH GOD AHHH!~" Red starts to squirm underneath Sans as he carries on thrusting into him becoming overstimulated. Red loved this.
"M-mm Red... I'm close... so close" Sans grunts become louder and louder until he finally realises into Red. Red lets out another moan as he tightens around Sans his blue cum leaking from Red. Sans squeezed his eyes shut as he cums hard into Red. "Y-your... squeezing me so tight sugar~"
He thrusts in a few more times before pulling out, he and Red were both a panting mess, they loved every minute they had just spent together. Sans rolls over and lies next to Red in his bed. "T-That was... Amazing" Red pants, Sans simply nods and turns to face him. "Y-Yeah... it was..." He places a kiss on Reds lips and pulls him in for a hug, they shuffle under the covers to get some rest. Soon after they fall asleep.
The boys downstairs near enough herd everything that happened that morning, Edge wanted to go up and tell them to be quiet but Papyrus managed to convince him to stay downstairs on the sofa with him watching Mettatons new show. They talked about it for some time but the Sans' upstairs could not help themselves but interrupt their nice conversation.
Pappy could see that Edge had had enough and got up to barge in on them having sex but papyrus grabbed Edge from behind and hugged him close trying his best to give Edge a reason not to go up and disturb them. Edge tried his best to fight back against Papyrus, he turned round to face him this face engulfed in anger, Pap grabbed Edges face and pulled it down so they were at the same hight.
Papyrus then did something that Edge would never have expected from the innocent skeleton he was in front of, He... he kissed him.
Chapter 2: A Dot Of Black In A World Of White
Ink floated around the doodle sphere painting on an empty canvas. Ink hated white spaces, even the littlest of colours made him happy that something 'lived' on the surface. Ink protected the AUs as much as he could whenever he was around.
He jolted when he heard a tear within the masses of amounts of AUs, he quickly floated over to the torn piece of paper hanging by a coiled up string that leads to Nowhere.
He felt anger begin to build up inside as a quick and short thought shot through his mind, the only one that could be capable of this at this time in the day would be non-other than the Glitch himself, Error.
Error smiled as the termination of a horrid glitch of an AU was about to be ripped from the fabric of time and space, Underlust. Error hated this AU with a passion, their need for Sex, the lust they had he couldn't understand.
Then again he didn't understand much of anything really. His thoughts and emotions were all mixed up into one big ball that he would suppress day after day showing no remorse for what he did or what he was doing.
He had Lust, the Sans of this Alternate Universe Strung up, his brother had already been dusted and the 'Sans'. No. The abomination of a 'Sans' wept as be saw his Timeline get shredded beneath him.
Lust called out to Error "Why! Why are you doing this?!" Error just laughed at the skeleton in front of him ready to dust at any second. "BeEcaUse GliTcHes liKe YoU shOulDn't EXisT" with a simple tug of his sapphire sting lust yelled in pain, along with his universe he was about to be destroyed.
By the time Ink got there it was already too late, he hesitated when entering and it cost Underlust there lives. Ink rant at Error and tackled him to the ground, they began to fight like it was a daily routine by now.
"WhY aRE yOu HerE SquID? CoMe To stoP wHat I HaVe alReAdy deStroYeD" Ink stopped for a moment to take in the empty wasteland of an AU Underlust had become. For a brief moment, they stopped fighting just to... talk?
"Why do you do this?" Ink tilted his head in confusion looking at the other. "THis AU wAs NoThINg bUt An aBomInatiOn. JuSt. LiKe. YOu." Ink shook his head in disbelief. "Your lying" Inks expression had become emotionless. Error stepped back away from the battleground slightly scared.
"What wrong... is the destroyer of universe's scared?" Ink started to walk to Error. "Now tell me... Why do you really do this?" Ink grabbed Error by the collar of his jacket. "DONT TOUCH ME" Error yelled stringing Ink up catching him off guard. Ink managed to grab one of his vials and drank it just to feel emotion again. "Error why do you really do this?" Ink looked sad to see his enemy in distress for some odd reason Error decided to tell him why.
"...I-- I juSt WanT AttEntIon. I waNt..." Error let's Ink down from his strings, he steps forward and walks to Error. The glitched-out skeleton turns away from Ink not wanting him to see the state he was in.
Ink smiled and placed a hand on Errors shoulder, he jolted not used to being touched by anyone. It seemed like he was touch starved besides the fact he doesn't like to be touched due to his hapnophobia. He turned his head to Ink, tears pricked in his eye sockets and a faint yellow blush flushed across his face, the destroyer of AUs was... was crying?
"Want is it you want Error?" Ink saying his name sent shivers down his spine. He looks to ink slightly tilting his head down due to the height difference.
"I-- I want...you" Ink staired at Error in shock, did... did he just say he wanted ink? Ink didn't quite understand what Error meant when he said that he wanted Ink. He looked at him confused seeing the embarrassed and flustered face of Error. "NeVer mInd... foRgeT iT" it took a while for Ink to figure out what Error meant, Inks expression changed when he figured it out, he blushed a hue of colours while reaching out to Error. "No... I won't forget it" Error turned to anger in his eyes.
"DROP IT INK" his voice echoed in the void that was Underlust. "NO I WON'T" he shouted back, Error was taken back by Ink raising his voice this close to him. It didn't take long for Ink to act on his actions and grab Error by the collar of his jacket bringing him close to his face, they were inches apart. Error flushed a bright yellow and flinched leaning back away from Inks touch. Inks eyes were red with anger but he soon calmed down, he let go of errors jacket. "Why?" Error stood there in confusion. "WhAt?".
"Don't act dumb Error, you know exactly what I mean" Error bore his teeth growling at ink. "You're always so nieve how could you know!" Ink frowned gripping his paintbrush tight before throwing it else were. Error got into a fighting stance but was soon tacked and pinned to the ground. "You are going to tell me why!" Errors eyes grew wide when he was suddenly tacked by the guardian. "I don't need to explain myself to you!" Ink just growled, he was getting very annoyed and impatient.
Error glitched more than normal due to 'human' contact, he closed his eyes and turned his head away from Ink refusing to tell him anything. "Why do you have to be so god damn awkward!!" Error didn't respond. Inks face scrunched up and bore his teeth wanting to get a response outta him and he was willing to do anything to get that response.
With one big deep breath ink moved errors hands above his head and held them there with one hand, with his other hand he moved errors face to look at him. Both him and error flushed different colours of blush as ink leaned down and kissed the destroyer of worlds.
Errors eyes went wide as he crashed blue screening. A Windows error sound could be heard as Ink brakes the kiss and looks down to an extremely flushed and crashed error. He smirked tracing his fingertips across his face. It took some time for error to recover from his crash, from this position he looked so venerable and dare ink to say it, submissive. Ink knew what error meant earlier and was going to give error exactly want he wanted, attention.
Ink traced his hand down errors face to his neck gently rubbing, he leans down and leaves soft kisses all over his face telling Error to calm down. Error breath speeds up as he begins to pant, ink kisses down his chin and begins to kiss at his neck, The Destroyer Glitches out uncontrollably as he lets out a pathetic moan. Ink licked up Errors neck making him jolt and struggle against Inks grip.
His lick leaves rainbow coloured Drool on his neck. Feeling dangerous he bites down hard on Errors neck to Inks delight he arches his back groaning. Ink then licked and sucked on His neck giving him a love bite claiming the destroyer, who would have thought the Creator would want to claim the Destroyer. He found so much pleasure in Errors moans out, they were like music to his ears.
Bringing his face up from Errors neck he saw how much of a mess he was, panting and flushed with a golden blush, they haven't even gotten started "Look at you Error... A mess~" Errors' eyes were hazed with lust, hearts appeared in the lights. Ink saw how visibly turned on he was. Grinning ink moved Errors' hands higher and straddled his lap. Ink gives him a kiss rocking his hips back and forth on his semi-hard bulge.
"Mmphh~... Ink~" Error panted and moaned rolling his hips to meet inks'. Ink too started to moan out, he was already hard at this point and wanted more. ink bit his lip as he moaned, error struggles against ink but to his surprise ink was stronger then he had anticipated.
Ink and error panted, they wanted each other so badly and ink was going to do anything to get what he wanted. He gets off of error realising his hands trailing his own down errors body to his crotch. Snaking his hands under his shorts and boxers, Ink was shocked with what he found and smirked. "Three huh?... creative~"
Error covered his face letting out a breathy moan as ink started to rub the length of his three cocks. "That-- that feels s-so good~" ink hummed at errors reaction hoping to get more out of him the more he did it. Eventually, he pulled down Error's shorts and boxers flinging them else were. Ink bent down and faced Error's dicks licking and sucking at them.
He started to bob his head on two of his cocks jerking off the other one. Soon enough Error was a moaning mess and ink Loved it! He moaned out his name over and over as he came close to his climax. Ink was looking up at Error as he was sucking him off, Error swore just by looking at ink like that it was enough to make him cum.
"Ah~ I-ink... I'm" ink didn't even let him finish his sentence and started to suck and jerk Error off fast, with a loud moan cums down inks throat. Swallowing as much as he can ink lifted his head off with a pop licking his lips. "You taste so good~" ink cooed as Error still lay there breathless. Taking in the sight before him ink started to undress as well as taking off the rest of the clothes that Error has on. he stared in awe at the glitch before him in a state of bliss and lust. Slowly, ink crawled back on top of Error and kissed him, he slowly started to jerk himself off. Error kisses back needly wanting to get to the point already.
"Ink... p-please" Error whined and wrapped his arms around inks neck pulling him closer and making the kiss deeper, Ink hums through the kiss and slowly pokes the tip of his dick against Errors entrance. He pushes in slowly entering all the way in. Braking the kiss Error throws his head back moaning loudly scratching and grabbing at inks ribs. "I-INK A-AH~" Ink grunts and moans waiting for Error to get used to his size before moving anymore, seeing Error like this made ink smirk.
He gently started to thrust in and out of Error with bouncy movements, then he had an idea. Stopping his thrusts he heard Error whine and moan, ink lifted his hand to Errors eye sockets and pulled out his strings wrapping Errors hands in them and pinning them above his head so he couldn't move them. He tugged lightly at the strings tightening them, this made Error moan and Ink smirk at his reaction. 'Kinky shit' he thought starting to thrust slowly again.
Error closes his eyes and moans softly to begin with, as ink begins to speed up Errors moans get louder and more high pitched. "ah~... ah~ Ah" Ink was honestly shocked by Errors reactions but he fucking loved it. "Look-- look at you Error~" ink chuckled and groaned, Error looked up to ink his face bright yellow, tongues out and moaning underneath Ink. "I-Ink~.. F-- Ah~ ster..." Ink listens to Errors pleads and goes faster.
Error arched his back moaning Inks name loudly, Ink bit his lip and started to thrust harder going as deep as he could into Error with each thrust. He screamed in pleasure arching his back, his body started to tremble as Error got close to his orgasm. "INK! Y-Yeees~..." He panted heavily. "I'm-- Ah~ I'm gonna c-um..." Ink smirked, he pulled on the stings around Errors wrists and used his spare hand to jerk Error off. Within a few moments Error practically screamed in pleasure as he came hard on Inks' hand, his walls tightened around Inks cock. He grunted loudly thrusting in as deep as he could go before cumming hard inside of Error.
Both Ink and Error panted heavily as they both came down from there orgasm, Ink leaned down kissing Error on the forehead and untieing his wrists. "Feel better~" he whispered into Errors, he simply nodded too out of breath to talk. Ink pulled out letting out a breathy moan. "Who would of know you would be such a sub~" Error shot a look at Ink "I'll... i'll get you next time don't you worry~"
He sat up rubbing his wrists, he didn't expect himself to love being tied up with his own stings. They both looked around looking for there lost clothes, they weren't far so it didn't take them long to find them. Getting up was a little problem for Error but he managed to do it with a little help. "Till next time you kinky little Glitch~" Error glared at Ink and he just laughed "your one to talk about being little...shorty~" he winked.
"For helping me I guess I could leave the AU alone..." Error pit a hand to his chin thinking "That's so nice of you Err--" "on second thought!" "ERROR!!" "Okay okay," he raised his arms in defence. "I'll leave it be... I have to get cleaned up always" he soon became flustered once again feeling the cum drip down his leg. Ink smiled and waved to Error giving him a quick kiss before he leaves to the Anti Void.
All Ink had to do now was fix what was damaged...
The monsters that remained in underlust were genuinely shocked by the performance of the Creator and the Destroyer. Some placed bets on who would top... nearly all of then lost their bets.
Sans or Lust, on the other hand, ran to ink to ask for his brother back, ink sighed. "I'm going to have reset your timeline..." Lust nodded "Thank you!" Is all Lust managed to say before his timeline was reset and back to normal.
Ink left Underlust signing happily, looking down at his feet as he entered the doodle sphere, something caught his eye on his chest. Taking off the sash of viles he looked through them... the one he had taken, oh fuck...
Chapter 3: A Reboot After an Erase
Reboot wondered the Astro plain that was the anti void in search of Eraser, he wanted to see him about something and Eraser sure as hell wanted to see Reboot. He twirled around lulling a song to himself minding his own business as he searched the AUs for his 'frenemy'.
He heard a familiar sound of a portal opening and warping any sound from the two exits that it connected. A figure stepped through, Reboot turned to face the figure only to be engulfed in grief and worry. It was Marvel.
Reboot was scared of Marvel, but the reason to why he was there was unclear, Marvel never came to visit him unless he wanted something. Reboot dreads to find out what he wants.
Reboot stepped back slowly hoping he wasn't noticed by the taller skeleton located only a few feet away from him, as Marvel turned to inspect the surroundings he spotted Reboot and started to walk over to him.
Reboot couldn't stand Marvel and turned to slowly walk away only to be greeted with another set of footsteps following behind him, quickening his pace into a little trot Marvel started to sprint towards Reboot, The tapping of his feet got closer and close as Reboot started to run.
Marvel got closer and closer until Reboot braised for some sort of impact only to see Eraser jump through a portal and tackle Marvel far into the anti void. The two cursed on impact due to the hard floor and got up ready to fight each other.
Reboot didn't want that, he hated to fight, hated to see people fight. He quickly ran and stood with his arms out in the middle of them both facing Marvel. "Enough!" Eraser smiled at Reboot happy that his little friend came to his rescue.
Marvel chuckled and stepped forward lifting up Reboot's face with his hand making him look up at him. "How adorable~" he purrs, his eyes were lidded as looked at Reboot with want, Eraser was having none of that and separated the two only to by kick Marvel away and open a portal to his home.
Reboot turns to Eraser in shock "Why would you kick him?!" Eraser panted and looked to Reboot through the scruff of his hoodie which had been messed up during the tackle. "Because Boots... he would have tried to fuck you"
Reboot stood there in disbelief "n-no he wouldn't...he's not that type of monster!" Eraser puts a hand in Reboots shoulder "Boots he was in heat that's why he's after you" Reboot clutched his chest, Eraser didn't say he was in the heat but it seems like it was effecting Reboot so he moved away only to get pulled back by him.
Reboot dragged Eraser into his house and sat him down on the couch bending over to look him in the eyes. "You're in the heat you aren't you" Eraser didn't want to admit it but he was, he looked up to Reboot meeting his eyes and getting lost in then, he could see the circuit patterns and glows behind his eye lights and watched how they glowed and shined dazzling him.
Reboot flushed slightly seeing Eraser stare at him, he knew Eraser was in heat and wanted to help him but how? He has never had to deal with heat before. Because of himself being an Out-Code he doesn't get them that often and if he does they are short and not very powerful but he knew what they were.
Eraser started to feel dizzy and averted his eyes from Reboots, the heat had hit him hard making him need to lean back on his sofa covering his face with his arm trying not to look at Reboot. He had to do something Reboot couldn't just let Eraser suffer in silence.
He took a deep breath and got on his knees between Erasers legs and unzipped Erasers trousers as quietly as he could, Eraser heard the zipper and peaked to were Reboot was but to find he wasn't here, he looked around before looking down, he gasped and pulls away bringing his legs up on the sofa.
"BOOTS! WHAT THE HELL!" Reboot looked like a told off child "I-I wanted to help..." Eraser eased off and rubbed the back or Reboots head "You know you don't need to right? I will be fine. I will just have to put up with it like all the other times I've been in heat" Reboot whined and Eraser looked at him confused.
"B-but I wanted to help..." Eraser couldn't help but 'aww' at Reboot, he did look adorable like that. It was so hot to see him between his legs... Eraser shook his head trying to get the thought out of his head. He is a friend, he is a friend... he is a... friend, just a friend nothing else.
Eraser eventually put his legs back down and looked at Reboot. "Look Boots you don't need to do this for me" Reboot looked frustrated and slightly annoyed, he pouted "Rasy I want to... let me help you, you saved me after all" Eraser didn't know what to say, Reboot was practically begging to suck his dick.
Eraser eventually lay back on the sofa resting his head in the top looking up, he sighed "okay fine..." Reboot smiled and continues to pull off Erasers trousers and then his boxers making his cock spring up and almost hit Reboot in the face. Reboot gasped and stared at it for a bit before putting his hand on the base making Eraser jolt and look down at him.
Reboot slowly started to move his hand up and down on his cock jerking him off, Eraser couldn't help but bite his lip and groan. He took deep breaths in and out calming himself, he was calm for a few seconds of this until Reboot put the tip of Erasers dick in his mouth. Eraser gasped and moaned from the warmth of Reboots mouth he couldn't help but thrust into Reboots mouth once before realising what he did. "S-sorry Boots"
Reboot gagged slightly, he looked up at Eraser and smiled at him. Hs started to suck and lightly bob his head on Erasers cock Loving the taste. Eraser leaned his head back on the sofa and moaned out loud, he gently rubbed the back of Reboots head this made Reboot hum sending vibrations down Erasers cock making him gasp.
Reboot eventually got more confident and started to take more of Erasers cock making him moan loudly and hang his tongue out of his mouth in pleasure. "Y-you're doing so good~" he praised Reboot and he hummed in response looking up to meet Erasers eyes. He comes back up to suck on the tip before taking more and more of Erasers cock almost deep throating him.
Eraser curled around Reboot as he came close, his heat had made him hypersensitive and with Reboot doing such a good job he was close quick. He panted heavily and moaned squeezing his eyes shut. "B-boots~ Aahh y-yess just like that~ ...oh f-fuck!~"
Reboot bobbed his head faster, Eraser had expected Reboot to pull off but he didn't he just kept going. "B-Boots I'm-I'm... AhH~ A-about to ah, mm, hah.. c-cUm!~" Eraser gripped at Reboots head and leaned over him, Eraser's panting started to get heavier and heavier as he came closer to his climax.
"B-BOoTs!~ AaaAAHhhH!~" Eraser came into Reboots mouth he swallowed Erasers cum and used his tongues to lap up what he didn't get. Reboot hummed as he popped off his dick and looked up at Eraser nuzzling it looking up innocently.
"Did that feel good~" Reboots eyes were hazed over with lust, it was for sure visible and Eraser soon notice it. He slowly nods making eye contact and lifting reboots head up with his hand and pulling him in for a kiss, Reboot hums and moans into the kiss, as he gets up from the floor he straddles erasers hips and grinds against him. Eraser practically pulls off Reboots clothes, Reboot helps him takes off his own and Erasers clothes while they start to make out.
Eraser was the first to break it, he kissed down his neck and biting him, Reboot let out a yelp as well as a moan in response to the bite holding his head there wanting him to bite harder which he does. Eraser ends up drawing blood, Reboots eyes rolled back and tears pricked in the corners of his eyes.
Eraser licked and kissed the bite going down to kiss and suck on his ribs gripping Reboots hips and moves them against his gently grinding against each other. Slowly Reboots Ecto formed and Eraser stared at him in awe, he was so beautiful. Eraser took Reboots dick in his hand and softly jerks it.
He gasped and moaned from the touches thrusting into Erasers hand. Eraser saw the look on his face and was awestruck by it, he looked so cute and hot like that he couldn't wait any longer. He let go of Reboots cock and lifted him up so his dick was positioned at Reboots entrance.
Reboot whined wanting to be fucked now but this would be his first time so he had to speak up. "P-please be gentle E-Eraser..." Eraser nodded, he was getting turned on by Reboots adorableness. "Of course~ I would never hurt you~"
With that Eraser slowly lowers Reboot onto his dick, the smaller whined and hissed slightly in pain as the tip entered him, a little yelp and some tears escaped him but Eraser comforted him by stroking his back and whispering sweet things. Reboot soon adjusted, he gripped Erasers hands and lowered himself further down onto his dick letting out a little moan.
A minute or two passed and Eraser was kissing all over Reboots face to calm him down and help him relax, Once he did adjust he giggles at the fuss he was getting and it seemed like he would stop giving him love. To make him stop Reboot gently rolled his hips and moaned softly catching Eraser off guard. His eye lights turning to exclamation marks as he gasped and let out a breathy moan "o-oh fuck~"
Eraser was already panting into Reboots neck, he eyes his neck wanting to bite down again, he wanted to mark him as much as he could tonight so that Marvel knew not to mess with Reboot or Eraser will kick his ass.
Reboot bit his lip and continued to roll his hips gently. "A-ahh~ Racy~" Eraser was struggling to hold back, he wanted to fuck Reboot into the sofa. He leaned his head back and rested against the back of the sofa.
Eventually, Reboot started to bounce softly on Erasers cock, that's when he snapped. He turns and pushes Reboot down onto his back and pants looking down at him almost going feral, Reboot let out a little squeak and looked up at Eraser slightly confused.
Eraser then started to thrust into Reboot at a medium pace humming and groaning while Reboot arches his back slightly and grips at the sofa, it felt so good nothing he has ever felt before when he pleasures himself.
"R-RACY!~" A loud moan erupted from the skeleton under Eraser, his moans sent him wild and encouraged him to pick up the pace now thrusting at a fast speed. It felt so good to finally be able to rid of his heat, and with non-other then Reboot. The one he loved...
Reboot's eyes rolled to the back of his head as Eraser pounded into him like his life depended on it, he has tears and drool was dripping down his face from all the pleasure. It didn't take Reboot much longer to scream in bliss and with no warning at all cum squeezing down on Eraser's cock hugging him tightly.
Eraser threw his head back and groaned loudly as he felt Reboot cum, he looked back down at Reboot and saw the tears in his eyes. Gently he kisses them away and slowed down a bit to ride off his orgasm after a few seconds Reboot broke the silence. "P-please~... Don't s-stop~"
Eraser didn't have to be told twice. Soon he started to thrust back into Reboot at the same pace he was before, Eraser lifted up Reboots legs so he could thrust deeper into him making him scream in pure bliss, Reboots eyes went slightly hazy when Eraser hit his prostate. His insides twitched around the tallers cock and could tell he had found it by the way Reboot arched his back off the sofa.
The overstimulation felt really good to Reboot, so much so that he felt a second orgasm building up rapidly inside him as Eraser continues to pound into Reboot not satisfied just yet.
Both parties started to pant extremely heavily finding it hard to catch their breath, Eraser gripped at Reboots thighs squishing the ecto in his hands and feeling how smooth and gentle it was. He bit his lip and rolled his head back just a bit looking up at the ceiling edging closer and closer to his end.
Reboot gripped onto a pillow that was placed just behind his head and looked up at Eraser, he was close, so god damn close. "O-OH StARss!! YESss RIghT tHErrree!!" On one hand Eraser looked down in disbelief that Reboot was being so loud and needy, but on the other hand, he fucking loved it and it only turned him on more.
They both made eye contact and Eraser leaned down and started to kiss Reboot sloppily, they couldn't keep up with each other. The room was filled with ecto slapping ecto and moans coming from the two participants.
Reboot soon gripped onto Erasers shoulders and held him closer as he was about to orgasm, he felt it build up and up until. It snapped. He came with a LOUD moan as his second orgasm ripped through him making him sensitive to any other pleasure he then felt, his whole body quiver and shook from the intense orgasm. Reboots inside had clamped down on Erasers dick causing him to let out a loud groan of himself and thrust deep inside of Reboot cumming hard and a lot.
They stayed there panting and looking down at one another in basking in the afterglow. Slowly Eraser leaned down once again and kisses Reboot which he in return kissed him back, slowly this turned into a heated make-out session and it sure as hell didn't help them catch their non-existent breath.
"T-that" he panted "was.. Amazing~" Eraser purred leaning into Reboots neck and pressing light and loving kisses all over it making Reboot sigh calming down. "Y-yeah... it was~" Reboot closed his eyes completely exhausted and worn out by the ride Eraser just gave him.
After they had calmed down and given each other loads of kissed and love Eraser pulled out with a groan and teleports than to his bedroom, where he placed Reboot on the bed and covered him in the duvet and got in next to him.
It wasn't long before Reboot snuggled up to Eraser and wrapped his arms around his neck while the taller skeleton wrapped his own round Reboots waist bringing them closer to his body.
"Feel better?" Reboot questioned looking at Eraser and examining his expressions making sure he was alright. "Yea... thank you Boots~" He pulled Reboot in for one last kiss before he drifted off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
"Sweetdreams my little glitch~" Eraser gave Reboot a little kiss on the head before softly drifting off into his own world of sleep.
Marvel was beyond pissed at Eraser and was sure to have his revenge one day. He had followed Eraser and Reboot home and heard there little 'session'.
He growled to himself and huffed opening up a portal to another AU.
There are plenty of others he could have some 'fun' with...
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By Steve Weaver
On July 19, 1863, Charles Haddon Spurgeon was preaching from Romans 10:10 on “Confession with the Mouth” at the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London. During the sermon he reflected on his reading “the life of good Andrew Fuller” the previous day.
I was noting when reading yesterday the life of good Andrew Fuller, after he had been baptized, some of the young men in the village were wont to mock him, asking him how he liked being dipped? and such like questions which are common enough now-a-days. I could but notice that the scoff of a hundred years ago is just the scoff of to-day.
This is likely a reference to Fuller’s account in the memoir of his early life compiled from two series of letters written to friends. This memoir formed the basis of the nineteenth-century biographies of Fuller by his son Andrew Gunton Fuller, John Morris, and John Ryland, Jr. Fuller had written,
Within a day or two after I had been baptized, as I was riding through the fields, I met a company of young men. One of them especially, on my having passed them, called after me in very abusive language, and cursed me for having been ‘dipped.’ My heart instantly rose in a way of resentment; but though the fire burned, I held my peace; for before I uttered a word I was checked with this passage, which occurred to my mind, ‘In the world ye shall have tribulation.’ I wept, and entreated the Lord to pardon me; feeling quite willing to bear the ridicule of the wicked, and to go even through great tribulation, if at last I might but enter the kingdom.
Spurgeon’s familiarity with the life of Fuller and the popular stories about him that were circulating in the nineteenth century served him well for illustration purposes throughout his ministry.
I was noting, when reading the life of good Andrew Fuller, that, after he had been baptized, some of the young men in the village were wont to mock him, asking him how he liked being dipped, and such like questions which are common enough nowadays. I could but notice that the scoff of a hundred years ago is just the scoff of to-day.
Spurgeon, Autobiography, 1:149–150.
Steve Weaver serves as a research assistant to the director of the Andrew Fuller Center for Baptist Studies and a fellow of the Center. He also serves as senior pastor of Farmdale Baptist Church in Frankfort, KY. Steve and his wife Gretta have six children between the ages of 4 and 15. You can read more from Steve at his personal website: Thoughts of a Pastor-Historian.
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A 10th century tale of a group of treasure hunters seeking out a castle. Here are the strange things they found.
A man from Cairo told this tale. He begins by explaining that he would study books about hidden treasures, and had figured out there was one such place that could be reached in three days journey. He and a fellow group of Egyptians gathered provisions and made the trip, going over mountains and deserts.
On the third day they found a castle. “We overlooked mighty walls which were cut in snow-white stone with black streaks like the patina one sees on walls,” the man explained. They walked around the castle, looking for a way in. At one spot they came across an inscription etched into the walls:
He who arrives at this place after me, let him marvel at my story and bewail my trials. I left, fleeing from poverty and straitened circumstances, but I lost my lucky hand and went astray in this land, and fate took me to this castle:
I wish I knew when hardship will be over
and my trials will come to an end.
I am displaced, cast out, devoid of solace,
far away from my home and distanced from my native land.
Wondering how such a man could have come to this place, the group carried on, and eventually found a gate, which had been nearly completely buried by dust and dirt. As the dug to open it, they found a huge lock made of gold. It bore this inscription:
We have built and we shall perish.
What we have built will only survive us for a while.
Nothing endures against time except God,
Whom we do not see, but who sees us.
The men were able to pick the lock and open the doors of the gates.
As we did so, we heard an enormous clamour and a terrifying uproar from inside the castle, and a buzz which threw us into confusion, so we stopped dead in our tracks. Then we realized that it was the work of demons.
Still the treasure hunters carried on, going into castle, where they found mighty buildings, some in ruins, as well as dangerous snakes. They continued on until they came to a domed room, which was about 15 metres in diameter. In the centre of the room was a golden throne, over seven feet tall, with the body of a long dead man sitting upon. The golden treasures were next to him, but there was something else standing there:
In the middle of the dome a figure of copper was standing erect, of full height, with eyes that rolled in his head, hideous to look at and with movement in his limbs. When one saw him, one was sure he was alive. We realized that the clamour and uproar had come from him and this place. He had an unsheathed sword in his hand so perfect that we had never seen anything better, and his hand was raised, without him doing anything apart from moving his eyes and twisting his head as if he was on the alert.
But the moment that one of us put his foot on the floor of the dome, in any place whatsoever, he would whirl his hand as fast as a water mill turns and strike with the sword to the right and left, forwards and backwards, like someone juggling with a sword, beating faster than the wind, and utterly destroying and tearing to shreds anything that approached him from any side.
The group tried various tricks against the copper figure, such as throwing stones at him, but nothing worked. When night approached, the treasure hunters did not want to stay, as the feared the deadly snakes, and left the castle.
The man added that he could read an inscription on the copper figure’s chest, which said:
It is a long toil for him who covets the acquisition
of what you have come to gather. So day: do not covet.
Seek your daily bread from God, whose abode is elevated;
Leave off the search for treasures and be content.
The group returned back to Egypt, although not quite empty handed, as they took with them the golden lock. However, the man explained that he never went treasure hunting again.
This story was recorded in The Book of Strangers, a tenth-century work attributed to Abu’l-Faraj al-Isfahani, who died around the year 967. It is a collection of stories about graffiti left on walls. It was popular in the medieval Middle East for people to inscribe poems and other writings in places like taverns and gardens, mostly anonymously. The graffiti retold in this work often follows the theme of lost happiness, with people describing their homesickness, anxieties and misfortunes. For example, here is one inscription made on the walls of a monastery:
Though we are severed by a distance,
my heart is still with you and dwells among you.
I wish I knew whether we can be united again,
so that we can experience life when it is whole.
The Book of Strangers: Medieval Arabic Graffiti on the Theme of Nostalgia, translated by Patricia Crone and Shmuel Moreh, was published by Markus Wiener Publishers in 2000. Click here to buy it from Amazon.com
Top Image: Lawrence OP / Flickr
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By: Ali Brandon
Publication Date: November 2012
Reviewed by: Deb Fowler
Review Date: December 3, 2012
Pettistone’s Fine books was in dire need of another clerk, but Hamlet nixed most of the applicants. “We have a shop cat,” Darla explained, “and he’ll have to approve you first before I could consider hiring you.” Darla had inherited the shop from her Great-Aunt Dee along with Hamlet the cat, who definitely has something to say about everything. Yet another consideration was her other clerk, the “terminally stuffy,” former professor, James T. James. Jaqueline ‘Jake’ Martelli, a good friend of Darla’s, was also setting up shop as a private investigator. Hamlet was already an experienced PI and was well-known for snagging books off the shelves of Pettistone’s, indicating clues that inevitably led to a murderer.
“You’re that kid who accused me of murder!” Darla could not believe that goth, steampunk kid actually had the nerve to apply for the job. It was one of those not-so-magic moments, but she had to admit, Robert Gilmore was qualified and Hamlet loved the guy. He’d worked for Porn Shop Bill in his book store, but books were books. Sorta. Hamlet hired Robert and that was that. As much as Hamlet loved Robert, he detested one of their customers, Curt Benedetto, and always gave him his “patented kiss-off treatment.” Darla also had to admit that his partner in the refurbishing business, Barry Eisen, looked like he could be THE guy in her life, but it was just a passing thought.
Jake had been hired to investigate Curt, who had some sort of a vendetta going on with Bill. She wasn’t talking any more about the investigation than Darla was talking about Barry. It wouldn’t be long before Jake’s case unfortunately bit the dust. An incredulous James could barely believe what he was hearing when Darla put things in plain English for him. “Yeah, it was pretty obvious from that whole stiff-as-a-board-not-breathing thing he had going on.” Curt was d-e-a-d and his young girlfriend, Tera, was missing. Apparently the only witness to the crime was Hamlet, but his “book-snagging” clues were somehow missing the mark. It wasn’t long before Darla found herself “caught in a living nightmare” when hands circled around her neck in a death grip. Ms. Pettisone had found the killer, but would someone be able to find her before she ended up on Jake’s caseload?
This fabulously unique series with Hamlet, the bookshop cat, looks like it’s going “to be” a winner. To be or not to be caught, that is what Hamlet’s job is in Pettistone’s Fine Books. Errr, to catch the killer that is. When Hamlet snagged a book off the shelf Darla and James pored over the meaning of his clues, but some of them were real stumpers. If you are a real literary mystery buff you can try to work them out right along with Darla as she outlines possible scenarios, some of which can be pretty tricky. Of course with only so many characters, it’s quite easy to point the finger at a possible killer, but it’s so much more fun to follow a trail of crumbs right to those hands circled around Darla’s neck. When she found herself in a real predicament, all those cat clues suddenly fell into place. If you like cozy cat conundrums, this might just be the series you’re looking for!
Quill says: This second book in the A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery series has cat clues that will definitely suit Hamlet and Holmes fans!
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The Wolves hire Varn
Varn hired as Newberry College Football Offensive Coordinator
NEWBERRY – Head football coach Todd Knight has announced the hiring of Todd Varn, of Clinton, as Newberry’s Offensive Coordinator and Quarterbacks Coach.
Varn will be working alongside Knight for the third time in his career and will be in his third stint on the Setzler Field sidelines. Varn was Newberry’s Associate Head Coach and Offensive Coordinator for the 2007-2009 seasons, which included Newberry’s South Atlantic Conference title in 2008. He also spent the 1995 season as Newberry’s running backs coach and mentored the linebackers in 1996.
"I'm thrilled to welcome Coach Varn back into the Newberry Family," Knight remarked. "As good of a coach as he is, he's an even better man, and that's why I keep asking him to work with me again and again."
"I'm really thankful to be back in Newberry and working with Coach Knight again," Varn added. "I can't wait to get started and to see what we're able to accomplish as a team."
Varn spent the past eight seasons as the Offensive Coordinator at nearby Presbyterian College, including the last six as an Associate Head Coach. Under his tutelage, freshman running back Torrance Marable led the Big South Conference in 2017 with 1,038 rushing yards and was named to the all-Big South first team, while wide receiver DaShawn Davis earned a second-team nod.
Varn has worked with Knight on two previous occasions, spending three seasons as Charleston Southern’s Offensive Coordinator while Knight coached the Buccaneers’ defense along with his previous tenure at Newberry's Offensive Coordinator, which saw him coach five first team all-SAC selections and an Academic All-American on the offensive side of the ball.
He also had an additional two-year stint as Presbyterian’s Offensive Coordinator, spent two seasons as the Offensive Coordinator at Western Carolina and a third as Running Backs Coach, two seasons on the VMI staff coaching the defense and special teams, and two seasons on staff at Laurence Manning Academy.
The West Columbia native graduated from NC State in 1992 with a Bachelor of Arts in Communications. He spent a season as a Student Assistant with the Wolfpack under Dick Sheridan after concluding a four-year playing career as a running back. Varn averaged 3.5 yards on 196 carries in his career and scored five times on the ground. A receiving threat out of the backfield, Varn also caught 83 passes for 896 yards and six touchdowns during his playing days.
Varn was also a Shrine Bowl selection from Airport High School and was in the school's first Hall of Fame class in 2004. He replaces Bennett Swygert, who was hired earlier this month to become the Offensive Coordinator at South Carolina State.
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It was the thrill of not knowing just where, or how, things would end up that kept Justin playing the same dangerous games night after night. He’d been in almost every situation he could think of, and still not been ‘caught’ by those that ‘mattered’ in his mind. The one who ‘mattered’ never looked at him, anyway, so his antics were some poor attempt at displacement. Or at least that’s what the shrink in the county lockup decided for him. He’d tried to shake that off, but something about it made it stick in his head, gnaw at his brain even though he saw the shrink once and had only spent a couple of days in juvy.
His only saving grace was that he was still a minor. That would only help him a month longer, though. Somehow, he always managed leniency, but then, he was rarely caught doing the same thing twice. The judges, his parents, the shrinks all put it down to youthful vigor, except that one who’d said he wanted someone’s attention.
It wasn’t true, he’d wanted to insist, but he was being sullen that night and not talking much. He’d had to fight to keep his head down, but his eyes had widened as he’d stared at his lap. How had the bastard known? It was probably just a shot in the dark. Had to be.
If only it didn’t affect him so much. Why did it affect him?
But the comment brought up the image of the one who haunted him, whose image was in his mind when he woke up suddenly, sweating and breathing hard, his cock aching for release more than it had with any girl.
Like that pompous, prissy, pigheaded asshole would look at him, much less give him the time of day.
Pride, anger and desire were a difficult combination to swallow, though. He was running out of time. In a month, he’d be eighteen; in two months, the school year would be over and they would all scatter to the wind. If he was going to get the attention of the one he wanted, he would have to be more direct.
He skipped classes two days in a row to think about it. He’d skipped more classes than he’d attended and was still passing. A few more wouldn’t matter. He was going to graduate.
Finally, he decided the direct approach would be the best. Or at least the most fitting to the ‘persona’ he’d built up for himself. Or, at least that’s what he told himself, as he worked up the nerve. It was just another stunt to pull off, nothing more. Worst case, he got shot down.
He hated that idea, though. He didn’t know if he’d recover from being shot down. Something about this made it more real than any other prank he’d pulled. Something about this wasn’t a prank.
That thought scared him, almost kept him from doing anything, but not doing anything, not finding out, was worse. To never find out, even if the answer was rejection, was incomprehensible. He had to know the truth.
First period English was the only class they had together. Justin strutted into class and deliberately took David’s seat. The teacher gave him a look that spoke of many layers of disgust and disapproval and an unwillingness to voice any of them.
Maybe it was the long red hair, brushing David’s shoulders when he wore it down, or maybe it was the green eyes that danced with amusement, but there was something about him as he stood in the door, a glare on his face, that just excited Justin more than anything else he knew.
“Get out,” David demanded, not specifying if he meant the seat or the room or something more general.
Justin kept his seat. “Why? I’m sure my lap is more comfortable,” he said, patting his legs. “Give it a try.”
“I’m sure your seat is more comfortable, give it a try,” David mocked, still glaring at Justin from the doorway.
Justin lifted his chin defiantly. “You try this and if you don’t like it, I’ll move, your highness,” he quipped.
Interest flickered through the glare. “Fine,” David said, moving over to sit on Justin’s lap. He sat as near normal in his seat as possible, his hips pressed up against Justin’s stomach, his ass right over Justin’s crotch. He set his book open on the desk in front of him and proceeded to pretend the situation was completely normal while working on the final bits of his homework.
Justin had to bite his lip to keep quiet. Though he hadn’t minded making David feel uncomfortable in front of the class, saying anything would draw attention to a growing problem in the region of his groin. He could feel every movement David made, from leaning forward to look at something in the text book to twisting to the side to remove something from his book bag.
“David, is there a problem?” the teacher asked from the front of the room.
David paused, glancing over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turning up and then back at the teacher. “No, no problem, Mr. Frazee. Should there be?” he asked, his voice completely innocent.
Frazee stared at them a moment longer before beginning his lesson. When he turned his back on the class to write something on the board, David slipped a note behind his back. “Make a sound and everyone will know,” it said.
Justin glared at the note, wondering what David was talking about. Yeah, he was hard, but so…
The thought died when David’s hips shifted slightly, deliberately moving to entice the fantasies that woke Justin up in the middle of the night. It was really a subtle movement. All David did was to lean forward slightly while tensing the muscles of his ass. Justin had to bite his lip hard to keep from moaning. What was so different between now and when class had started?
Justin wasn’t sure what it was, but the way David was moving was utterly evil. Yeah, just having David on his lap had made him hard, but this was different. This was as if his dreams were coming true except for the clothing that blocked access and the audience in the room. Right then, Justin didn’t particularly care if the clothing was fully off as long as it was out of the way.
As class progressed, the movements became more rhythmic. Justin had to fight the urge to rock his hips into David’s body. He gasped, which earned him David’s heel digging into his insole even as the redhead continued with those subtle movements.
“Is there a problem?” Mr. Frazee asked sharply from the chalkboard where he’d been elaborating on the meter of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
“Not that I’m aware of,” David replied easily.
Justin didn’t trust his voice enough to say anything.
Frazee’s discussion on the rhyme schemes of the sonnets was accompanied by small movements of a quicker nature and somehow harder as well. Every time Justin thought of making a noise, some part of David’s body, his elbow, his thumb, his back, his heel, even his hip at one point, would dig into Justin’s body, stifling him. The mixture of something so very pleasurable and the spikes of pain was making it impossible for Justin to think. He could feel the sweat standing out against his face and his breathing was becoming progressively more unstable and erratic.
David leaned back, pressing his back into Justin’s face, stretching his arms up over his head as his ass pressed hard into Justin’s groin.
It was the final straw. Justin came in his pants, arching up into David’s body slightly, as much as he could manage with the way David was forcing his body back as he stretched.
Then, the bell rang, signaling the end of class.
Justin froze, uncertain what to do now. He hadn’t planned on anything like this happening. He could feel the cooling come against his skin and knew there was a very good chance it would show through his jeans as well. For once, his prank had gotten out of hand, even for him.
It didn’t help that David laughed as he leaned forward to pack his bag. He turned, shoving a piece of paper down Justin’s shirt. He left the room with a few others, laughing over how ‘stupid’ Justin had been.
Justin was about to get up and leave school for the day when Mr. Frazee glared at him. “Don’t move,” he said, stalking across the room. The few early arrivers and lingerers quickly left the room. No one liked being around Frazee when he used that particular tone of voice, the one that most would reserve for a particularly ill behaved domestic animal that had soiled the carpet.
“What?” Justin growled wanting to leave. He wanted a cigarette and to find out what was on that piece of paper in his shirt.
“I have had enough of your pranks,” Frazee snarled.
Justin said nothing, merely glaring at the teacher that loomed over him.
“Detention, today and for the rest of the week,” Frazee declared. “If you don’t show up, I’ll push for expulsion.”
Justin laughed. “Can’t do. Rules state full day notice. Tomorrow.”
Frazee swelled with indignation. “You will serve detention today,” he bellowed.
From the door, David’s voice intruded in the room. “He is right, Mr. Frazee. The rules do require prior notification.”
“What are you doing?” Frazee snapped.
David smiled at the teacher, entering the room. “I forgot my notebook in my haste to leave,” he said. He bent over near his desk, reaching under the seat to pick up a spiral bound notebook. He turned a glare on Justin. “Honestly,” he said, though there was a slight jerk to his head toward the door, “I don’t appreciate what you did.” He turned and stalked out the door.
Justin left quickly before Frazee had the chance to say anything else. By the time he reached the hall, though, David was completely out of sight. Scowling, Justin went to the bathroom before leaving campus for the day.
Or that had been his intent. In the bathroom, he pulled the note out of his shirt. “Meet me after school in the old breezeway.”
The school had been rebuilt over a decade before Justin started there. The old breezeway was part of the original set of buildings that were now used for elective classes such as art and metal shop. It connected the old building to the old gym, which was mostly unused now except for wresting and standardized testing. Why the buildings were still there, no one really understood. The old breezeway had become a hang out for stoners, mostly. Why David wanted to meet there, Justin didn’t understand.
Rather than going home after he cleaned himself up, Justin went to the old gym and climbed onto the roof. He smoked the cigarette he’d been craving while he read over the note a few more times. Nothing more came to light, though. He scowled, turning on his side and deciding a nap would be a good use of his time.
“You’re not where I said to be,” David’s voice came incongruously with the rather erotic images in Justin’s head.
“You’re early,” Justin bitched, rolling onto his back. The sun was right above him so he raised his arm to block it. “It’s only lunch,” he added.
“I don’t have any more classes today,” David said, shifting to where the sun was behind him.
Justin frowned at the shadow, unable to see David’s features. “Lucky you,” he said sarcastically.
David shrugged. “So, what were you dreaming about?” he asked, pointing to Justin’s groin. “And, if you dare to say something like ‘morning wood,’ I’ll have you know I heard you moaning. It’s how I knew you were up here.”
“Liar,” Justin snarled, color flooding his face.
David dropped to his knees, his hips coming to rest over Justin’s, rocking just slightly. When Justin moaned, David chuckled. “That was the sound I heard.” He leaned forward, his hair falling over his shoulders as one hand came to rest by Justin’s head. His other hand caressed Justin’s chest. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, his voice almost a purr.
“What makes you think I wanna deal with you,” Justin tried to snarl, but even to his own ears, his voice was breathless.
David leaned closer, a triumphant smile curving his lips. “Call it a hunch,” he said, rocking his hips slightly. “Here’s the deal,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he spoke. “Fly right for a month and I’ll give you the best birthday gift ever,” he said, his voice dripping with sensuality. “That means no skipping classes to sleep up here, no taunting me, going to your detentions, no wild parties, nothing that would involve the police. You’re going to be a very good boy for a month,” he said, leaning closer so that he could whisper in Justin’s ear. “Do we have a deal?” he asked, rocking his hips again.
Justin finally managed to move his hand to David’s hip. “Let’s make something clear,” he said. “Just what do you mean by the ‘best birthday gift ever’?” he asked. “And, how do you know when my birthday is? And, you’re hard,” he pointed out, rocking his hips into David’s.
“I didn’t try to deny it,” David pointed out. He shifted so that he was lying on top of Justin. “My dreams have involved a certain brown-eyed troublemaker and making him writhe and beg for me,” he said, his mouth tantalizingly close to Justin’s. “I want to know everything about him. Where he likes to be touched, what sounds he makes, if he has any birthmarks, everything. But that troublemaker has a reputation of fucking everything with ovaries that would let him.”
“Always with a condom,” Justin protested at the disapproval in David’s voice.
David smirked. “That’s good to know,” he said. “But, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re straight, more or less.”
“I don’t give a fuck about if you’re a guy or girl.”
David pushed himself up a little. “Oh? Have you been with a guy?”
Justin blushed. “No. You’re the only one I like,” he mumbled almost incoherently. “I…watched porn,” he admitted, somehow sounding as if he were confessing to stealing cookies before dinner. “I…dream about you and I ended up harder than I’ve ever been,” he continued in the same voice.
“So, what do you think about more,” David said, leaning close enough to Justin that his breath brushed against Justin’s lips, “sliding your dick into my ass or wrapping your lips around my cock?” He licked his lips, the tip of his tongue touching Justin’s lips. “Or do you want my cock up your ass and your dick in my mouth?”
Justin whimpered as images filled his head and his body ached for sensations to match those images. The brush of David’s tongue against his lips had him lifting his head for more, but David kept the distance between them the same. “Yes,” he moaned. He then blinked. “You’re gay?” he asked, his voice harsh with lust and surprise.
“Very,” David replied laughing. “Don’t get me wrong. Girls are great for company, but when I want to fuck, I want another dick.”
Justin remembered he had hands and began using them to caress David’s ass. “I didn’t expect you to be…this way,” he said, his voice laced with approval and lust.
“Which way?” David asked, letting his hips move, rocking lightly against Justin.
Justin thought a moment. “I expected you to be a prude or something,” he said. “You’re such a suck up in school and everything.”
David chuckled. “You haven’t seen me suck up yet,” he purred, brushing his lips lightly over Justin’s, not quite a kiss.
Justin again tried to lean up into that contact, tried to prolong it. “I’d like to,” he groaned when David moved back. “But, I’m getting the feeling you’re all talk.”
“All talk?” David asked, his tone playfully offended.
“You keep teasing me, but you haven’t delivered.” Justin used his hands to encourage David to rock a little harder against him. “All talk. How do I know what you’re offering is worth the effort I’m going to have to put into it?”
David looked at Justin a long moment. “You’re right,” he said then bent and kissed Justin fully. He slipped his tongue past his lips, teasing Justin’s to see if the brown-eyed boy would let him in.
Justin was more than willing to let David in. He greeted David’s tongue, welcomed it into his mouth with his own tongue, sliding along the underside of David’s. His hands massaged David’s ass as their hips moved in a slow rhythm that was more a prelude or introduction than seeking fulfillment.
There was something incredibly erotic about that kiss, something he’d never found with a woman. A firmness, decisiveness. He would have called it desire if he’d been in an actual frame of mind to figure out just what it was. David knew just what he wanted out of that kiss and was intent on making Justin want that, too.
The only thing that made Justin aware of the distant warning bell was that David pulled back from their kiss. “Hey,” he protested.
“Do we have a deal?” David asked, leaning back so he was sitting over Justin’s hips.
“I have to wait a whole month for more?” Justin whined.
“Oh, I’ll kiss you,” David laughed. “Every day that you’re good, at lunch, we’ll meet up here,” he promised. “But, a whole month before you get more.”
Feeling either very brave or very horny, Justin slid a hand around to David’s erection and caressed it through his pants. “That’s all?” he pouted.
“Until your birthday,” David said, his voice hard even as his hips rolled into Justin’s hand. “Do we have a deal?” he asked harshly, pulling Justin’s hand away.
“Yes,” Justin whimpered.
David stood up. “Then go to class. I’ll see you tomorrow and I’ll know if you obeyed.” He walked to the edge of the roof where an improvised and unstable collection of rubble and trash containers created something like a ramp up to the roof. “If you hurry, you’ll have time to take care of that before class,” he said, gesturing to Justin’s erection before he turned to go over the edge of the roof.
Justin snarled, unsatisfied with the answer, and yet looking forward more than ever to his birthday. He willed his erection away by thinking of Frazee in a Speedo. That was actually bad enough to make him want to be sick.
He made it to his after lunch class just as the final bell was ringing and took his seat in the back corner. Though, instead of leaning back and continuing his nap, the way he usually did when going to this history class, he actually stayed awake. Paying attention was debatable as he couldn’t keep his mind focused on class. His mind wandered back to the deal he’d made and the promises he’d been made. If he went to class, played the ‘good kid’ for a month, he’d have guaranteed make-out sessions like they’d just had.
David had been thinking of him. That thought was intoxicating. Almost as intoxicating as their kiss had been. More, if they’d done more, Justin decided.
While he managed to keep his body under control the rest of the day, his mind was outside his control. It returned to the roof top, anticipated his birthday and the days between.
“Man, you sick?” Bryan asked as he saw Justin passing by the front gate. Bryan was unfortunately tall and carrot-topped, one of Justin’s partners in crime. He’d been hit early and hard by puberty, but now that they were approaching graduation, he didn’t stand out as much as he had in junior high.
“Yeah, sick in the head,” Justin muttered. “Going home.” He wanted to let his fantasies loose and spend the night locked in his room with porn and little else.
“We got that thing tonight,’ Bryan insisted.
“I got more important things to do,” Justin snapped.
Bryan snorted. He didn’t know what could be more important than finding new ways to not get caught causing trouble and getting laid after. But Justin was out of earshot before he could say so. He shrugged and continued on with his plans for the night, not bothering to think of his friend until he heard of the English period antics. It was a joke around the burning oil can of trash they’d gathered around in an empty lot.
“He’s gone gay,” one of the girls declared, her voice slurred with alcohol. “Went and had that suck up David sit on his lap the whole class. Frazee blew a gasket, too.”
“The shit you say?” Bryan demanded, only slightly less inebriated.
The girl raised her beer bottle. “God’s truth,” she declared. “I was behind them. David sat there like nothing was goin’ on. Justin…not sure. He mighta been bored or he mighta been all hot and bothered.”
“He’s such a perv, he was probably usin’ good ol’ Davie’s ass to get off,” one of the other girls laughed.
Bryan scowled darkly. “Shaddup. You’ve all slept with him,” he snarled.
“Haven’t you?” someone asked from the crowd drawing raucous laughter from everyone.
“Like fuck I haven’t,” Bryan declared. “Justin ain’t that way and I ain’t neither. Anyone who wants ta say somethin’ differen’ can talk to my fist,” he said, brandishing his fist.
Laughter continued, but the general topic of discussion changed. Slowly, the crowd dissolved, leaving mostly in pairs. Bryan left with the girl he was seeing at the moment. He fucked her against the side of his truck before driving her home. That night, his dreams featured his best friend trying to get him to fuck him. He woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard. He couldn’t remember a worse nightmare.
The next day, while Bryan sought ways to scrub his dreams from his mind, Justin was in his first class, just barely on time, but there. He yawned most of class, unused to being awake so early two days in a row. Frazee’s glare from the front of the class was a blend of disgust and triumph.
David paid no attention to Justin beyond glancing at him when he entered the room.
As the class wore on, Frazee’s expression when he looked at Justin changed from triumphant to irritated. He glanced at the door as if expecting someone several times during class.
As soon as the bell rang, Justin was out of the class. He heard Frazee yell after him, but he was out of sight before the teacher reached the doorway. He went to his locker, down the next hall. He was surprised to see David walking away from it. Curiosity impelled him to fight with the lock until he finally remembered the combination. Inside the mostly empty locker, he saw a note.
“He’s up to something. Call if you need me. See you at lunch.” Underneath was a phone number.
The warning bell and the promise from David made Justin run to class rather than program the number in his phone. The paper, though, was shoved into his pocket. He went through the rest of the morning, caressing the paper whenever his hand was in his pocket.
During fourth period art, just before lunch, an office runner came into the class and said a few words to the teacher. The teacher frowned and then walked over to Justin while the aid waited. “You’re wanted in the office,” he said.
Justin frowned, but got up with a shrug. “Fine,” he said. He slouched out of the door and headed to the office, noticing the aid was on his heels. “I’m going,” he snarled.
“I gotta head back,” the aid snapped back.
Justin glared and then took a corner that lead down the long way to the office. He relaxed a little when he wasn’t followed. He took his phone and David’s number out of his pocket and programmed it in. He sent a text message saying he’d been called to the office and might be late to lunch. A second message followed saying he hadn’t done anything he could think of.
By the time he was finished with both messages, he was almost to the office. He shoved his phone and the note back in his pocket, leaving his hand in it, before pushing open the door.
Mr. Jones, the principal, was in the front office. When Justin entered, he gestured to him. “Let’s go,” he said, pointing to a conference room.
Justin scowled and followed. Inside the conference room, he took a seat without waiting for an invitation.
“So, you decided to grace us with your presence,” Mr. Jones said, taking the seat at the head of the table, behind a stack of papers.
“It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse,” Justin said, looking at the corner of the wall over Jones’s shoulder.
“It’s a pity you don’t feel that way about detention,” the principal said, flicking the papers out before them so he could see them all. “Seven in the past three weeks, none attended.”
Justin straightened in his seat, looking at Jones, surprise on his face. “What? I have detention today. I didn’t have any others.”
Mr. Jones put his hand on the papers before him and turned them so Justin could read them. “That’s not what these say,” he pointed out.
There were seven slips, all from Frazee, all from dates he didn’t attend class. “He never gave these to me,” he protested.
“They’re signed,” Jones said.
“The fuck!” Justin snarled and then looked at the pages again. “I didn’t sign them,” he protested, looking back at Mr. Jones. “I wasn’t even in class. How the fuck could I cheat if I wasn’t there?” he demanded, drawing one of the pages out.
“I’ll ask you to mind your language,” Mr. Jones said sharply.
Justin bit back the retort that sprang easily to his mind. “He gave me detention yesterday. Said he wanted me to serve it yesterday. Rules state he has to give me a day notice, which means he could only give me detention today, not yesterday,” he explained, struggling to keep his voice and vocabulary under control.
Mr. Jones looked at him hard. “Why did you get detention yesterday?” he demanded.
Justin was a little surprised that Jones hadn’t told him not to quote rules at him. “I sat in David’s seat and wouldn’t get up. David sat in my lap through class. Frazee told me I had detention.”
Mr. Jones’s frown deepened. “And? What else did you do?” he demanded.
“That’s it,” Justin insisted.
“Then why is the detention slip for lewd behavior?” Jones asked, though something was beginning to work in his mind, evidence of it in his eyes. “And, do you have witnesses?”
“The class?” Justin suggested. “Or ask David. It’s not like he has anything to gain by supporting my story.”
“Mind your attitude,” Jones said, though it seemed more automatic. He stood up and started out the door. He stopped when he had it open. “I was just going to call for you,” he said to someone and then opened the door wider, stepping in the room. He turned to Justin. “You will remain silent until I ask you to speak or I will not continue this investigation,” he ordered.
Justin had to bite his tongue to keep from retorting. He kept biting it when David walked in. He couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, but felt a measure of relief.
“You wanted to see me?” David asked, taking a seat a chair over from Justin.
“I want you to tell me what happened in Mr. Frazee’s class yesterday,” Mr. Jones said.
David frowned slightly, but did as he was asked. “Justin was in my seat when I arrived and refused to leave it. I was taught that the best way to deal with a bully is to turn their game on them, so I sat in his lap through class, ignoring him. I left class and then realized I’d forgotten my notebook and came back to hear Mr. Frazee tell Justin that he had detention that same day and when Justin protested that the rules state that wasn’t allowed, Mr. Frazee said he’d see that Justin was expelled.”
Mr. Jones frowned. “I see. And, to your knowledge, has Mr. Frazee given Justin detention before?”
David shrugged. “Justin’s not in class that often. Frankly, I was surprise he was there two days in a row this week,” he added dryly. He shrugged again. “He’s usually only there for tests and when assignments are due.”
“I see,” Mr. Jones said dryly. “You two are friends?” he asked.
David laughed. “No. I just pay attention. I could tell you some about the habits of everyone in the class.” He shrugged. “I want to be a writer or a psychologist, so I observe people.”
Mr. Jones grunted and dismissed David. When the redhead was gone, he turned to Justin. “How are you doing in Mr. Frazee’s class?” he asked.
“Getting a C. Pass all the tests and he can’t accuse me of cheating on them. Lose points for not going to class,” Justin said shortly.
“Why did you say he can’t accuse you of cheating?” Mr. Jones asked.
“He tried to, but every one around me gets lower grades than I do and he searched me for cheat sheets.” Justin shrugged. “My grades are fine and he doesn’t like it. I don’t have to cheat.”
“I see,” Mr. Jones said, regathering the pieces of paper on the table. “Very well. Attend the rest of your classes and detention today. I need to investigate this situation more before I can render a verdict. However, if you cut classes or detention, I will have my decision made for me,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Justin.
Justin snorted and stood. “I’m trying a new trick. Wanna see how it works out,” he said before giving Jones a flippant salute and leaving.
He was in the hall when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. A text message from David made him smile. “Roof” was the only word in the message. Since there was only a few minutes until the bell, Justin went directly to the roof rather than to his class for the last minutes of class.
“You rang?” he asked of David when he reached the roof. The way the other boy was sitting was rather interesting. David has his knees up, spread wide, leaning back on his hands, his head tilted to one side.
“Get over here,” the redhead ordered.
Justin swaggered across the roof until he was standing between David’s feet. “Yes?” he asked again, enjoying the sight of David as the boy squinted up at him.
“So, Frazee’s trying to follow through on his threat? And sit down.”
Justin snorted. “Yeah, seems like. Jones showed me seven detention slips that I’d supposedly signed,” he said as he knelt between David’s legs. “Said he was going to investigate and if I don’t go to class or the detention I’ve been assigned, he’ll expel me.”
David reached up and caressed Justin’s cheek. “I was worried when you texted me,” he murmured.
Justin leaned forward, his hands coming to rest next to David’s hips. “I promised. I keep my word.”
David tilted his head, his thumb brushing against Justin’s cheek. “Why me?” he asked gently.
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about you just…drew me.” He leaned in and kissed David.
David only allowed a brief kiss. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m a guy?”
“We’ve established that it doesn’t,” Justin said, trying to lean in for another kiss. When David evaded his efforts, he relaxed back onto his heels. “I thought it was weird at first, yes. But, the dreams didn’t go away and watching gay porn didn’t revolt me,” he said. He hesitated before adding, “I liked kissing you more than the girls I’ve fucked.”
David made a face. “So charming,” he said with a ripple of laughter in his voice. “You caught my eye when Frazee tried to say you were cheating,” he continued, his voice sobering. “I found out what I could about you. I started to like you,” he admitted, color touching his cheeks. “Do you know why I’m making you wait?” he asked.
Justin shrugged. “You don’t wanna do jailbait?” he suggested.
Laughing, David shook his head. “No, I want to keep you,” he said, leaning forward to kiss Justin. In that kiss, he let Justin know just what he meant by ‘keep,’ a possession that would last longer than a one night stand. “I want you to be serious about me,” he whispered when he pulled back.
“I can deal with that,” Justin panted. “But, why me?” he asked.
“I like your attitude, your boldness, your strength,” David said, brushing his lips against Justin’s with each adjective. “I want to get to know you better, to spend as long as possible with you.”
Justin pulled back a little. “You sound serious,” he said. “Like this is more than just…” his voice trailed off, not sure what it was more than.
David’s lips quirked up in a fleeting smile. “It’s Tuesday,” he said. “Friday, let’s go out for dinner.”
“A date?” Justin asked, raising an eyebrow. When David nodded, he thought a moment. “Okay. But—”
“You’re not getting sex until I decide to give it to you,” David said, cutting Justin off. “It may take a month for me to decide. You already promised to go to classes that long,” he reminded the brown-haired boy. After a quick kiss to soften the reminder, he added, “And, since I asked, I’ll pay.”
“I still get to see you at lunch, don’t I?” Justin asked, a pout pulling at his lips.
David answered by drawing Justin in for a kiss, pulling him down until they were lying on the roof. The fingers of one hand slid into Justin’s hair, the other arm wrapping around Justin’s waist. His tongue slid into Justin’s mouth and the kiss became a full-body writhing to extract as much pleasure as possible in the time before the warning bell rang.
“Tomorrow,” David panted, pushing slightly at Justin.
“Definitely,” Justin gasped back. “Class and then here,” he added, leaning down for one more quick kiss before pushing himself up.
The look on Mr. Frazee’s face when Justin staggered into class half-asleep was of shock and a hope of triumph. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, stalking across the room to stand in front of Justin’s desk.
“Attending class,” Justin said then yawned. “Like I was told to.”
“Told to?” Frazee echoed. “By whom?”
“Jones said to attend class until he talked to me again,” Justin muttered.
Frazee’s expression was black. “Mr. Jones,” he corrected sharply before turning and stalking to the front of the class. When class started, he had everyone clear their desks save for a piece of paper and spent the rest of the class firing off questions in a pop-quiz.
When he could, Justin looked over at David, admiring the way the redhead’s neck looked with his hair pulled up into a ponytail. He wondered if he’d be allowed to kiss that neck, to trace that line with his lips. He turned his eyes sharply back to his own paper to keep his body under control, not wanting to give Frazee any more ammo to use against him.
The bell rang while Frazee was in the middle of a question. The class stirred restlessly and looked at him. “Get out,” he snarled.
David rose, a few with him, and placed the quiz in the basket usually used to collect their assignments. “I hope you feel better soon,” he said before picking up his bag and leaving.
The rest of the class followed suit, muttering with varying degrees of good will and clarity. Once outside the door, complaints about the class began at full volume. A couple of students asked Justin why Frazee had asked him why he was there. Justin shrugged and speculated it was because Frazee hadn’t gotten laid recently. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he extracted himself from the laughing group.
“Proud of you. See you at lunch,” was the message David sent him.
Justin smiled and replied, “Made promise. Looking forward to it.” After that message was sent, he sent another. “You look hot with hair up. Want to kiss your neck.”
“Sweet words,” was the reply just as the bell rang for the next class.
During third period, Justin was again called to the office. He was surprised to see David there. “Hey,” he greeted the other boy.
David only had a chance to smile at him before Mr. Jones called them both into the conference room. Mr. Frazee was already there, glowering at both of them.
Mr. Jones took his seat at the head of the table, his expression carefully neutral. “Mr. Frazee has some serious accusations,” he said blandly. When neither boy said anything, he continued. “He has stated that he believes the two of you cheated on the test this morning.”
Before Justin could sputter in outrage, David was laughing. “Mr. Jones, Justin sits three rows behind me and two seats over. That’s just impractical as well as absurd. And, I cover my test sheets as I take them. Old habit from being cheated off of in junior high.”
“You cover your sheet?” Mr. Jones asked. He turned to Justin. “Were you aware of this?”
Justin shrugged. “Can’t see his desk. I dunno what he does or doesn’t do.” He shrugged again. “I looked at him since he looks like a girl with his hair up and Frazee was snapping out questions before I could say anything to him.”
“And why would you want to say something to him?” Mr. Jones asked, his voice still carefully neutral, though his eyes were more on Mr. Frazee than on Justin.
“He makes a good target,” Justin muttered. “Why else?” He was sure he was going to end up having to explain this at lunch, but he hoped David understood that he needed to keep up appearances.
“They’re fucking,” Mr. Frazee snarled.
“I’d ask you to watch your language,” Mr. Jones said sharply. He turned to the boys. “Are you two dating?” he asked.
“No, nor are we engaged in gross physical conduct,” David replied. “And, I don’t see how that’s relevant to the issue at hand.”
Mr. Jones turned to Mr. Frazee. “Is there a point to this or is it that you are out to get one or the other of them?” he asked sharply. “I had already told you there were no grounds to suspend or expel Justin provided he attend his detention as assigned. He was there yesterday. Retaliation will not be allowed, either.” He turned back to the boys. “Return to class. I do apologize for disrupting your day. I do not want to see either of you for the rest of the year.”
“Yes, sir,” both boys said quickly, rising and leaving the room.
“See you at lunch,” David whispered as they were leaving the office. “We’ll talk then.”
Before Justin could say anything, David was out of ear shot. He returned to class and went to his art class. He was up on the roof of the old building before the bell finished ringing, having been dismissed early since he’d finished the assignment.
Justin sat on the roof, his knees up, watching for David’s arrival. He couldn’t stop the smile that curved his lips when he saw the red hair show over the edge of the roof. When David’s face appeared, his smile became a grin. He thrilled when David smiled at him. “Heya, sexy,” he called.
“Hey yourself,” David said, crossing the roof. He looked at Justin a moment then moved so that he was sitting between Justin’s legs, his back to the brunet’s chest. He reached for Justin’s arms and wrapped them around himself. “I recall a promise,” he said, stretching his neck a little. “I demand fulfillment on it before we talk.”
“As you wish,” Justin said, tightening his arms around David and bending to taste the skin just below David’s hairline. “I didn’t mean it when I said you looked like a girl. But, I didn’t want to say you looked hot in front of them,” he murmured, his lips moving behind David’s ear.
“I said promise before talking,” David’s voice was sharp, tempered by the warmth of pleasure in it. He moaned as Justin became more serious in exploring his neck. He reached up to caress the brunet’s cheek, the other hand keeping Justin’s hands above his waist. When that became more of a struggle than he wanted to put up, he turned slightly, moving his neck away from Justin’s lips. “Talk now,” he panted.
“Don’ wanna now,” Justin pouted.
David laughed breathlessly. “Neither do I, but it’s better that we do.” He leaned his head on Justin’s shoulder. “I don’t mind if you don’t want them to know. It’s not like they need to know. I am of the opinion it’s no one’s business whom I decide I want to be with.”
Justin thought a moment. “I can’t remember ever hearing you go out with anyone,” he said.
“I’ve dated a lot, I just don’t advertise it and the people I date don’t see the need to either.” He nuzzled into Justin’s shoulder, turning his head up a little to place a light kiss on Justin’s neck.
“You totally gay or bi?” Justin asked, a shiver coursing through his body at the light touch.
“Yes,” David purred, kissing Justin again. At the growl he could feel starting in Justin’s chest, he chuckled. “I’m bi, but mostly I’ve dated guys. Like I said, I prefer having another dick around when I have sex. You, however, I’ve been watching longer than most.”
“Why?” Justin demanded.
David was quite a long moment, watching the sky as he leaned against Justin. “Because, I’m more serious about you,” he finally said, his voice soft, almost distant. He closed his eyes when Justin stilled. He didn’t want to see when he was pushed away.
“What do you mean by that?” Justin asked, his voice careful. “Fuck,” he swore when the warning bell sounded. “Tell me,” he pressed.
“Tomorrow at lunch,” David promised. “I want to be able to explain it and answer your questions.”
“Tonight,” Justin pushed.
“I can’t tonight. I have to go somewhere.” He moved so he was looking into Justin’s eyes, his hands on Justin’s shoulders. “It’s not that I don’t want to explain, it’s that now isn’t the time.”
With an exasperated sigh, Justin said, “Fine. Tomorrow. Don’t try to get out of it.”
David shook his head and said, “I won’t.” He started to push himself to his feet but Justin held his hands.
“One more kiss?” Justin pleaded.
David smiled, relief in his eyes. “One more,” he agreed, leaning in for that kiss. Though he had intended to keep it short, he lingered over it. “Tomorrow,” he whispered, pulling himself reluctantly away.
Justin nodded and pushed himself up. “Tomorrow, and you better explain,” he growled, heading to the edge of the roof.
“I will,” David promised again. He lingered on the roof until he saw Justin enter the building. He looked up to the sky and sighed. “Well, maybe I didn’t screw up,” he said, closing his eyes a moment before leaving the roof as well.
The next day in class, David was in his seat when Justin arrived. He watched the boy stagger in and collapse in his seat. He shammed looking at his book, watching as Justin looked at him then smiled. He turned the page to mask his own smile. He schooled his face into a carefully neutral expression as class began, keeping that mask on while Frazee barraged him and Justin with several questions.
One of the other students, Barbara, interrupted the questions. “Mr. Frazee, this is looking a lot like you’re harassing them for no good reason,” she said.
Mr. Frazee stopped and looked at her. His mouth worked silently a moment and he began spreading out the rapid-fire questions.
As soon as the bell rang, the class was heading out the door even though Frazee was still asking questions. No one wanted to wait around to hear the end of it. David filed out with the rest, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at both Justin and Frazee. The teacher was stalking across the room while Justin was joining the flow of students to the door. David suppressed a smirk when Barbara intercepted the teacher and began demanding to know why they’d been so unfairly questioned. David was out of sight and earshot of the class before she finished her first question.
Just before he entered his second class, his phone vibrated in his pocket, letting him know he had a message. He opened it and couldn’t help but smile. “You’re rather addictive,” read the message from Justin.
“Not bad yourself. See you at lunch,” he sent back.
After the assault in English, it was restful to listen to a lecture on the reproductive system in biology. As there was nothing terribly novel in the material, David let his mind wander, his pen sketching random designs in his notebook.
His third period, a programming class, kept him busy enough, and fourth period calculus was a test. Since it was the class before lunch for most of the students in it, the teacher let them leave early provided they didn’t disturb any of the other classes. David made his way to the old roof and waited for Justin to join him. He lay on the roof, looking up at the sky, just letting his mind wander.
David was aware of Justin reaching the roof, though he continued to stare at the sky. He kept his eyes skyward until Justin lay down half on him. He smiled then, and turned to look into brown eyes. “Hey,” he said, letting his arms go around the other boy.
“Hey,” Justin replied, leaning down for a kiss. “You let anyone come up to you like that?” he asked.
David smiled again, shaking his head. “I knew it was you.”
Justin leaned down and kissed along David’s jaw. “Anyone could come up here,” he pointed out.
“But, usually, no one does,” David replied, lifting his chin. He brought one hand up to tangle in Justin’s hair, encouraging him to continue.
“What were you going to tell me yesterday?” Justin asked, his lips brushing against David’s neck as he spoke.
David rolled his head back, pressing his neck into Justin’s kisses. “Couple of things. More serious about you than any before, have college classes after lunch, other stuff,” he said vaguely.
“You’ve gotta string of guys doing this to you, don’t you?” Justin said, though his accusation lost something as he was still kissing David’s neck.
David chuckled. “Yes, I’m a predator with a string of lovers at various stages of seduction,” he said, a groan in his voice as Justin found a particularly sensitive area of his neck.
“I knew it,” Justin growled, exploiting that spot that made David moan. “I’m gonna be the last one you need,” he said, his lips sliding up David’s neck.
“Really?” David asked just before Justin claimed his lips. The next part of their conversation was lips and tongues sliding together. It surprised him that Justin would make such a claim so early in their relationship, but it was also gratifying. It was a long time before he could follow up with, “Why do you say that?”
While David watched, cockiness flickered through Justin’s expression, replaced with something almost tender. “Because I really like you,” he said, color that had nothing to do with arousal touching his cheeks.
David blinked then smiled. “Really?” he asked, his voice soft though it rippled with amusement. “I am glad, but there’s still a lot to learn,” he murmured, bringing up a hand to caress Justin’s cheek. “While I do thoroughly enjoy this type of conversation, there are other things to discuss. That is what Friday is for.” He couldn’t withhold the groan of irritation when the warning bell sounded.
“Do we have to wait until Friday?” Justin pressed. “Tonight…?”
David shook his head, his eyes carrying some sorrow. “Friday.”
Justin sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled. “What time Friday?”
“Right after school,” David said, a hungry smile curving his lips.
Justin chuckled. “And you think you’re going to make me wait until my birthday when you want in my pants as bad as I want in yours?” he teased, leaning down for another kiss before pushing himself up.
David only laughed. “Go, I’ll see you in the morning.” He watched Justin leave the roof and then stared at the sky. There were things to get taken care of, but he wanted a moment to linger in the feel of how much Justin wanted him already.
Justin walked to class, a bounce in his step.
“You going tonight?” Bryan asked from behind him as he was heading to detention.
Turning, Justin shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can’t. Got shit to do again.”
“What is your problem, man?” Bryan asked. “You haven’t done nothin’ with us all fucking week.”
“Maybe I’m tired of just getting drunk and fucking some chick because I can,” Justin shot back.
“So, what, you fucking some nerd now?” Bryan demanded, his fists curling at his sides.
Justin glared at Bryan. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
“I heard about you and that David fucking each other in class,” Bryan shot back.
“You’re fucking mental, is what you heard!” Justin couldn’t stop the color rising to his cheeks, but was pretty sure his friend would take it as anger.
Bryan raised both fists. “You wanna say that again?” he demanded, his voice low.
Justin snorted then leaned closer to Bryan. “You’re fucking mental,” he said, enunciating each word carefully.
Bryan growled and swung at Justin’s head.
Justin ducked easily and then drove his own fist into Bryan’s gut, forcing out the air in his lungs. “You also can’t fight,” he said, gloating. His triumph was cut short as Bryan’s fist found his stomach.
Someone in the gathering crowd yelled out a warning that the teachers were coming. Justin glared at Bryan and started walking away. They’d have to settle this later. A sound of disappointment filled the onlookers as they, too, started to scatter.
The next day at lunch, David was on the roof, waiting for Justin, looking rather unhappy. “I heard you were fighting,” he said when Justin sat with him.
Justin scowled at the ground. “No, we each only got one hit in.”
“I asked you to stay out of trouble,” David sighed.
“Didn’t get caught,” Justin said, sounding like he was pouting.
David reached over and put his hand over Justin’s. “What started it?” he asked, his tone much gentler.
“He was bitching at me because I haven’t been goin’ out to get drunk and fuck and shit.” Justin looked over at David. “I don’t want to, not just ’cause you said to stay out of trouble, but I was really starting to get bored of that shit.” If he thought back, that had started about the same time he noticed David.
Only, David didn’t let his thoughts go that far. He leaned over and kissed Justin, gently at first, just a brush of lips. “I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he whispered. Another teasing kiss. “Or expelled. I’d miss you,” he whispered.
Justin brought his hand up to caress David’s cheek. “I wouldn’t want that,” he whispered before leaning in for a more serious kiss. “I think I love you,” he whispered, pulling away, his face and ears red.
“You…do?” David asked breathlessly.
Justin nodded. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he mumbled. “Do you—?”
Justin’s question was cut off as David kissed him enthusiastically. He pressed the brunet to the ground, moving to cover his body.
Justin groaned under the assault, his hands wrapping around David, wanting to keep him there as long as possible. The bell rang entirely too soon.
David pulled back. “I’ll pick you up after your detention,” he said, his voice breathless.
“Dun wanna go,” Justin complained, trying to pull David back down to him.
“The less ammo you give Frazee, the better,” David countered, pulling back.
“God, what a kill-joy,” Justin grumbled.
David snorted and left the roof, waving over his shoulder at Justin.
Justin considered lingering on the roof, but given that David had known about the thing with Bryan when there hadn’t been that many witnesses, he decided not to ruin his chances and went to class.
On the way, he realized he hadn’t had a cigarette since Monday, nor had he craved one since then, either. Strange, since he usually smoked a pack every couple of days. He shrugged, putting it down to cigarettes not being as addictive as claimed. Adults tended to make shit up, anyways.
After class, just before detention, Bryan caught up with him again. “Look, man, what’s going on?” the tall boy asked.
“I just wanna try something new,” Justin said, shrugging. “Was bored, just drinkin’ and fuckin’. Wanna see how this goes.”
“So, you gonna become some kind of priest?” Bryan demanded.
Justin made a face. “Fuck no. I don’t do kids.”
Bryan made a face. “That shit ain’t what I mean,” he spat out. “You know that!” He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, when you get your head out of your ass, let me know.”
“So charming,” Justin said flatly. “An invitation like that, I don’t know how I can refuse.”
“You know what I mean!” Bryan snapped. “Don’t be such an ass about it.”
“Yeah, I know,” Justin muttered. He continued down the hall. “Catch you later,” he said, waving over his shoulder. Maybe the whole drinking and fucking thing would have more appeal if the girls didn’t look like they’d rather be filing their nails, he thought as he walked into the detention room.
Mr. Frazee stood at the front of the class, glaring daggers at Justin as he entered. Justin smiled at the teacher and took a seat. He then sat, staring at the desk, thinking of David, the whole time. As long as he didn’t do anything, Frazee couldn’t say anything about him. The teacher stalked around the room, circling Justin several times, enough for one of the other smart mouths in the room to ask if Frazee was imitating a vulture. Frazee assigned two more days detention for that, but since Justin hadn’t even snickered, he couldn’t do anything to his primary target.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d see, but the beat up Mustang wasn’t quite it. The sight of David leaning against the car that was almost as much rust as paint was somehow more erotic than it had a right to be, especially since David was dressed in a soft yellow polo shirt and black slacks that both managed to clash with the blue-green and brown of the car. Justin smiled. “Hey,” he said, the irritation of the day vanishing as he approached.
David smiled back. “Hey yourself,” he said, moving to open the door. “You ready?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Justin laughed. The desire to reach over and kiss David was powerful. “Where we going?” he asked instead to keep his mouth occupied for a moment.
David’s smile was secretive. “You’ll see,” he replied. He went around the front of the car and let himself in the driver’s side.
Justin scrambled in quickly, intrigued and frustrated by the answer. “Tell me,” he begged when the doors were closed and David had the car running.
David reached over once he had the car in gear and rested his hand on Justin’s thigh, his fingers sliding along the inseam. “A little patience and you’ll know,” he promised.
Justin groaned at the small touch, his body beginning to react. “Please, don’t make it too far,” he begged. “Or public,” he added as David’s fingers slid upwards.
“Eager, aren’t you?” David teased, his fingers continuing along Justin’s seam until it met his fly, continuing up to the button before he moved his hand to the steering wheel.
Justin moaned, his hips rolling up to prolong that teasing touch. “Yeah,” he panted, seeing no reason to deny what was rapidly becoming both obvious and demanding. “Tell me you’re not,” he challenged.
David laughed, a throaty sound. “There’s still something we need to discuss first,” he said.
“What?” Justin all but whined.
“Don’t worry,” David reassured Justin. He shifted gears and let his hand rest on Justin’s leg almost modestly. “We’re going to eat. I need to, and it’ll give us time to talk. And, I’m sure you’re hungry, too, missing lunch.” He gave Justin a sly smile.
“Fine,” Justin grumbled, caressing David’s hand on his leg.
David squeezed a little. “Good, I’m glad you understand.”
“Are you still going to make me wait?” Justin asked, keeping the whine out of his voice.
“We’ll see,” David said vaguely, squeezing Justin’s leg before letting go to shift gears to stop.
They drove in silence, David’s hand on Justin’s leg between shifting. Justin was surprised when they turned into a residential area. “We’re going to your place?” he asked.
David looked at him and smiled. “Yeah. Thought it’d be more comfortable.”
Hope flared through Justin’s body and focused in his pants. “More private,” he added, reaching across to David’s lap.
David smiled. “That, too. But there are still things we have to discuss first.”
Justin bit back a groan. He’d rather just get in the house and start kissing, work his way into David’s clothing and see where things went from there.
They pulled into the driveway of a low, one-story house. The garage door rose, though Justin didn’t see David push a button on a remote. He dismissed it, though, as something he’d just missed. The garage itself was very neat, with shelves along the wall directly across from the door laden with neatly labeled boxes and yard tools. Justin tried to remember what the yard looked like and couldn’t conjure it up in his mind. He frowned and looked over his shoulder when he got out of the car, but the garage door was already closed. He didn’t remember hearing the door go down, either.
The thought was gone when David took his hand. “Let’s go inside,” he said, urging Justin away from the car.
“What about your folks?” Justin managed to ask, though all he really wanted to do was follow wherever David led.
“I live alone,” David said. “I also don’t have many people over.”
Several questions flashed through Justin’s mind, but none lingered long enough for him to actually ask. “Thank you,” he said instead, squeezing David’s hand.
They entered the house through a door to one side of the garage that led into the kitchen. David urged Justin toward the table while he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of bottles of soda. He set them on the table and evaded Justin’s attempts to catch his hand again. “Talking first,” he said gently, sitting across the table.
“Okay,” Justin said, opening the bottle carefully. He waited a moment, and when it didn’t seem that David would say anything, asked, “What did you want to talk about?”
David took a swallow of his soda. “I have to tell you something,” he said vaguely. “Something that’s difficult.”
Justin waited, fidgeting with his drink. “What? You got herpes or something?” he asked.
David laughed. “Nothing contagious,” he said, then stared at his drink.
“Then what?” Justin pressed when David was silent again.
“Well,” David mumbled. “This isn’t something I usually tell anyone.” He turned the bottle between his hands. “But, for some reason, I want to tell you.” Again, he broke off, frowning at the bottle.
“You don’t act like it,” Justin pointed out, taking a drink. “You gonna talk or sit there and stammer about how you wanna talk?”
David actually blushed at that. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I haven’t talked about this before.”
“Sorry,” Justin mumbled.
David sighed. “No, it’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “I am an…” he paused, taking another deep breath, “incubus.”
“A what?” Justin asked.
David blinked and then laughed. “Never mind.”
“No, don’t give me that shit. It was a big deal, then why tell me never mind.” He glared at David. “Tell me.”
David sighed. “An incubus is a male demon that is sustained on sexual energy.”
“So, you a demon? Rock on,” Justin said laughing.
David blinked and stared at Justin. “‘Rock on’?” he repeated.
“Yeah. That’s cool,” Justin said.
David blinked again. “You understand I was basically grooming you to become a meal, don’t you?” he said.
Justin considered a moment. “Only one?” he finally said, almost pouting. Before David could say anything else, Justin continued, “If it feels good, I want more,” he said, color touching his cheeks.
David stared at Justin a long moment then laughed. “You do need to eat first, though. Otherwise, I can’t promise anything.” Before Justin could ask, David said, “I feed off your energy. If you don’t eat, it is possible for you to die.”
“Dude, that’s major,” Justin said, paling a little. “So,” he said, trying to sound cocky, “whatcha gonna feed me?”
David rose from his chair and walked around the table. He caressed Justin’s cheek a moment before leaning down and kissing him very gently. Without a word, he went to the refrigerator and began pulling things out, bread, lunch meat, cheese, mayonnaise, mustard, jelly. From a cupboard, he drew out peanut butter and chips. He made several sandwiches and brought them over to the table.
Justin laughed. “If I eat all that, I’ll get cramps,” he protested.
David shrugged and grinned at Justin. “Eat what you need. We’ll take the rest in with us. You’ll need more after, too.” He moved to sit across from Justin again.
Justin took a meat sandwich and began eating. He was almost finished with it when he noticed that David wasn’t eating. “Don’t you need to eat?” he asked.
“I will be, in a little bit,” David said, his smile promising enjoyment.
“What’s it like?” Justin asked.
David shrugged. “I’m not sure how to explain. I’ve always been this way.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Justin protested.
“I know, but the answer’s the same. You’ll have to tell me.”
Justin frowned slightly, but silently ate another sandwich and finished his soda. “There,” he said, brushing his hands down his jeans. “I ate.” He smirked. “Should I brush my teeth now? Take a shower? Anything else?”
David raised an eyebrow. “Pick up the plate and follow me,” he said archly. He crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple more sodas. He laughed when Justin was right behind him. “You obey very well,” he said through his laughter.
“Does that mean I’ll get what I want?” Justin asked, a glint in his eyes.
“Your answers, your obedience, are what convinced me too change my mind,” David said softly.
A thrill coursed through Justin’s body. He smiled, color touching his cheeks. “Really?” he whispered.
“Really,” David replied, caressing Justin’s cheek before turning and leading him down the hall.
Justin followed closely, his eyes following the line of David’s hair down to his back, to his ass, covered by khaki pants. He watched a moment. “Boxer briefs,” he said suddenly.
David looked over his shoulder and stopped in the middle of the hall. “What?” he asked, bemused.
“That’s what you’re wearing,” Justin said. He looked up at David’s face. “Isn’t it?”
“What makes you say that?” David asked, now amused.
“Well, no lines, too smooth for boxers…” Justin let his words trail off. “I’m really good at telling what a girl’s wearing.”
David laughed and started walking down the hall again. He turned into the last door on the right. Inside was what could best be called a boudoir. The bed, a four-poster constructed of dark wood, was piled high with rich looking fabrics and furs, mounded with pillows. The walls were covered with darkly-patterned wallpaper or fabric. The bedside tables could have been dressers, and the wardrobe in one corner and bureau in the other dwarfed them.
David set the sodas on one of the bedside tables and turned to take the sandwiches from Justin.
“Damn,” Justin muttered, looking around.
“Do you like it?” David asked, wrapping his arms around Justin’s waist.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Justin said, his attention becoming more focused on David now. “But then, I’m used to just fucking wherever.”
David chuckled. “I prefer a little bit of luxury,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss Justin’s cheek.
“I can deal with that,” Justin said, turning to capture David’s lips.
“Good,” David mumbled into the kiss before giving himself to it.
The kiss became a whole-body affair, a slow, sensual dance of hands sliding along clothing, hips moving together, bodies pressing closer. It was a long time before they separated for breath, and in that space, David removed Justin’s tee-shirt.
“No fair,” Justin protested, though it was a weak protest with David’s lips moving to his neck as he spoke.
“Why?” David asked, his lips trailing up to Justin’s ear.
“I didn’t get yours off,” Justin said, somewhere between a pout and a groan.
“Such a pity,” David teased. “You’ll just have to figure it out, won’t you?” he asked before nibbling on Justin’s ear.
Justin’s fingers found the hem of David’s shirt and began pulling it up. “Condoms?” he asked, panting.
“Don’t need them,” David said, his lips caressing Justin’s neck as he spoke. “I can’t catch or carry anything. Survival thing, be bad to pass disease to my food.”
Justin whimpered, his knees going weak as David seemed to find every place on his neck that felt good, not to mention the sliding of his fingers along his back. “I’m more than just food, though,” he whimpered. “Right?”
David hummed in thought. “I do care about your well-being,” he said softly, his lips traveling over Justin’s throat, causing the brunet’s head to tip back. “That is more than I can say for most,” he murmured.
Justin’s hands fisted around David’s shirt, holding onto it for physical and mental balance. He groaned deeply, when David’s teeth brushed against his trachea. “Am I more?” he pressed, though it was obviously an effort to talk.
David continued to the other side of his neck. “Yes,” he whispered, “though, there’s no way you can be the only. You wouldn’t survive.”
Justin groaned, his grip on David’s shirt relaxing a little as he convinced his hands to work again. “As long as I’m more, I can live with that.”
David only chuckled, breaking from his explorations long enough to allow Justin to pull the shirt over his head. He moaned when he wrapped his arms around Justin’s waist, pulling their chests together. “Tonight will be pretty vanilla,” he murmured, his lips brushing against Justin’s. “But, as we find your limits, both physically and mentally, we’ll have more fun, too.”
“More fun?” Justin asked, David so close that their lips brushed as he spoke.
“Oh, yes,” David purred. “I like all kinds of things.” Instead of elaborating, he kissed Justin. It was another slow, sensual dance of a kiss. David worked his hands around to Justin’s fly and worked it open, pleased when the brunet did the same to him. As he pushed down Justin’s jeans, he found thong underwear. “Nice,” he said, caressing Justin’s bare ass, his fingers teasing the edges of the fabric.
“I was right,” Justin gloated lustily, his hands on David’s ass. He shifted enough to look down to see what color they were. “Black? Kinky,” he said, his voice full of approval.
“Better off,” David said, working his hands up and under Justin’s waist band and shoving his underwear down. He stepped away before Justin could return the favor, though. He slid his underwear down and kicked them off, his hands caressing his body while he watched. Green eyes returned to Justin, a challenge in them, a smirk on the kiss-swollen lips below. “Come and get me,” he said, moving backwards until his back was against the post of his bed and he rolled around it before climbing over the foot of his bed. He crawled up, turning to face Justin as he lay in the center of his bed. “If you dare,” he taunted, his hand caressing his stomach, drawing attention to his erection.
Justin wasn’t sure where to look. He looked at the bed, at David’s face, at his own erection, everywhere else but David’s erection. He wanted, very much, but where was he supposed to look? He shoved his pants down, pushing off his shoes and tossed them behind him.
“Look at my dick,” David commanded softly. “Come over the foot of the bed. I want you to really look at it,” he said, turning on his back.
Justin swallowed. He wanted this, he was sure of that. He wanted David more than he’d wanted anyone else. And, it was just a dick. He had his own, as he was reminded staring down at it. Even as nervous as he now was, his erection hadn’t diminished. He walked around to the end of the bed and crawled up, staring hard at David’s knees, fighting the desire to look at his feet and at his erection.
He was startled into looking up when David’s knees separated. He felt his face flush as his eyes brushed past and then returned to David’s cock.
“Come closer,” David invited him. David reached down, holding out both hands for Justin.
Justin took David’s hands and shuffled his way up on his knees. He stopped when David stopped pulling. His knees were about halfway up David’s thighs, he noticed, trying not to look at the thing he very much wanted to look at.
“Now, touch me,” David said, bringing one of his hands to his erection, letting go of Justin’s hand when the backs of his fingers brushed over it.
At first, Justin just ran the backs of his fingers along David’s erection. David’s soft moans encouraged him to become bolder, to touch it with the tips of his fingers and then his palm. He continued touching, not quite wrapping his fingers around, but exploring. It didn’t feel that different from his own, though the angle was different. He rubbed his thumb right under the head of David’s cock.
“So good,” David moaned.
“Really?” Justin asked, the words emboldening him enough to fully wrap his fingers around David’s shaft. He stroked a few times, grinning when David groaned lustily.
“Taste,” David gasped. “Taste it.”
It wasn’t what Justin was expecting to hear. He continued stroking, slowly bending closer. He wanted to know what sounds David would make. He was curious about those, about what it would taste like.
He brought his tongue out and licked just above where his thumb had been so recently. It was a bare touch, but David groaned deeply. Justin tried again, letting his tongue linger longer.
“So good,” David moaned, his fingers coming down to caress Justin’s hair. “More, please,” he whispered.
Justin was more than willing to do more just to hear more of those sounds. He took a deep breath, pausing a moment before lifting David’s shaft and wrapping his lips around the head of David’s shaft. The inarticulate cry of pleasure encouraged him to go lower, to take more in, backing off just as he started to feel like he was going to gag. He went back down, enjoying the sounds that David continued to make.
“Use your tongue,” David panted, after a few strokes, his fingers tightening in Justin’s hair.
A little confused, it took Justin a moment to comply, pressing his tongue against the underside of David’s shaft.
“Yes,” David breathed, a sound of pure ecstasy. “Like that, keep up, like that, explore. So good.”
It was enough to encourage Justin to continue, to push himself onto more explorations, to try and take more in.
David’s fingers moved from his hair down to his shoulders, urging him up. “Come here, or I’ll come in your mouth,” he panted.
Justin groaned around David’s shaft. While he wanted David to come, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, yet. He reluctantly let go of David’s shaft, kissing a trail up David’s body. “That’s…it’s more…” he panted.
David drew Justin down, silencing him with a very hungry kiss. When they were both breathless, he drew back. “You’re good,” he purred, “very good for your first time, but this time, I don’t want to come in your mouth, not yet.”
“Where?” Justin panted out.
David smiled, his hand sliding down Justin’s back until it rested on the center of his ass. “Here,” David answered, his voice a purr of suggestion while his hand caressed the crevice between the cheeks.
“How?” While Justin had watched the gay porn, knew that was what would happen, and liked the idea of David being within him, he had trouble getting his finger in his own hole.
“Very carefully, of course,” David murmured, moving to kiss Justin’s neck while his fingers still worked between his ass. When he touched Justin’s opening, he smiled. “First, we have to get you ready.”
David shifted his hand to Justin’s waist, his other hand wrapping around his shoulders, and rolled them both over.
Justin gasped when he looked up at the ceiling. Above the bed, a mirror showed him both of them. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He finally laughed. “Such a cliché,” he said, pointing to it.
David looked over his shoulder, a lusty smile on his lips, reflected in the mirror. “I like to watch,” he purred. He turned back to Justin. “I’m sure you’ll like it, too,” he added, shifting to kiss Justin’s collarbones. “Watch,” David murmured, his lips brushing against the skin of Justin’s neck. He shifted his hips, raising his ass toward the mirror.
Justin kept his eyes on the mirror, watching David travel down his body. It became more difficult as David’s explorations took him past very sensitive areas. He knew some of them, his nipples, but some were a surprise, like the line of his ribs. He was torn between watching in the mirror, looking down at David, and closing his eyes to enjoy the sensations. He squirmed under David’s touch.
“You act like you haven’t been tasted this way,” David purred, his lips brushing against Justin’s stomach.
“No,” Justin breathed. “The girls I’ve been with are just into fucking,” he panted.
David hummed, moving a little lower. “There’s something to be said about making love,” he said. “Enjoy it,” he whispered as he licked Justin’s navel.
Justin groaned, his hands coming up to tangle in David’s hair. “Definitely,” he breathed. He quivered, shifting on the bed as David’s hands run up his thigh.
“Ticklish?” David teased, looking up at Justin, his hands caressing Justin’s thighs lightly.
Justin squirmed. “No,” he said stubbornly.
“Of course not.” David’s voice rippled with amusement. He shifted down a little. “Here, this’ll help,” he said, his breath over Justin’s erection. Before Justin could ask, David took his shaft in his mouth, licking it, sucking gently.
“Fuck,” Justin gasped, his head going back as his body arched into David’s mouth. His hands fisted in David’s hair as he trembled.
David caressed Justin’s legs more firmly, getting him to relax into the bed again. His mouth continued to suck, to tease Justin’s shaft. Once Justin’s body was relaxed, he picked up a bottle of lube that he’d pulled out from under the pillow when he’d had the chance. He worked it open one handed and slicked some over his fingers.
Justin’s eyes went wide when David pressed a finger into his body. His breath caught in his throat and he wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was good or bad. Everything became more intense when David crooked his finger, touching something inside him. He choked on a scream when David hummed around his shaft, brushing past that spot again.
David kept his rhythm slow, steady, encouraging Justin to rock into it, to thrust into his mouth as he bobbed along Justin’s shaft. He continued to caress Justin’s leg and up to his stomach with his free hand, going slowly to encourage Justin to relax. He even slipped his hand under Justin’s knee and encouraged him to bend them, spreading his legs even more.
Keeping his rhythm steady, David slowly worked a second finger into Justin’s body. He glanced up to watch as much of Justin’s reaction as he could. David thought himself a connoisseur and Justin something exquisite to be enjoyed. He brushed his fingers against that spot, swallowing as Justin’s shaft leaked more precum in response, a prelude, an appetizer for him. The sounds Justin made, half-choked screams, groans, breathless swears, all melded with the sounds of sucking and his own moans to form a symphony. The sight of Justin’s body, flushed and glistening, was a picture too beautiful for any artist to capture. Each reaction, each sound, each taste, inspired David to cause another.
He continued until he could work a third finger into Justin’s body without him seeming to notice. When Justin’s body seemed to be trying to draw his hand in deeper, he released Justin’s shaft. “More?” he asked, kissing his way up Justin’s body, using his free hand to lube his shaft.
“More, fuck, more, more now,” Justin babbled, tossing his head from side to side. He sobbed when David pulled his fingers out.
“Hold behind your knees,” David said, pushing Justin’s legs up. “And watch,” he added, lining his shaft with Justin’s hold and leaning back a little, looking up in the mirror. “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered as he pressed his hips forward. “Watch me fuck you,” he panted as the head of his shaft passed the first ring of muscle. He drew back a little, hooking his hands around Justin’s hip joints.
Justin groaned loudly, his head lolling though his eyes remained on the mirror. The sounds that fell from his mouth were less articulate, gasping starts of words, sounds of pleasure, half-formed screams and whimpers. His body shook, trembling with pleasure and small amounts of pain. His mind was in chaos and all that mattered was that he got more of what David was giving him.
When David’s hips joined his, his eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned deep in his chest. “So good,” he managed to say.
“Very good,” David breathed. His own skin was starting to take on a glow that had little to do with being aroused. He seemed to glow from within, a golden light. “Watch,” he ordered, holding firmly to Justin’s hips as he rocked back and then forward, thrusting hard.
Justin screamed, but managed to keep his eyes open, on the mirror, watching as David’s shaft entered and withdrew from his body in a rapid rhythm punctuated by the slap of skin and David’s grunts. It was too much, wonderfully too much, and yet not quite enough.
“Touch your dick,” David ordered, his voice breathless, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust.
It was everything to Justin to obey and all he could do to obey. He touched his shaft, his fingers wrapping around when David thrust in, and that was all it took. His world exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors and he screamed as he came harder than he ever had in his life.
The colors weren’t entirely in Justin’s mind. The glow under David’s skin filled the room, enveloping both of them, dancing in prismic refractions over the room. It was a very long moment before the lights grew subdued and David was left panting on his knees between Justin’s legs. He was giddy, almost drunk, as he shifted to lie on Justin’s chest. “So very good,” he purred, nuzzling into Justin’s chest. He moved down a little to lick the come off Justin’s body.
Justin groaned, his eyes open, sightless, staring at the mirror above him.
David giggled, nuzzling back into Justin’s chest again. “When you can move, you’ll eat. Then, when you’re all recovered, we’ll do it again, only you’ll fuck me, okay,” he laughed, shifting to look down at Justin. He tilted his head a little. “And, that’s all you’ll be good for,” he pouted softly in a different, sibilant language, as he lay back down on Justin’s chest. But, it would be enough.
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- Letter From Brother Turner: December 1, 1866
Letter From Brother Turner
Christian Recorder: December 1, 1866
Mr. Editor:- Here I am away down in Clay County, on the banks of the famed Chattahoochee river, where Georgia, Florida and Alabama all converge nearly into the same radius,-is a locality where neither the heavy lumbering of the old-fashioned stage-coach, nor the shrill whistle of the iron horse, break the primeval stillness that reigns around. Only one solitary weekly newspaper relieves the monotony of this isolated region. With Selkirk, we say, “Oh, solitude, where are thy charms?”
I left Macon on last Tuesday morning, bound for a tour in the lower country. I stopped in the village of Americus, where I was very kindly cared for by the Rev. Robert Anderson, to whose church and congregation I repaired in the evening with very pleasurable anticipations. I found our people to be somewhat depressed and troubled on the account of a current report that a certain white gentleman (whose name I shall for the present withhold) intended to regain possession of their church lot, which he had given them many years ago. Upon consulting the gentleman in question, he frankly assured Brother Anderson and myself that he had never for a moment entertained such an unmanly idea, and quite indignant at the unjust imputation. This at once settled the difficulty, based as it was on “such stuff as dreams are made of.” On that evening I preached in Cuthbert, Georgia, some fifty miles lower down, to a very fine congregation, under the care of Brother Wm. H. Noble, a local preacher, whom I appointed to that charge from Macon. I found him engaged in teaching a flourishing school, as well as attending to the duties of the rostrum. I here met with Elder Jennings, who happened to be in this section at the times.
I again preached, to another fine audience, which seemed to have been powerfully worked upon by a sermon from Elder Jennings. After service, an invitation was given to all sinners to step from the path that leads to hell, an some thirty came forward while we were engaged in our exercise, anxious to be prayed for by the members.
While we were engaged in our exercises, the door was thrust open, and a man’s head (or rather what should have been a head, it being only a pimple not yet come to a head) popped into view like Rip Van Winkle risen from the tomb, or Aesop’s fabled ass out on a bender. He sent me word that Col. Gabriel, of the freedmen’s Bureau, had said that “it was time to stop that noise!” I became excited in a moment and sent him word that he was crazy, and that we were all free people. We then went on with the meeting, expecting to again hear from our nocturnal visitant, but were happily disappointed.
Like some shadow, or “burde” of evil omen, the ludicrous apparition had disappeared as mysteriously as it came. This Col. Gabriel is the Bureau’s agent, and I learn that he is the worst man in the State. If he treats the colored people as they say he does, the Bureau is a curse to the community. I will not vouch for the truth of this, but so rumors fly. They say that he curses the colored people, knocks them over the head for pastime and recreation,-and when the jail becomes so crowded that it will hold no more, (and he incarcerates them for nothing.) he chains them to the doors and walls, like so many Bengal tigers. This he does and more. As evidence of cruelty somewhere, I found our people generally timid, fearful and doubtful which is not the case where they are treated in a Christian manner.
Rev. S. B. Jones, of this circuit, having been appraised that would be in Cuthbert, arrived on Thursday with his horse and buggy, and soon we started for this point. Here faith was terribly tried; for I was under many apprehensions relative to taking such a long journey through the lower country. But asking God for protection, I nevertheless started. We travelled nearly all day through a section of country which was thickly wooded and full of game. We met several white travelers; but instead of assailing us, as I feared, they spoke very politely, and passed on their way.
As the darkness of night was closing around us, we arrived at Fort Gaines. The next evening, pursuant to appointment, I preached to a crowded house. The intelligence that a negro preacher and presiding elder was in town, had rather aroused the white people, as I learned, and consequently many came out, among whom was Rev. Mr. Harris, of the M. E. Church South. My effort was well received by all parties—and more I suspect could be paid to no poor mortal than was shown myself by both the white and colored residents.
A remarkable incident, and one worthy of notice, occurred here. While conversing with some white friends, they observed the square and compass which I wear upon my bosom. Not being aware of its design, they requested me to walk aside, to explain to them why I carried such emblems upon my person. But as soon as I made the object known, they seemed to consider me settled to their special aid and protection, and every comfort was instantly pledged to me. However, after making further inquiry among our people, I learned that the freedmen receive more protection and justice here than in any other part of Georgia….
Judge Turnipseed, of this county, is praised by all the colored people. The Sheriff, Mayor, and all the County officers are spoken of in the highest terms. The freedmen here will go to law as quickly with a white man as they will with their own kinsmen. And there is not a negro in the jail, nor a chain-gang in the county, nor a Bureau agent within twenty-five miles of the place,-while in some counties… the jails are crowded with colored people.
I do not believe that there is a county in the State where our people are treated so kindly. The whites here say that if you treat the negroes kindly, they will do what is right. But if you treat them meanly, they will treat you meanly.
These Bureau agents are great tyrants. They profess to do much good—but they are like the elephant which Patrick won at the raffle, when he scratched his head and said, “Bedad, now that I’ve got him, what shall I do….?”
On Sabbath morning I went eleven miles to Lowell church, where I preached twice and administered the sacrament to a very large audience. A minute description of that occasion would be too lengthy. But the idea of seeing a colored elder among them almost set the people crazy. To hear them sing the songs of Zion was too sweet a pleasure for tongues to tell. I was moved to tears, when we went to prayer, at seeing scores who could not gain entrance into the church, kneeling down outside, in every direction. The grandest exhibition of religious simplicity which my eyes ever beheld was thus presented to my view. Words cannot describe my emotions.
On Sabbath afternoon I returned to Fort Gaines, where I again preached and administered the sacrament: the church being too small to hold the people the college hall was beautifully lighted for the occasion, and most of the city folks were present. The affair was pronounced by the citizens as usually grand. Large accessions were made to the church at both places,-and upon the whole, nothing could have been more interesting. I have preached in the College twice, and will lecture there to-night on Social Economy.
I found two colored Societies here. Unfortunately, however, they are somewhat in oppositions to each other. But that will soon wear out. I also found a splendid restaurant, kept by Mr. Irvin Nix, a colored man.
A boot making establishment, conducted by Mr. Calvin Mitchell, is prospering finely, while we have several thrifty colored farmers—men who believes not in empty palaver, but regard true elevation as beaming forth from their own bright plough bares and waving acres of yellow grain!
Thus ends the sketch of my visit to Fort Gaines, unless something else turns up before I leave. This was, too, the place I so much dreaded. Here I expected to receive many insults, or be run out of the neighborhood. But to my surprise, it turns out to be the finest settlement in the State of Georgia. Before closing, I wish to say that Rev. S. B. Jones, who is in charge of this mission, has indeed shown himself to be a worthy workman, and deserve the high esteem in which he is held. With the exception of some little bow-wowing from some of the most ignorant, relative to pressing his financial claims, the people speak of him in the highest terms of commendation. All good men have their enemies—and Brother Jones is no exception to the general rule.
This letter has been hurriedly thrown together, Mr. Editor, and you must excuse all imperfections.
H. M. T.
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As it’s Christmas, I am giving away my new Christmas fantasy adventure for free! Download Henry Frey Versus the Dark Santa now.
Henry Frey smells danger when he spots an old enemy in a London toy store. Trouble is, Christmas is just days away, Britain is in chaos and he hasn’t heard from anyone in Alvahame in months. With no one else to help, Henry sets off to save Christmas alone.
A tall hooded figure in a sleigh led by eight reindeer lands in central London. But it’s not Santa Claus. And they’re not reindeer. Henry finds himself out of his depth against a powerful enemy who has been planning his attack on Alvahame for years and knows a lot about him. With his every weakness exposed and his new family in danger, will Henry’s friends from Alvahame be there to help?
Click the download button below (PDF 0.5MB opens in a new tab)
Happy Christmas to all my readers!
At night, when I finished writing, I turned off the lights and opened the curtain. I stared out into the night, waiting for my eyes to catch something, to spot someone lurking outside.
I did it every night.
I could tell Six had noticed. He didn’t say anything. He was only twelve, but an experienced spy and a killer. Of the two of us, he was the patient one. But I couldn’t help thinking he was becoming restless. That he wanted something to happen. He spent a lot of time pouring over the evidence Silas had left us. He’d studied the conversation ShadowAspect had overheard between two arch criminals. But he didn’t know who either man was.
He kept referring to the safehouse as “his” – but never revealed how a twelve-year-old could own a house. But then, Six was no ordinary twelve-year-old.
Night came again. I finished work, shut down my computer, turned off the lights and opened the curtain.
I realised I’d been looking forward to this portion of the evening. I was too comfortable to leave safety and run into more danger. But somehow, I was willing danger to come to me.
Then something happened.
I almost missed it.
I locked the front door behind me and stepped out into the cold night air, then ventured through the trees around the back of the house. I’d wandered through there so many times I could do it in the dark no problem at all.
Every slasher horror film I’d ever seen flashed before my mind’s eye – where some idiot gets a call or hears a noise outside or wonders where their mate Weenus went. Instead of waiting inside where it’s safe, they step outside the safety of their home to see if they can see anything, usually leaving the front door open for any psycho to creep in unseen. Every time I see one of these films, I always shout at the screen:
“Stay inside, you idiot.”
Then the idiot gets stabbed to death and their body is found in a pool of blood.
So here I was, creeping outside the safety of the house to see if I could see anyone.
My heart hammered. The blood roared through my ears. My head throbbed to the rhythm of my pounding pulse. I couldn’t work out if I was scared or excited.
I’m not as easy to creep up on as most normal human beings – not any more. Being followed and watched has made me hyper-vigilant – at least that’s what I call it. I can now feel when someone is watching me. It’s like an itch in the back of my head.
I felt nothing. So I kept going, trudging through the trees. There was enough light from the little town close by for me to just make out where I was going. The shapes off the trees all around me materialised in the darkness. They were all I could see, rising up either side of me, closing me in, more densely packed together the further I walked from the house.
I kept going, trudging through the trees. I had no idea if I was still on the route I usually took or not. Every square metre of forest looked exactly the same as the last.
My eyes caught a movement – somewhere ahead – across my eyeline from left to right. It was no more than a fleeting glimpse. But I took in enough to be sure it was human. And it wasn’t someone out for a stroll. They disappeared too quickly.
I picked up the pace.
Part of me wanted to run. To get there as soon as possible. To find whoever it was and work out what they were up to. To see a story unfold before my eyes.
The rest of me wondered what the hell I was doing out there and if I was finally losing my mind completely.
I fixed my gaze on the point ahead where I was sure I’d seen the dark figure vanish and brushed all other thoughts aside. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to gauge distance, but I reached the area I was aiming for, took a right turn to follow the dark shape and kept going. The fact I’d have trouble finding my way back now barely registered. I was on a mission and that was all that mattered.
I was in no hurry to go anywhere after reading about ShadowAspect’s spying mission. Six agreed that staying still is a good tactic sometimes, so he sifted through the notes Silas had provided, looking for clues as to where retired detective Robert Gentry hid the file that everyone was hunting. Like it or not, we were in a race to find it first. Still, I took the chance to get some writing done. The view from some of the windows was the most inspiring I’d worked to in ages.
ShadowAspect had escaped the underground London café without being seen and visited a few other places that concerned Sarasin enough to send him. A couple have already appeared in books we’ve written, some haven’t. Seeing how many of them are on the brink of disaster or destruction, it was really more than I needed to know. I was in enough danger myself.
But I felt safe enough in our safehouse.
Little did we know, someone had already found us.
“Members of the security services are already beginning to suspect your existence and the work of your organisation,” Wolsingham said. He gave a sneering laugh. “Mondial. But they are unaware of mine and I need it to stay that way.”
“It is my understanding that there is a specialised agency dedicated to bringing you down.”
“Not for much longer,” Wolsingham replied. “As no one else knows about them, their demise won’t even make page 11 of the Evening Standard.” Wolsingham finished his tea, dabbed his mouth with a serviette and got to his feet. “I need the writer taken care of. In return, my people will provide assistance when you need it. I hope you gleaned everything you needed to with this visit.”
“I did,” Hoyer smiled. “And Jason Rybak will be dead before his first book charting the exploits of your people hits the internet.”
I slammed my laptop shut and bowed over in my chair, trying to suppress the urge to vomit. Two of the most dangerous men in the world, never mind just the UK, and I was their next topic of discussion.
I took a deep breath and read on.
“Jason Rybak,” Wolsingham said. “The second people start taking the content of his work more seriously, we will both be in trouble.”
“I attempted to have him killed,” Hoyer replied. “As I know you did.”
“But he has help,” Hoyer continued. “I know nothing about this helper. None of my people have even seen his face. But their accounts suggest he belongs more to your world than mine.”
The man at the table gazed at Hoyer with contempt.
“I know you Gromas love to linger behind the scenes where no one can see you and revel in your genetic superiority,” Hoyer said calmly. “But it makes you lazy and sloppy. I would take a well-trained ordinary, but talented human being any day of the week. You should spend more time in the real world, Mister Wolsingham.”
“You would not be in your position without people like us. I would hate to see you lose everything you have built by starting a war with me.”
“I would like to see you try. So far, your people have been as much use as your bartender’s little parlour trick. Our secret weapon in our war against Ciprian’s criminal cooperative failed in spectacular fashion.” Hoyer leaned forward. His jaw clenched. “And worst of all, your deficiencies and our defeat are soon to be made public – by a writer.”
One man sitting at his own table sipped his tea without looking up, his eyes fixed on the book he was reading. But the new arrival knew he was watching every move made in the hidden café.
“Sit down, Mister Hoyer,” he said – without so much as a glance in the new arrival’s direction.
“Strange to see a man who spends his life hidden in plain sight is now just…hiding.”
“I like it here,” the man at the table replied. “It has a very exclusive feel. For most of the time, at least.”
The new arrival gave a flat, humourless smile. He sat at the table.
“The security cameras are an unusual touch for you.”
“I abhor technology, as you know. But it can have its uses.”
“I assumed you would have your waiters perform such a menial task.” The new arrival leaned back in his chair and looked towards the bar. He surveyed the barman. “I am picturing the drink I desire in my mind’s eye right now. Let’s see how long it takes to arrive.”
The barman stood where he was, arms folded. Behind him, a bottle of Opus One removed itself from the rack, opened and poured into a glass. The bottle put itself back. The glass floated smoothly over to the table and set itself down.
The new arrival applauded enthusiastically.
“The practical applications of what you people can do. Remarkable.”
ShadowAspect melted through a couple of walls and emerged in a small electronics shop that had been closed hours ago. Heavy shutters hid what was happening inside.
The two men with guns lingered out of sight by the door. Their boss followed a woman dressed like a shop assistant to a door marked “Private”, then through a stockroom to a large bookcase covered in boxes set against the back wall.
Slinking behind them, ShadowAspect had already seen seven tiny security cameras. They had all been turned off – apart from the one in the bookcase.
The bookcase swung aside. They stepped inside and it shut behind them.
After waiting a few seconds, a heavy security door opened. The man made his way in alone and strode down a dimly lit corridor with impressionist paintings on the wall. Most were fake, but some were originals. The corridor opened out into a bright café with marble floor and walls.
A waiter with a Glock 17 strapped under his apron greeted him and showed him to a table under a rooflight. A glance around the room told the new arrival that everyone there was armed – in one way or another. And they were all watching him.
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Evelyn Diamont Banko (b. 1936)
Evelyn Diamont Banko was born January 21, 1936 in Vienna, Austria. Her father, Joseph, was an engineer and her mother, Frieda, a housewife. In March 1938, when the Nazi’s annexed Austria and enacted numerous anti-Jewish laws, it became increasingly clear to Evelyn’s family that they could not remain in Austria. In August 1938, a Nazi who sympathized with Evelyn’s father warned him not to return to his home one night, or else he would be arrested and likely deported to a concentration camp. Five days later he gathered up two year old Evie and Frieda and fled to Riga, Latvia, where they lived until the Russian invasion in June 1940. Evelyn and her parents were three out of 1500 people granted permission to leave the country. Through the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, Evelyn’s father was put in charge of 24 of these refugees: the only Jews granted permission to leave. Evelyn’s family and the other refugees took the Trans-Siberian Railroad across Russia to Manchuria, China and on to Kobe, Japan, where they boarded one of the last ships to leave Japan for the United States before the attack on Pearl Harbor.
The trip to America took about six weeks, and eventually the refugees arrived in Seattle, Washington. They were given the choice of going to Portland, Oregon or San Francisco, California; they chose Portland. Her mother found work as a seamstress at Hirsch-Weis and her father became a janitor until he was able to open a Texaco service station in SE Portland. Evie attended preschool through high school in Portland and graduated from the University of Oregon with a degree in elementary education; she taught in Portland for 33 years. She is the mother of two children and grandmother of two and has been speaking about her experiences as a child refugee for many years.
Although Evie and her immediate family survived the war and the arduous trip to the United States, her uncle, aunt and grandparents were murdered by the Nazis. Those members of her extended family lucky enough to have escaped were scattered across the world, but in time Evie was able to reconnect with a few of them.
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An unknown virus eliminates the better half of the countryworld. It is highly contagious and if you have it, you're already dead. Four people, two brothers and two females travel across the countryside to find a place to settle, away from this horror. Along the way they come across moral dilemmas and even though they have a strict set of rules, end up breaking a few.
Those rules I spoke of are pretty simple. 1. Avoid populated areas at all costs. 2. If you come in contact with other people, assume they have it. 3. The virus can survive on surfaces up to 24 hours. Never touch something that is not disinfected. 4. The sick are already dead and they cannot be saved.
So it is safe to assume that in order to have an entertaining film and some high tension conflict, some of these characters need to break those rules. The so called leader of the group is Chris Pine, who plays Brian. He's the one who made up the rules and will kick you out of the car as soon as you become infected. He has no problem leaving people stranded and left to die in order to further his own survival. His brother Danny, played by Lou Taylor Pucci is a little more compassionate for others. He's not as tough. Bobby is Brian's girlfriend, played by Piper Perabo. She doesn't have too much to do in the film except play that girlfriend type. Finally we come to another underwritten character Kate, played by Emily VanCamp. Her thing is checking to see if pay phones still work so she can call her family, even though they are most likely dead.
As stated before, the two females in this film are underused and underwritten. They seem like background characters to add the missing feminine aspect of the film. Chris Pine is great as the older brother, his no nonsense and cocky attitude are also qualities seen in the recent Star Trek film. The most emotional character that I think people are going to be able to relate to is not even one of our four. Instead it's a minor character that we are introduced to early on, Frank, played by Christopher Meloni of Oz and Law & Order fame. He has the unfortunate task of looking after his infected daughter. He meets our leads and they take his car, striking a deal to bring him along to a hospital for a cure he thinks exists. A very heartfelt and depressing scene involves his daughter needing to go to the washroom. He asks her to be a big girl and go herself, so he can stay with the car, fearing they will abandon him and his daughter. Christopher Meloni is an underused actor who needs more work people.
The film never explains the virus or how global it really is. I'm assuming it's the entire world and not just the country. The unexplained events on how or why it happened leaves it all up to the viewer to decide. All that is known is that the virus is highly contagious and if you get it, you'll be dead soon. The characters make usual stops here and there for sleep and gas, at every stop they encounter some kind of problem. It becomes a bit predictable, but it never ceases to keep you interested. I found the film to be quite thrilling at times.
The thing that Carriers does well is leave you with questions to ask yourself. What would you do in this situation. Would you leave your loved ones to die because you don't want to get infected, or would you try to help them and work around this obstacle? The film shows those two choices put into action. Carriers is not a horror film, even though people seem to think so, nor is it an action filled thriller. There are some intense scenes, but to me it mostly played out like a drama. It is only 89 or so minutes, so it goes by fairly quickly, even though some people have been complaining about it's sluggish start. I think the setting of being in a desert added to the desolate and slow feel at times. In the end, Carriers is a good epidemic film. Not a lot happens in it, but the story and my personal thoughts on what I would do in this situation are enough for me to recommend it.
Review by Matt_Layden from the Internet Movie Database.
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The Lochnagar Crater is located in the village of La Boisselle in France’s Picardie region.
It is the site where one of the first explosions of the Battle of the Somme took place on 1 July 1916. Set off by British forces at 7:28am, the mine which created the Lochnagar Crater was one of the biggest ever detonated at that time and Lochnagar Crater itself is 91 metres (300 feet) in diameter and 21 metres (70 feet) deep.
Work on the mine was started on 11 November 1915 by 185th Tunnelling Company. It was completed by 179th Tunnelling Company.
The mine was packed with two charges of 24,000 and 36,000 pounds of ammonal.
Lochnagar was one of 17 mines detonated at 07:28 along the front on 1 July 1916. Debris rose 4,000 ft into the air, and as it settled the attack began.
The explosion was then the loudest man-made sound in history.
The mine failed in its objective of destroying the opposition - the attacking battalions of the Tyneside Scottish followed by the Tyneside Irish were reduced to small parties of survivors.
More details of the memorial, which is privately owned and non-profit making,can be found on the website http://www.lochnagarcrater.org/Photographs from my visit to Lochnagar Crater - 27 October 2013 Photographs from my visit to Lochnagar Crater - 29 October 2015 Photographs from my visit to Lochnagar Crater - 4 July 2016
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Former parish rectory
Place de l’Église, Chatte, France [ Map ]
Eymard’s residence at Chatte in the 1830s is commemorated by a plaque on the wall of the former rectory building opposite the present church. The plaque was installed in 2004 to mark the 170th anniversary of Eymard’s arrival in the town.
In October 1834, Eymard’s first pastoral appointment in the Diocese of Grenoble was the position of assistant-priest at Chatte, a small farming village about sixty kilometres west of Grenoble. As a young priest here, Eymard worked hard to complete his studies and to develop his skills as a preacher.
‘I must learn to speak to the hearts of people’, he wrote.
Eymard read the Scriptures every day and prayed before the Blessed Sacrament in the mornings and evenings. He devoted himself to the parish ministries of celebrating Masses, visiting the sick, counselling and hearing confessions, and the religious instruction of children.
He also gained a reputation at Chatte for his generosity to the poor. So often did Eymard share his meagre stipend with those in need that the locals began to call him ‘le panier percé’ (the leaky bucket).
It was during his term at Chatte that Eymard became familiar with the Calvary at the nearby rock of Saint-Romans, where he received a special grace that he would treasure throughout his life. Eymard remained at Chatte until mid-1837, when he was appointed parish priest at Monteynard.
Ville de Chatte (Official Site) [French]
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Dr. Roane has been practicing Rheumatology since 1993. He received his M.D. degree from Oral Roberts University School of Medicine, and did his residency training in Internal Medicine and Rheumatology fellowship in the U.S. Air Force at Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio and Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas. He served as a Rheumatologist in the Air Force for 4 years, and then 17 years in private practice in Montana until he moved to the Jacksonville area with his family in 2016.
Dr. Roane is board certified in Rheumatology and is a fellow of the American College of Rheumatology. He is also a Certified Clinical Densitometrist through the International Society of Clinical Densitometry, an expert in reading and evaluating bone density studies. “I like my patients to feel like they’ve been listened to and their concerns taken seriously. I feel that educating my patients on their level, so that they understand their disease and its treatment, is one of the most important things I do.”
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Lately I have been thinking about how little I focus on the 2nd Person of the Trinity. Honestly it feels weird for me even to reference God as individual parts: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The thing is when I think of God I normally think of Him as Father. I understand in my head that even when I am interacting with Him daily it is the third part of the Trinity who I am interacting with (Holy Spirit), but in my heart to me He is still–Father. But lately I’ve been thinking about Jesus and I’ve been re-reading the book of John to focus more on Him and his life while here on earth.
Recently, I was told to “be kind to myself”. I have heard that I can be hard on myself and therefore hard on others, but I will be honest and say that there is still a part of me that doubts this. Am I really too hard on myself? Are my expectations really too high? Because they seem pretty realistic to me. Except I and others usually fall short of them. But when she said to “be kind to myself” there was a realization that dawned on me. There was an awareness of a burden I was carrying. One I seem to always carry w/o knowing it.
The burden of perfectionism and performance-based faith.
She asked me what Jesus told the woman who committed adultery (John 8) and the first thing that came to my mind was “Go and sin no more”. But really the first thing He told her was “You are forgiven” (paraphrased from “Neither do I condemn you”). His focus was on forgiveness while mine was on the sin itself. Then she said that even in the Lord’s command to “Go and sin no more” it was less from a place of judgement and more from a place of his concern for the woman. When He looked at the woman, he did not see an adulterer; he saw a woman with a history of abuse and pain and trauma. Because let’s be honest, who escapes this life w/o experiencing abuse, pain and trauma? So He saw the whole of her and really He was telling her to not commit adultery again for her own sake.
Because it was an unhealthy form of escapism.
Because it was just a coping mechanism that was causing her even more pain than the pain that led her to the sin.
Of course God hates sin, but could it be His hatred for sin stems from His love for us? Could it be He understands that sin hurts us and He does not want to see us hurt?
It is with these revelations that I began to understand why I must be kind to myself. Because Jesus is kind. He is compassionate. And if I function as an unkind, compassionless person to myself, how can I have any hope of being kind to others? How can I have any hope of demonstrating the true purpose of the gospel?
To be forgiven.
And to sin no more.
Because it hurts us.
Gal 5:22 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control”…
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It had become almost ritual for Roberto (Roby) Soto. After lunch with his family, he returned to his shoe store only to watch the second hand of the large wall clock advance spastically, recording the passage of time in apparent slow motion. At precisely four o’clock, he smiled nervously as he turned his store over to his cousin. The waiting Thunderbird, polished once a week at a local garage, used to be a source of great pride, a symbol of his social and economic arrival after climbing out of the gutter in a small village in central Mexico and attending school with pesos scrimped and saved from menial jobs. After several more years of employment, sometimes maintaining several jobs simultaneously, he moved north with his young wife and used his savings to open a small business.
His mind drifted as he drove down the crowded streets of Encinada, a small fishing village on the west coast of Mexico. Quaint Spanish-style buildings mixed awkwardly with glass-faced discount stores and supermarkets. Music blared from busy twenty-four-hour bars. Old school buses, belching black clouds, carried residents through the town filled with tourists from the United States. Negotiating through the traffic, Roby’s soft eyes registered a fatigue which did not come from hard work. The joy of living had been compromised. Though he tried to maintain his traditional focus on family and business, he found himself increasingly consumed by what he had once anticipated would be a beautiful, natural and easy experience.
Maneuvering the final stretch of heavy traffic, Roby envisioned the last daily mail delivery from the “States.” For nine consecutive working days, he had come to the post office in search of a package. He parked his car in front of a donkey painted like a zebra with black and white stripes. The car behind the animal contained a family of smiling tourists who posed for a color Polaroid portrait. A uniformed postal employee waved and called to Roberto Soto when he entered the building. The package had finally arrived.
He waited until he sat alone in his car before stripping off the wrapping paper. His eyes filled with tears. There had been so many unfulfilled promises, so many painful deadends. From a psychiatric research center in Houston where they had last taken their son for help, a young graduate student, remembering the Sotos, forwarded an article to Roby which had appeared in People magazine. It detailed the story of a young family that had successfully developed a unique program for their special child, who had similarly been discarded by the professional community as incurably ill. Hope or another false start? Having the article translated into Spanish, Roby and his wife, Francisca, read and reread the piece. A notation about a book written by the father led him to further research. Another month passed until a friend had acquired the book for him in the United States.
Roby opened the package with great care. A little boy’s porcelain-like face filled the cover of the book. His dark penetrating eyes mirrored these of Roby’s own son. Large, bold type and various quotations filled the front and back cover. He cursed his inability to read English as he threw his car into gear. His heart pounded. Tiny beads of sweat gathered at his hairline. He drove slightly South of the city to reach the house of Maestro Jaime Ankrom, a teacher and translator.
Senora Ankrom invited him into the entrance hall and offered him a cool drink. Roby shook his head. Within minutes, Jaime Ankrom appeared, greeting Roby with great formality and respect. He had grown to care for the Sotos and their strange little boy. On many occasions, he had translated papers and articles for them. The magnitude of this project considerably escalated his involvement. Jaime nodded his head, reaffirming his commitment to translate the book within six weeks as agreed. Six weeks, Roby thought to himself, six weeks is another lifetime. Propriety squelched his inclination to request faster delivery. But Jaime understood Roby’s sense of urgency and canceled some of his own students in order to translate the book within three weeks.
The neatly typed pages contained a story and message radically different from everything else they had read and been told. Instead of pushing and pulling the child to conform to appropriate behaviors designated by some doctor or text, the couple from New York entered their son’s world; joined him in his so-called bizarre behaviors with a loving and accepting attitude which defied any previous notions about dealing with such a situation.
As Roby and Francisca read the translated manuscript, they took a roller-coaster ride through someone else’s life. They felt inspired and enriched for the first time in three years. Their own plight had taken them first to Mexico City, then to hospitals and universities in several American cities, including Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston. Their son, Robertito, had participated in three programs which ultimately yielded no results.
Though labeled alternately as brain-damaged and retarded, the diagnosis most frequently suggested was infantile autism. Many of these children, the Sotos discovered, spend their lifetimes drugged on Thorazine as they rock back and forth in their own feces, alone and forgotten on the cold floor of some nameless institution. The prognosis for Robertito conformed to that dismal picture.
Yet the Sotos kept looking, kept trying. Though confused by the regimen and disapproval techniques of behavior modification, they entered Robertito in such a program after numerous professional recommendations. The year of involvement yielded no visible or lasting results. They tried “patterning,” a method of sensory conditioning which attempts to have a child relive all the developmental stages in the hope he might regain some lost step. They watched with discomfort as doctors wrapped their young son, then three years old, in a rug, pulling it back and forth across a room. They viewed Robertito being forced to crawl like an infant, his screams ignored by a staff dedicated to executing a textbook treatment for autistic and brain-damaged children. Again, no differences could be detected with the exception of a noticeable increase of anger and unhappiness. The Sotos also tried orthomolecular medicine (mega-vitamins) without success.
Francisca and Roby decided to try to contact the people in New York, determined to fully understand and, perhaps, institute what appeared to them as a very special and unusual alternative.
Jaime sent a telegram on their behalf. Weeks passed with no answer. Another telegram also yielded no response. They followed up the wires with two letters. Finally, they resorted to the telephone, uncomfortable about so directly invading someone else’s privacy. A house-sitter answered. She acknowledged receipt of the telegrams and letters, but explained that the family had never received them since they were out of the country. She assured the Sotos an eventual response when they returned at the end of the month, though she cautioned them about expecting a fast answer in view of the rapid accumulation of mail from around the world which also awaited a reading and a response. At the beginning of the following month, they received a response from New York offering assistance.
Huddled around the phone, these two eager parents sputtered in Spanish while Jaime translated everything into English for their long-distance recipient. “He says,” Jaime told Roby and Francisca, “the attitude is the most important consideration. He wants you to know they will do what they can to share with you and teach you whatever you want to learn, but … and the emphasis is strong on this point … there can be no promise of miracles, no assurance there will he any changes whatsoever. The child is the unknown which we all must respect.”
Francisca held her hand over her mouth, wanting to shout her response. She had always felt so isolated in her love and affection for the little boy most others regarded with disdain.
“Yes, yes, they understand you exactly,” Jaime declared, as he continued to talk loudly into the receiver.
Elaborate preparations were made for the New York journey. Roby hired Jaime to accompany them as their translator. The maestro shifted his teaching schedules, making himself readily available. Roby then arranged for his cousin to handle the store in his absence. Francisca bought little Robertito new clothes, anxious to do everything possible to ensure her son would be liked and accepted.
They drove to San Diego for a direct flight to the East Coast. Staring eyes, pointing fingers and hissing whispers marred their short delay in the airport terminal building.
Robertito’s dazzlingly large dark brown eyes rolled from side to side like marbles in their almond-shaped sockets, finally resting to stare absentmindedly at his own hands flapping like a bird beside his head. High cheekbones accented the width of his face. All his features seemed sculptured to perfection; the strong chiseled nose, the delicately arching lips, the copper-colored skin; even the straight black hair neatly trimmed in bangs formed an expertly styled bowl shape around his face. Robertito could have been an exquisite picture postcard for his native Mexico, a beautiful four-year old boy with a startlingly handsome and haunting presence.
Yet all this beauty, all this physical perfection cast a very different shadow after only a few minutes of contact. Sitting in the chair beside his parents in the San Diego airport, Robertito Soto never once looked at anyone in the room. Robertito Soto never once moved his lips to speak; never once stopped flapping his hands beside his head. When his mother tried to adjust his four-button vest, he shrank away from her touch, seemingly lost behind vacant eyes. From time to time, he made loud, peculiar, infantile sounds like a ventriloquist, hardly moving his lips or altering his fixed facial expression.
The fire licked the bricks behind the mesh screen. The easy, muted horn of Miles Davis filled the room with its special melody; an old jazz aroma from an early nineteen sixties’ album. Our daughters played backgammon. Intense and competitive Bryn, just eleven years old, dangled her head and arms over the side of the couch as she energetically threw the dice, converting an otherwise mellow game into the mini-Olympics. She threw her arms into the air and shouted in response to the high score of double sixes. Then she turned to me, smiled her sultry victory smile and returned to the game. Thea, poised gracefully on crossed legs, ignored her sister’s outburst. Though she participated enthusiastically, she maintained only a limited investment in winning. Thea embraced her world in a more ethereal and mystical manner than her sister. The moment-to-moment involvement excited her far more than the outcome.
A small city of wood blocks jutted majestically skyward from the shaggy rug. Raun, our four-year-old architect-in-residence, busily constructed houses and towers and office buildings just west of the coffee table and south of the fireplace. His eyes beamed at the rising structures. Occasionally, he solicited our help for his more delicate designs. Suddenly, Raun paused, looked directly into my eyes with a silly grin, then charged at me like a bull. I intercepted his thrust with my arm, tossing him gently into his mother’s lap. Immediately consumed by Suzi’s kisses, Raun giggled and screeched. On his feet within seconds, he asked me to “slap him five,” which triggered a short series of comic antics.
The piercing ring of the telephone cut through the music. Suzi motioned to me, indicating Jaime Ankrom as the caller. We exchanged a smile, knowing we were about to embark on another journey with another special child.
“Hello, Jaime. Welcome to New York. How was the trip?”
“Good, the plane ride was very pleasant,” he said.
“And the Sotos and little Robertito?”
“They, too, had an enjoyable flight. We have made hotel accommodations for tonight at the airport. The Sotos would like to know what time after work would you be available to meet with them.”
“Oh, wow,” I said, awed by the realization they had traveled thousands of miles for, perhaps, an evening meeting of only several hours. “Suzi and I will be available for you all day tomorrow and if you want, the next day and the next. We’ve cleared an entire work week.” I listened to him translate my words.
“The Sotos are very grateful to you and your wife for your kindness. They say we can arrive any time. What is most convenient for you?”
“Nine in the morning would be fine. And, Jaime, please tell them we will try to share what we know and are happy, very happy to do it,” I said. Again he translated the words, then closed our conversation with a rather succinct good-bye.
Something about the tone of their telegrams and their letters excited both Suzi and me. To translate Son-Rise into Spanish, then hire an interpreter and fly with their son to New York represented a special determination. Though I have carefully responded, in some personal form, to each letter amid the hundreds we received each month, the process of making ourselves available to teach and help by sharing our vision and attitude formed the most difficult task. Without the support of funds and grants, which we continued to solicit, our involvement in this area began to seriously drain our financial resources. Nevertheless, we chose to continue as long as possible, also working with schools and early childhood developmental centers wanting to adopt our perspective and techniques.
Before the Sotos’ arrival, Suzi and I spent hours discussing optimum conditions for working with them and Robertito. Since they had traveled over three thousand miles to see us, we decided to try to be with them on a marathon basis, which differed from our previous involvement with special children and their parents. Usually, our input with them was limited to single visits or a series of full day sessions spanning several months. Although we had witnessed immediate and spectacular changes in some children, in most situations we felt hampered by limited time or the lack of consistency in the child’s total environment.
A grant might have enabled us to help parents surround their children with a network of loving and accepting mentors capable of giving sensitive and responsive input around the clock, seven days a week … a critical component of the program which facilitated our son’s rapid and amazing rebirth. An idea evolved, but not yet consummated; a fantasy composed, but not yet delivered. For the moment, with the Sotos, we would do what we could … not by mourning what wasn’t, but by celebrating what was.
Monday – The First Day
Sasha arrived first, her black shirt tucked neatly into her black pants, a green knapsack strapped tightly to her back. She might have been a pallbearer in a military funeral or a renegade bohemian from a Greenwich Village which no longer exists. Yet a soft, almost vulnerable smile tempered her harsh appearance. Sasha had volunteered to help with meals and the care of our children while we worked with the Mexican family. Since Bryn, Thea and Raun attended school until three in the afternoon, she delighted in having the opportunity to observe.
Several minutes later, a taxi deposited the Soto party at our front door. Jaime Ankrom bowed slightly as he shook my hand, then Suzi’s. His plaid sports jacket framed a starched white shirt and tie. Wisps of hair barely covered his huge head, which sheltered deep-set eyes and offset thick jowls. With great dignity, he introduced Roberto Soto, a tall, handsome man in his late thirties. Dressed more casually in a walking suit, he bowed his head humbly as he took my hand.
Francisca, tall and full-figured, waited with her son. Long, silky black hair dipped just beneath her high cheekbones, accenting her classic features. She searched our faces carefully while being introduced. Her penetrating eyes peered boldly into ours. A hesitant, half-smile fluttered across her face.
Robertito bounced rhythmically up and down on his toes. He made a clicking sound with his tongue as he pulled at his mother’s hand, obviously trying to release himself from her grip. Francisca resisted, knelt down and addressed him with great affection. Her subtle eyebrows and animated face accented each thought. But her words fell on deaf ears, her warmth never penetrating the invisible wall encapsulating her son. A great sadness clouded her eyes as she rose to her feet. Holding back tears, she avoided looking at us directly.
Still unresponsive and mute, Robertito continued flapping his free hand in the air.
Our guests seated themselves stiffly on the couch in the living room. We faced them in silence. Only soft smiles passed between us for those first minutes. Their sensitive faces rippled with moments of anxiety. Francisca tried self-consciously to stop her son’s flapping hands on several successive occasions.
Suddenly, Roby swallowed noisily, then cleared his throat. He pulled a pile of documents from a large leather briefcase which he carried, then began to recount in detail their experiences with Robertito. Jaime meticulously translated each word, each detail, even the implicit attitude between the words. Roby gestured emotionally as he spoke. Each time he glanced at his son, his voice cracked, his eyes watered.
In combination, the papers presented a confusing computer-like smorgasbord of conflicting reports and diagnoses. Three described Robertito Soto as definitely autistic with a grim prognosis. Two labeled him authoritatively as severely retarded; one further suggested the boy was uneducable. Another hypothesized brain damage resulting from an undetected case of encephalitis. The most recent report talked vaguely about an atypical schizophrenic condition complicated by unknown biochemical irregularities. Pages and pages filled with complex four- and five-syllable words; abstractions grounded in theoretical judgments, several of which were concluded after only fifteen minutes of testing. Yet, not one of these clinical work-ups clearly suggested a mode of treatment. Not one analysis captured by description or inference the particulars of the child facing us.
As his father spoke, little Robertito sat awkwardly on the couch. He moved his body like an infant just learning to sit upright. An occasional murmur erupted from his throat. The incessant hand-flapping continued unabated. And yet, his face appeared serene.
“Senor Soto says these reports have not been very useful,” Jaime translated. “No more useful than all the programs the boy has participated in.”
“Ask him why he chose to show them to us in such detail?” Another pause for the necessary translation.
“He says he wanted to illustrate that they care very much for their son and did not come here as … how do you say, as … as innocent or naive people.”
I nodded my head, peering first into Roby’s eyes, then into Francisca’s. We, too, had once jumped through the same hoops to no avail.
Quietly, like a cat, Sasha slipped into the room carrying a tray of coffee and tea. She also brought a large glass of juice for Robertito. Francisca immediately led her son into the kitchen, fearing he might suddenly decide to throw the glass or dump it on the couch. Often, when he finished drinking, he would relax his hand in an absent-minded fashion, allowing the cup or glass to drop to the floor. When they returned to the living room, Suzi sat on the rug beside Robertito. She stroked his leg very gently. When he pulled away, she smiled, slowly withdrawing her hand. Robertito seemed to increase the flapping motion.
As I turned to address Jaime, I realized when any of us spoke, we looked at the maestro instead of each other. Bending forward, I purposely faced Roby and Francisca as I talked. “Jaime, tell the Sotos that I very much would like to look at their faces when we talk, that our eyes carry very important messages for each other. Tell them our words are just one way to speak.”
As Jaime translated, they smiled, nodding their heads affirmatively.
“And I will address you directly,” I continued. Then I turned to Jaime. “Instead of saying ‘they say’ or ‘Senor Soto says,’ would it not be more direct just to speak their words?”
“Senor Kaufman, the role of interpreter is new for me,” Jaime said. “I usually translate written matter. Your suggestions are helpful. I will learn these fine points … ah, on-the-job.” He smiled, enjoying his own ability to use idiomatic expressions.
“Okay,” I laughed, deciding to make one last suggestion, “I want to address you by your first names, Please feel free to do the same. Most people call me Bears, a nickname Suzi and the children gave me. In our home, we’re very informal. For the next few days, we will be one family with one common purpose.”
Jaime considered my words, but insisted on addressing me and Suzi more formally as a sign of respect. The Sotos welcomed the warmth.
We decided to work directly with Robertito the remainder of the day, at least until dinner. Then, in the evening, we could deal with Roby and Francisca … exploring their feelings and attitudes, all significantly related to any program they would institute for their son. We preferred to be alone with Robertito, without any distractions. We offered the Sotos our car to transport them to a local hotel. Jaime gallantly doubled as chauffeur.
Suzi led Robertito into the bathroom, the same one we used with Raun. It provided us with a simple non-distracting environment … no dazzling wall pieces, no busy windows, no mesmerizing lights. The confined space also kept the child in close contact with us.
We sat opposite each other, our backs planted firmly against the wall. Robertito walked aimlessly around in circles. His body seemed clumsy as he tiptoed on the tile floor. Both his hands flapped vigorously. We began to note several distinctive particulars.
Robertito never looked directly at anyone or anything yet he obviously could see. When Suzi lifted an oatmeal cookie from her pocket and held it in front of him, he either did not see it or ignored it. Yet, when she brought it around to his side, he immediately turned and grabbed for it. Robertito absorbed much of his environment using peripheral vision. In that manner, he could easily watch his flapping hands at the side of his head.
Despite his preferences for perceiving the world tangentially, we did notice that he looked directly at the cookie when he grabbed for it, though he maintained that focus only momentarily. In another instance, when Suzi sensed him preoccupied with the faint sound of a distant siren, she snapped her fingers right in front of his eyes. No response. Not even a flutter in his eyelids or eyeballs. Apparently, he had the power to blind himself, to shut off his vision in order to concentrate on his other senses.
Although generally unresponsive to most sounds, this little boy paid careful attention to soft, almost imperceptible, noises. We turned on the tape recorder which we had placed in the bathtub. The room filled with the melodic and lyrical piano music of a Chopin’s nocturne. Robertito moved his head from side to side. He made the strange clicking sound with his tongue. An awe-struck expression lit up his face. Something about his gaze reminded me of the peaceful, wide-eyed stare of a Tibetan monk.
We watched him be what he could be, do what he could do, and wondered about the doctors who once tied his hands to stop him from flapping, the psychologists who wrapped him in a rug and dragged him screaming across the floor, the behaviorists who slapped his hands and finally his face because he did not conform to a specific task. We thought of the physician who suggested electric shock treatment to correct all the “bizarre” and “intolerable” behavior. And so most everyone in little Robertito’s world had played judge and executioner.
They defined certain behavior as good and other behavior as bad. Using those distinctions as commandments, they then took that as license to forcibly extinguish the so-called “bad” or inappropriate behaviors … as if Robertito was not, in fact, at two and three and four years old, doing the very best he could based on his abilities and limitations. To treat a dysfunctioning child, who already displays dramatic difficulties in relating to our world, in such an abusive and hostile fashion raises serious questions. But the issue is side-stepped by the professional, who does not examine his own methods in the face of “no progress,” but simply dismisses the child as uneducable or incurable.
At no time did we intend to manipulate Robertito physically, either to stop or to encourage any movement or response. The attitude of “to love is to be happy with” created the foundation from which we approached him. We had no conditions to which he must conform, no expectations which he had to fulfill. Most important, we would make no judgments about good and bad, appropriate or inappropriate. In effect, like all of us, this strange little boy did the best he could.
Respecting his dignity and his world as we had respected Raun’s, we decided if he, too, could not join us, we would join him … build a bridge through the silence, if possible, and motivate him to want to be here, to want to participate. Thus, we would, within the limitations of one week, try to create the same kind of easy, beautiful, responsive and loving environment as we had once done for our own son.
In joining him, we did what he did. When he flapped his arms, we flapped our arms. When he made the clicking sound with his tongue, we made the same clicking sound with our tongues. He toe-walked; we toe-walked. He granted; we grunted. With the exception of defecating in our pants, an activity he still maintained, we followed him, taking our cues as he presented them. We were really there, moving in earnest, participating as caring friends, trying to say, “Hey, Robertito, we’re right here; we’re with you and we love you,” The session continued to the point of exhaustion. Eight hours later, a little after six o’clock, Suzi, Robertito and I emerged from the bathroom, The Sotos had already returned. They looked at us expectantly.
“Wait,” I smiled, anticipating their questions. “We all had a very beautiful day together … in the bathroom. After observing for several hours, Suzi and I joined Robertito. We did everything that he did with a loving and accepting attitude.”
Francisca took her son’s hand and led him to the couch. “Sienta-te. Sienta-te,” she said firmly, yet affectionately. Then, turning to us, she asked, “Did he respond? And did he know you were there?”
“I know how much you want things for Robertito. We do, too,” Suzi said. “At no time did he respond in a way we could understand. So we don’t know if he was even aware of our presence.” Suzi tapped her chest. “Somehow, deep inside, I know it counts. We have to trust that and allow what happens.”
Francisca nodded her head, trying to camouflage her disappointment.
Roby began to speak rapidly and Jaime waved his hands to slow the burst of words. “We have met your lovely children. Bryn and Thea are quite beautiful and loving. Raun, well …Raun is unbelievable. I never thought he would be … be so, so normal. He introduced himself, sat on my lap, and asked to see Robertito. When I said you were with him in the bathroom, he shook his head like an old man and asked if Robertito was autistic.”
Tears filled Suzi’s eyes. “Wait,” she said, “I want to get the kids. I know how much they wanted to meet Robertito.” She called to them at the staircase. Little feet rumbled across the ceiling toward the stairs.
Bryn appeared, first. “Oh, Robertito,” she exclaimed, “you’re so cute.” Thea and Raun followed. The children gathered around their strange new friend. They smiled and chatted with great excitement.
“Look at his fat cheeks,” Raun shouted. “I just love them.” Any child in the universe with chubby cheeks is automatically adopted by Raun as a special friend. Some children are excited by ice cream, others by toys-our son manages to be quite different most of the time. After a couple of minutes, Raun, visibly confused, turned to his mother. “Mama, why doesn’t he talk to me? He never answers. When I tried to take his hand, he pulled away.”
“Remember our talk, Raun,” Suzi replied. “Robertito doesn’t speak. Maybe one day he will, but right now he can’t. He also doesn’t like to be touched, but don’t think it means he doesn’t like you.”
“Joanna and Brian didn’t talk either,” Raun declared, pondering his association. “Robertito’s autistic like them!”
“Yes,” I said. In a hushed voice, Jaime translated our conversation into Spanish.
Thea stood beside little Robertito and laughed warmly as she flapped her hands the way he did. It was her way of saying hello. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, he paused. It seemed as if, in that instant, Robertito actually looked directly at Thea.
As previously arranged, our visitors left for dinner and returned at eight o’clock. Raun had been put to bed. Sasha, with Bryn and Thea’s help, guided Robertito into the den. The girls wanted to work with him; to join him in his world as they once did with their own brother.
As I stoked the fire, Suzi offered them organic grape juice, turned and mellowed like a fine wine.
“Are you still with us, Jaime,” I said jokingly to the maestro.
“Yes, definitely, Senor Kaufman.” This warm and unpretentious man seldom smiled.
I leaned forward, peered directly into Francisca’s eyes, and asked, “How would you feel if Robertito never changed, if he could never do anything more than you see here today?” Jaime’s eyes jumped back and forth, registering surprise at my question. Then, mimicking my tone, he translated it. Roby sighed. Francisca’s face flushed; her eyes narrowed. An expression of great sadness and pain overwhelmed her face. Anger curled her lips. She fought her instinct to cry or scream or shout.
Again as gently as possible, I asked the same question. Jaime hesitated, then repeated it. This time, Francisca gave in to the feeling and sobbed heavily. Roby held his wife, barely containing himself.
When she regained her composure, she faced me and said: “It would be awful, terrible. Don’t you think so?” And so began our first Option dialogue.
“Well,” I said, “what I think is not as important as what you think. It’s your son, it’s your pain. What is it about being this way that is so awful, so terrible?”
“He can’t do anything for himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He does not feed himself. He cannot dress himself. He is not toilet trained. He does not talk. I could go on and on.”
“All right, what is it about all those things which he can’t do that gets you so upset?”
“I want more for him,” she said, crying again.
“I understand that, but wanting more for someone we love is different than being unhappy about not having more. What is it about all those things he can’t do that upsets you so much?”
“Most children his age do many things. Although he’s four, he’s like an infant. People stare at Robertito, make fun of him. I can’t stand it.”
“He’s not a freak. I don’t want him treated that way.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The whispering. The pointed fingers. The laughter.”
“What about that makes you unhappy?”
She glanced at Roby, who remained silent but obviously involved. “I … I…” she stuttered, “I’m afraid it will always be that way.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“Because I don’t see any changes,” she answered. “Because he gets older and older without learning new things.”
“Since your fear is about the future, why do you believe if, up till now, he has learned very little or even nothing, that it means it will always be that way?”
Francisca looked at me, confused. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it doesn’t have to mean it’ll always be that way.” She paused to rub her eyes. “Okay,” she continued, grinning self-consciously, “but I’m still unhappy about the way Robertito is.”
“What are you afraid would happen if you weren’t unhappy about his condition?”
“Then, maybe, I wouldn’t do anything about it.”
“Are you saying by being unhappy, you stay in touch with wanting to change the situation?”
“Yes,” she said.
Roby’s face lit up, but as he raised his head to speak, I held my finger to my lips.
Directing myself back to his wife, I said: “Why do you believe you have to be unhappy in order to pursue what you want?”
“I don’t,” she answered, quite clear on that point. “But I guess I act like I do.” She shook her head, “This is all very new for me.”
“What is?” I asked.
“Well, if my son is sick and I am not unhappy, then maybe it would mean I did not care about him,” she concluded.
“Okay,” Suzi interjected. “Let me give you back your statement as a question. If your son is sick and you do not get unhappy, would that mean you don’t care?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure any more,” Francisca mumbled.
“What would you guess?” Suzi continued.
“The more I think about it, the sillier it is. Why do you have to be miserable when someone you love is sick? Sometimes you are so busy helping them, there is no time to feel sad … and yet, you still care. I know, I had that situation once with my mother when she was very sick.” Francisca smiled fully for the first time since her arrival. She kept shaking her head up and down.
I apologized to Roby for my curious finger, but thanked him for holding his comment.
He had understood. “Bears,” he said, “I want you to know that each time you asked a question, I tried to answer it for myself. Each time, I found my own thoughts in Francisca’s answers. Often I have worried about whether this will go on forever. Now, I feel different.”
We continued the dialogues until three in the morning. Roby further explored his fears about the future, his concerns about who would care for Robertito when he died. He uncovered the belief that if he wasn’t afraid of these possibilities, he might not do as much as he could. When I asked him why he believed that, he answered that he didn’t know. So I asked him what he was afraid would happen if he no longer believed it. Immediately, he laughed. His answer was the same as before; the fear he might not do all he could. At that moment, as he came to understand how he frightened himself into moving, the belief and the fear disappeared. No, he assured himself, he did not have to scare himself to make sure he covered every base. In fact, he became aware that the fear of the future had actually diverted him from fully attending to all that he could in the “now.”
I quoted to him the words of a wall poster in a friend’s office. It read: “I’m an old man now. I’ve worried about many things in my life, most of which never happened.”
Francisca reviewed her thoughts and feelings about being responsible for Robertito’s condition. When she could not give one concrete example illustrating how she might have caused his problem, she blamed it on heredity. Why did she believe that? She didn’t know. What was she afraid would happen if she no longer believed it? Her answer surprised both her and her husband. If she no longer believed it, then she would have another child. And how would she feel about that? Badly. Why? Because she did not want to stop trying to help Robertito. Why did another child mean that? It didn’t … necessarily. And so, piece by piece, she unraveled some of her fears.
At ten minutes to three, Roby suggested they leave. He carried his son to the car as I followed with his briefcase. Francisca, Suzi and Jaime joined us on the sidewalk.
“It has been a most enlightening evening,” Jaime said, shaking my hand.
“Perhaps, later in the week, I will ask you some questions,” I said. The others laughed as the maestro smiled awkwardly.
Roby grabbed both Suzi’s hand and my hand. His arms trembled as he said: “Gracias. Muchas gracias.” Without warning, Suzi kissed him on the cheek. Obviously very touched, he turned quickly to hide his emotions and slid into the driver’s seat. Suzi then hugged and kissed Francisca. Jaime stepped back, anticipating her next move. Seeing his discomfort, she threw him a kiss.
“Nine in the morning,” I shouted as the car left the curb. Time was so short, so limited. We wanted to cram as much into this week as possible.
Suzi looked at me with a knowing smirk, then she consulted my wristwatch. “I know exactly what kind of crazy week this is going to be. Okay, superman, if you can do it, I can too.”
Tuesday – The Second Day
The Sotos arrived at nine o’clock. Jaime bowed when I opened the door. Before entering the house, Francisca and Roby, both red-eyed, began chattering simultaneously. The maestro put up his hand like an umpire, slightly embarrassed to hush his employers. Francisca indicated Roby would speak.
“A very strange and wonderful thing occurred in the hotel this morning,” he said. “Normally, when Robertito rises, he sits on the bed, flaps his hands or clicks his teeth Always, he appears listless, confused, like he does not know what to do. He’ll just stay in that position until someone comes for him. This morning was very different. Robertito sat up in bed as usual, but his expression appeared more thoughtful than at most other times. He didn’t flap or make sounds. With great determination, he slid off the bed and walked directly into the bathroom. And waited there … in the bathroom!”
I nodded. Awed. Dazzled by the information. In the midst of Roby’s narrative, another significant event occurred. Little Robertito had left us standing in the doorway while he toe-walked through the living room, down the hallway and into our bathroom. A connection established and reaffirmed.
Suzi beamed like a proud mother, her blue eyes ablaze. She waved to us as she jogged through the house to greet the waiting student. “Buenos dias, Robertito,” she said cheerfully as she closed the door to our tile classroom.
Addressing Roby and Francisca, I said, “We’d like both of you to observe today, one at a time. The only place possible is from the bathtub. With the glass doors closed, you won’t be distracting. I put a stool in the tub so you can look over the top of the bath enclosure.”
“I would like Francisca to go first,” Roby insisted, tapping his wife on her shoulder to bestow on her what he considered an honor. We all agreed.
“One more thing,” I added, looking at Jaime. “We decided if Robertito has some receptive language, some awareness of the words which have been used around him, it would be all in Spanish. So, in view of that possibility, Suzi and I decided to speak only in Spanish when we’re with him. Can you give us a fast lesson, a list of familiar words or even short phrases?”
“Of course,” the maestro replied. “I will sit with the Sotos and we will write the words for you in both English and Spanish.”
“Write big,” I said. “I want to tack that paper up in the bathroom for both Suzi and me.” Talking through Jaime had become much easier. He had learned to mirror the tone and inflections of our voices.
“Also,” I continued, “Suzi knows some Spanish. She already was speaking to Robertito in Spanish yesterday. She’s a natural with language. Me? Well, I’d want to review the pronunciation with you. I’m an enthusiastic student, but with a tin ear.”
When they finished their list, we carefully reviewed the words and phrases together: agua (water), la musica (music), habla (talk), mira (look), jugo (juice), leche (milk), los ojos (eyes), las manos (hands), la boca (mouth), diga-me (tell me), un besito (a little kiss), aqui (here), pongala aqui (put it here), yo te amo (I love you).
With Francisca positioned behind the glass doors, we began our day in the bathroom with Robertito. Suzi had already turned on the music and sat with him on the floor. They rocked together, from side to side. A peculiar smile dawned on Robertito’s round face. If I wanted to jump beyond what I could definitely know, I might speculate that this little person appeared to be enjoying himself. One activity gave birth to the next. Whatever he did, we did.
At lunch time, Roby replaced Francisca. Having been closeted in the bathtub for hours, her hair, her face and her shirt dripped with perspiration. Nevertheless, she left the room smiling.
Sasha slipped in food for Robertito. we fed him organic peanut butter and jelly on stone ground wheat bread. Normally, he would feed himself with his hands sloppily, depositing food concurrently in his lap and on the floor. Since we wanted to develop eye contact, we fed him ourselves, morsel by morsel. At first, we had to hold a piece of bread beside his flapping hand to draw his attention to us. Then we placed the food between our eyes, inches in front of our faces, and smiled. We also used soft, verbal cues to try to maintain his attention. Robertito grabbed the food awkwardly, moving his hands lethargically as if they were only vaguely attached to his body. “Mira,” Suzi said each time she held up another piece of food.
“Oh, Robertito, Robertito,” she suddenly exclaimed, “Yo te amo, Robertito.” Suzi whipped her head around, barely able to control her excitement. “Bears! Bears! He looked directly at me for a fraction of a second. He really did. I’m positive. Right at me!”
For the next several hours, we sensed Robertito observing us observe him. On one occasion when we flapped together, he stopped abruptly, leaving Suzi and me still shaking our arms. From his peripheral vision, he watched us curiously. We stopped flapping. Then, he shook his hands again. We followed. An incredible smile dawned on his face. He had it. I couldn’t believe it, but he had it! And only in a day and a half. How could it be moving so fast? I thought to myself. Ah, I chuckled, fast and slow; they’re only judgments and expectations.
We offered him puzzles and other simple toys, which he discarded immediately. Suzi and I stroked his legs on and off during the entire day. Robertito moved away each time. Finally, toward evening, he allowed physical contact. I moved from stroking his legs to stroking his arms. Very, very slowly and gently, I eased my hands across his belly and around his back. The little man stopped flapping while being touched. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and walked in circles again. We followed.
Dinner was also served on the bathroom floor. I put each morsel of food between my eyes and smiled, repeating our luncheon ritual. He seemed more directed this time. On four occasions, he stared boldly at me, though only for a few seconds at a time. Real and spontaneous eye contact! These movements originated within him. They were beautiful and profound steps.
A child coming from himself, motivated from within, is significantly more powerful and effective in growing and in getting what he wants. If Robertito could ever climb the mountain, we knew he would have to do it himself … not as a function of anyone’s commands, but as an expression of his own wanting.
After the Sotos returned from their dinner, Sasha and the children took Robertito into the den again. In the distance, we could hear Raun’s enthusiastic voice: “I just love his cheeks. Thea, look! They’re so cute, those fat cheeks.” Jaime translated his words.
Clearing his throat and swallowing noisily, Roby faced me and asked: “Will you teach him how to eat with utensils?”
“Oh,” I smiled, “in a way, Roby, we aren’t trying to teach him anything specific at the moment. What we do is not important right now. We want to create connections, build bridges. Eye contact is so essential. Children learn by copying, imitating. If Robertito does not look at us or hear us, then, of course, he will not learn how we move in the environment and how he can move in the environment.” I paused, wanting them to digest everything … and to question everything if they wanted.
“Since it’s so, so much more difficult for him to do that than the average child,” I continued, “we have, to take special care, create a special environment. For example, he’s hypersensitive to sound. When he’s bombarded, he closes his hearing down to protect himself. For you and me, a cough sounds like a cough. Perhaps, for Robertito, it sounds like an earthquake. So, we try to bring music and our words to him in a gentle, soft manner.”
“Yes, yes,” Francisca said. “I’ve noticed his tendency to flap his hands more or pull away when there are many people in a room with him. People make much noise.”
“Also,” Suzi interjected, “people are visually very bombarding.”
“Things begin to fit,” Roby said with great excitement. “Now that you have said that, I remember watching him took directly at a small red truck we once gave him. Also at a doorknob. Also at the chrome leg of our dining room table. But, usually, he would never look directly at a person. In fact, he is much more relaxed alone. He seems confused when a lot of people move around him; it’s his most difficult time. I never realized that before.”
“And what could you know from that?” I asked.
Roby nodded. “That if we want to make contact or teach him something, it’s best to do it without a lot of people around – one to one like we are doing here. Now I really understand about the bathroom.”
“Beautiful,” I commented. “Your observations, ultimately, are more important than ours. Roby, Francisca – it’s you who will be putting this together. In a couple of days, you’ll be on your own. You’ll be watching for cues and deciding how to respond. You said you wanted to work with Robertito all day, every day. Okay. Your attitude is still the key because if you’re loving and accepting, you’ll also be a better observer. When we have expectations or need things to happen, we’re distracted by our goals, by our fears. Being here moment to moment is essential.”
“Look at all the professionals who told you Robertito was unresponsive,” Suzi said. “Yet we’ve noticed many small statements … with his eyes, with his varied responses to being touched, with the imitation games. It’s incredible, but some people discard such tiny bits of information as insignificant. But we know, if you’re sensitive to all those cues, big and small, you create opportunities to make contact in a meaningful way.”
“He’s very into eating,” I added. “You can use it – use everything! Anything! I’m not talking about bribing or conditioning. Each morsel of food can set the stage for possible eye contact. Our smiles, our warmth is just a way to say hello. He doesn’t have to perform to eat. Yet when he takes the food, he might look past it and find our faces. And in that moment, we can be there saying something with our eyes, our expressions, our voices.”
“Suppose he doesn’t look?” Francisca asked.
“Then we wait,” I suggested. “It makes all the difference in the world if we let it come from him. There’s quite a distance to travel before we would try to teach him specific things like eating with forks and spoons.”
“Yes, I see,” Roby said. “You are talking about being there with him and for him.”
“Even more than that. We’re talking about going with him,” I emphasized. “First: acceptance, contact, joining his world. Second: with our attitude and the responsive environment, we want to draw him out … have him be motivated to try. Then, and only then, would he be ready to really learn many different things. And there’s a bonus. If he’s motivated, in touch, finally watching us, then he’ll learn much by himself”
“In a way,” Suzi said, touching Francisca’s hand, “it’s trusting the child. And trusting yourself to trust the child.”
“But he has very definite… ah, how, ah, can I say it properly?” Roby stuttered.
“It doesn’t matter how you say it,” I assured him.
“Well, he has a specific handicaps. The on-and-off hearing.”
I don’t know if that’s a handicap,” I said, “as much as it’s a way to take care of himself. He can certainly hear and see.”
“What about memory?” Roby asked. “He can’t remember from one moment to the next. Every day he looks at his hand like he’s seeing it for the first time.”
“I’ve noticed that, too,” I said. “Especially with food, which we know he likes. He follows the food ferociously until it goes out of sight – behind my hand, in my pocket. Once it’s out of sight, he doesn’t pursue; it’s as if he can’t remember it or retain it without having it in front of him. It’s a kind of memory dysfunction.”
“There’s nothing we can do for that,” Roby concluded.
“Let’s look at it in terms of motivation. Research illustrates that doctors will often predict that two people with identical brain damage resulting from strokes will never be able to talk or walk because the centers in the brain which control those functions have been destroyed. Yet, a year later, one stroke victim is speaking and moving about easily; the other is still mute and bedridden. When you ask for an explanation, the doctors say: ‘Well, it’s will-to-live.’ In effect, the person who learned to speak and move again had to find new pathways in his brain, create new connections amid the debris. Since it required an incredible thrust, the person had to be highly motivated. And there’s the key. Call it ‘will-to-live’ or motivation, but that’s the power and energy we give ourselves to do what others might label as impossible. And that’s what I’d love to see Robertito do. But you can’t give him the spark. You can only be there, like a mid-wife, helping him find it within himself ”
“Do you think he will find it?” Francisca asked.
“We can’t really know that” I said. “We can only stay in touch with what we want for Robertito, for ourselves, and then do what we can to get what we want. Part of acceptance is allowing him to come our way or not come our way. Which leads me to a question. Francisca, how would you feel if Robertito never changed, never learned more than he knows at this moment?”
Jaime peered at me, his head cocked slightly to the side.
“Maestro?” I called.
“Ah, Senor Kaufman. I wondered why you were going back to that question.”
“I’m not, Jaime, I’m going forward to that question,” I said. Jaime became very pensive, then translated my words.
The Sotos looked at each other. Roby sighed. Francisca turned to me and said. “Still, it is a difficult question.”
“Why?” I asked.
Her face became flushed. Her eyes reddened instantly. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
“What are you unhappy about?”
“Being a mother was something I wanted more than anything, more than anything else in the world. To love a child and have him love me. It’s not …” Francisca stopped herself. She glanced at Roby, touched her fingertips to his face and said: “I know it’s the same for him, too. We try to love Robertito and he rejects us.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said.
“How do you see it as obvious?” I asked.
“If I go to hug him or kiss him, he moves away.”
“That’s a good question,” Roby interjected, leaning forward on the edge of his chair. “I think I always believed that’s what his moving away meant. But if he’s oversensitive, he could be protecting himself … like with the hearing. So when I call him, the switch isn’t even turned on. Then, of course, he would not respond. And maybe, in some way, he’s frightened.” He rubbed his forehead nervously. “I guess I was so busy being hurt about being rejected, I never questioned why.”
“And now?” I asked.
“And now,” Roby said, “there are other possibilities. I can see it differently.”
“Let me ask the question again. Do you believe moving away means rejecting?”
“I don’t think I do any more,” he answered.
“‘Don’t think’ sounds like you’re not sure.”
Roby smirked self-consciously. “I guess I’m still deciding.”
“About what this all means. If Robertito is doing what he can to take care of himself that would be okay with me. I would want him to be able to do that for himself.” A huge grin radiated on his face.
“What are you smiling about?” Suzi asked.
“Oh, I guess, at how you assume things without ever questioning them. Somehow, I thought Robertito’s action meant something about me … like if I were a better father, he’d let me touch him.”
“Do you still believe that?”
“No,” Roby affirmed.
“And you, Francisca?” Suzi asked.
“I can see how Robertito is trying to take care of himself … in the only way he knows how. I can accept that. It doesn’t have to mean we’re not good parents. But, Suzi, you know. I want to hug my son. I want to hold him close. I want him to hold me close.”
“I know how much you want those things. I was once there, too,” Suzi said gently. “But being unhappy about not having them is different than wanting them. What is it about not having that exchange of affection that’s so painful?”
“I know how much you want those things. I was once there, too,” Suzi said gently. “But being unhappy about not having them is different than wanting them. What is it about not having that exchange of affection that’s so painful?”
“What do you mean?” Suzi asked.
“Like something is missing. There’s supposed to be more.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“Between a child and its mother,” Francisca said, “there is a whole relationship which does not exist between Robertito and me. There should be so much more.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“That’s why I had a child.”
“I understand what you wanted in having a child. But why do you believe there’s supposed to be any more than there is right now with Robertito?”
“Because I want it!” she insisted.
“Why does wanting it mean it’s supposed to happen?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Francisca said, shaking her head from side to side.
“When I think about it, it sounds foolish. What is, is … but I still want so much more.”
“That’s what you want. But how do you feel about ‘what is’ right now?” I asked.
“Okay,” she said with a touch of hesitation. “I feel clearer. You can really drive yourself crazy trying to make your life fit your dreams. I see that now.”
“That’s what we mean when we talk about expectations, shoulds and supposed to’s,” I added. “We get into needing things to be a certain way in order for us to be happy. If they’re not, we’re miserable. And so, while we look anxiously for what we don’t have, we frequently miss what we do have.”
“I’m proof of that,” Francisca grinned, pointing to herself. “I have barely allowed myself to be excited about what’s happened in these past two days because I’m still so concerned about Robertito’s being toilet trained, feeding himself, talking. All the normal things a child is supposed to do.”
Francisca stood up and turned away from us.
“What’s the matter?” Roby said, jumping to his feet.
“I’m all right,” she said, “I just realized something. In a way, I’ve never really loved Robertito for what he is; I’ve always loved him for what I hoped he would become, what I thought every little boy should become.”
“That’s not rue,” Roby insisted. “You’ve loved him and given him so much.”
“Yes, I know, Roby, in a way that’s true. I have given him everything I could. Tried to touch him, sing to him, talk to him, teach him and … and even discipline him. But maybe now, I can give him even more by accepting him, loving him as he is.”
Wednesday – The Third Day
The Sotos arrived at exactly nine o’clock. Before anyone could be seated, Francisca started talking very rapidly. Jaime put both hands up, trying to slow the avalanche of words. Suddenly, she started crying. Roby held her, then spoke quietly to Jaime, who turned to us.
“Senor Soto asks me to explain to you what happened last night in the car. Robertito and his mother sat in the back seat, which is usual. Always, the child pulls his arms into his body and falls asleep wrapped up in himself. Last night, quite specifically, he did something he has never done before. Never! Robertito edged across the seat until he sat right next to Francisca. Then, several seconds later, he rested his hand on his mother’s arm, leaned his head against her shoulder and fell asleep.”
Jaime, our dignified and very formal interpreter, drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and put it to his eyes.
We all stood there. Together. In silence. Smiling through moist eyes for the mother who had waited four years for such a gesture from her child. Francisca hugged Suzi, then put her arms tightly around me. Her son walked easily across the room and headed for the land of toilets and tubs. Suzi kissed Jaime, then followed her student. The maestro beamed.
“I don’t understand,” Francisca began. “You and Suzi have been working with Robertito and yet, he is different with us.”
“Because you’re different with him, Francisca,” I said. “By working on yourself, you’ve been working with him. Each night, you’ve looked at some of your unhappiness and the beliefs which caused it. Every time you’ve changed a belief, you’ve changed your attitude and your feelings about yourself and your son. Your eyes, your smile, the touch of your hand, your body language – it all has begun to change. Remember, we’re not talking about poses or strategy. When we’re more accepting, Robertito knows. When we show him he can move us, he takes more risks.”
“I don’t know whether we’re fully accepting yet,” Roby admitted.
“Wherever you are now, your attitude has obviously made a difference already. We can explore it more tonight. Today, we’d like both of you to start working with Robertito. Okay?”
Roby and Francisca nodded their heads enthusiastically.
“You’ll start right after lunch.”
Eye contact with Robertito had improved dramatically. From time to time, he would look directly at us, sometimes for as long as eight to ten seconds. We noticed he stopped and started flapping more often in an effort to control us. He smiled much more easily. Though he still watched us peripherally most of the time, he seemed to understand we were there for him; without demands, without conditions. When Suzi out-flapped him, shaking her hands faster than he did, Robertito burst out laughing. They both giggled for several minutes.
Roby and Francisca took over the session in the afternoon. Suzi and I worked with them alternately. By early evening, we stood sweating behind the glass doors of the bathtub.
Robertito’s spontaneous eye contact increased significantly all day. Francisca fed him dinner eye-to-eye. But we segmented half the meal for an experiment. Roby placed pieces of vegetables in all different parts of the room. Robertito watched carefully, then reached for the food as his father deposited it. One time, Roby put some carrots on a ledge too high for his son to see. At first, Robertito just stood immobile. The blank stare returned to his eyes. Then, very slowly, very methodically, he raised his arm, and felt along the inside of the ledge. Within seconds, he stuffed the food into his mouth. A mind-boggling feat for this little boy. We could actually watch him develop before our eyes, actually witness his unfolding from moment to moment. His flowering made the movement with out son, Raun, suddenly seem like slow motion. It took eight weeks or seven hundred hours until we had developed observable eye contact. It took many months until we had developed observable eye contact. It took many months until Raun could retain objects in his mind without concretely seeing them.
Our excitement consumed us. We decided to try to make the interaction between Robertito and his parents slightly more sophisticated. Roby placed plastic containers of juice and water in different parts of the room, out of his sons reach, but clearly within his line of vision. Robertito stood below the medicine cabinet and scratched on the mirror. He looked frantically at the can of yellow liquid beyond his reach.
“Jugo. Jugo, Jugo,” his father repeated. “Diga-me, Robertito, Jugo.” Allowing five seconds for any kind of response, he gave his mute son the juice. These games continued throughout the remainder of the day.
As Robertito became more attentive, wanting more from us and his parents, we tried to place ourselves in positions of use. Each time he indicated his desire for food, by grabbing or even by standing and looking at the objects, we came to his assistance immediately.
In the last moments of the session, Francisca introduced a simple stacking toy designed for six-month-old infants. Each time her son knocked it down, we rebuilt it. Just as we left the bathroom, Robertito bent down and placed one block on top of another. The roar of our applause and cheering chased him from the room.
After dinner, we continued the dialogues with Roby and Francisca. They explored more of their discomforts, unearthed more of their beliefs. We dealt with their questions about their own abilities to continue the program in Mexico. As they became more accepting and trusting of themselves, they began to realize they could have the answers if they allowed themselves to look freely.
Thursday – The Fourth Day
The morning session with Robertito signaled another movement. The Sotos accented physical contact, but not as a designed strategy. It evolved naturally during the first minutes they spent together. Roby imitated and tickled his son. Francisca hummed and stroked him while he stood stiffly like a figure cast in bronze. Then, quite casually, as if he had done it a thousand times, Robertito suddenly plopped into his mother’s lap. Her mouth opened wide in delight. When she embraced him instinctively, he pulled away and jumped to his feet. Five minutes later, he dropped into her lap again. This time he remained seated for several minutes. Francisca handed her son insertion cups. He flapped the colorful plastic toys by the side of his head, then dropped them on the floor. They repeated this exchange many times. We noticed Robertito’s increased agility with his hands, though he still moved them with considerable awkwardness.
Roby presented lunch to his son in the same fashion as the previous dinner. He fed half to him eye-to-eye and placed the remaining food around the room. Little Robertito did not follow his father. Instead, he grabbed the juice container off the floor and held it. He put it to his mouth, but the cover cheated him of a drink. Roby moved to seize the can, but stopped himself and waited. His son walked up to him, dropping the container right in front of his feet. Roby gave him a drink quickly. Unwilling to assume Robertito knew what he did, he duplicated the situation with the water container. The little boy picked up the can and this time, literally dropped it on his father’s shoes.
After lunch, we coerced Jaime into taking a position in the bathtub. He declined at first, but the outcry from all of us persuaded him. The maestro leaned against the tile wall, watching the child he had grown to love.
Continual talking to Robertito about what we did and naming every item we touched formed an important aspect of the program. We suggested that Roby and Francisca shorten words and language forms. Jugo would become ju. La musica would become moo. In other areas, such as expressions of love or excitement, they maintained the full richness of speech.
During early afternoon, we had a change of guard at our home. Sasha returned to the city and Elise, a dear and loving friend, joined to help. Her bubbling, new-age, astrology-oriented vision added another specialness to the texture of moods and energy at the house. Until our crew returned from school, she positioned herself outside the bathroom door. Later, she shared with us her endeavor to envision the room filled with white light so that Robertito might see an even clearer path.
We spent our last full evening together with the Sotos trying to lay to rest any remaining beliefs which caused them to be uncomfortable or disturbed about their son or themselves. Francisca discussed a problematic relationship she had with a dear friend. In the midst of a dialogue, she apologized for dealing with material she thought irrelevant to her son and our common purpose.
“Everything in your life is relevant, pertinent,” I suggested. “How often have people expressed anger toward someone they loved as an outlet for the anger they actually felt in another frustrating situation. And so, the frustrating situation or other problematic relationships affect other aspects of our lives. We’re not compartmentalized, split into neat little sections. So, as we don’t have set mechanisms for helping Robertito, neither do we have set subjects for helping ourselves.”
Friday – The Fifth Day
Although we used our last day to continue observing and exploring, we also reviewed and embraced the events of the past week. The visible movement had been dramatic. The totally withdrawn and inner-focused little boy now sat on our laps and giggled in our faces. The child who never pursued anything or expressed his wants now found hidden objects and brought containers of juice and water to people in order to solicit their assistance. The staring, hand-flapping Robertito deviated from his well-entrenched patterns to hold cups and stack blocks. Though he continued to retain old behaviors, most of the time, his non-distractible commitment to self-stimulating activities, such as hand-flapping and rocking, had dwindled. Robertito had taken huge steps across the bridge, to meet us in a way that he had never done before in his life.
In this day’s session, Francisca began by handing the insertion cups to her son. He turned them in front of his eyes then tossed them across the room. Smiling, she gathered the plastic containers and inserted one into the other. Robertito, flapping slightly, watched from the corner of his eye. Quite often, he looked directly at his mother. She gave him the cups again. Robertito dropped them to the floor. They continued this exchange for almost twenty minutes with Francisca talking and demonstrating how one cup fit into another.
Roby served lunch in the usual manner; some pieces placed and others hidden around the room. They positioned the liquids within Robertito’s easy reach. Their son brought the juice can to his father. “Diga-me, Robertito. Ju. Ju,” Roby repeated as he filled the glass. The little boy sat on the floor and rocked from side to side after the meal. Roby joined him. They both smiled … at each other.
Although the conversations were kept hushed and subdued, we noticed Robertito’s growing tolerance for louder sounds. He also made a definite statement about his interest in music by fingering the tape recorder until Francisca switched it on.
We ended the session in mid-afternoon and gathered in the living room. Bryn arrived minutes later from school. She kissed everyone in the room. Jaime blushed, flattered by her affection. Thea and Raun entered the house noisily. Within seconds, our son ran to Robertito and stroked his cheeks gently. Laughter bubbled throughout the room in response to Raun’s infectious giggle.
Although Jaime still translated the conversation, we all talked together easily, intimately. With Thea on my lap, with Raun touching Robertito, with Bryn sitting ladylike beside Roby, with Suzi smiling warmly at Francisca, we had become, for these moments, a loving family of people sharing and enjoying one another.
After playing a game of “thumbs” with my son, I ushered the children into the den beside the kitchen. Bryn and Thea took charge of Robertito authoritatively. Returning to the living room, I smiled at Roby and Francisca, who had busily composed an elaborate list, complete with numbers and indentations. Reflections of a college outline.
“Why the list?” I asked.
“So we make sure we remember,” Roby asserted.
“What is there to remember?
Roby laughed. “Bears, are you serious?”
“All the games we have established with Robertito, things to watch for, cues to catalogue.”
“Is that all?” I asked.
“Yes, that is all,” Roby said.
“How come you don’t have to make lists of all the things we explored during our long evening sessions?”
“Those are part of us,” he answered.
“Are you saying what we did with Robertito isn’t part of you?” I questioned.
Grinning broadly, he said, “I … I guess go.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “Everything we’ve done here has become part of us.” Roby put his pencil down.
“Roby, you can still make your list. I only wanted to clarify why you did it. Sometimes we can observe ourselves doing precisely the same behavior – one time from unhappiness, another time from our good feelings.”
I took Suzi’s hand and looked into her bright eyes, then turned back to Roby and Francisca. “The reason I raised the questions about the list is because I want each of you to know you are your own best expert on yourself and your situation. Don’t see the list as a guide to the future; at best, its only a record of the past. If Suzi and I suggested turning left and, tomorrow it seemed apparent to you to turn right, then trust yourself and turn right.”
“There aren’t any rules of conduct,” Suzi interjected. “Only your choices, your decisions. And you can know better than anyone else, including us, what there is for you to do.”
“I’d like to pose one more question, specifically to you, Francisca. It’s one I’ve asked you almost every day. How would you feel if Robertito never changed from the way he is today, never learned anything more?”
She smiled broadly. “Bears, when you asked me that on the first day I met you, I became so upset, so angry. I wanted to run out of your house and never, never come back. How could I have traveled over three thousand miles to be asked such a crazy question? I thought there was only one possible answer … that, of course, I had to feel terrible if he didn’t improve.” A long, relaxed sigh echoed from her throat. “Now I can say it would be okay. I never realized by not accepting Robertito as he is, I was disapproving of him.”
“It’s like saying to a person it’s not okay to be who you are; you must be something else to be acceptable,” Suzi commented.
“Yes, I understand,” Francisca said. “Although I want more for Robertito and will work for more, I can see my son clearer now and can enjoy him now … really enjoy him. Oh, God, I feel so much easier with myself.” Her face glowed; her eyes emanated a peacefulness which had never been apparent before.
Bryn charged into the living room wide-eyed. She held her index finger in front of her lips, hushing our conversation, and motioned for us to follow quickly. We gathered at the kitchen door. A bottle of juice balanced precariously near the edge of the counter. On tiptoes, little Robertito stretched his arms as high as possible, but missed his mark. A strange, throaty sound oozed from him. And then it became apparent. “Ju. Ju. Ju.” Francisca laughed and cried as she quickly poured the juice into a plastic glass.
Raun pulled on Suzi’s pants. “Mama, can I have juice, too?”
“I’ll give him some,” Thea offered.
When we turned to re-enter the living room, I saw Roby sitting by himself, his face flushed. Francisca sat beside him quietly, then talked softly to Jaime. “Francisca,” he said, “believes Roby would like to be alone.” The Sotos rose from the couch.
“Tell them to stay. Well be in the other room.” I asked Elise and the children to keep Robertito in the kitchen while Suzi and I sat in the den. A man’s muffled sobbing filtered through the walls.
Within the next hour, Robertito used two more words in order to communicate his wants.
Later, we reassembled in the living room. Roby and the maestro completed a rather intense conversation. Jaime directed his words toward me.
“Senor Soto would like to say something, but he is concerned you might get insulted.”
I laughed. “Tell him I doubt it. If I get insulted, I do that to myself. And since I don’t want to feel uncomfortable or upset, there’s no risk. Let him say what he would like.” B
Jaime spoke again for Roby. “The Sotos would like to pay you. They have calculated that you have worked with them and their son for almost eighty hours during the past week. They realize you and Suzi had to stop many other things in order to do this. They wish to compensate you for teaching them.”
Leaning forward, I put my hands on top of Roby’s and Francisca’s hands. I searched their sensitive faces. “First, I’m not insulted. I understand your intentions. If we wanted to be paid, I would have told you that in the beginning. We chose to be here, to help. I don’t know if we could always do this, but we wanted to do it now. We’ve been enriched by knowing you, your son, and witnessing his movement. It has been a very beautiful week, a very complete week. Your joy stands as our payment.”
Roby nodded, acknowledging my words. Francisca’s eyes sparkled. Caring thoughts passed from person to person in the silence. Suddenly, the blaring horn of a taxi invaded the room. Jaime excused himself, stepping outside to ask the driver to wait. Roby checked his passports and plane tickets.
Suzi fought back tears as she hugged Roby, Francisca and little Robertito. I embraced each of them as did our children. Then I turned to Jaime, refusing to say my good-bye to him with a formal handshake. As I reached to hug him, he reached to hug me. We patted each other on the back and laughed.
“Senor Kaufman, I am slow at changing, but this has been a great learning experience for me. On the day we met, you asked me to call you Bears. I am ready now.”
“Peace, Jaime,” I smiled.
“And to you, Bears. Adios,” he said. Then the maestro embraced Suzi.
“I have no more words,” Roby whispered. “My feelings are too strong for my words.” He bowed his head and led his family down the walk to the waiting car.
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People v. Mendes , 35 Cal.2d 537
[Crim. No. 5085. In Bank. June 13, 1950.]
THE PEOPLE, Respondent, v. LUIS LOPEZ MENDES, Appellant.
Thomas C. Perkins and John D. McComish for Appellant.
Fred N. Howser, Attorney General, and Doris H. Maier, Deputy Attorney General, for Respondent.
At about 7:30 p.m. on August 30, 1949, defendant, a 20-year-old Mexican farm laborer, together with Gonzales and Sandoval, entered the La Moderna Cafe in [35 Cal.2d 540] Grimes, California and embarked upon an evening of beer drinking. They had originally set out to take Gonzales from Colusa to his home in Arbuckle at the request of Maria Coronado. Maria was the common- law wife of Sandoval and the mother-in-law of defendant. Gonzales was a friend of the family. A tall man, a stranger to defendant but a friend of Gonzales, either accompanied the group from Colusa to Grimes or joined them in the cafe. Early in the evening he and defendant had an argument. It is not clear who was the aggressor, but the stranger was the larger of the two and defendant was still lame from a recent automobile accident. Shortly thereafter defendant left the cafe and returned later. There is a conflict in the evidence as to whether Sandoval left and returned with defendant or remained at the cafe. Later in the evening defendant had another argument with the stranger, and one of the cafe employees observed that he had a gun, which he moved from one pocket to another. An employee asked defendant to leave, and he did. Another employee, Frances Mendes, asked the stranger, who was intoxicated, to go to a shack behind the cafe and sleep. While she was pointing out the way from a side door she observed defendant at the outside front corner of the building pointing a gun at them. The stranger proceeded to the shack, and defendant sat down at the outside front corner of the building. Frances Mendes then summoned Deputy Sheriff Ainger at his home nearby. Ainger deputized his son, and the two went in their automobile to the cafe where they arrived about 11:30 p.m. The deputy sheriff noticed four persons lounging near the front corner of the cafe when he arrived. He was met at the door by Frances who pointed out defendant and requested that he be searched because he had a gun. Defendant then started to retreat around the side of the building, and the deputy sheriff's son ran after him and shouted at him. In the course of the first six or eight seconds of his retreat defendant fired two shots in rapid succession. The second shot struck the deputy sheriff's son, inflicting a wound from which he subsequently died. Defendant was arrested the following morning when he was found hiding in a clump of trees in a dry slough. He put up no resistance at the time of his arrest, and the gun was found on the ground where he had been hiding.
Defendant testified that when he and Sandoval left the cafe, Sandoval drove them to their home in Colusa. Sandoval entered the house and defendant stayed in the car. They [35 Cal.2d 541] then started back to Grimes, and on the way Sandoval thrust the gun on defendant over his protest telling him he would need it for his protection because they were going to kill him. During the second argument the stranger displayed a knife and indicated he intended to use it. Later when the deputy sheriff and his son drove up, Gonzales, who was near defendant outside the cafe, gave defendant a shove and addressed him in Spanish. Defendant retreated under the impression that the stranger had returned, and when he heard running and shouting behind him, fired two shots without aiming. He had no intention of killing or even hitting anyone and wished only to escape from what he feared was a murderous assault by the stranger.
On September 29th the district attorney filed an information charging defendant with murder. The next day the court appointed Ralph W. Rutledge and John D. McComish as counsel for defendant. On October 10th defendant was arraigned and pleaded not guilty and not guilty by reason of insanity, and the court set the trial for November 28th. On November 18th Thomas C. Perkins was retained by the Mexican Consul on behalf of defendant, and on November 23d he was substituted for the court-appointed counsel and at that time associated John D. McComish with him as counsel for the defense. On November 23d defendant moved for a change of venue under Penal Code, section 1033, and also for a continuance to allow additional time for Mr. Perkins to prepare for trial. The motion for a continuance was denied on that date, and on November 26th the motion for a change of venue and a renewal of the motion for a continuance were both denied. The plea of not guilty by reason of insanity was withdrawn. On November 27th Mr. Perkins informed the judge by telephone that he was ill and was prepared to present an affidavit of his physician that he should stay in bed for three days. The judge informed him that the case would go to trial the next day and that if he were not present the court would reappoint Mr. Rutledge to represent defendant. Mr. Perkins appeared the following day and filed the affidavit of the physician. He did not move for a continuance but stated that he wanted the affidavit to be on file in the event that he should become worse and request a continuance for that reason. No further motion for a continuance was made, however, and the trial proceeded. The jury returned a verdict of guilty of murder of the first degree without recommendation. [35 Cal.2d 542]
On his appeal defendant contends that the trial court erred in denying his motion for a change of venue. He urges the following facts as establishing that he could not secure a fair and impartial trial in Colusa County; that he was a foreign national charged with murdering a popular officer of a small community; that the decedent, his family, and the prosecuting attorneys were well known to, or friends of, a large fraction of the jury panel; and that the newspaper accounts of the homicide both stimulated and reflected a hostile and biased attitude against him in the county. The newspaper accounts, however, appear to be no different from the usual reporting of any homicide of this sort. The popularity of the decedent, the fact that the inhabitants are well known to each other in a small county, and the customary newspaper publicity, do not necessarily warrant the granting of a motion for change of venue. (People v. Yeager, 194 Cal. 452, 482-483 [229 P. 40]; People v. Agnew, 77 Cal.App.2d 748, 758-759 [176 P.2d 724]; People v. Ford, 25 Cal.App. 388, 394 [143 P. 1075].) Against defendant's motion the district attorney presented affidavits of the editors of the two local papers describing the attitude of the community. The record also shows that a jury was selected without undue difficulty and that defendant did not exhaust his peremptory challenges. The trial did not take place until approximately three months after the homicide. In view of these facts and the trial court's own knowledge of the atmosphere of the community, it cannot be said that the trial court erred in concluding that defendant could secure a fair and impartial trial in Colusa County. (People v. Brite, 9 Cal.2d 666, 689-690 [72 P.2d 122]; People v. Hall, 220 Cal. 166, 170 [30 P.2d 23]; People v. Yeager, supra; People v. Agnew, supra; People v. Ford, supra.)
Defendant contends that the trial court erred in denying his motions for continuances. The fact that Mr. Perkins was retained 10 days before the trial and had the assistance throughout of one of the appointed counsel who had almost two months to prepare, establishes, however, that the trial court did not abuse its discretion in denying a continuance to allow Mr. Perkins additional time to prepare. (People v. Dorman, 28 Cal.2d 846, 852 [172 P.2d 686].) As to the request for a continuance because of illness, any objection was waived when Mr. Perkins appeared and disavowed any intent to move for a continuance for that reason at that time. Although he contends that a motion in court would have been a futile act in view of the trial judge's attitude communicated [35 Cal.2d 543] to him over the telephone the day before, there was at no time any proper motion before the court for a continuance based on counsel's illness. (Pen. Code, § 1050.)
Defendant contends that the trial court erred in denying a motion to replace the court-appointed interpreter on the ground of incompetence. Defendant and three witnesses testified through the court- appointed interpreter. Defendant also had the assistance throughout the trial of interpreters from the Mexican Consulate. The record contains affidavits of defendant's interpreters that the court-appointed interpreter was incompetent. It was arranged at the trial that if defendant's interpreter disagreed with the court-appointed interpreter the questions should be asked and answered anew for purposes of correction. Defendant points out many instances in the record where corrections were made in this manner and the court interpreter admitted error. The competence of the interpreter is ordinarily for the trial court to determine. (People v. Valencia, 27 Cal.App. 407, 408 [150 P. 68]; People v. Salas, 2 Cal.App. 537, 539 [84 P. 295]; see 3 Wigmore on Evidence [3d ed.], § 811, p. 225.) Since the court interpreter and defendant's interpreter were generally in agreement and the affidavits set forth no errors that were not corrected in the course of the trial, the trial court was justified in concluding that the court-appointed interpreter was competent.
Defendant contends that the trial court erred in admitting in evidence the statement of Frances Mendes to Deputy Sheriff Ainger that defendant had a gun and she wanted him searched. This evidence was admitted to show that defendant had retreated, not because he thought the stranger had returned, but because of the conversation he heard between Frances and the deputy sheriff. Although defendant withdrew his objection when it was established that he was within earshot and made no objection when the same conversation was related by a second witness, he now contends that the statement was not admissible to show his response thereto because he did not understand English. There was evidence in the record, however, from which it could be inferred that defendant did have some understanding of English. It was therefore for the jury to determine whether he retreated because he understood the conversation or because he thought the stranger had returned. (People v. Simmons, 28 Cal.2d 699, 713 [172 P.2d 18].) [35 Cal.2d 544]
Defendant contends that the trial court erred in refusing the following instruction: "You are instructed that in this case the defendant is not only entitled to depend upon evidence which he may have offered on his own behalf, but he is entitled to the benefit of any and all evidence, or lack of evidence tending in any way to show his innocence, which may have been offered by the prosecution if there is any such evidence." The jury was instructed, however, to consider all the evidence in the case in reaching their verdict. Murder, its degrees, and included offenses were defined, and the jury was instructed as to intoxication, justifiable homicide, and self-defense. The burden of proof resting on the prosecution to prove every material allegation was emphasized. The principle embodied in defendant's proposed instruction was therefore adequately covered by the instructions that were given.
Defendant contends that the prosecuting attorney was guilty of misconduct in eliciting irrelevant testimony in one instance and in commenting on facts not in evidence during his argument. No motion to strike the irrelevant testimony was made, however, and defendant has not shown how he was prejudiced thereby. Many of the facts referred to by the prosecuting attorney could reasonably be inferred from the evidence (see People v. Eggers, 30 Cal.2d 676, 693 [185 P.2d 1]), and no request was made to the trial court to admonish the jury in regard to the others. The trial court, however, during the course of the trial and in its instructions, admonished the jury that they were to be governed solely by the evidence introduced in the case and not by statements made by counsel. We have concluded, therefore, that the record shows no prejudicial misconduct that would warrant a new trial. (See People v. Sampsell, 34 Cal.2d 757, 763-764 [214 P.2d 813] and cases there cited.)
Defendant contends that the evidence is insufficient to support a conviction of murder in the first degree. We agree with this contention. Under the provisions of Penal Code, section 189, the homicide in this case could be murder of the first degree only if it were a "willful, deliberate, and premeditated killing." The jury could have inferred that defendant shot at his pursuer thinking he was either the stranger or another. If they concluded that defendant knew his pursuer was not the stranger, they could only speculate on the question whether the shooting was, as the prosecuting attorney contended in his closing argument, in pursuance of [35 Cal.2d 545] a plan to kill if necessary to avoid arrest. The whole incident occurred within six to eight seconds. There is no evidence that defendant had any reason to fear the police, or that the deputy sheriff and his son were in uniform so that defendant might have inferred they were officers. Thus, if the jury believed that defendant knew his pursuer was not the stranger, the evidence would sustain a conviction of no more than murder of the second degree. (Penal Code § 189; People v. Holt, 25 Cal.2d 59 [153 P.2d 21]; People v. Valentine, 28 Cal.2d 121 [169 P.2d 1]; People v. Bender, 27 Cal.2d 164, 179 [163 P.2d 8].)
There is no evidence bearing on the relationship of defendant to the stranger to support an inference that defendant formed a deliberate and premeditated intent to kill him. Defendant did not know him before the day of the homicide. Although defendant did have two arguments of an undetermind nature with him, there is no evidence that he made any verbal threats against him and his conduct was inconsistent with the existence of a deliberately formed intent to kill. He did not use the gun during the course of the arguments, and he left the cafe quietly when requested to do so. Although there is evidence that he pointed the gun at the stranger for a moment, he neither pursued him nor interfered with his departure. The situation had become quiescent by the time the officers arrived, and as noted above, there is nothing in the evidence of what happened in the next few seconds to show a deliberate and premeditated killing.
Respondent contends, however, that the evidence that defendant left the cafe to secure a gun is sufficient to support an inference that he had formed an intent to kill the stranger and armed himself to carry out his plan. Even if it is assumed, however, that such evidence would support an inference of premeditation, there is no evidence that he left the cafe to secure a gun. Defendant testified that he did not leave for that purpose but that the gun was forced upon him on the return trip from Colusa to Grimes. If the jury disbelieved defendant's testimony they would still be left with no evidence as to why defendant left the cafe or when or under what circumstances he became armed.
"Generally the determination of the degree of the crime is left to the discretion of the jury. [Citations.] But the jury's discretion is not absolute. Since the amendment of section 1181 of the Penal Code in 1927 trial courts and reviewing [35 Cal.2d 546] courts are authorized to modify the judgment and fix a lesser degree of the crime in those instances where on an appraisal of all the evidence there is found to be lacking any substantial evidence of the elements required to constitute the degree of the crime as fixed by the jury. ...
"In determining whether the killing was accompanied by a deliberate and premeditated intention to take life such circumstances as the previous relations between defendant and the victim, the actions of the defendant before as well as at the time of the killing, and the means by which the homicide is accomplished, are important." (People v. Tubby, 34 Cal.2d 72, 76-78 [207 P.2d 51].) When such circumstances are considered in relation to the evidence in this case it is clear that the record is devoid of any substantial evidence that defendant had formed a wilful, deliberate, and premeditated intent to kill.
Defendant has filed in this court an application to have documentary evidence admitted and added to the record. Section 4 3/4 of article VI of the Constitution and section 956a of the Code of Civil Procedure provide for the admission of additional evidence in the appellate court only where trial by jury is not a matter of right or has been waived. Although it has been held that section 956a is only applicable in civil actions (People v. Cowan, 38 Cal.App.2d 144, 152- 154 [100 P.2d 1079]), it is unnecessary to decide whether defendant's application would be proper if the trial had been before a judge sitting without a jury. Since a jury trial was not waived the application must be denied.
The order denying the motion for a new trial is affirmed. The judgment is modified by reducing the degree of the crime to murder of the second degree and as so modified the judgment is affirmed. The cause is remanded to the trial court with directions to sentence defendant to imprisonment for the term prescribed by law for murder of the second degree.
Gibson, C.J., Carter, J., and Schauer, J., concurred.
As I read the record, there is an abundance of substantial evidence to support the jury's implied finding of premeditation. Although this evidence would support a contrary conclusion, I cannot agree that, as a matter of law, it is an insufficient basis for the jury's implied finding that Mendes is guilty of a "willful, deliberate and premeditated killing." [35 Cal.2d 547]
Pedro Saucedo, who was the bartender in the La Moderna saloon in Grimes on the evening of the shooting, testified that Mendes came in sometime between 7:30 and 10 o'clock. Three men were with him. There were four persons in the barroom. Mendes commenced "... sort of knocking or shaking the bottles on the bar." Saucedo told him to refrain from doing so. Apparently, Mendes complied with this request.
Later, according to Saucedo, Mendes "... sort of got mad with other persons." Asked to be more specific, the witness replied: "I don't know what he did. I heard just arguments ... they were talking loud ... I don't know whether they did fight or not."
Frances Mendes, an employee at the La Moderna who is not related to defendant, testified that she was tending the bar with Saucedo at that time, and had served beer to Mendes and his companions. There was an argument between Mendes and a tall stranger. As Mrs. Mendes described the incident, "... well, they were playing at first, and they--they got sore at each other. They were joking, they were friendly; and then after a while they were mad, and I don't remember what happened." When she was asked whether the incident was limited to verbal exchanges or included a fight, she replied, "Well, a little fight, then we separated them and told Mr. Mendes to leave."
Enrique Sandoval, one of the companions of Mendes, testified that they entered the saloon about 7 o'clock in the evening. He and Mendes, with another man and the tall stranger, drank together at the bar. After Mendes consumed about seven beers, the two men quarreled.
According to the testimony of Mendes, after he and two companions entered the saloon, they and a tall stranger drank several beers. Mendes said that he "was talking to the bartender--bar maid--and then someone came and insulted me. ..." This person, Mendes told the jury, "came near me and then started swearing at me and tell me lots of bad words ... Then he came back to me again and insulted me again ... Telling me of my mother. ..." Such a reference, the interpreter explained, is a Mexican insult. Continuing his testimony, Mendes declared that the tall stranger "... struck me when I was sitting down on the bar." Then, as all of the witnesses agreed, Mendes and Sandoval left the saloon and drove away in the latter's car.
With Sandoval driving the car, the two men went to Colusa [35 Cal.2d 548] and then returned to Grimes, a distance of about 30 miles. Mendes said that they went to their home in Colusa, where Sandoval procured a gun. "Early he didn't have anything," said Mendes, "but after he came out of the house he had a gun." As Mendes related the occurrences, he was afraid of returning to Grimes, but Sandoval gave him the gun and said, "Here. Defend yourself because they are going to kill you." Mendes explained that he had the gun in his hand when he reached Grimes, and at that time attempted to return the gun to Sandoval. The latter again said, "No, it is for your defense, because they are going to kill you and you haven't got anything."
Although he was frightened, said Mendes, he entered the saloon at Sandoval's insistence. The tall stranger was still there. Mendes "... went to one side because [he] was afraid." At that time, according to the testimony of Mendes, the tall stranger began to remove his shirt, and stated that he had a knife and "... he didn't want that knife just to bless the saints." Mendes explained this expression as meaning that the knife was to be used.
Saucedo testified that Mendes was showing a gun he had in his hand at about this time. According to Saucedo's description of the events, Mendes was changing the gun from one pocket to the other and from one hand to the other. At this point, Saucedo put Mendes out of the saloon. This was at approximately 11:30.
Mendes sat on the porch. The barmaid sent the tall stranger to a shack near the saloon where he could sleep. While she was talking to him through the side door in order to direct him to the shack, Mendes pointed his gun at them. As Mrs. Mendes described the scene, "Well, when I saw the gun was when I was talking to the boy through the side door, and telling him where the shack was; then Mr. Mendes [defendant] pointed it at us--pointed at us with a gun." This witness stated that she knew the object pointed at the stranger and herself was a gun, because "... I saw it shining; I knew it was a gun (indicating)."
Shortly thereafter and at the request of Saucedo, Frances Mendes went for the police. George H. Ainger, Sr., a deputy sheriff, and his son responded to her call. Mrs. Mendes told the officer that Mendes was armed and asked that he be searched. As Ainger started toward Mendes, the latter went around the corner of the saloon and began running. George Ainger, Jr., who was unarmed, shouted at Mendes to stop, [35 Cal.2d 549] and started after him. According to the officer, although the headlights of his car were burning, the illumination on and about the saloon porch was insufficient for him to recognize Mendes' features. As the officer reached the corner, Mendes fired twice in quick succession. The second shot struck Ainger, Jr., and killed him. The father fired once at the fleeing Mendes and then his gun jammed. Mendes was found the next day in a culvert several miles away. The gun was lying nearby.
Upon this evidence, the jury was justified in determining that Mendes, while unarmed, was insulted by and fought with a tall stranger. Thereafter, Mendes drove 30 miles with his friend and returned to the saloon with a revolver. The quarrel was then renewed and Mendes displayed his gun. At one time he aimed the gun at the tall stranger and the barmaid, who was standing next to him. Soon thereafter, Mendes fired two shots at the son of the deputy sheriff who he thought, because of the poor illumination, was the tall stranger.
Certainly from this evidence the jury might infer that young Ainger was killed because of the premeditated plan of Mendes to kill the tall stranger. The departure from the saloon without a gun and the return with it alone would support such a conclusion. But even if this evidence were not believed by the jury, the testimony as to the quarrel and the subsequent display and aiming of the gun at the tall stranger justifies the implied finding of the jury that the crime was premeditated.
The facts of this case are quite similar to those in People v. Walker, 76 Cal.App.2d 10, 14 [172 P.2d 380]. There, in affirming the judgment, the court stated: "While the evidence discloses no enmity between appellant and deceased it reveals that the former's 'blood lust had been aroused' to the extent that he desired to take life. ... From the success of his venture it was a fair deduction that his act was deliberate and malicious homicide. (People v. Sainz, 162 Cal. 242, 244 [121 P. 922].) If he aimed to shoot Alfred and by accident hit Vernal, or if he mistook Vernal for Alfred, in either event his murderous intent was by law transferred to the victim (People v. Pivaroff, 138 Cal.App. 625, 628 [33 P.2d 44]; People v. Suesser, 142 Cal. 354, 367 [75 P. 1093])."
In the present case, although "... the whole incident occurred within six to eight seconds," the killing was the culmination of events which transpired in the three hours after Mendes went to the saloon. During that time he armed himself [35 Cal.2d 550] and displayed his weapon several times during a long quarrel with the tall stranger. However, the elapsed time is not the determining aspect (People v. Maughs, 149 Cal. 253 [86 P. 187]; People v. Fowler, 178 Cal. 657 [174 P. 892]). Rather it is of course a question as to whether the evidence shows a "willful, deliberate, and premeditated killing." Although from the evidence as to Mendes' acts, the jury might have found lack of premeditation, it determined that he is guilty of murder in the first degree. That determination is beyond the reach of an appellate court.
For these reasons, I would affirm the judgment.
Shenk, J., and Spence, J., concurred.
|Tue, 06/13/1950||35 Cal.2d 537||Review - Criminal Appeal||Opinion issued|
|1||THE PEOPLE (Respondent)|
|2||, v. LUIS LOPEZ MENDES, Appellant. (, v. LUIS LOPEZ MENDES)|
|3||THE PEOPLE (Respondent)|
|Jun 13 1950||Opinion: Affirmed|
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Preached June 9, 2019; St. Peter Catholic Church, The Dalles, Oregon
As we have just heard, on the day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came upon the Apostles and disciples in the form of tongues of fire. The fire speaks of the fire of divine love, while the tongues speak of the gift of speech, speech that is at once strong, loving, and wise. The speech is first of all speech in praise of the mighty works of God, but then in the second place it involves announcing those same mighty works to others. The mighty works are not just any mighty works, but the mighty works that God has accomplished in Jesus Christ.
St. Peter wrote to the baptized: You are chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own, so that you may announce the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. (1 Pe 1:9)
We can understand a little what took place on Pentecost, and so also what should take place in us through the activity of the Holy Spirit, if we consider the example of St. Peter.
Before Pentecost St. Peter was a weak man who knew and loved Jesus of Nazareth and sort of understood that he was the Christ and Son of God. Then, one Thursday night he fell asleep when he was supposed to be praying, when Jesus had told him, Watch and pray, so that you do not fall into temptation. (Mt 26:41) He woke up to find that Jesus was going out to meet the traitor accompanied by a group of soldiers. He got up his courage and struck a blow and then even followed after Jesus as they led him off. Then he came into the courtyard of the High Priest, saw what was happening to Jesus and then his human love and human courage failed. A servant girl said, You too were with Jesus the Galilean. Peter replied, I do not know what you are talking about. (Mt 26:6,7) Then he sought the comfort of the fire in the courtyard and it went downhill from there. (cf. Jn 18:18)
Peter’s faith was shaken, his love failed, his courage failed, he denied the truth, and he departed from the way of wisdom. All this was because he did not yet have the gift of the Holy Spirit.
Today, we Catholics have become rather like Peter before Pentecost. We fail to speak up, because we have been told to shut up, and we are afraid of offending.
If others speak and act in ways that are offensive to the Catholic faith, we are told that we must be tolerant; if we speak up on behalf of the truth of the Catholic faith and the moral law that is rooted in our created nature, we are not tolerated; we are called bigots and haters and worse.
So we close our mouths. Then what we are afraid to speak, we soon find that we are afraid to think. If we are afraid even to think with the Catholic faith, we will soon lose our faith altogether, even if we still go through the motions.
In any case, Peter denying Jesus was Peter before Pentecost. Let us now consider what Peter said on Pentecost and then again shortly thereafter. We will see Peter transformed.
Following what we heard in today’s 1st reading is Peter’s speech to the crowd, the first public preaching of the Apostles.
St. Peter’s speech showed the wisdom of God as he interpreted the events of Pentecost and the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ in the light of the sacred Scripture of the Old Testament. In this way he showed the fulfillment of God’s plan in Jesus Christ and the Church.
His words, though, are not just a nice historical summary, they are addressed to a crowd that had once cried out, Crucify him! Crucify him! Peter does not let the crowd forget that fact and he brings his speech to a powerful conclusion declaring: God raised this Jesus; of this we are all witnesses. Exalted at the right hand of God, he received the promise of the Holy Spirit from the Father and poured it forth, as you both see and hear. … therefore let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified. (Acts 2:32-33,36)
How insensitive of him! How hateful! Reminding those men of their sins. Didn’t Jesus pray, Father, forgive them? (Lk 23:34)
No, it was not insensitive; it was not hateful; it was a speech filled with highest love. It was filled with love because Peter who had denied Jesus and who had been forgiven, who had not only received Jesus’ forgiveness, but had received the gift of the Holy Spirit, wanted those men to receive the same gift of mercy.
Indeed the crowd, upon hearing St. Peter’s words were cut to the heart and asked what they should do. (Acts 2:37)
No, consider, who today, ever comes to the Church like that crowd spoke to St. Peter, with repentance, simplicity, and humility, and asks, “What must we do to be saved?”
In any case, Peter answered them: Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. (Acts 2:38) The same gift you are now witnessing in us. Three thousand were baptized that day. (cf. Acts 2:41)
Next, some days later, the Apostles were brought before the Sanhedrin, the very same tribunal that had condemned Jesus to death for blasphemy. Peter, who had once been terrified of the High Priest’s servant girl, had the courage to declare
openly to the High Priest himself that God had raised from the dead the very Jesus whom you crucified and there is no salvation through anyone else, nor is there any other name under heaven given to men by which we are to be saved. (Acts 4:10,12)
The Sanhedrin was dumbfounded and could think of nothing else to do but to order the Apostles to stop speaking about Jesus. St. Peter replied, Whether it is right in the sight of God for us to obey you rather than God, you be the judges. It is impossible not to speak about what we have seen and heard. (Acts 4:19-20) There is St. Peter transformed by the Holy Spirit.
If we follow the path of St. Peter’s preaching we can discover the path to Pentecost and the renewal of Pentecost in our own lives.
The Holy Spirit first leads us to the knowledge of Jesus by belief in the preaching of the Apostles – which is handed on in the Tradition of the Church – and repentance of our sins. He then moves us to the sacraments, first baptism, then for those who are already baptized, confession, and the Holy Eucharist. Then as our knowledge of Jesus deepens we are given the power to bear witness, to speak about what we have seen and heard.
Even though we do not have the experience of St. Peter and the other Apostles, even though we were not there 2,000 years ago, even though we did not live with Jesus on a day-to-day basis, even though we did not hear his teaching and see his miracles, even though we did not witness his death and resurrection, we can bear witness to what we have seen and heard. We can do this because Jesus – the same Jesus – has risen from the dead, and lives and acts in his Church, pouring forth his Holy Spirit to this day, transforming lives and making saints.
The problem is that even though we have been baptized, even though we have been confirmed, even though we have received the gift of the Holy Spirit, we put up obstacles to his work. God wants it. There is no blockage on his side. We are the ones who put up obstacles.
The first obstacle is our lack of desire. We are content with our life here and now and so we have little real desire to know Jesus and attain eternal life.
This leads to the second obstacle that of our sins and our lack of repentance.
Repentance needs to go deeper than repenting of this or that sin. Repentance involves more than just saying, “I’m sorry”; repentance involves a whole change of attitude, this involves adopting a whole new way of thinking, a whole new worldview. As St. Paul puts it: Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind. (Rm 12:2) And, Take every thought captive in obedience to Christ. (2 Cor 10:5)
God gives himself to those who give themselves to him, without condition, without reserve. So we can ask ourselves: I am baptized, but have I ever really given myself to God? Have I have ever really sought to live by the gift of the Holy Spirit? Have I ever really let the Holy Spirit into my life? Have I ever really desired to become a saint? Or have I only wanted just so much of God’s blessing, enough to get on with my life, and to be successful with my own desires and plans? Have I ever really put God first in my life, seeking his will and his plan for my life? Have I truly put on the mind of Christ, or do I think with the world and use the language of faith as window dressing?
The third obstacle is that we do not really know Jesus.
God gives himself to those who give themselves to him. So we do not know Jesus because we do not give ourselves wholeheartedly to him.
We do not know Jesus – who is the same yesterday, today, and forever (cf. Heb 13:8)
– because we do not know the Jesus of the Gospels; that is because we hear only what we want to hear, filtered through all manner of modern day distortions and falsifications. We do not know Jesus because we do not know him in the tradition of the Church and in the lives of the saints. We do not know Jesus because we do not know Mary. Truly praying the mysteries of the rosary, which is a summary of the Gospel, would help get us on the right track.
Hidden among the disciples on that first Pentecost was the Blessed Virgin Mary. She was not among them as one awaiting the Holy Spirit for the first time; she was among them as the Immaculate Conception, the Spouse of the Holy Spirit from the beginning of her existence. She was among them as the Holy Mother of God who knew Jesus as no one else did. She was among them as a beacon of faith, praying for them, and gently showing them the way.
We need to turn to Mary, Queen of the Apostles, and ask her to teach us docility to the Holy Spirit, we need to ask her to show us Jesus, we need to ask her to bring about in us the promise of today’s Gospel: Whoever loves me will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him.
Pentecost brings about in the Church, what took place in Virgin Mary on the day when she said “yes” to the angel Gabriel. As the Holy Spirit came upon her that day and she conceived Jesus Christ, the Son of God, in her womb, so on the day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came upon Virgin Church and she conceived Jesus Christ, the Son of God, in the souls of those who believe.
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Just a brief post to say I will be speaking at Wilton History Festival on 17 September about the literary circle around Mary Sidney and the power of patronage.
For those who don’t know, Mary Sidney was the younger sister Philip Sidney and is the Countess of Pembroke for whom he wrote the Arcadia. However, she was also a superb poet in her own right, as the translations of the Psalms which she and her brother wrote clearly demonstrate. She completed around two-thirds of the translations after his death, and her work is both technically astonishing and supremely powerful. As a patron, she supported Spenser and Daniel, among many others.
Her sons, Philip and – particularly – William would become powerful and influential patrons themselves. It is no coincidence that both Jonson’s 1616 Workes and Shakespeare’s 1623 First Folio are dedicated to them.
It is one of English literature’s great ironies that the fortune that made this patronage possible was amassed by a man believed by his contemporaries to be functionally illiterate – he is said to have been the last member of the Privy Council who could neither read nor write – and was in any case largely based on property from the destruction of the monasteries.
A link to the festival programme is here. Please do come and say hello! Wilton House itself has so many historic associations, and I’m really looking forward to visiting myself!
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Bree Tanner and Diego were both newborn members of the Seattle newborn army, created by Victoria. They became a couple one week before their battle against the Cullens. They died at different times; Diego was tormented to death by Victoria for discovering that sunlight didn't hurt vampires, like they were told; and Bree was accused of being a criminal and executed by Felix.
- "Diego grinned at me, his face beautiful with light, and suddenly, with a deep lurch in my stomach, I realized that the whole BFF thing was way off the mark. It was just that fast… But even though Diego looked like his normal self again—not made of blazing light anyway—I knew he would never look the same to me. That tingly sensation in the pit of my stomach was still there. I had a feeling it would be there permanently."
- ―Bree on Diego[src]
Bree Tanner lived with her abusive father in Las Vegas, Nevada, for most of her human life. She was led to believe that her mother left her at the tender age of two. In reality, Bree's father had killed her mother. After numerous years of abuse, Bree could no longer endure her father's abuse and ran away from home, completely disregarding his warning of starvation. She barely had enough money to buy a ticket to Seattle; afterwards, Bree was forced to either steal food or eat out of garbage cans. The whole time she worried the police would find her and take her back to her father. Three weeks after deserting her home, Bree encountered Riley. Marveling at his beauty, Bree accepted the "burger" he had offered. It was at this point that Riley brought her to Victoria to be transformed into a vampire.
After her transformation, Bree was brought into the army. While the members fought and killed each other for sports, she sought solitude and tended to keep to herself and hide behind a gifted vampire named Fred, who could avoid unwanted attention with his power. This method kept her alive for the next few months.
- "He ducked close and kissed me—just a peck, but right on the lips. The shock of it zinged through my whole body."
- ―Diego's kiss[src]
Diego grew up in a lower-class, single-parent home in Los Angeles with his mother and little brother. He worked part-time jobs to help out while attending high school, and had a goal in life: to leave his street life and go to college as well as help his brother get a proper education. He managed to stay out of trouble, but when his little brother failed to do so and died as a consequence, Diego tried to avenge him. That night, Diego killed his brother's killer and then was cornered by armed enemies. Just then, Riley Biers came to his rescue and asked if he wanted a new life. Riley escorted Diego to Victoria, who transformed him into a vampire. After a while he befriended a fellow newborn, Bree. The two became fond of one another and became mates. However, Diego learned of information regarding Riley that would have jeopardize the loyalty of the Victoria's army. Because of his knowledge, Riley killed him in an attempt to silence him.
In the next eleven months of his new life as a vampire, Diego acted as the most responsible member, always looking after his lesser tamed mates, even if they didn't want to be looked after. Part of Diego's obedience and loyalty toward Riley came from Riley having been his only friend during Diego's vampiric life. Riley, in return, was very fond of him.
- "I didn't know much about him, just that he was older than most of the others. Riley's right-hand man was the word. That didn't make me like him any more than the other morons."
- ―Bree's first impression of Diego.[src]
Bree was first brought into the army in March, 2006. While Diego and Bree lived together with the army, Bree only knew him from the other newborns' reputation. Everyone believed he was Riley's henchman because he was given such a long-leash when he was really more responsible with his actions than the rest. Diego never noticed Bree because she mostly hid behind Fred, one of the only two gifted vampires in the gathering, to stay out of trouble, especially after one of the newborns tore off her arm and almost burned it.
The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner
- Main article: The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner
During a regular night out, Bree and Diego separated from two other ruthless vampires—Kevin and Casey—who were comparing hunting superhero-style and later fighting for the blood of a victim. The two bonded as they got to know each other, and in the process, fell in love. Bree began to feel safe around Diego because of his generosity, which was unusual in the army. He went as far as to let her feed more than he did.
In the next morning, they hid in an underwater cave and discussed what they knew about the army and vampires. Coming to the conclusion that sunlight and wooden stakes may not be deadly to vampires, Diego and Bree experimented the theory. Bree was hesitant to try, but softened when she saw her hand glitter like diamonds. Coming out of the hole, the two marveled each other's beauty. Diego further encouraged their love by kissing Bree, effectively showing her his genuine feelings. The two then spent the whole day looking for their army. Once they found them, some of the members threatened to finish them off, but Fred prevented from doing so.
Diego planned to tell Riley of their discovery. Bree and Diego followed him to a cabin, where they were confronted by agents of the Volturi. Diego went on to tell Riley, and upon hearing of his discoveries, Riley brought him to Victoria who decided to torment him to extract all information out of him before killing him. To cover his tracks, Riley pretended and informed Bree that Diego was with the one they call "her" (Victoria) when in actuality Diego was tortured by Victoria and Riley before being murdered.
- Main article: Eclipse
When Bree agreed to participate in the army's assault, she had high hopes that Diego would be present; however, to her dismay, Diego wasn't anywhere to be found in the field. It was then she realized Riley and Victoria had killed Diego to silence his words to the newborns regarding the sun. After Victoria's army was completely destroyed, Carlisle Cullen discovered Bree and, out of pity for the child, offered her asylum in exchange for her surrender. Minutes later, the Volturi arrived and interrogated both the Cullen family and Bree. When Jane decided to have Bree executed, the Cullens begged for her life to be spared, going to the extent to take responsibility for her; however, the Volturi refused to accept persuasion and the Cullens were unable to save Bree from her unfortunate death. However, Bree was content to know that her enemies were willing to defend her and didn't try to fight back, as she was too distraught by Diego's death.
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Homi Villa – built by Jehangir Hormusjee Ruttonjee during the construction of Hong Kong Brewers and Distillers Ltd Brewery
Homi Villa, a distinctive white building, was built by Jehangir Hormusjee Ruttonjee, 律敦治, as a convenient place from which to oversee the construction of the Hong Kong Brewers and Distillers Ltd Brewery at nearby Sham Tseng. It’s located on an attractive promontory at 401 Castle Peak Road overlooking the Ma Wan Channel.
It was subsequently purchased by the Hong Kong Government and used as staff quarters for British army officers. It also served as the residence of Sir Philip Haddon-Cave who was Financial Secretary from 1971 to 1981.
The house was converted into the Airport Core Programme Exhibition Centre in 1995 by the New Airport Projects Co-ordination Office (NAPCO) with an annexe being built in that year.
HF: I took these photos on 4th November 2016.
This article was first posted on 9th November 2016.
Related Indhhk articles:
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The Enterprise is near Earth and a Borg sphere travels back in time to a period before the Enterprise and the federation itself existed.
Almost immediately the entire earth changes to a Borg populated planet.
If the Borg went back and assimilated the Earth before the Enterprise existed and borgified (I know assimilated) all of mankind, the Enterprise should have disappeared immediately as it would have never been created.
Evidence of this in the STU would be the TNG episode "Yesterday's Enterprise." In the episode the Enterprise C comes through a rift bringing it into it's future to the 24th century (the time period of TNG). Because the Enterprise C's defense of a Klingon outpost was vital to forming an alliance between the Klingons and the Federation at the Battle of Narendra III, that alliance was never formed and the federation was now at war with the Klingons. In an instance the Enterprise and everything about the timeline has changed (heck Tasha's on the bridge). Picard sent the Enterprise C back into the rift and as soon as it went back to it's original time in the Enterprise D's past and fulfilled it's mission the timeline reverted back. It happened instantaneously, as soon as it cleared the rift the Enterprise D had their regular uniforms, compliment, etc. back.
In TNG Tapestry, I know it's Q time travel so don't just focus on this one, Picard goes back to his youth. When he doesn't get into a fist fight as a young cadet he ends up not being a risk taker. When Q brings him back into his time, he's a low level officer, not even command rank.
In TNG Firstborn, future Alexander (K'mtar) travels back from the future trying to change his young self into a warrior so that Worf won't die as soon as he does in the future. Eventually K'mtar wants to kill his younger self for being such a wuss. He fails as Worf catches K'mtar. Worf says that Alexander has already changed history by coming back in time. Things may not at all happen the way Alexander fears, and when he returns to his own time he may well find Worf alive. K'mtar says that he has failed, because the boy he was remains the same. Worf says that Alexander is the same, but Worf has changed, and now he understands that Alexander will have a noble future even if he is not a warrior. K'mtar embraces him and says, "I love you, father." Worf replies, "And I you, Alexander." So both K'mtar (future Alexander) and Worf acknowledge that changing the past affects the future, so much so that Worf states that when he gets back to the future (pun intended) Worf may be alive and well.
If a change is made in the past it affects the present and future. Why in the movie First Contact didn't the Enterprise disappear as soon as the Earth was assimilated in Earth's past?
(I awarded a correct answer as it is an in universe answer, however if anyone can further expound on that answer I'd appreciate it. I understand that Data was a bit puzzled so there probably isn't an answer, but it seems that if the Enterprise were never created, a wake, rift, temporal, or otherwise wouldn't protect them.)
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16 Then the men set out from there, and they looked down toward Sodom. And Abraham went with them to set them on their way. 17 The Lord said, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, 18 seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him? 19 For I have chosen him, that he may command his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice, so that the Lord may bring to Abraham what he has promised him.” 20 Then the Lord said, “Because the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is great and their sin is very grave, 21 I will go down to see whether they have done altogether according to the outcry that has come to me. And if not, I will know.”
Abraham Intercedes for Sodom
22 So the men turned from there and went toward Sodom, but Abraham still stood before the Lord. 23 Then Abraham drew near and said, “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked? 24 Suppose there are fifty righteous within the city. Will you then sweep away the place and not spare it for the fifty righteous who are in it? 25 Far be it from you to do such a thing, to put the righteous to death with the wicked, so that the righteous fare as the wicked! Far be that from you! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” 26 And the Lord said, “If I find at Sodom fifty righteous in the city, I will spare the whole place for their sake.”
27 Abraham answered and said, “Behold, I have undertaken to speak to the Lord, I who am but dust and ashes. 28 Suppose five of the fifty righteous are lacking. Will you destroy the whole city for lack of five?” And he said, “I will not destroy it if I find forty-five there.” 29 Again he spoke to him and said, “Suppose forty are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of forty I will not do it.” 30 Then he said, “Oh let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak. Suppose thirty are found there.” He answered, “I will not do it, if I find thirty there.” 31 He said, “Behold, I have undertaken to speak to the Lord. Suppose twenty are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of twenty I will not destroy it.” 32 Then he said, “Oh let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak again but this once. Suppose ten are found there.” He answered, “For the sake of ten I will not destroy it.” 33 And the Lord went his way, when he had finished speaking to Abraham, and Abraham returned to his place.
1 O Lord, in your strength the king rejoices, and in your salvation how greatly he exults! 2 You have given him his heart’s desire and have not withheld the request of his lips. Selah 3 For you meet him with rich blessings; you set a crown of fine gold upon his head. 4 He asked life of you; you gave it to him, length of days forever and ever. 5 His glory is great through your salvation; splendor and majesty you bestow on him. 6 For you make him most blessed forever; you make him glad with the joy of your presence. 7 For the king trusts in the Lord, and through the steadfast love of the Most High he shall not be moved. 8 Your hand will find out all your enemies; your right hand will find out those who hate you. 9 You will make them as a blazing oven when you appear. The Lord will swallow them up in his wrath, and fire will consume them. 10 You will destroy their descendants from the earth, and their offspring from among the children of man. 11 Though they plan evil against you, though they devise mischief, they will not succeed. 12 For you will put them to flight; you will aim at their faces with your bows. 13 Be exalted, O Lord, in your strength! We will sing and praise your power.
At that time Jesus went through the grain fields on the Sabbath. His disciples were hungry, and they began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. 2 But when the Pharisees saw it, they said to him, “Look, your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the Sabbath.” 3 He said to them, “Have you not read what David did when he was hungry, and those who were with him: 4 how he entered the house of God and ate the bread of the Presence, which it was not lawful for him to eat nor for those who were with him, but only for the priests? 5 Or have you not read in the Law how on the Sabbath the priests in the temple profane the Sabbath and are guiltless? 6 I tell you, something greater than the temple is here. 7 And if you had known what this means, I desire mercy, and not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the guiltless. 8 For the Son of Man is lord of the Sabbath.”
A Man with a Withered Hand
9 He went on from there and entered their synagogue. 10 And a man was there with a withered hand. And they asked him, “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?”—so that they might accuse him. 11 He said to them, “Which one of you who has a sheep, if it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will not take hold of it and lift it out? 12 Of how much more value is a man than a sheep! So it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.” 13 Then he said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” And the man stretched it out, and it was restored, healthy like the other. 14 But the Pharisees went out and conspired against him, how to destroy him.
Questions to Ponder:
The Lord desires mercy and not sacrifice. He desires that we do good on the Sabbath and every other day of the week as well. Many take God’s word out of context, rather than understanding the precepts that are trustworthy.
Do you work to understand the meaning behind the words, doing good to God’s children, building up the faith of others? How might you listen for what is at the heart of a situation and offer grace and mercy instead of judgment?
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The Eighth Story – Wicked Girl, Agnes Le Verges
Note: Sorry for the laaate delay between releases. Este died, forgot about this chapter, then I died for a bit and let Este do his thing. Next chapter won’t take as long as this chapter took! Soon(TM)
TLN: Taffeta is a type of fabric made from silk or cuprammonium rayons. It’s a high-end fabric, often seen in fancy upper-class dinner parties and what not.
TLN: Twill is a type of textile weave with a pattern of diagonal parallel ribs.
The day after the storm, once it became morning, the weather outside was nice. Bernard thought it was like yesterday’s stormy weather was just a lie.
The attic, which had taken the most damage yesterday, was unusable due to the dampness. There was also the possibility that the floorboards were peeling off and needed to be replaced. He didn’t even want to think about the costs of repairs and such.
When Eric disinterestedly relayed the report, he ignored it while despairing.
Agnes was to temporarily use the guest room.
Bernard thought that this was just perfect. During the time he was deciding on how to deal with her, he decided to treat her courteously.
“And so, Agnes Le Verges.”
“It seems that you have a cold.”
“Because last night, your whole body was drenched in rain.”
Catching a cold from having her whole body drenched in rain was something Bernard couldn’t believe.
At present, he told Celia and Carol to nurse her.
“How may I serve you?”
“What do you mean how, if you just call a doctor-”
After saying that, he could only sigh.
It wasn’t good to have Agnes be seen by anyone who didn’t live in the mansion.
But even so, he couldn’t leave a sick person as they were.
“The doctor, it’s fine to call him, right?”
“Ah, aaaah. But–”
He ordered that the doctor’s mouth be forcibly shut by bribing him with money.
With a bow, Eric left the room.
From the repair fees to the medical expenses and the hush money, Bernard’s small fortune was steadily being whittled down.
Thinking that problems would occur time and time again, he let out a deep sigh.
After changing into his knight uniform, he passed time in the rest area until his working hours began.
“The Third Special Assault Force” that Bernard was attached to was composed of young knights in their early to mid twenties.
Today, there was a strange commotion in the morning.
The thing they were surrounding was a cheap-looking weekly publication. As the contents of the paper were the gossip of the nobles, it was extremely indecent.
This week’s edition sold so well that it nearly went out of stock. While boasting that he went through trouble to obtain this, one of the members held it out in front of Bernard.
“What’s written in here.”
“It’s concerning the rumored noblewoman.”
Without sticking his head out into the commotion, Bernard’s glance fell onto the periodical.
Though the front cover was a nude painting, things like that didn’t really matter.
The heading, “All About the Gaudy Way the Former Earl’s Daughter Lives and her unspeakable fraternization with the opposite Sex ~revealed by an acquaintance, this Is the Real Her~,” was written.
Just seeing that filled him with revulsion.
To Bernard, who showed no interest, the one colleague started to talk about the contents of the news story.
Agnes Le Verges.
A nineteen year-old born to a distinguished family, she was one of the very popular beauties in high society.
She invested much money and effort in preserving her beauty.
Her dresses were silken, made of satin and taffeta, as she would not wear anything that wasn’t made of first-class materials. It was said that, one day, she had fired a maid who had accidentally brought a dress made out of twill.
The people of high society had named that Agnes Le Verges as, “The Resplendent Rose.”
Reporters implied that it was natural she was beautiful considering all the money she spent, and they frankly reported that she lived indulgently and luxuriously.
Bernard had heard stories concerning her socialization with men from Djibril, but he was now hearing more detailed accounts from the self-proclaimed experts of his time.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it~. That she alternated between different men every year.”
“It must have been unbearable being those guys, huh. They gave her so many things too.”
“I had thought that Miss Agnes was pitiful, but now that I’ve heard the stories, it’s like she’s reaping what she’s sowed…”
“During a soiree, I just happened to catch a glimpse of her, but she was a reaal beauty.”
“But you know, it costs money to do so. And making her my wife if her personality is awful as well? No thank you.”
Without joining in the conversation, Bernard silently gazed down at the periodical.
If it was before, he might have joined them in their slander.
But now, he could only wrack his brain at the gossip happening in front of him.
Agnes Le Verges—Very prideful, the worst kind of woman who would evaluate someone with just their outward appearance.
However, the Agnes Bernard knew differed greatly.
Quiet, well-mannered and one who used the miniscule amount of money she possessed to send provisions to her father who was in prison, she was a family-minded woman who could be found anywhere.
The wicked woman, Agnes, and the extremely ordinary girl, Agnes.
Bernard was unable to determine which Agnes was the real one.
As of now, he had only been around her for a short period of time. He thought it was too soon to come to a conclusion.
Once the hour for work began, the commanding officer, Lazarre, came around to start the morning assembly.
As there was a delay in the concealment of the vulgar publication, it was confiscated.
After finishing the day’s training, he headed to the office to report his results to his superior.
Once the bell signifying the end of working hours rang, Lazare told Bernard, “Thanks for your work,” before telling him to go home.
“—Ahhhh, that’s right, Orlellian. Dispose of this for me, won’t you.”
The thing he held out was the weekly publication that had gossip about Agnes written in it. With an unpleasant expression, he received it.
“Good grief, it’s a terrible thing.”
Bernard rolled up the not too thick periodical into a cylinder so the front cover faced inward and grasped it tightly in his hand.
While he was thinking that he should burn it somewhere before he returned, he heard Lazarre say something.
“If it were possible, I’d like to shelter her at home, but I can’t get a hold of any news of her.”
“… Are you alright?”
“Is what alright?”
“Something like saving the daughter of a house that has provoked the king’s displeasure.”
“It wouldn’t be good, but with articles like this coming out, the circumstances surrounding her are only getting worse.”
Even under normal circumstances, she would be treated coldly due to the scandal her father had caused, but now, even bad rumors about her had come forth. One could say her situation was steadily spiraling downward.
“It could be that perhaps she is in an orphanage in the streets to hide herself.”
“Why is that so?”
“My niece hung out with Agnes at one point, and it seems like she used to go to the orphanage once a week.”
Lazarre told him that she was a woman who actively performed charitable acts. Also that the things that were written in the magazine were probably bullshit.
“There was one time she came over to the house and greeted us, and she seemed like a polite young lady. This kind of thing must have been written to increase the magazine’s revenue. They’re doing two-bit things.”
He spat out that it was a detestable world where this kind of periodical sold well.
After that, there was a moment of silence.
The one who opened his mouth first was Lazarre.
“What is it?”
“I’m going to have to go to the assembly from now on. And as such, I have a request.”
Lazarre implored while lowering his head that he wanted Orlellian to occasionally visit the orphanage from now on, and that if Agnes was there, he wanted him to shelter her.
“If she is there, I want you to take her along to my house by coach. I’ll remunerate you.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Don’t say that, I beg you.”
“… I’ll go to the orphanage. It’s on the way home, so I don’t need remuneration.”
“I-Is that so. That’s a big help.”
The Imperial City’s orphanage was near the boarding station for coaches. He refused the money, saying that it was only stopping by on the way home, so he didn’t need any.
After receiving a memo with the address of his superior’s residence written on it, he headed to the locker room to go get changed.
It took ten minutes to walk there from the knight order’s garrison. The boarding place for coaches in the central street was only a little while away from where the orphanage was.
Because he couldn’t go empty-handed, he bought some sweets from a nearby store and headed toward the orphanage.
The orphanage, which had ties to the church, was managed by donations from the nobles.
However, the livelihoods of the children who lived there were not of great quality.
For who knows how long, the person who managed the money that had been collected had not been disclosed.
Bernard peeked into the orphanage from outside the fence.
Children between the ages of five and ten were cheerfully running about.
One could tell they did not live in abundance by just looking at their clothes. There were children who were barefoot as well.
Bernard, who had always lived in an abundant environment, was looking at a spectacle that made him want to avert his eyes. —Having said that, he couldn’t go home in this state.
After circling about the entrance, he entered.
“Wow, it’s a visitor!”
At once, he was discovered by the children and ended up surrounded. Because there was a good smell coming from it, they peered into the paper bag that he was holding in his hands.
“W-Wait a minute.”
As he was being jostled about by the children, a sister came out from inside the building.
“You all, what are you doing to the visitor!”
The children who were scolded apologized with a single word and dispersed.
“I am truly sorry.”
“No, it’s fine…”
For starters, he handed over the baked sweets he was holding. All of the sisters were delighted and received them with smiles.
After showing them the knights’ bracelet to reveal his social status, when he said that he wanted to hear stories concerning Agnes Le Verges, he was led into the building.
“I wished to tell you this from the beginning, but Miss Agnes is not here.”
Bernard retorted in his mind, ‘of course that’d be so.’
“… To this day, many reporters have come, mainly in order to hear things about Miss Agnes.”
The sister told him that she had told them all the same thing no matter which reporter it was.
“Miss Agnes came here on foot once every week. She was extremely kind and was a woman full of affection. The children also really looked forward to meeting with Miss Agnes. … Though it seems that no matter who it was, they didn’t write what I told them in their articles.”
She said that, upon seeing the weekly publication’s article, she felt utterly mortified.
Bernard silently listened to her story.
“—And so, why might you be here?”
“No, well, because my superior told me that if Agnes Le Verges were here, he wanted to shelter her.”
“Well, if that’s the case, there’s no reason to worry!”
What was there no reason to worry about? Agnes was at Bernard’s house, of course, so becoming curious about why the sister would assert such a thing, he asked her.
“Miss Agnes is currently at a certain knight’s house.”
Bernard felt perspiration form on his forehead as he asked where that information had come from. His heartbeat violently increased.
“I don’t know the particulars myself, either.”
“Because it’s something I heard from my mother.”
“F-From your mother?”
“Yes. My mother manages an inn, but…”
“Cottage of the Mountain Goat.” The sister stated that her mother was the hostess there.
“My family is large, so economically, things were a bit rough for us. … Since there were no people who would want to make the ugly daughter of a poor inn their wife, once I became twenty years-old, I became a nun. Speaking of which, this doesn’t matter, does it.”
In the same way as her, Agnes, who had nowhere to go, had, before anything else, come to the church to become a nun.
The one who had stopped her was the sister.
“If one becomes a sister, because one comes to serve God, one may not get married. … I thought that to a person as kind as Miss Agnes, who was loved by the children, not getting married for her entire life would be too much for her.”
However, Agnes’s determination had firmly become more certain. That from now on, she would use her life to serve God.
“But upon hearing that, well, there was a person she loved dearly, her cheeks became flushed, and she hung her head down in shame.”
Agnes had a person she loved.
Though it was difficult to realize her love immediately, the sister had recommended that, at least for the moment, she think about her future plans.
The sister had naturally inquired if Agnes would like to work at her parents’ “Cottage of the Mountain Goat.”
As she had said that this might not be of much help, she had suggested, “How about cutting the room charge in half in exchange for work.”
“And so, just a few days ago, Miss Agnes met with the knight she loved dearly and supposedly came out of the inn holding hands.”
“She doesn’t love him dearly, and she wasn’t holding hands either!”
“N-No, it was nothing.”
Because the sister was excited, the sister didn’t catch Bernard’s hint.
Thinking that it was really dangerous, he was greatly relieved.
“I’m sorry, my, I ended up talking too much…”
“This story, please keep it confidential.”
“Ahh, I have no intention of letting it out of my mouth.”
“You too, don’t say it to anyone else either.”
“Ehh, of course. Swearing by God, I’ll keep this in silence.”
Outside, it had become completely dark. The time for the last coach was drawing near.
After finishing his words, he threw the weekly publication that had written about Agnes into the fireplace.
Bernard bid farewell to the sister and walked to the boarding station for coaches.
The wind that was blowing today was chilly as well.
When he looked up at the sky, black clouds were being carried by the wind.
Bernard thought that he might possibly have a big misunderstanding concerning Agnes Le Verges.
Nevertheless, there was just one thing he didn’t understand.
Five years ago, why did Agnes look at Bernard with such scornful eyes.
After seeing the current Agnes, even if he had heard it from someone who knew her, it would be impossible that she would do something like looking down on a stranger.
No matter how much he thought, he couldn’t come up with an answer.
Besides, Bernard was unable to understand the meaning of Agnes’ expression of gratitude toward him a few days ago.
Quickly, he realized that asking her directly would be best.
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Chapter IX - Just Like A Girl
"Aunt Ray!" Halsey said from the gloom behind the lamps. "What in the world are you doing here?"
"Taking a walk," I said, trying to be composed. I don't think the answer struck either of us as being ridiculous at the time. "Oh, Halsey, where have you been?"
"Let me take you up to the house." He was in the road, and had Beulah and the basket out of my arms in a moment. I could see the car plainly now, and Warner was at the wheel--Warner in an ulster and a pair of slippers, over Heaven knows what. Jack Bailey was not there. I got in, and we went slowly and painfully up to the house.
We did not talk. What we had to say was too important to commence there, and, besides, it took all kinds of coaxing from both men to get the Dragon Fly up the last grade. Only when we had closed the front door and stood facing each other in the hall, did Halsey say anything. He slipped his strong young arm around my shoulders and turned me so I faced the light.
"Poor Aunt Ray!" he said gently. And I nearly wept again. "I--I must see Gertrude, too; we will have a three-cornered talk."
And then Gertrude herself came down the stairs. She had not been to bed, evidently: she still wore the white negligee she had worn earlier in the evening, and she limped somewhat. During her slow progress down the stairs I had time to notice one thing: Mr. Jamieson had said the woman who escaped from the cellar had worn no shoe on her right foot. Gertrude's right ankle was the one she had sprained!
The meeting between brother and sister was tense, but without tears. Halsey kissed her tenderly, and I noticed evidences of strain and anxiety in both young faces.
"Is everything--right?" she asked.
"Right as can be," with forced cheerfulness.
I lighted the living-room and we went in there. Only a half-hour before I had sat with Mr. Jamieson in that very room, listening while he overtly accused both Gertrude and Halsey of at least a knowledge of the death of Arnold Armstrong. Now Halsey was here to speak for himself: I should learn everything that had puzzled me.
"I saw it in the paper to-night for the first time," he was saying. "It knocked me dumb. When I think of this houseful of women, and a thing like that occurring!"
Gertrude's face was still set and white. "That isn't all, Halsey," she said. "You and--and Jack left almost at the time it happened. The detective here thinks that you--that we--know something about it."
"The devil he does!" Halsey's eyes were fairly starting from his head. "I beg your pardon, Aunt Ray, but--the fellow's a lunatic."
"Tell me everything, won't you, Halsey?" I begged. "Tell me where you went that night, or rather morning, and why you went as you did. This has been a terrible forty-eight hours for all of us."
He stood staring at me, and I could see the horror of the situation dawning in his face.
"I can't tell you where I went, Aunt Ray," he said, after a moment. "As to why, you will learn that soon enough. But Gertrude knows that Jack and I left the house before this thing-- this horrible murder--occurred."
"Mr. Jamieson does not believe me," Gertrude said drearily. "Halsey, if the worst comes, if they should arrest you, you must--tell."
"I shall tell nothing," he said with a new sternness in his voice. "Aunt Ray, it was necessary for Jack and me to leave that night. I can not tell you why--just yet. As to where we went, if I have to depend on that as an alibi, I shall not tell. The whole thing is an absurdity, a trumped-up charge that can not possibly be serious."
"Has Mr. Bailey gone back to the city," I demanded, "or to the club?"
"Neither," defiantly; "at the present moment I do not know where he is."
"Halsey," I asked gravely, leaning forward, "have you the slightest suspicion who killed Arnold Armstrong? The police think he was admitted from within, and that he was shot down from above, by someone on the circular staircase."
"I know nothing of it," he maintained; but I fancied I caught a sudden glance at Gertrude, a flash of something that died as it came.
As quietly, as calmly as I could, I went over the whole story, from the night Liddy and I had been alone up to the strange experience of Rosie and her pursuer. The basket still stood on the table, a mute witness to this last mystifying occurrence.
"There is something else," I said hesitatingly, at the last. "Halsey, I have never told this even to Gertrude, but the morning after the crime, I found, in a tulip bed, a revolver. It--it was yours, Halsey."
For an appreciable moment Halsey stared at me. Then he turned to Gertrude.
"My revolver, Trude!" he exclaimed. "Why, Jack took my revolver with him, didn't he?"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't say that," I implored. "The detective thinks possibly Jack Bailey came back, and--and the thing happened then."
"He didn't come back," Halsey said sternly. "Gertrude, when you brought down a revolver that night for Jack to take with him, what one did you bring? Mine?"
Gertrude was defiant now.
"No. Yours was loaded, and I was afraid of what Jack might do. I gave him one I have had for a year or two. It was empty."
Halsey threw up both hands despairingly.
"If that isn't like a girl!" he said. "Why didn't you do what I asked you to, Gertrude? You send Bailey off with an empty gun, and throw mine in a tulip bed, of all places on earth! Mine was a thirty-eight caliber. The inquest will show, of course, that the bullet that killed Armstrong was a thirty-eight. Then where shall I be?"
"You forget," I broke in, "that I have the revolver, and that no one knows about it."
But Gertrude had risen angrily.
"I can not stand it; it is always with me," she cried. "Halsey, I did not throw your revolver into the tulip bed. I--think-- you--did it--yourself!"
They stared at each other across the big library table, with young eyes all at once hard, suspicious. And then Gertrude held out both hands to him appealingly.
"We must not," she said brokenly. "Just now, with so much at stake, it--is shameful. I know you are as ignorant as I am. Make me believe it, Halsey."
Halsey soothed her as best he could, and the breach seemed healed. But long after I went to bed he sat down-stairs in the living-room alone, and I knew he was going over the case as he had learned it. Some things were clear to him that were dark to me. He knew, and Gertrude, too, why Jack Bailey and he had gone away that night, as they did. He knew where they had been for the last forty-eight hours, and why Jack Bailey had not returned with him. It seemed to me that without fuller confidence from both the children--they are always children to me--I should never be able to learn anything.
As I was finally getting ready for bed, Halsey came up-stairs and knocked at my door. When I had got into a negligee--I used to say wrapper before Gertrude came back from school--I let him in. He stood in the doorway a moment, and then he went into agonies of silent mirth. I sat down on the side of the bed and waited in severe silence for him to stop, but he only seemed to grow worse.
When he had recovered he took me by the elbow and pulled me in front of the mirror.
"`How to be beautiful,'" he quoted. "`Advice to maids and matrons,' by Beatrice Fairfax!" And then I saw myself. I had neglected to remove my wrinkle eradicators, and I presume my appearance was odd. I believe that it is a woman's duty to care for her looks, but it is much like telling a necessary falsehood--one must not be found out. By the time I got them off Halsey was serious again, and I listened to his story.
"Aunt Ray," he began, extinguishing his cigarette on the back of my ivory hair-brush, "I would give a lot to tell you the whole thing. But--I can't, for a day or so, anyhow. But one thing I might have told you a long time ago. If you had known it, you would not have suspected me for a moment of--of having anything to do with the attack on Arnold Armstrong. Goodness knows what I might do to a fellow like that, if there was enough provocation, and I had a gun in my hand--under ordinary circumstances. But--I care a great deal about Louise Armstrong, Aunt Ray. I hope to marry her some day. Is it likely I would kill her brother?"
"Her stepbrother," I corrected. "No, of course, it isn't likely, or possible. Why didn't you tell me, Halsey?"
"Well, there were two reasons," he said slowly.
"One was that you had a girl already picked out for me--"
"Nonsense," I broke in, and felt myself growing red. I had, indeed, one of the--but no matter.
"And the second reason," he pursued, "was that the Armstrongs would have none of me."
I sat bolt upright at that and gasped.
"The Armstrongs!" I repeated. "With old Peter Armstrong driving a stage across the mountains while your grandfather was war governor--"
"Well, of course, the war governor's dead, and out of the matrimonial market," Halsey interrupted. "And the present Innes admits himself he isn't good enough for--for Louise."
"Exactly," I said despairingly, "and, of course, you are taken at your own valuation. The Inneses are not always so self- depreciatory."
"Not always, no," he said, looking at me with his boyish smile. "Fortunately, Louise doesn't agree with her family. She's willing to take me, war governor or no, provided her mother consents. She isn't overly-fond of her stepfather, but she adores her mother. And now, can't you see where this thing puts me? Down and out, with all of them."
"But the whole thing is absurd," I argued. "And besides, Gertrude's sworn statement that you left before Arnold Armstrong came would clear you at once."
Halsey got up and began to pace the room, and the air of cheerfulness dropped like a mask.
"She can't swear it," he said finally. "Gertrude's story was true as far as it went, but she didn't tell everything. Arnold Armstrong came here at two-thirty--came into the billiard-room and left in five minutes. He came to bring--something."
"Halsey," I cried, "you MUST tell me the whole truth. Every time I see a way for you to escape you block it yourself with this wall of mystery. What did he bring?"
"A telegram--for Bailey," he said. "It came by special messenger from town, and was--most important. Bailey had started for here, and the messenger had gone back to the city. The steward gave it to Arnold, who had been drinking all day and couldn't sleep, and was going for a stroll in the direction of Sunnyside."
"And he brought it?"
"What was in the telegram?"
"I can tell you--as soon as certain things are made public. It is only a matter of days now," gloomily.
"And Gertrude's story of a telephone message?"
"Poor Trude!" he half whispered. "Poor loyal little girl! Aunt Ray, there was no such message. No doubt your detective already knows that and discredits all Gertrude told him."
"And when she went back, it was to get--the telegram?"
"Probably," Halsey said slowly. "When you get to thinking about it, Aunt Ray, it looks bad for all three of us, doesn't it? And yet--I will take my oath none of us even inadvertently killed that poor devil."
I looked at the closed door into Gertrude's dressing-room, and lowered my voice.
"The same horrible thought keeps recurring to me," I whispered. "Halsey, Gertrude probably had your revolver: she must have examined it, anyhow, that night. After you--and Jack had gone, what if that ruffian came back, and she--and she--"
I couldn't finish. Halsey stood looking at me with shut lips.
"She might have heard him fumbling at the door he had no key, the police say--and thinking it was you, or Jack, she admitted him. When she saw her mistake she ran up the stairs, a step or two, and turning, like an animal at bay, she fired."
Halsey had his hand over my lips before I finished, and in that position we stared each at the other, our stricken glances crossing.
"The revolver--my revolver--thrown into the tulip bed!" he muttered to himself. "Thrown perhaps from an upper window: you say it was buried deep. Her prostration ever since, her--Aunt Ray, you don't think it was Gertrude who fell down the clothes chute?"
I could only nod my head in a hopeless affirmative.
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Title: The Butterfly Clues by Kate Ellison
Genre: YA Mystery Thriller
Penelope (Lo) Marin has always loved to collect beautiful things. Her dad’s consulting job means she’s grown up moving from one rundown city to the next, and she’s learned to cope by collecting (sometimes even stealing) quirky trinkets and souvenirs in each new place—possessions that allow her to feel at least some semblance of home.
But in the year since her brother Oren’s death, Lo’s hoarding has blossomed into a full-blown, potentially dangerous obsession. She discovers a beautiful, antique butterfly pendant during a routine scour at a weekend flea market, and recognizes it as having been stolen from the home of a recently murdered girl known only as “Sapphire”—a girl just a few years older than Lo. As usual when Lo begins to obsess over something, she can’t get the murder out of her mind.
As she attempts to piece together the mysterious “butterfly clues,” with the unlikely help of a street artist named Flynt, Lo quickly finds herself caught up in a seedy, violent underworld much closer to home than she ever imagined—a world, she’ll ultimately discover, that could hold the key to her brother’s tragic death.
Rating: 3 Stars
This mystery who-done-it story was the first novel written by author Kate Ellison. Before my review, I must say that Kate’s writing is unique, beautiful, and perfectly descriptive. Each setting within each scene came alive without her overdoing it. Many authors go on and on for paragraphs about what things look like and so on, and tend to lose me. I love being absorbed into the settings of the books I read, but it is a very hard balance to achieve. Too much and it seems like the author is droning on and on and seems fake. Too little and the reader can’t feel like they are living within the story. Kate, to me, has mastered the act of saying just enough. In just a few sentences I feel as if I am there myself. She also knows how to show and not tell! Another problem I have with authors is when they are always saying: “She felt sad” “I am so angry” “She had never been so happy”. I mean, yeah that’s great, but it is so much better to show that feeling. Kate has seemed to be able to use your first person POV of the main character “Lo” along with the setting surrounding her to show what she is feeling. Kate’s great writing starts at the very beginning of the book, and is honestly the main reason why I picked it up at the library. Even though I didn’t love-love this story, I will probably always pick up anything written by this author. Now, on to the review!
Who were the Characters?
I must say that I have NEVER read characters like these. It is SO refreshing to read a YA female protagonist that isn’t all dramatic and weepy. The main character you follow is a girl named Penelope or “Lo”. What made this character so different was that Lo had OCD or Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. When I started reading I thought that her OCD would be what the story would be about. But to my surprise, although her problem is a constant throughout and interwoven in the story, the plot didn’t surround her Disorder. It was written artistically as a character trait that influenced many aspects of the main characters life. The murder mystery and other events that occurred during the story illustrated the disorder well without this seeming like a self-help book. Even though it was Lo’s OCD that influenced her pursuit of the murder mystery, this book was written not as a book about OCD, but as a murder mystery that sheds some light on living with OCD. The first would be easy to write, strictly upfront with dramatic and emotional scenes. The second, involving OCD within a bigger story takes much more ability of showing and not telling, as discussed before. The author wrote Lo’s compulsions perfectly so each time Lo had to perform one of these it felt real and honest. You could feel the main characters need beyond all else to perform these compulsions. I can see how exhausting and frustrating it must be to have to live with this disorder.
The only other real character in the story is Flynt, the homeless artist love interest. As a reader, I want to not only see the main character fall for the boy, but I want to fall for him also! And I just didn’t like Flynt that much. Yeah, he was kind and sweet, but he was also guarded and had too many mood swings. You do learn a little about how and why he became homeless, but I still feel lost as to who he was. He never felt like more than a caring stranger to me. It always felt a little odd that Lo spent so much time with him. He is not the most honest and to me just feels sort of spotty. Honestly, if it were me I wouldn’t trust him. Not because he is homeless, but because I just thought he was a little creepy acting. Yes, he was drastically different from any other male love interest in YA, but he just wasn’t my thing. I can’t really say more without revealing some of the plot, so that’s all I will say.
The third, sort of character is Sapphire, the murdered stripper. The murder mystery surrounding her just wasn’t enough. I saw everything coming, which was why the story got only three stars. I also feel as if the author could have led us to get to know Sapphire and who she was much more. It was almost there, but just not quite. I feel the parallel between the main character and Sapphire could have been used so much more. I would have loved to feel like I not only know Lo by the end, but also Sapphire.
What was similar?
The murder mystery plot was quite similar to other stories of this type. I hate to say it, but I saw every turn coming even from the beginning of the story. The limited number of characters left really no options as to who could have done it. It was quite obvious to me throughout the book. For me, the similarity and predictability of the plot is where this book was lacking. Which is so frustrating to me, because the author could write so beautifully! I tried so hard to not predict what was going to happen, but I found myself getting so bored and sleepy because of it!
What was different?
The characters and the writing discussed above were the main differences in the story. Both were so refreshing and creative.
Where was the setting?
The story takes place in Cleveland. The author shows the realistic differences between the good parts of Cleveland, where the main character lives, to the bad parts of Cleveland, where the main character visits.
When did this story take place?
Contemporary. The whole plot seems to happen very fast and in not along period of time.
Why did I like/dislike it?
Obviously, I loved the artistic writing of the author, but was very bored with the plot. I wanted to like this story more so badly, but just couldn’t give it more than three stars. The author’s beautiful writing was the redeeming quality, but I just wanted more. To me, this book is definitely one that I am glad I didn’t buy and just got from the library. The cover is awesome, but I would probably never reread this. Although I didn’t love this book, I can’t wait to read something else by Kate Ellison.
Review by Connie
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A month ago I was able to spend a night and a day with fellow monastic brothers of the Catholic faith in Washington DC, at St. Anselm’s Abbey, for a symposium on meditation in the various major religious traditions. This included representatives from Catholicism, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and myself as the Buddhist representative in place of Bhante G who did this in years past.
The Symposium was a wonderful experience for members from the various religious faiths to come together in friendship and share what meditation is and how it is practiced in their traditions. I think more gatherings like this need to take place in this country, with the religious and non-religious alike, to bridge gaps and bring unity over division.
I have to admit though, what I liked most of all was spending time with the Benedictine brothers and getting to know them and how they live. It was a laid back, joyful atmosphere with an undercurrent of dignified seriousness in their mission.
The brothers instantly welcomed me into their groups and conversations. Many remembered Bhante G and asked about his welfare, and others had visited Bhavana in years past. They were kind and sociable and wanting to make sure I felt at home and had everything I needed. I attended mass and the various monastic activities with them and got to experience the day in a life of a catholic monk.
The Abbot, Abbot James Wiseman, in my opinion lived up to his name. A quiet, elderly, unassuming monk(who I couldn’t pick out from the other monks and didn’t realize I was talking to the Abbot until about 5 minutes in) who actually took one of my bags and lead me to my room himself.
His humility and kindness reminded me of watching Ajahn Brahm at work on the streets of New York City, pretending to be bell hop at Google and opening the doors for people with a smile and a “welcome to google!”.
Abbot James impressed me greatly as someone who provides a good example in humility, dignity, and service, to his fellow monastics. He had an impact as an example on myself as well, as I grow as a monastic and mold myself into something better.
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"Whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God." (John 3:21)
"No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him." (John 6:44)
This is the story of how I came to find true peace. I was born in America to Pakistani parents. As children, we were taught that Islam was the only true religion and that we were blessed because we knew this truth. Jews and Christians had received only a partial truth, which was then corrupted. Hindus were deceived into worshipping idols of wood and stone. We were taught about the life of the Prophet Muhammad and about the Five Pillars of Islam. As a young girl, I was the most zealous of the children and actively read books about Muhammad and Islam. I shared and defended my faith among my grade-school classmates, often standing out as the only Muslim among Christians. I told my whole class about how Cassius Clay had converted to Islam and become Muhammad Ali. I carried my Koran and books on Muhammad when travelling with my parents. I tried to emulate Muhammad in every way, from his eating and drinking habits to his practice of always facing towards the Kaaba in prayer. I prayed and fasted from age 9, reading my Koran all the way through every Ramadan. I even debated a 3rd-grade Christian, asking her how she could possibly believe that God had a son, and how she could worship a man who was just a prophet? She told me, "well, I guess I won't see you in heaven then!" I answered, "I guess not."
Despite all these efforts, I was always depressed, always down and had low self-esteem. I thought myself to be very ugly and sinful. No matter what I tried to do, from good works to dressing nicely, I always felt lonely and like an outcast. Yes, I had friends; but inside was so much pain. I cried myself to sleep many a night, and pleaded with Allah on my knees, my Koran open, trying to find peace through the words. Instead, I saw a cold and distant Allah. Sometimes I fantasized about paradise as described in the Koran: reclining on couches of silk and wearing fine clothes and bangles; drinking pure water from fountains; being waited on by virgins ... well, that part never made much sense to me. I wondered if this Paradise could give me peace. In the middle of my dreaming, cold reality would hit me: I will never go there. I will never be good enough. I imagined Hell as described in the Koran, with its ceiling dripping with molten brass and boiling drinks.
Nevertheless, I continued reading the Koran, fasting, and praying. As I grew older, I began to understand the Koran a little better. One day, I was reading Sura 4, Women in my room. I was 14 years old at the time. I read about a wife's inheritance compared to her husband and children. I read about the permission God gave men to marry four wives. Nothing new, so far; I knew that this was written during times of war, when men would die and leave their wives and children as widows and orphans. But the following passage jumped out at me for the first time:
"As for those from whom you fear disobedience, admonish them and send them to beds apart and beat them." (Sura 4:34, Dawood)
Stunned, I read and reread the passage. I ran downstairs to my father and showed him the passage, crying. "How could God say this?" I demanded. "How could he tell men to beat their wives?" My father couldn't believe what he read, but had no explanation. He chuckled uncomfortably. I went back upstairs, distraught. Somehow, I calmed myself and believed that God would show me the reason for this, some day.
As time progressed, I became more depressed and sometimes even suicidal. Sometimes, I couldn't find a reason to live. To relieve the pain, I involved myself in music, politics, and boys. (Of course, I hid the part about the boys from my parents.) I was successful in high school as a musician, but I would be tormented inside because I never felt that I could ever be good enough at it. I became very interested in the Middle East situation and even wrote an article that was published in a Muslim newspaper. I had numerous crushes on several young men, fantasizing about being loved and cherished as a young woman. However, none of the scenarios ever came into being. I dated one young man, a Christian, for 3 1/2 years towards the end of high school. I would actively assure him that I was a Muslim and could never become a Christian. He never argued with me, just cared for me. All these things failed to give me anything but temporary relief from my despair. When the time came for me to go to college, I was determined to "start over" and find the truth about God.
As I unpacked my belongings in my college dormitory room, I decided that I should take a class on Islam. I met a girl in my dorm who was a Muslim, and I told her about my concerns about Islam and women. She didn't have an answer either, and was quite puzzled by the passage I mentioned earlier. I told her about my plans to take the class. Sure enough, a class was being offered the very first semester! I was quite excited, confident that my worries would be put to rest soon. As the course began, I was happy to read excerpts from the Koran and the Hadiths, since this was all familiar territory. Even more exciting was to learn about the life of Mohammed and the history of Islam's beginnings. Some sources were written by British colonists, and were clearly biased. I decided to focus on the Hadiths and the history books written by Muslim scholars.
My excitement turned to dismay as the class progressed. I read about the offensive wars and the bloody conquests made to spread Islam. I turned page after page to read about Muslim attitudes towards "infidels," Christians and Jews who would not convert to Islam. The Massacre of the Qurayza Jews affected me the most. Dear reader, I urge you to read for yourself the account of this battle (Ibn Hisham: The Prophet's Biography; vol 2 pages 40-41). I wrestled inside, thinking, "but Islam means peace! How can this be?" Dismay turned to confusion, and confusion to betrayal as I read further, about the life of Muhammad. Although I knew men could have a maximum of four wives, I didn't realize that Muhammad had special privileges, including unlimited concubines. I read about Aisha, his nine-year-old bride. I learned about the "deficiency of a woman's mind" as narrated by Al-Bukhari. I also found out that the majority of people in Hell were women, according to the same source. Again, I wondered where was the Muhammad that I had been taught: the Holy Prophet, who dressed in white and reverenced his mother. One day, I could not read anymore, because I could not stop the tears from falling. I gathered my books, thinking that if this was who God was, I could not worship him. But it was a fleeting thought. I knew inside that God existed. This God was just not revealed through Muhammad. As I left the library that day, I sensed God looking down at me from above. I felt a strange peace as I forsook Islam that day ... as if God was waiting for me to find out who He was.
I decided to search for the truth in other religions. In a big university, there is no want for religious diversity. I spoke with Hindus, Jews, and Catholics alike, trying to understand their beliefs and searching for something that made sense to me. I even met a Buddhist girl who had converted to the Ba'hai faith. I was interested: what made her convert? She explained to me about the emptiness of Buddhism, and how Ba'hais believe that all religions at one point had been revealed by God but were corrupted by man. "This sounds good," I thought. I agreed to visit a Ba'hai temple with her and I started to read about the Ba'hai faith. Somehow, when I went to the temple service, I felt emptiness. Then I learned some parables about their prophet, Bahaullah that really disturbed me. I knew that the truth wasn't here, and I began to grow weary and frustrated with searching.
A Catholic friend had given me a Bible. I started reading it from Genesis but I was discouraged by its length. Christmas break was coming, so I decided to take it with me to read on vacation to Pakistan. (I had the Bible with me the entire time, but thankfully, no one found it. I had no idea at the time what the consequences might be for having a Bible there.) Our plane made a stop in Saudi Arabia. As we were pulling into the terminal, I caught a glimpse of the Saudi Air emblem: Two single-edged swords, and a shield. I remembered words of Muhammad that I had read in my class on Islam: "the power is with the sword." I watched as young soldiers searched our plane for liquor and narcotics. After reaching Pakistan, I was moved by the graffiti I saw on the city walls, reading, "Oh God show us your miracles," and "Inshallah we shall be saved." I was grieved by the street children, the beggars and the lepers, lining the sidewalks. I was also deeply touched by the love of my extended family towards me. I didn't know whether they knew the truth about Islam, and if so, how they could believe in it. My uncle tried to explain to me about the rights of women in Islam, but I remained unconvinced. Instead, I came back profoundly affected by the sadness and despair of my country. I returned the Bible to my friend.
Late one night, I told another friend about my depression and my inability to see meaning in life. He asked me if I believed in anything. I told him that I believed in God, the prophets, and that if I was good I would go to Heaven and bad I would go to Hell. He asked me, "well, do you basically think that you have been good all your life?" I answered that I hadn't killed anyone or committed adultery. He said, "so don't worry about it! You'll go to Heaven." Obviously, I was very confused. I asked him how that could be, how could I go to Heaven. He asked me if I had ever read the New Testment. I replied that I had not. He asked me if I wanted to read it, and I did. As we opened the Bible to the Gospel of Matthew, I felt an enormous peace come over me - the same peace that I had felt that day when I had left the library. I knew that the answers lay within. Today, I know that this peace was that which was spoken of in the Letter to the Philippians: "the peace of God, which transcends all understanding" (Philippians 4:7).
We read aloud the first twelve chapters of Matthew. I felt enormously secure, as if God Himself was in the room with me, holding me. The words of Christ filled my dry and parched soul like refreshing water. The way that He spoke was with such authority! One passage made a particular impression on me: when Christ was being tempted in the desert by Satan. Satan told Jesus to throw himself down from roof of the temple. Jesus answered, "Do not put the Lord your God to the test" (Matthew 4:5-7) It was at that moment that I understood: Jesus is the Lord your God! Suddenly, thoughts began to run through my mind such as, "God can do anything. If He wants to come to earth in the form of a man, He can!" Could this man be the same Messiah that was spoken of in the Koran, the babe who uttered, "I am the slave of Allah" (Sura 19:32)? I didn't think so.
From that night onwards, I had a hunger to read the Bible. I read the Bible all the time. Another close friend bought me my own Bible. I dissected every sentence, every word to try to find fault with it. I brought my questions to several classmates whom I knew to be Christians. They answered me as best as they could. More important than their answers, though, was the love that I saw expressed in them, towards me. One of my friends, Cathy, didn't even know that I wasn't a Christian. Because I had a Bible, she assumed that I was a Christian. One night, I was very worried about an exam we had the next day. I left a note on her door, asking her to stop by. When she came to my room, she approached me, knelt down beside my chair, and took my hand in hers. She said, "Don't worry ... He died for you." When she spoke those words, my heart cried out inside. I had never heard those words before in my life. Someone would die for me? That entire night, I thought about those words, which filled me with a love I had never known.
My Christian friends told me about an event which was coming up, where a man named Cliffe Knechtle was coming to speak on campus. They encouraged me to attend, since he specialized in answering questions about Christianity. After the meeting, one of my friends introduced me to Cliffe. I told him my story, about how I was searching for the truth and for answers. He sat down with me for an hour and a half, just listening to me and answering my questions. He was so kind and gentle and honest. I went home that night, knowing that I had all the answers that I needed. I needed only to make a decision, to believe, or not to believe.
I decided that I could ask anyone questions - but if Christianity was real, God Himself would have to show me. One night, alone in my dorm room, I decided to pray to Jesus for the very first time. I awkwardly said: "Jesus, I don't know who you are. I don't know if you're a prophet; I don't know if you are the Lord. I don't know if you're dead, or if you're alive. But if you are alive, and if you are Lord, then please show me."
God answers prayers, my friends! "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you" (Matthew 7:7). Two days later, I received a letter in my mailbox from an old high school friend - an athiest. In this letter, he told me that he had become a Christian! He wrote: "I don't know why I am writing you this. All I know is that I must tell you to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved!" I almost fell over, the words jumped out at me so strongly. Later, I found out that he had written that letter at the exact same time that I had prayed - that he had sense of urgency, to tell this to someone. It just happened to be me.
In April of 1989, I made the decision to believe and gave my life to the Lord Jesus Christ. The Word of God says, "small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life" (Matthew 7:14). Understanding the fullness of Christ's atoning death on the cross took many years for me, especially since I was raised believing in the Muslim concept of the "scales." The truth of the matter is that, as a Muslim, I knew that I wasn't going to Heaven. No one can enter Heaven without the atoning blood of Jesus Christ. "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 3:21).
My friends, if you want peace, ask for it. Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid" (John 14:27). He will never let you down.
Please feel free to contact me via email.
Answering Islam Home Page
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Maker Carl Van Vechten
Luce, Clare Boothe (10 April 1903–09 October 1987), writer and political figure, was born Ann Clare Boothe in New York City, the daughter of William F. Boothe, a businessman and pit-orchestra violinist, and Ann Clare Snyder, a former dancer. She spent her childhood in Chicago and Memphis and also lived for a year in France with her mother after her parents separated. She attended several private schools, including St. Mary’s in Garden City, Long Island, from 1915 to 1917, and then Miss Mason’s School in Tarrytown, New York, from which she graduated in 1919. As a child, Clare Boothe had briefly been an understudy to ...
Jonathan D. Sarna
Noah, Mordecai Manuel (19 July 1785–22 March 1851), politician, playwright, and Jewish communal leader, was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the son of Manuel Mordecai Noah, a failed businessman, and Zipporah Phillips. He was orphaned at the age of seven and was raised by his grandparents Jonas and Rebecca (Machado) Phillips. In his youth, first in Philadelphia and later in Charleston, South Carolina, he published journalistic pieces, a political pamphlet, a critique of Shakespeare ( ...
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|Birth:||Dec. 15, 1918 – Cumro, Custer County, Nebraska, USA|
|Death:||Jun. 8, 2013, Pawnee City, Pawnee County, Nebraska, USA|
|Lewis L. Nicholas, 94 of Pawnee City passed away on Saturday, June 8, 2013 at the Pawnee Manor in Pawnee City, Nebraska. He was born on December 15, 1918 in Cumro, Nebraska. Lewis was born to immigrant parents John Bowen Nicholas and Elizabeth Marie Ghude. They both entered the U.S. through Ellis Island. John came in 1901 and Elizabeth in 1886. They met in Custer County and were married in 1908. They had 5 children Eleanor, Evan, Lloyd, Lewis and Doris. Due to his fathers poor health they left the ranch and moved near Summerfield, Kansas when Lewis was about 7 years old. Moving by train they brought a cow and some chickens with them.Lewis attended Summerfield School, graduating from 12th grade in 1936. He worked for area farmers until drafted in 1943. He was honorably discharged from the Navy in 1946 after serving in the Pacific Theatre during World War II. When asked why he choose the Navy he said he discussed it with his father. His father told him in the Navy, if you had a bed it would be a dry one.Lewis married Thelma Babcock on June 1st of 1946. They had 3 children Wanda Rae, John Benjamin and Norma Jean.The first 5 years of marriage they lived on a farm 5 miles west of Summerfield, Kansas. They moved to Pawnee County and farmed west of town moving to Pawnee City in 1979. Lewis also worked at the Beatrice State Development Center in Beatrice while farming.When Lewis was 12 years old he got his first bicycle by trading a calf for it. His dad had given him permission for the trade. Lewis was blessed with a fantastic memory to the very end. If you ever needed anything, he could tell you what building it would be in and on what hook or nail and what was lined beside it.He knew the year everyone was born starting with his parents and siblings, his wife’s parents and siblings. He knew when all the spouses and children were born. Adding to the list he knew when all of his grandchildren and great grands were born. As well he knew the year many friends were born.
Lewis had a great love of saddle horses. He thoughtfully named each one. One horse’s name was combined with parts of the names of his children. That horse was John Wan Jean. He had a 50/50 deal with his son, J.B. would feed them and Lewis would look at them. He let the last horse go about 3 years ago.
He was preceded in death by his parents, John and Elizabeth Nicholas, sister Eleanor, brothers, Lloyd & Evan. He is survived by his wife and children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and a sister Doris.
Funeral services were June 11, 2013 in Pawnee City, Nebraska with inurnment in the Pawnee City Cemetery, Pawnee City, Nebraska.
Pawnee City Cemetery Pawnee City, Pawnee County, Nebraska, USA
|Created by: Luella Hinrichsen /Record added: Jan 31, 2014/ Find A Grave Memorial# 124419875|
|Birth:||Jan. 23, 1928 Table Rock, Pawnee County, Nebraska, USA|
|Death:||Apr. 18, 2014 Lincoln, Lancaster County, Nebraska, USA|
|Thelma married Lewis Nicholas on June 1, 1946. They are the parents of Wanda, John & Norma.
Pawnee City Cemetery Pawnee City Pawnee County Nebraska, USA
|Created by: Casscogirl/ Record added: Apr 19, 2014/ Find A Grave Memorial# 128203566|
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The young playboy took a blind date to an amusement park.
They went for a ride on the Ferris wheel.
The ride completed, she seemed rather bored. "What would you like to do next?" he asked.
"I wanna be weighed," she said.
So the young man took her over to the weight guesser.
"One-twelve," said the man at the scale, and he was absolutely right.
Next they rode the roller coaster.
After that, he bought her some popcorn and cotton candy, then he asked what else she would like to do.
"I wanna be weighed," she said.
"I really latched onto a square one tonight," thought the young man,
and using the excuse he had developed a headache, he took the girl home.
The girl's mother was surprised to see her home so early, and asked,
"What's wrong, dear, didn't you have a nice time tonight?"
"Wousy," said the girl.
These three teenage girls were roommates.
One Friday night right after the semester started they all had
all gone out on dates, and by chance all came home at about the same time.
The first one came in and said with a smug look on her face,
"You know you've been on a good date when you come home with your hair all messed up."
The second one laughed at her and said, "No, no, that's nothing!
You know you've been on a good date when you come home with your makeup all smeared."
The third one sat quiet with a blank stare on her face and didn't say a thing for a few minutes.
Then she reached under her skirt, removed her panties and threw them against the wall,
where they stuck with a loud thud!
She said, "Now THAT'S a good date!"
There was this virgin that was going out on a date for the first time and she
told her grandmother about it. So, the grandmother says sit here and let me
tell you about those young boys.
He is going to try to kiss you, you are going to like that but, don't
let him do that.
He is going to try to feel your breast, you are going to like that
but, don't let him do that.
He is going to try to put his hand between your legs , you are going
to like that but, don't let him do that.
But most important, he is going to try to get on top of you and have
his way with you. You are going to like that but, don't let him do that, it
will disgrace the family.
With that bit of advise, the granddaughter went on her date and could
not wait to tell her grandmother about it .
So, the next day she told her grandmother that her date went just like
But she said grandmother I didn't let him disgrace the family. When
he tried I turned over, got on top of him and disgraced his family.
A man was eating in a fancy restaurant, and there was a gorgeous woman eating at the next table.
He had been checking her out all night, but lacked the nerve to go talk to her.
Suddenly she sneezed and her glass eye went flying out of her socket towards the man.
With his quick reflexes, he caught it in mid-air. "Oh my god, I am sooooo sorry," the woman said as she popped her eye back in the socket. "Let me buy you dinner to make it up to you."
They enjoyed a wonderful dinner together and afterwards the woman invited him back to her place for a drink.
They went back to her house, and after a bit she brought him into the bedroom and began undressing him. The couple had wild, passionate sex many times during the night.
The next morning when he awoke, she had already gotten up and brought him breakfast in bed.
The guy was amazed. "You know, you are the perfect woman. Are you this nice to every guy you meet?"
"No, she replied.... You just happened to catch my eye!"
A woman was very distraught at the fact that she had not had a date, nor sex, in quite some time.
She was afraid she might have something wrong with her, so she decided to employ the medical
expertise of a sex therapist.
Her MD recommended that she go see Dr. Chang, the well-known sex therapist.
Upon entering the examination room, Dr. Chang said, "OK, take off all crose."
So she did.
"Now, get down on all fours and crawl reery fass to the other side of room."
So, she did.
Dr. Chang then said, "OK now crawl reery fass to me," so she did.
Dr. Chang slowly shook his head and said "Your probrem vewy bad.
You haf Ed Zachary Disease... worse case I ever see...that why you not haf sex or dates."
Confused, the woman asked, "What is Ed Zachary Disease?"
Dr. Chang replied, "It when your face rook Ed Zachary rike your Ass."
A very shy guy goes into a pub and sees a beautiful woman sitting at the bar.
After an hour of summoning up his courage, he finally goes over to her and asks, tentatively,
"Um, would you mind if I chatted with you for a while?"
She responds by yelling, at the top of her voice, "NO! I won't sleep with you tonight!"
Everyone in the bar is now staring at them.
Naturally, the guy is completely and hopelessly embarrassed and he slinks back to his table.
After a few minutes, the woman walks over to him and apologizes.
She smiles at him and says, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. You see, I'm a PhD student in psychology at Royal Holloway, and I'm studying how people respond to embarrassing situations."
To which he responds, at the top of his voice, "What do you mean 500dollars?!"
A boy and his date were parked on a back road some distance from town, doing what boys and girls do on back roads some distance from town, when the girl stopped the boy.
"I really should have mentioned this earlier, but I'm actually a hooker and I charge $20 for sex." The boy reluctantly paid her, and they did their thing.
After, the boy just sat in the driver's seat looking out the window. "Why aren't we going anywhere?" asked the girl.
"Well, I should have mentioned this before, but I'm actually a taxi driver, and the fare back to town is $25."
A young lady in the maternity ward, just prior to labor, is asked by the midwife if she would like her husband to be present at the birth.
"I'm afraid I don't have a husband" she replies.
"O.K. do you have a boyfriend?" asks the Midwife
"No, no boyfriend either."
"Do you have a partner then?"
"No, I'm unattached, I'll be having my baby on my own."
After the birth the midwife again speaks to the young woman.
"You have a healthy bouncing baby girl, but I must warn you before you see her that the baby is black."
"Well," replies the girl, "I was very down on my luck, with no money and nowhere to live, and so I accepted a job in a Porno movie. The lead man was black."
"Oh, I'm very sorry," says the midwife, "that's really none of my business and I'm sorry that I have to ask you these awkward questions but I must also tell you that the baby has blonde hair."
"Well, yes," the girl again replies, "you see I desperately needed the money and there was this Swedish guy also involved in the movie, what else could I do?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," the midwife repeats, "that's really none of my business and I hate to pry further but your baby has slanted eyes."
"Well, yes," continues the girl, "I was incredibly hard up and there was a little Chinese man also in the movie, I really had no choice."
At this the midwife again apologizes, collects the baby and presents her to the girl, who immediately proceeds to give the baby a slap on the ass.
The baby starts crying and the mother exclaims, "Thank God for that!"
"What do you mean?" says the midwife, shocked.
"Well," says the girl, extremely relieved, "I had this horrible feeling that it was going to bark."
(Submitted by Lee Ann)
A man and a woman who have never met before find themselves in the same sleeping carriage of a train.
After the initial embarrassment, they both manage to get to sleep.
The woman on the top bunk, the man on the lower.
In the middle of the night, the woman leans over and says, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm awfully cold and I was wondering if you could possibly pass me another blanket
The man leans out and, with a glint in his eye, says, "I've got a better idea... let's pretend we're married.
"Why not," giggles the woman.
"Good", he replies. "Get your own damn blanket."
(submitted by Diane)
09/08/99A young single guy finds himself stranded on a deserted island.
Suddenly, he realizes that the woman is Cindy Crawford.
Immediately, Cindy falls in love with the man. Days and weeks
go by, and they're making passionate love morning, noon and night.
True Heaven on earth in the man's eyes.
Alas, one day she notices he's looking kind of glum. "What's
the matter, sweetheart?" she asks. "We have a wonderful life
together and I'm in love with you. Is there something wrong?
Is there anything I can do?"
He says, "Actually, Cindy, there is. Would you mind, putting
on my shirt and pants?"
"Sure," she says," if it'll help." He takes off his shirt and
pants and she puts it on.
"Okay, would you put on my hat now, and draw a little mustache
on your face?" he asks.
"Whatever you want, sweetie," she says, and does so.
Then he says, "Now, would you start walking around the edge of
She starts walking around the perimeter of the island. He
sets off in the other direction. They meet up half way around
the island a few minutes later. He rushes up to her, grabs her
by the shoulders, and says,
"Dude! You'll never believe who I'm sleeping with!"
(Submitted by TM Barnett)
A young woman brings home her fiancé to meet her parents.
After dinner, her mother tells her father to find out about the young man.
The father invites the fiance to his study for a drink.
"So what are your plans?" the father asks the young man.
"I am a Torah scholar." he replies.
"A Torah scholar. Hmmm," the father says.
"admirable, but what will you do to provide a nice house
for my daughter to live in, as she's accustomed to?"
"I will study," the young man replies, "and God will provide for us."
"And how will you buy her a beautiful engagement ring,
such as she deserves?" asks the father.
"I will concentrate on my studies," the young man replies, "God will provide for us."
"And children?" asks the father. "How will you support children?"
"Don't worry, sir, God will provide," replies the fiancé.
The conversation proceeds like this and each time the
father questions, the young idealist insists that God will provide.
Later, the mother asks, "How did it go, Honey?"
The father answers, "He has no job and no plans,
but the good news is he thinks I'm God."
Some people are sitting at a party, when one guy says,
"Hi! My name is Larry, and I am a SNAG."
A guy asks, "What's that?"
Larry replies, "That means I am a Single New Age Guy."
The guy says, "My name is Gary, and I am a DINK."
A lady asks, "What's that?"
Gary replies, "That means I am a Double Income No Kids."
The lady says, "That's nice. My name is Trixie, and I am a WIFE.
Larry asks, "A WIFE? What's with that?"
Trixie replies, "Oh you know, "Wash, Iron, F**k, Etc."
(Submitted by Lee Ann)
Jack had a blind date with Jill for the prom and, as the
evening progressed, he found himself attracted to her more and more.
After some really passionate embracing, he said,
"Tell me, do you object to making love?"
"That is something I have never done before," Jill replied.
"Never made love? You mean you are a virgin?" Jack was amazed.
"No, silly!" she giggled. "Never objected!"
On the first day of college, the Dean addressed
the students,pointing out some of the rules:
"The female dormitory will be out-of-bounds for all
male students, and the male dormitory to the female students.
Anybody caught breaking this rule will be fined $20 the first time."
He continued, "Anybody caught breaking this rule the second
time will be fined $60. Being caught a third time will cost you
a fine of $180. Are there any questions?"
At this point, a male student in the crowd inquired:
"How much for a season pass?"
1. Hi, I need your help! My mom says that if I don't get a date by tomorrow,
she's putting me up for adoption.
2. Baby, I'm an American Express lover.... you shouldn't go home without me!
3. Help the homeless. Take me home with you.
4. Congratulations! You've been voted "Most Beautiful Girl In This Room"
and the grand prize is a night with me!
5. Do you mind if I stare at you up close instead of from across the room?
6. How do you like your eggs cooked? Why?
Well I just wanted know what to make for you in the morning!
7. Hi, I make more money than you can spend.
8. Take an ice cube to the bar, smash it, and say, "Now that I've broken the ice, lets talk"
9. The only thing your eyes haven't told me is your name.
10. Can I buy you a drink or do you just want the money?
11. Shall we talk or continue flirting from a distance?
12. I miss my teddy bear. Would you sleep with me?
I have been unable to sleep since I broke off your marriage with my
daughter. Will you forgive and forget? I sometimes forget how
backward I can be. I was wrong. I was a fool. I have now come to my
senses, and you have my full blessings to marry my daughter.
Your future father-in-law,
P.S. Congratulations on winning this week's lottery.
A guy is walking down the street and enters a clock and watch shop.
While looking around, he notices a drop dead gorgeous female clerk
behind the counter. He walks up to the counter where she is standing,
unzips his pants, flops his penis out and places it on the counter.
"What are you doing, Sir?" she asks. "This is a clock shop."
He replied, "I know it is and I would like you to put 2 hands and a face on this!"
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English
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NL
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97f8dc290a60447ff5a62f02f6885b74cd4f062ce66da938aa244bb0bb2fca10
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The temperance movement, discouraging the use of alcoholic beverages, had been active and influential in the United States since at least the 1830s. Since the use of alcohol was often associated with such social ills as poverty and insanity, temperance often went hand in hand with other reform movements. From the 1850s onward, the temperance movement focused much of its efforts on Irish and German immigrants.
Temperance advocates did not always emphasize prohibiting the consumption of alcohol. But by the late 19th century, they did. The prohibition movement achieved initial successes at the local and state levels. It was most successful in rural southern and western states, and less successful in more urban states. By the early 20th century, prohibition was a national movement.
Prohibition exhibited many of the characteristics of most progressive reforms. That is, it was concerned with the moral fabric of society; it was supported primarily by the middle classes; and it was aimed at controlling the "interests" (liquor distillers) and their connections with venal and corrupt politicians in city, state, and national governments. Still, it was not until U.S. entry into the Great War that prohibitionists were able to secure enactment of national legislation. In 1918, Congress passed the 18th Amendment to the Constitition, prohibiting the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcoholic beverages. States ratified the Amendment the next year.
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English
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NL
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8de8be445a50567e3c63daa3b96e88e447276c248ecc64a74faab9c0e2a3c39e
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