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Lilac is a popular garden plant and these flowers are even commonly used in various beauty products. Whether you want to add colour to your garden or bring nature into your home, lilacs could be just what you need. Here are some interesting lilac facts you may not know.
Related to olive trees
The Oleaceae family includes more than 20 different species. Included are jasmine, ash and olives. There are also more than 1,000 lilac varieties included in this family. Some lilac trees are also included int his family such as the Perking and Japanese tree lilac which can reach a height of over 30 feet.
One of the most interesting lilac facts is the role this flower plays in Greek mythology. This flower is associated to the story of Pan, the god of forests and fields. According to this myth, Pan was in love with Syringa, a nymph. He chased her through the forest one day and she disguised herself by turning into a lilac shrub because she was scared of him. When Pan found the shrub, he used part of it to make the very first panpipe. The name Syringa comes from the Greek word for pipe and this is the reason behind the scientific name for lilac, Syringa.
Every culture has their own traditions and different flowers take on different meanings too. Lilacs bloom early and this is why they are associated with spring and renewal. The Celtics believed that lilacs were magical because of their amazing perfume. During the Victorian age, they were a symbol of old love. Many widows would wear them in honour of their lost husbands. In Russia, it is believed that you can bring wisdom to a baby by holding a lilac sprig over them.
One of the most interesting lilac facts is that they are not only purple in colour. While the general meaning of the flower is associated with renewal, each colour also has a different meaning. White is associated with innocence and purity, purple symbolise spirituality while hints of blue are associated with happiness and tranquillity. Bright magenta lilacs are associated with passion and love. Many people like to combine several colours in their garden and in bouquets. In cut flower arrangements, these flowers can be displayed on their own or paired with other blooms.
From Europe to America
One of the most interesting lilac facts relates to their international popularity. Lilacs were brought over from Europe to America in the 17th century by colonists. While not native to America, they soon became very popular in gardens and homes. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson both grew these shrubs in their gardens. They were also grown in the first American botanical gardens.
While many flowers are known to live for several years, the lilac can live for more than 100 years. These bushes often outlive their homes. So, if you see a lilac bush along the road, this could very easily be the site where a homestead once stood.
Now that you know some of the most interesting lilac facts, you are ready to show off this knowledge the next time somebody admires your lilac bouquet or colourful garden.
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What happens at the infamous Vega Club . . .
Sophie Campbell is determined to be mistress of her own fate. Surviving on her skill at cards, she never risks what she can’t afford to lose. Yet when the Duke of Ware proposes a scandalous wager that’s too extravagant to refuse, she can’t resist. If she wins, she’ll get five thousand pounds, enough to secure her independence forever.
Stays at the Vega Club . . .
Jack Lindeville, Duke of Ware, tells himself he’s at the Vega Club merely to save his reckless brother from losing everything, but he knows it’s a lie. He can’t keep his eyes off Sophie, and to get her he breaks his ironclad rule against gambling. If he wins, he wants her—for a week.
A week with Jack could ruin what’s left of Sophie’s reputation. It might even cost her her heart. But when it comes to love, all bets are off . . .
Customer ReviewsSee All
A Gamble for Love
Jack, Duke of Ware, never gambles, but his brother does – excessively. In an effort to teach his brother a lesson, he breaks his rules and makes a bet with Sophie Campbell, with whom his brother is prone to gamble. He wins – her company for a week – and off they go to the country. From there, the story becomes quite interesting and engaging. There is definitely an attraction, but how will they handle it?
This is a charming, sometimes funny love story. The chemistry between Jack and Sophie is irresistible. The secondary characters fit their roles perfectly. The story flows right along at a nice pace and has a couple of twists and surprises you’ll like. This is a good one; don’t miss it.
I received an ARC of this book from the publisher via Edelweiss.
A Wonderful Story!!!
Entertaining from beginning to end, I loved this story. A tale of two people with very different upbringings that manage to find each other in an unusual way. Or is it fate? I think it may have been with the engaging heroine Sophie who has learned to survive since her parents died when she was very young. Left in the care of a grandfather who wanted nothing to do with her, he packaged her off to school as soon as he could. Then she made her way to London and that is where she meets our hero, Jack, the Duke of Ware. An unconventional meeting and a gamble of importance throws them together and as I said, I think fate had a hand. Jack, having taken his duties as Duke very seriously had pretty much kept all his emotions under control. Upon meeting Sophia an adventure began that kept me turning the pages with the wonderful descriptions and dialogue. The strong emotions and feelings came alive as Caroline Linden took me through this wonderful story that anything is possible. I truly cannot wait to read more in this series and know I will remember this one for awhile to come!!
This book is the first in a new series by Caroline Linden, and I am really looking forward to the rest of the series. As usual, the book features strong characters and great imagery, it's easy to imagine the scenes and locations in the book. I enjoyed how we first met the characters separate, and once they met their relationship grew gradually. I did think there were a few conflicts that could have been more easily resolved has the characters merely talked to each other about them - but that is often an issue in romance novels. Altogether this was a very enjoyable book, highly recommended!
I did receive an ARC of this book in return for my honest review. I would have purchased it anyway!
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The sun’s rays were warm and welcoming on Anna’s bronzed back. She lifted her head lazily and glanced at the time on her watch. She’d been lying there for almost two hours, and she knew she’d have to get back to work soon. In many ways it was wonderful to be a freelance writer, and yet at other times it demanded more discipline than Anna could summon.
From where she lay, she could see the long coastline of white gold sand and hear the gentle breaking of waves on the shore. The row of cliffs, jagged on top, but smoothed at the bottom by the constant pounding of waves, shrank into the far distance. A fishing boat glided slowly into the bay sending a pungent smell of fresh fish wafting through the air.
She sighed and her face crinkled into a smile as she remembered her mother’s insistence that she come to the beach house for a few days. As always, her mother had been right.
Originally built in the 1950s as a fisherman’s cottage, the beach house had been restored in 1990 and again in 2019, creating a delightful get-away. The dark wooden beams, the storage basement below, and the giant fireplace in the living-room, were the only original parts remaining. Everything else had been stripped away. The original look had been retained as far as possible, with low hanging eaves, cream paneling throughout, and bright yellow-painted stone walls on the outside. Anna often imagined a fisherman’s wife sitting on the front porch, fixing nets and waiting for her husband to return safely from an intolerant and remorseless sea.
Squinting her eyes to a slit, she could just barely see the outline of Conrad swimming through the waves. How tall and handsome he was. With his bright blue eyes, broad cheeky smile, and thick blonde hair, he reminded her of Jonathan. They were so alike that sometimes it pained her to look at him. She watched as he swam with strong confidant strokes in to the shore, threw a sandy towel over his broad shoulders, and ran toward her.
“I’m starving,” he said, as he flew past her into the kitchen, rubbing his head vigorously with the towel. She laughed as she watched him reach into the fridge, take out half a chicken, and devour it in record time. He reminded her of a Viking on a raid.
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He saved my life on that movie because I had an injury to my neckHopkins: Alec Baldwin is 'the best' Oct 25, 2007
I am having the time of my life making 'Thor' with Ken and Chris. They have made every day immensely fun and collaborative and we're all puzzled that someone would fabricate a story suggesting otherwiseHopkins: No tension on 'Thor' set Apr 02, 2010
I've been a great admirer of Andre Rieu for several years. He's a great musician. My wife and I had the same dream of meeting him one day, so I've sent him some music that I wrote. It's a dream come true for me that Andre performed it with his orchestra. I'm totally knocked out by the result. It's even more than I expectedHopkins' waltz gets Vienna premiere Jul 06, 2011
Sir Philip Anthony Hopkins, CBE (born 31 December 1937), best known as Anthony Hopkins, is a Welsh actor of film, stage and television. Considered to be one of the greatest living actors, Hopkins is perhaps best known for his portrayal of cannibalistic serial killer Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs (for which he received the Academy Award for Best Actor), its sequel Hannibal, and its prequel Red Dragon. Other prominent film credits include The Lion in Winter, Magic, The Elephant Man, 84 Charing Cross Road, Dracula, Legends of the Fall, The Remains of the Day, Amistad, Nixon, and Fracture. Hopkins was born and brought up in Wales. Retaining his British citizenship, he became a U.S. citizen on 12 April 2000. Hopkins' films have spanned a wide variety of genres, from family films to horror. As well as his Academy Award, Hopkins has also won three BAFTA Awards, two Emmys, a Golden Globe and a Cecil B. DeMille Award.
Hopkins was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1993 for services to the arts. He received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2003, and was made a Fellow of the British Academy of Film and Television Arts in 2008.
Hopkins was born in Margam, Port Talbot, Wales, the son of Muriel Anne (née Yeats) and Richard Arthur Hopkins, a baker. His schooldays were unproductive; he found that he would rather immerse himself in art, such as painting and drawing, or playing the piano, than attend to his studies. In 1949, to instill discipline, his parents insisted he attend Jones' West Monmouth Boys' School in Pontypool, Wales. He remained there for five terms and was then educated at Cowbridge Grammar School in the Vale of Glamorgan, Wales.
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Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo Remarry
Dr. Eloesser was also a close friend of Diego who was also in San Francisco at the time.
While Frida was recuperating, Dr. Eloesser convinced Rivera to reconcile and remarry Frida. Frida agreed to remarry Diego under two conditions: No Sex and No Money. There would be no sex between the two of them and Frida would not accept any money from Diego…she would pay her own way to include half of the expenses of maintaining the residence they shared. On December 8th, Diego's 54th birthday, Frida and Diego were married for a second time in a civil ceremony. Shortly after the wedding, Frida returned to Mexico. Diego, wanted by Mexican authorities for questioning in the attempted assassination of Leon Trotsky, had to remain in the United States. In February, no longer under suspicion, Diego returned to Mexico.
For her part, Kahlo was furious when she learned that Rivera had an affair with her younger sister, Cristina. The couple eventually divorced in November 1939, but remarried in December 1940. Their second marriage was as turbulent as the first. Their living quarters often were separate, although sometimes adjacent.
Oddly, Kahlo and Rivera did not stay divorced for long. They remarried in 1940, and yet the couple continued to lead largely separate lives. And both became involved with other people over the years.
She divorced Diego at his request in December of 1939, but they remarried in 1940. Despite an excellent reception to her art both in Mexico and abroad, she felt she was nothing without Diego and reportedly drank a lot of liquor.
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Steve refuses to go to the hospital (Danny wonders, not for the first time, whether it might be prudent to have a full-time medic—or maybe a trauma surgeon—on their team), but he doesn't protest when Danny heads for the driver's side of the car, which Danny figures is probable cause for him to follow Steve inside his house when they get there.
Steve's definitely moving awkwardly, holding his shirt out away from his body, and the way he just stops in the middle of the room, like he's not quite sure what to do next, is enough to galvanize Danny into action.
"All right, just this once, I'm going to encourage you to take off your shirt. Come on." Danny reaches to help him get it over his head, and when he pulls the t-shirt away, Steve has that little wrinkle of consternation between his eyebrows. "I'm not going to break," he says, stubborn and, frankly, stupid.
"Excuse me? You know, I'm starting to think the problem is not that you weren't held—it's that you were held and then dropped on your head. I have news for you—you're already broken. Remember when you dislocated your elbow because you tackled someone on an escalator? That was broken."
"Kono did it, too," Steve mutters.
"Kono did it—of course she did, but she is also lithe and graceful and doesn't have freaking size 11 clodhoppers. Getting shot, or stabbed, or both? IS BROKEN. This"—he presses a finger into Steve's sore side, gently, but Steve still grunts and shies away—"this is broken!"
"Nice bedside manner."
"I have such a great bedside manner, you have no idea. Give me a skinned knee and a Barbie bandaid and a kiss-it-better-Danno and I have an amazing bedside manner."
It's an easy one, the kind of lob that normally Steve would knock out of the park with a smirk and a slight about Danny's manhood, but Steve's busy staring down at the floor, shivering a little even though it has to be 80 degrees. "Whoa, whoa, tough guy, are you going to fall over when we do this?"
Steve huffs a sulky "No," but he lets Danny herd him into the kitchen and prop him up against the counter, and Danny finally gets a good look.
His whole left side is scraped raw, skin abraded and dirty with sand and grit, bruises already blooming up to the surface. Danny tsks and finds a clean, soft dish towel, runs the water until it's lukewarm, and Steve's muscles are twitching and rippling under his skin before Danny even touches him.
"Now who's sensitive," Danny says under his breath, but he's also careful, so careful as he presses the cloth to Steve's flank. He knows it has to hurt, but Steve's still as a statue now, eyes closed, one hand gripping the counter, either because of the pain or because he's holding himself up.
"A whole Kevlar suit, what do you think? You have to admit it would come in handy."
Steve opens one eye and peers down at him, hint of a smile lifting one side of his mouth. "Chain mail, maybe."
"Chain mail would be good, yes! Probably gets hot, though, and you end up in the water too much for it to really make sense."
Danny cleans out the worst of the road and the beach and whatever else Steve was dragged over that ended up embedded in his skin, says, "Sorry, jeez, I'm really sorry" when he sees how pale Steve's face has gotten. "Okay, I think we're good—I mean, you look terrible, really bad, don't get me wrong, but I've pretty much reached the limits of my medical expertise, here. I hope you have, like, a tub of bacitracin stashed away somewhere."
"Medicine cabinet," Steve says, but he snags Danny's arm before he can head for the bathroom. "You're a really good guy, Danno."
It startles a laugh out of Danny. "I think your brain got rattled," he says, "but thank you for noticing." And that should be the end of it, except that Steve's staring at him like he can see right through him, and a sudden flush of heat climbs up the back of Danny's neck, making his scalp prickle. He has a second to think oh, a hundred different puzzle pieces all slotting into place at once, and then Steve's leaning down and kissing him, so gently that it knocks Danny's breath out of him, makes his knees go funny, and he's the one who has to grab for the counter.
"Why do you have to be so crazy all the time, that's what I want to know," Danny says against his mouth.
Steve pulls back enough to grin at him, like Danny just gave him a compliment, like he thinks Danny likes that he's a crazy person, before he eases back in to kiss Danny deep and wet and hot enough to make them both groan. And Danny gets his other hand on Steve's good shoulder and holds on, because he can see exactly where this is going—they're driving right off the edge of a cliff, Steve McGarrett at the wheel, and Danny, god help him, doesn't even want to try to get out of the car.
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Joel Osteen — Reprogram Your Mind
I want to talk to you today about "Reprogramming your mind". Our mind is like a computer. How we program it is the way it's going to function. You can have the most powerful computer made, the latest, fastest, holds the most memory, but if you put the wrong software in it, it's not going to function like it was designed.
We've all had to deal with these computer viruses. They can get into a perfectly good computer and start to contaminate the software. Before long, the computer is slow, and you can't access your files. All these problems occur. Not because it's defective, it's poorly made. No, the hardware is fine. It's because somebody reprogrammed the software. Somehow the insides got messed up. Now the software is contaminated.
In the same way, when God created you, he stepped back and said, "Another masterpiece. Your hardware is perfect. You're the right size, the right nationality. You have the right gifts". Not only that, God put the right software in you. From the very beginning, he programmed you to be victorious, healthy, strong, creative. Your original software says, "You can do all things through Christ". He programmed whatever you touch will prosper and succeed. He programmed the head and not the tail, lend and not borrow, victor and not victim. You were programmed to live an abundant, victorious, faith-filled life.
That's how your creator designed you. But the reason we don't always experience this abundant life is we've allowed viruses to contaminate our software. We think, "I'll never be successful. I'm not that talented". "I'll never break this addiction. I've had it too long". "I'm slow, clumsy, unattractive. Nothing good is in my future".
Because our software is infected, we go around low self-esteem, negative, not believing for dreams to come to pass, not expecting problems to turn around. Here's the good news. There is nothing wrong with you. Like that computer, you're not a mistake. You're not faulty. The problem is your software. You've got to get rid of the viruses. All through the day, dwell on what your Creator says about you. "I'm blessed. I'm strong. I'm healthy. I'm confident. I'm attractive. I'm valuable. I am victorious". You've got to get back to your original software. If your thinking is limited, your life will be limited.
One of the best things we can learn to do is hit the delete button. When negative, discouraging thoughts come, trying to contaminate your software, just hit delete. That thought says, "You've seen your best days. It's all downhill from here". Recognize that's a virus trying to keep you from your destiny. It's real simple: delete. Not dwelling on that. My software says, "The path of the righteous gets brighter and brighter". "Well, you'll never get well. You saw the medical report". Delete. God is restoring health back unto me. The number of my days he will fulfill. I will live and not die.
You may hear, "You'll never accomplish your dreams. You're not that talented. You don't have what it takes". Delete, delete, delete. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I have the favor of God. Whatever I touch prospers and succeeds. Perhaps you'll hear, "You'll never break that addiction. Your father was an alcoholic, and you'll be one, too". Delete. No weapon formed against me will prosper. Whom the son sets free is free indeed, and I am free. If you're going to reach your highest potential, you've got to get good at hitting the delete button.
When I stepped up to pastor the church, every thought told me, "You can't do this, Joel. You don't know how to minister. You're too young. You don't have the experience. Nobody is going to come". It would have been easy to let that virus take root and keep me from my destiny. I did what I'm asking you to do. I kept hitting the delete button. "You can't do it". Delete. "You're too young". Delete. "Nobody is going to come". Delete. "You don't have the experience". Delete. "It's not going to work out". Delete.
I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't an expert at one Sunday, right after I first got started, I overheard two ladies talking in the lobby after the service about me. One said, "He's not as good as his father". The other answered, "Yeah, I don't think he's going to make it". The enemy will use people to try to contaminate your software. I was already insecure, intimidated, didn't think I could do it. When I heard that, my first thought was to panic. My worst fears had come true. But then something rose up on the inside. God gives you grace for every season. He arms you with strength for every battle.
I thought to myself, "Those two ladies, they don't determine my destiny. They didn't call me. They didn't equip me. They didn't anoint me. And more than anything else, they can't stop me. They don't have the final say. God has the final say". He said I'm well able. I can do all things through Christ. I'm strong in the Lord. Every time I heard their voice, "Delete. No, thanks. Not dwelling on that". It came back again and again and again. I just kept hitting the delete button.
The scripture tells us to guard our mind. You control the doorway to what you allow in. You can dwell on every negative thought, every derogatory comment, or you can choose to delete it and dwell on what God says about you. If I would have let what those two ladies said play over and over, they would have contaminated my confidence, contaminated my self-esteem, contaminated my future. Some of you would go to a new level if you would just start hitting the delete button.
Quit dwelling on every negative thought that comes to your mind. That's the enemy trying to contaminate your software. If he can control your thinking, he can control your whole life. If that thought is negative, discouraging, pushing you down, don't dwell on it. Delete it. Pay attention to what you're thinking. If you go around thinking that you're not talented, then you'll never have the confidence to step into your destiny. If you think you're unattractive, you'll never meet the people you were supposed to meet. If you think you can't break the addiction, then you can't. If you think you've reached your limits, then you have. It's not because you can't go farther, you've just convinced yourself that you can't. The good news is it's not too late. You can still become everything God created you to be.
Here's the key: you've got to clear out all the negative things people have said about you. You are not who people say you are. You are who God says you are. Clear out what the coach, the teacher, said about you, "You're too small. You don't have what it takes". Delete it. Quit dwelling on that. You're the right size. You have exactly what you need for the race that's been designed for you. Clear out what the counselor said, "You're just a C student. You're not college material". Delete it. You're an A student. You have seeds of greatness. Clear out what the ex-boyfriend, the ex-spouse said, "You're not attractive. You're not good enough for me". Delete it. You're a masterpiece, one of a kind, beautiful, attractive, a prized possession. You may have to clear out what a parent said, that person that raised you, "You're so undisciplined. You're never going to amount to much. You can't do anything right". Delete it. You are destined to do great things. You're destined to leave your Mark on this generation.
I read a report about children that had been bullied in school. It talked about how years later those negative words were still having an effect on many of them. They interviewed this one man. He was in his 40s, and he looked to be a bright, intelligent man, but he had not been able to hold down a good job, struggled in his relationships, couldn't seem to get on course. He told how as a child he was overweight. He was chubby, and some of the other children made fun of him and called him names. Things like "Loser," "Failure". He made the mistake of letting those words take root. Now they were keeping him in mediocrity.
When somebody calls you something, either good or bad, that seed is planted in your soil. Now you get to determine whether or not that seed takes root and grows. When you dwell on what was said, you are watering the seed. You're giving it a right to become a reality. That's why it's so important that we're disciplined in our thought life. It's great when people tell you, "You're blessed. You're talented. You're going to do great things". Water those seeds. Meditate on those throughout the day. That's what you want to become a reality. But, too often, the mistake we make is we water the wrong seeds.
Those two ladies that said I wasn't as good as my father, if I would have watered that seed, I would have never gotten off the ground. And the truth is, it wouldn't have been their fault. They can't make a seed take root in me. All they can do is sow the seed. You have complete control over what seeds are going to take root and grow in your own soil.
A lot of times, we blame others. "They were talking about me. They tried to make me look bad. They were criticizing me". No, let them talk all they want. You control your own soil. Don't dwell on the negative. Don't replay what they said over and over. Guard your mind. Those are viruses trying to infiltrate your software. Joshua put it this way: if you will meditate on what God says about you day and night, then you will have good success and prosper in everything you do. When your mind is filled with thoughts of faith, thoughts of hope, thoughts of victory, that's what's going to become a reality.
That man in his 40s that was still struggling, you know why? He let those derogatory comments play over and over. Every time he thought about it, he was watering that seed year after year. Sad to say, but it became a reality. How different would his life be if he'd just learned to hit the delete button? Instead of constantly playing the negative, what if he'd have gone around thinking, "I'm a masterpiece. I'm one of a kind. I'm talented. I've got seeds of greatness"? It would be a whole different story.
Somebody may have spoken negative words over you. Delete it. People don't determine your destiny. God determines your destiny. That's why we start off every message by saying, "I am who God says I am". We're saying, in effect, "I am not who my history teacher says I am. I'm not who my ex-spouse says I am. I am not who the critics say I am. I am who God says I am".
I like to take it a step further. Not only, "I am who God says I am," but, "I can do what God says I can do". That means we know we've been programmed for victory. We've been programmed to reign in life. We've been programmed to overcome obstacles. "Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers us out of them all". We will accomplish our dreams. We will meet the right people. We will step into the fullness of our destinies. When you think like that, all the forces of darkness cannot stop you.
Friends, the real battle is taking place in your mind. If you're defeated in your thoughts, you've already lost. You've got to get rid of the viruses. If you will get back to your original software, put in you by your Creator, you'll go places that you've never dreamed.
It's interesting how little children start off so excited about life. They've got big dreams. They're going to become a scientist, an astronaut, a singer, a teacher, a ballplayer, even the president. They're not intimidated. They're not insecure. They believe they can do anything. It's because they just came from their Creator. Their thinking has not been contaminated. They can still feel the seeds of greatness. But too often, over time, they start to get reprogrammed. Somebody tells them what they can't become, what they can't do. Little by little, their environment starts to squeeze them down.
A coach, a teacher says, "Hey, you're not good enough. You're too small". Their self-esteem goes down. They see somebody more attractive, and they start to feel inferior. All these things begin to distort who they really are. Before long, instead of dreaming big and believing possibility thoughts, they think, "I'll never do anything great. I'm not that talented. I'm just average".
When we find ourselves stuck in these ruts, not believing we can rise any higher, we need to ask, "Why do I think this way? Who programmed me to think that I'm average? Who programmed me to give up on my dreams? Who programmed me to think I can't lose this weight, I can't break this addiction, I've gone as far as I can? Where did those thoughts come from"? Could it be that you have accepted a wrong mindset because of the environment you were raised in, the people that you were around? Just because it seems normal to you doesn't mean that it's necessarily normal.
Sometimes we learn to function in our dysfunction. Maybe everybody you grew up with was negative. Well, you're not supposed to be negative. That's not normal. Maybe your friends didn't have big dreams. They didn't do anything great in life. Well, that's not okay for you. That's not normal. Just because family members had addictions, bad habits, don't make the mistake of thinking that's okay for you to live that way. Those are viruses that have been passed down. They keep infiltrating our thinking. Listen, God created you to go further, to be confident, to be free, to be healthy, positive, happy. You have greatness on the inside. Now it starts by reprogramming your thinking.
I saw a story about this dog, a German Shepherd. She was pregnant with puppies. One day, she was walking across the street and got hit by a car. Both of her back legs were broken. She was able to drag herself off the street and back to her house. As the weeks went by, she began to slowly recover. Her legs finally healed. But because they weren't properly reset, when she walked, all she could do was drag her back legs. She couldn't walk properly. Her joints had been messed up.
Eventually, she had her puppies. They seemed to be healthy and whole. But a few weeks later, when they started walking, just like their mother, they dragged their back legs. The owner was amazed. He thought maybe they had been injured in the accident, as well. Took them to the veterinarian to have them checked out. The doctor discovered there was nothing wrong with their back legs. They were perfectly healthy. Those puppies were simply copying their mother. That's all they had seen modeled. In their mind that's the way they were supposed to walk.
That's what's happened to many of us, what we saw modeled growing up. The people that raised us, they were good people. They were doing their best, but in some way they were dragging their back legs. They were negative, discouraged. Now we live negative, discouraged. They had addictions, low self-esteem. Now we struggle in those same areas. Or, maybe they made poor choices in relationships, got involved with the wrong people. Now we're dealing with the same issues. We saw them accept mediocrity. Now mediocrity has become normal to us.
The good news, just like those puppies, there is nothing wrong with your back legs. Those are simply wrong mindsets that you've developed. As you get your thinking straightened out, your legs will straighten out. God didn't make you faulty. He didn't create you subpar. He created you in his image. You are his masterpiece, crowned with favor, equipped with talent, gifts. You are destined to live a great life: healthy, abundant, happy, faith-filled. Now don't go around dragging your back legs. You are not supposed to go through life inferior, low self-esteem, addicted, little goals, little dreams. That's not who you are. Start reprogramming your mind as the head and not the tail. Program it with excellence, not mediocrity. Program it with abundance, not lack and poverty. Program it with freedom, not addictions.
This is what my father did. He grew up in a very poor environment. His parents lost everything during the great depression. He had no money, no education, no future to speak of. He had been programmed with poverty, defeat, mediocrity. He could have settled there. That's all he had seen, thought, "Hey, this is just my lot in life. We're just poor, defeated people". But at 17 years old, when he gave his life to Christ, he started reprogramming his thinking. Deep down something said, "You were made for more than this. You're not supposed to constantly struggle, to barely make it through life". He could feel those seeds of greatness stirring on the inside, and his attitude was, "This may be where I am, but this is not who I am. I may be in defeat, but I am not defeated. I'm a child of the most high God".
Day after day, he kept hitting the delete button. A thought told him, "You have no future". Delete. God's plans for me are for good, to give me a future and a hope. "You have no money". Delete. I'm blessed. Whatever I touch prospers. "You have no education. You'll never get out of here. It's impossible". Delete, delete, delete. God is making a way where I don't see a way. He's opening doors that no man can shut. He's bringing the right people across my path. I will step into the fullness of my destiny.
He reprogrammed his thinking with thoughts of faith, thoughts of hope, thoughts of victory. That's how he rose up out of that poverty, set a new standard for our family. You may have been raised in a limited environment. All you saw modeled was strife, addictions, conflict, low self-esteem, mediocrity. Don't let that set the limits for your life. Don't go around dragging your back legs. God wants you to go further. Now it starts by getting rid of the viruses. Hit the delete button. The thought tells you, "You've gone as far as you can". Delete. "You'll never get well". Delete. "You'll always be addicted". Delete. "This is as good as it gets". Delete. If you'll get good at hitting the delete button, you will break out of bondages, and you will step into freedom. You will break out of lack and poverty and step into abundance. You'll break out of mediocrity and step up to excellence.
Listen, this is a new day. Strongholds are coming down. Wrong mindsets are being broken. Viruses are being cleared out. Get ready for God to do something new. Get ready to see his goodness in amazing ways. "Well, Joel, this sounds encouraging, but I don't know. All the experts say I'll never get well. The experts say I'll never get out of debt. The experts tell me I've gone as far as my education allows. This is as good as it gets". I say this respectfully, but the experts can be wrong. The experts told us we would never have this building, but here we are today. The experts told my mother that she had a few weeks to live, but 33 years later she's still alive and healthy. The experts told us Lakewood would never make it without my father, but we're doing pretty good.
I read about a bumblebee. According to all the laws of aerodynamics, a bumblebee should not be able to fly. Its wingspan is too small for the size of its body. It can't get enough lift, but here's the key. Nobody told the bumblebee. It didn't get the memo. No experts were able to talk it out of it. The bumblebee felt its wings on its side, and something in its DNA said, "I'm supposed to fly. I'm not made to just crawl around on the ground". It didn't go check with the experts. It didn't read the latest engineering report. It just did what was natural and started flapping its wings. Took off up into the air.
If that bumblebee would have been able to read the negative reports, would have been able to listen to the naysayers, it would have never gotten off the ground. It starts in our thinking. If you don't think you can be successful, you won't. If you don't think you're talented, then you're not. If you don't think you'll meet the right people, you never will. Not because you're not able to, but because of your software. Your thinking is limiting you.
When Carl Lewis was training for the Olympic Games, the experts said no person can jump over 30 feet. The scientists had run all their calculations, done all their research. According to their data, no one would ever be able to jump that far. A reporter asked Carl Lewis what he thought about it. He said, "Yes, I know the experts say it can't be done, but I don't listen to that kind of talk. I know thoughts like that have a way of slipping down to my feet". He went on later, that same year, to jump over 30 feet and break the world record.
Are you allowing negative thoughts to drop down to your feet, stifle your potential? Why don't you do like he did? Start hitting the delete button. The experts may have told you how impossible it is, how it's not going to work out, how you're not going to get well. And, again, I mean it respectfully, because the experts are doing the best they can with the knowledge that they have. What I'm saying is God has the final say. He wouldn't have put the dream in your heart, he wouldn't have given you that promise, if he didn't have a way to bring it to pass.
Delete what the naysayers have told you. Delete the discouraging words. Delete the negative reports. You've got to get back to your original software. Some of you, this is the only thing that's holding you back.
Who told you that you can't be successful? Who told you, you can only make Cs in school? Who told you you're not tall enough, not smart enough, that you've reached your limits? I can assure you that did not come from your Creator. Those are viruses that are trying to contaminate your software. Don't let what anyone told you or what anyone showed you to limit your life. There is nothing wrong with your back legs. Start reprogramming your mind. All through the day, dwell on what your Creator says about you, "I'm blessed. I'm healthy. I'm talented. I'm valuable. My best days are still out in front of me". If you'll do this, I believe and declare every virus is being cleared out, even right now. Strongholds are coming down. Wrong mindsets that have held you back for years will no longer have any effect on you. Like Joshua promised, you will have good success and prosper in everything you do. I declare it in Jesus' name.
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St. Thomas Episcopal church in Lancaster hosted an evening with liturgical artist, educator and pastor Jeremy Miller. The intent of the evening was to showcase Jeremy’s art as well as to hear Jeremy’s story of the healing power of art.
Jeremy refers to himself as a liturgical artist because his art focuses on biblical themes in the Christian tradition. Using bright and bold colors, he creates vivid symbolic pieces that, along with a narrative, tell parts of the biblical story and our stories.
During the evening, as Jeremy shared the symbolism behind his star series, his skill and experience as an educator and pastor was evident. In an informative and inspiring way, he shared the meaning of different stars as they have been used in the Christian tradition.
Jeremy’s artistic skill, educator’s passion, and pastor’s heart are evident in his work and presentation. He has clear ideas of how and what he wants to do and he was easy to work with in the preparation of the event. He also created a beautiful flyer to advertise the event.
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J. G. Bellett.
BT vol. 18 p. 1.
"His blood be upon us and upon our children," said the Jews of their betrayed and crucified King. And so it is with them unto this day. Their land, which should have been the vineyard of the Lord of Hosts, has become an Aceldama — a field of blood; and as they themselves loved cursing, so has it come upon them.
The Lord in His doctrine determined this — that we are the children of Him Whose works we do, and Whose ways we imitate (John 8). Hence it is manifest that, in the judgment of God, Israel at this day are not the children of Abraham (for they have not done the works of Abraham) but the seed of Judas, for they did his work, being one with him of old in the betraying of Jesus, and still in the disowning and rejection of Jesus (see Acts 1:16, Acts 7:52, 1 Thess. 2:15). But Psalm 109 leads us directly to this mystery. There the rejected Messiah first complains of His adversary, and Judas, we know, is intended (Ps. 109:8, and Acts 1:20). But afterwards He speaks of His adversaries (ver. 20) calling for judgment on them as the children of His adversary; and the Jews, we may also know, are intended. For surely it could not have been the natural seed of Judas, the adversary (even if he had any), but rather mystically. And his mystical seed, as we have seen, are the Jews in their unbelief; for they it was who joined with him in his deed, and still in spirit imitate his evil way. Consequently the various judgments invoked in that Psalm, upon the children of the adversary, may be seen lying on the Jews to this day. They it was who persecuted the poor and needy man (v. 16); and they have their reward. They it was who delighted not in blessing (ver. 17), refusing to say, "Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord;" and blessing is therefore far from them. They it was who "loved cursing," saying of Jesus, "Crucify Him, crucify Him;" so has curse come upon them: a curse and an astonishment, and a byword are they made, through all the nations of the earth unto this day.
But in the course of the holy complaint and invocation of vengeance by the disowned rejected King of the Jews, set forth in that Psalm, I may observe, that He makes reference to the ordinance of the "Trial of Jealousy" (see Psalm 109:14-18, and Num. 5:23-27); and therefore as to that ordinance I would speak more particularly.
This ordinance was for the discovering of unconfessed infidelity. A suspected wife was set by the high priest in the presence of God as the Searcher of hearts. Her head was uncovered, in token that on the present occasion she knew of no subjection to any but to the Lord; and therefore she removed the covering from her head, for that covering was the sign of subjection to her husband (1 Cor. 11:3). The priest then put into her hand "the offering of jealousy." This was a meat-offering prepared by her husband, in a manner suitable to her approach to God, and which the priest afterwards took from her hand, and waved before the Lord, offering the memorial of it on the altar; by which action was signified, on both the husband's and the wife's behalf, the committal of this matter to God. Then holding in his hand a vessel containing holy water or water taken from the brazen laver mingled with dust (the sign of curse or fruit of sin; Gen. 3:19), the priest solemnly abjured the woman, and read to her the curses that would come upon her if she were guilty. To this, if she pleased to stand the trial after all this warning, she said, "Amen, Amen;" and then the priest wrote the curses in a book, blotted them with some of the bitter water, and gave the rest of it to the woman to drink. The trial was then made. If she had been unfaithful, the water would enter into her and become bitter; her belly would swell, and her thigh rot; and she would be made a curse among the people. But if her husband's suspicions had wronged her, none of these things would happen to her. For the curses in the book would all be blotted out, so as to be legible no more; and thus, being freed and avenged, she would receive strength of the Lord to conceive seed.
Now in the Psalm 109, the Lord appears as one Who had brought up Israel to this trial, and by it found her guilty. He was entitled so to bring her up for this trial, for He had of old married her (Jer. 31:32), of old had spread His skirt over Jerusalem (Ezek. 16:8), and at the time of the marriage had warned her of His holy jealousness (Ex. 20:5). And time after time subsequent to the marriage He had been provoked to jealousy, but had forborne, and been patient, calling again and again for repentance and confession (Deut. 32:21, Ezek. 8:3). But at length He pleads with her by this ordeal, while she, like any hardened wife who would dare to stand the trial with the consciousness of sin upon her, defies divine justice. "His blood be upon us and upon our children," from the lips of Israel, was as the woman's "Amen" to the invocation of the curse. But their confidence has been their shame. The sin of their mother was not blotted out in the trial (Ps. 109:14). The water entered in and did its deadly work (v. 18); and to this day they are under the penalties of convicted infidelity. Israel has been judged as a woman that breaks wedlock (Ezek. 16:38).
Such is the end of their ways. But the Lord has His ways also, and if theirs ended in conviction and shame and judgment, His will end in mercy, in peace, and in honour. There is with the Lord forgiveness for Israel. As Jesus said on the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." There is to be acceptance for this unfaithful one with her injured Lord. She has played the harlot, it is true, and so has the trial of jealousy found it; she has said, "I will go after my lovers," but the Lord has also said, "I will betroth thee unto Me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in loving-kindness, and in mercies" (see Hosea 2, 3). And when this comes to pass, the very blessing which is promised to the wife who stood acquitted in the trial of jealousy, shall be Israel's; for she shall then be made free, the free-woman and a joyful mother of children (see Num. 5:28, and Isa. 54:1).
But before she be thus married to her Maker and Redeemer in the bonds of the new covenant, she is to have a time of espousals, in which the Lord will discipline her and form her for Himself. She is never to be restored to the old covenant. Her ruins under that lie as enduring as the ruins of Sodom and Gomorrah; but God will remember His covenant with her and establish unto her an everlasting covenant (Ezek. 16:55, 60). And her day of espousals will prepare her for this abiding union. In that day she will be brought to know her own ways and loathe herself for all her abominations, to be confounded and never open her mouth any more because of her shame. But she will also be taught to know the Lord's ways, and rejoice in the grace and the fulness of His love, whereby He will then be pacified toward her (Ezek. 16:60-63). In that day He will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and then speak comfortably unto her. He will hedge up her way with thorns, and make a wall so that she shall not find her paths; but all this discipline will only be in order to lead her to say, "I will go and return unto my first husband, for then was it better with me than now" (Hosea 2). "She shall in that day seek again the Lord her God, and David her king" (Hosea 3). The Lord will give her "the spirit of adoption" (Jer. 3:19). "She shall forget her own people and her father's house" (Ps. 45:10) "She shall hearken and incline her ear, and the King shall greatly desire her beauty." Then shall the cry of "Ishi" be put into her mouth, and the Lord will delight in her, and call her His "Hephzibah" (Isa. 62, Hosea 2).
The book of the Canticles, and a large portion of the Psalms, give us the exercises of Jerusalem, the bride elect or the remnant of the Jews, during that day of her espousals and discipline. Ruth who first gleaned in the fields and afterwards lay at the feet of Boaz on the threshing-floor, is the type of Jerusalem thus in discipline and in espousals, as Ruth the wife of Boaz the mighty man of wealth is her type in all that honour and estate to which she shall be brought when the day of espousals ends in the covenant. And these things are also variously celebrated by all the prophets. But in all that they notice of these things, and of the Lord's tender love to His Jerusalem, I must mark one feature which has its peculiar interest for us. It is this — when the Lord has brought her to Himself in the bonds of the covenant, He does not refer to her former state as one of divorcement, but rather of widowhood. That is, He does not call to mind the shame, but rather the sorrow, of her former estate. Though it may be divorcement and shame (Isa. 50:1), yet the Lord will not remember it as such. May we not, brethren, notice the perfectness of such love as this? Does it not sweetly and affectingly tell us that with our God there is forgetting as well as forgiving? the taking away the sting of rebuking recollections, as well as the covering of the multitude of sins? We see this in that beautiful chapter (Isa. 54). There Jehovah, re-married to Jerusalem, looks back as in pity on her widowhood, and not as in anger on her divorcement. All this is perfect in the ways of the divine love. The human expression of this we get in Joseph, who is the type of Christ in this His love to Israel. For when Joseph forgave and accepted his brethren, he would have the memory of all that which was their guilt and dishonour blotted out for ever. "Now therefore," said he, "be not grieved nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither; for God did send me before you to preserve life."
These are some of the ways of His grace, beloved; but the source of them all, which is in Himself, is unsearchable. Unmeasured heights, and lengths, and depths, and breadths of love are there — a love that no man knows, and that is preparing for us what eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived. Oh! that we drank more simply, more unmixedly of these waters. We should think much of the love of God, as it is in its fountains in Himself, and as it is in its streams spreading and diffusing itself among us, poor withered sinners. Let us not so much brood in sorrow, and complaint over thoughts of our narrow love to Him, but rather let His love be shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost, our enlarged souls entertaining the thought of it continually.
And here, for a moment, I would turn aside to express what I have felt at times touching the book of God, that in one respect it is indeed a melancholy saddening book. But I mean only as it is a record of man's ways. Open any historical portion of it, and there you will see man in his evil courses, going on in active enmity or reckless forgetfulness of God. Open any prophetic portion of it, and there you will hear the voice of God's minister exposing, rebuking, warning or threatening poor evil man. All this makes the book a melancholy and saddening volume. From Genesis, through Exodus, and onward to the end, as your thoughts are led through man's paths, your heart will be led into lamentation and mourning.
But it is a book of light and joy also, full of rest for the weary, and of refreshing for those who are thus sick of man and his doings. But I mean only as it is the record of God's ways. Open it in any place of it, and there you will find His grace meeting man's sin, His counsels correcting man's foolishness, His efforts of love essaying one method after another to bring man home to Himself; and in the end you will see Him though refused and slighted, in the sovereignty of His grace building up families for heaven and earth, and filling all things with creation's joy in His own praise. Thus, brethren, let one page of this wondrous book show man to us, and all is sorrow and shame; let another show God to us, and all is rest and joy. And this will be found to be just as it should be, that "according as it is written, he that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord."
Let us return, and for a little while meditate on the church's more immediate interest in the truths I have been considering. I would observe that Scripture teaches us that the church knows of no marriage with her Lord, but of election and grace; and of that covenant which puts away sin, and preserves union for ever — in principle such a marriage as Jerusalem is to know in the latter day, and not such as Israel knew when of old they came out of Egypt. The church has never been married by a covenant that rests on her own fidelity and strength. Indeed as yet there has been no marriage of the church at all. There will be, but as yet there has been no presenting of the bride to the Lamb. Nor indeed could there have been; for the church is not fully formed, nor has the scene of their union, the home and inheritance of Christ and the church, been as yet prepared. For heaven is the scene of union (Rev. 19:7), and out of heaven the Lamb's wife is seen to descend (Rev. 21). But it was otherwise with Israel of old. There might have been a marriage between her and the Lord of Hosts, as we have seen there was, because Israel as a nation was manifested under Joshua; and Canaan was the scene of the union.
But the church has never yet been manifested, for she is not yet fully formed. She is passing now through the time of her espousals, the time of discipline and preparation, that when she is married, she may be ready for her Lord, and fitted for abiding everlasting union with Him. She is during this age or dispensation on her journey to meet Him. She is like Rebecca under the charge of Abraham's servant, having left her father, her kindred, and her country, as the espoused of the distant and as yet unseen Isaac. But she fears not, she suspects not. She has committed herself to the care of a stranger, One Who is not known in this Mesopotamia of ours, One "Whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth Him not, neither knoweth Him" (John 14:17). But she knows Him, and trusts Him, and believes the report that He has brought her about her Isaac, and that His Father has given Him all the wealth of His house (Gen. 24:36, John 16:15). And though she, like Rebecca, has not seen Him, yet she loves Him; though as yet she sees Him not, yet believing she rejoices (1 Peter 1:8). Her eye is toward Canaan, and her heart upon Isaac. But she has not yet reached Sarah's tent, Isaac's desired dwelling-place. She has goodly ornament upon her, brought out from Abraham's treasures, the pledges of Abraham's wealth, of Isaac's love, and of her guide's faithfulness; but she is still only on her way. And blessed is it, brethren, when our hearts are "in the way," when we are contented to know that to the end here it is but a journey. And we must take heed, lest, like Israel, we become discouraged because of the way. For the will of God must first be done, and then the promise (Heb. 10:36).
Thus is it with us, beloved. It is a going still from strength to strength through the valley of Baca. It is the way before, as well as behind us, but still the way. So does the word of God describe it for us, and the word also describes this dispensation to us under the figure of the vestry to the church, if I may so speak, where the guests are putting on their wedding garments in preparation for the marriage. It is a kind of ante-room to the kingdom or the King's palace (Matt. 22:11); a day of espousals, as we have already spoken, in which the church is learning the mind of the Lord, and the ways of His house; "I have espoused you to one husband, that I may present you as a chaste virgin to Christ." Mark! that I may present you. The marriage is but in prospect. Personal individual union of the saints with their Head, so as to bring forth fruit unto God, there is now;* but presenting of the church unto Christ there is not as yet. Adam was cast into a deep sleep, and of the rib taken from his side while thus in sleep, was made a woman. But not till she was fully thus made, and Adam had awaked, was she brought to him. So in the mystery. The act of forming the church — the woman, is now going on; but the presentation cannot be till that act be finished, and Adam awakes; till "the whole body be fitly joined together and compacted," and the Lord arises, and shows Himself, and takes His prepared and loved one.
[*There is also the baptism of all by the Spirit into one body. — ED.]
And this mystery, the love and marriage of Christ and the church, in three stages of it, is beautifully disclosed to us in Eph. 5:25-27.
I. — "Christ loved the church and gave Himself for it." That is, loving before the world was, He said "Lo I come"; and when His delights, as He speaks, "were with the sons of men." Then did He set His love upon the church, and in due time He gave Himself for it, sold all that He had that He might possess her — His pearl of great price.
2. — "That He might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word." That is, during the present age, He is forming the church for Himself by the virtue and continuous ministry of His word and Spirit, till she is prepared as a bride for her husband.
3. — "That He might present it to Himself a glorious church." That is, after this age, in the coming kingdom, when He will have taken His bride, the church, then formed and ready, and made glorious like Himself; that He may find her His helpmeet, and be satisfied in her for ever.
We thus are taught that the church has not been, neither indeed could have been, as yet presented for the marriage in heaven (Rev. 19).
But the looking upon the church as though she had been already manifested and married has been, I judge, the occasion of giving her a very undue place and condition in the world. It has been a warrant for establishing her in the earth; for an establishment is an attempt to manifest or present the church. But this cannot be here, as we have seen. With Israel it might have been so, and was so; for the earth was Israel's home, but the church is a stranger here. And an understanding of this (and an understanding we should have in all things, 2 Tim. 2:7) would have hindered this attempt. But there has not been in all this knowledge, and we have each of us, brethren, much of slowness of heart to bear with in one another, as the Lord with all of us a thousand-fold more than we ever estimate. And it is well to remember that it is written, "If any man think that he knoweth anything, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know."
But the understanding of this would, I judge, have hindered the Lord's people from ever consenting to the establishment of the church, which is the giving her a place and a dowry thus on the earth; as though the earth was her place, and she were as yet in this age, entitled to the form and the rights of a presented or married church. But the understanding of this would, not only as I judge, have thus hindered error, but have furnished comfort. For it would prepare the saints for the present distracted broken condition of every thing among them. And this would be no small comfort. It would teach them that they were not to expect in this age a perfect exhibition of the church, but they must look on it only as the time for forming and fashioning the church after the mind and counsel of God. And this would further lead them to know that things might be really better when apparently worse, worse as to their external general condition, but better as to the great ends of the dispensation. For the purpose of the divine Former of the church is to have the saints grow up in the life and power of communion with their Lord through the Spirit, rather than to assume any consistency and order, however good for present credit and security, which would not stand the light and purity of that day. For this would be answering the ends of the dispensation, bringing each of us into readiness for the day when we shall all be presented together without spot.
Oh! let us, dear brethren, have grace to cultivate this readiness for the Bridegroom. It depends on this communion with Him, while as yet He is absent; and on our minds being "kept in the simplicity that is in Christ," on their being formed only in and for Christ. Christ is our salvation, but Christ is our lesson also, the holy lesson we should each be diligently learning, careful and jealous that Satan be not teaching us another. When the Lord God was fashioning Eve, His design was to make her a helpmeet for Adam. His eye rested on Adam's joy, and on that only, all the while. Had any other design intruded, it would have been a corrupting of the fair workmanship. But the Lord God was true to the counsels of His love toward Adam. And so Adam found it; for when Eve was brought to him, he said, "This is bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh;" expressing thus his complacency in her, and thus owning that the Lord God had prepared her for him in perfect love and wisdom.
And so when Abraham's servant, Eliezar of Damascus, was getting Rebecca ready for Isaac, he clothed her with raiment, and adorned her with jewels which he had brought out of Abraham's house. Nothing of Mesopotamia was found upon her; for Rebecca was to be for Isaac, and not for her own people. And so with the Spirit now. The purpose of the Holy Ghost now is to get the bride ready for the Lamb. We have been espoused to one husband that we may be presented to Christ. And how jealous should we be lest any thing should be forming our minds for any one but for Him! The gifts that have been sent down are only for uniting us in the knowledge of the Son, and that in all things we may grow up unto Him. Any other attempt is but sleight of man and cunning craftiness (Eph. 4). It may be fair and boastful of great and good things; but it is deceiving an angel of light, if it be not forming us in Christ. That is the point of jealousy with the saint. It may appear to be wisdom, or knowledge, or religion, or order, or some other thing of esteem; but it matters not: — it is deceitful and corrupting, if it exercise any art but the art of making us to grow up unto Christ. We want the broken heart, dear brethren, the fragments of which Jesus can take up. We want to dismiss all confidence in the flesh, for Jesus cannot use the flesh. We want to know more of the widowhood, the longings of one who waits for her Lord. He is absent, and many things solicit us the while, but we are to keep ourselves for Him. We are to be preparing as Eve for Adam, that when he awakes he may see the fruit of his deep sleep and be satisfied — as Rebecca for Isaac, that when the solitary saint lifts up his eyes and sees her who had left her kindred and country for him, he may be comforted (Gen. 24:62-67). And doubtless we shall then be comforted and satisfied also. Will it not be enough to find ourselves by His side for ever? will it not be enough to see Him rejoicing over us as "His pearl of great price," for the sake of which He had parted with all that He had? Oh! if the sweetest joy of a faithful wife be this, to know that she has the abiding and best love of her lord; will not this be ours, brethren, without fear of change for ever? May we be true to Him Who never can be false to us, Who nourisheth and cherisheth us as His own flesh! J. G. B.
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The Lindner carbine was an early US cavalry carbine used during the Civil War. Unlike the many metallic cartridge firing carbines that would follow, it was a breechloader that used .58 caliber paper cartridges. An initial order for 892 of them was delivered to the Army, and Lindner went on to make some improvements to the design. By the time his improved version was ready, the paper cartridge had been rendered obsolete by metallic cartridges, and the Army was no longer interested in the guns. To avoid having to purchase them, they refused to send an inspector to Lindner’s factory, thus ensuring that none of the guns would pass inspection. A slimy but legal way out of their contract, as the ensuing legal battle was decided in favor of the government and Lindner had to sell his extra guns in Europe.
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“Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.”
— James 4.8
God wants to make Himself known to you. Take the time to ask Him to cause you to know Him. May you find it in your heart to desire Him and want to know Him. And then may you reach out to Him in sincerity of heart. He is waiting for such.
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use of his tongue, and succeeded in finding out that they expected re-enforcements from McRae, when they would return and take us in.
I then built as strong a barricade as I could with such materials as I could find about the post, encircling the whole court-house square; night for their reappearance, but they failed to show themselves again. At night I caused my men to sleep on their arms, inside their barricade.
At about 11 p. m. I received a dispatch from Major [J.] Robbins, informing me that he was ordered to make inquiries concerning the condition of the post. I immediately informed both [S.] Montgomery and Robbins of what had transpired during the day, when they moved their columns into town. Major Montgomery tendered me the use of his battalion to assist me in pursuing them. I gladly accepted it, placed myself in the saddle, and began the pursuit. Overtaking them this side of Chalk Bluff, engaged them and dispersed them, following them in their flight to Brown's Ferry, below Chalk Bluff, where they became so scattered that I concluded to return, which I did, arriving here at 12 m. December 2, having marched a distance of over 100 miles in two days and a half.
I captured and brought into Bloomfield 5 dirty, hungry-looking scamps, who looked took poor to live, besides having killed several. I also captured 2 horses and returned them to the post. The only firing done by the rebels was upon the pickets.
I am satisfied that their only object was plunder. I also learned from old citizens who were taken and held by Crandall during his stay about the place, that all the notorious horse-thieves, cut-throats, and guerrillas who infest this country were with them.
I am, respectfully,
Captain, Commanding Post.
Colonel J. B. ROGERS,
Commanding Cape Girardeau, Mo.
Numbers 2. Report of Major Josephus Robbins, Second Missouri State Militia Cavalry.
CAPE GIRARDEAU, MO., December 6, 1863.
COLONEL: In reply to your inquiry as to the causes which led to the total failure of the expedition sent against the marauders who recently came into the southeast portion of this State, I have the honor to report that, in my opinion, it was because not sufficient force was sent from Bloomfield in pursuit, and want of zeal and energy in the commander of the force which was sent; and for the causes for this opinion I beg leave to submit the following narrative of the whole transaction:
Upon the night of the 29th ultimo, after a hard day's march, I went into camp 13 miles from Bloomfield, not then having heard of any force being in the vicinity of Bloomfield, or of the attack upon that outpost; but, in obedience to the order of Brigadier-General Fisk, to learn if there was any enemy near that place, I sent Lieutenant [E. G.] Rathburn, with 24 men, in the night to Bloomfield, to learn of affairs there.
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"And of his fulness have all we received."
-- John 1:16
These words tell us that there is a fulness in Christ. There is a fulness of essential Deity, for "in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead." There is a fulness of perfect manhood, for in him, bodily, that Godhead was revealed. There is a fulness of atoning efficacy in his blood, for "the blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from all sin." There is a fulness of justifying righteousness in his life, for "there is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus." There is a fulness of divine prevalence in his plea, for "He is able to save to the uttermost them that come unto God by him; seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them."
There is a fulness of victory in his death, for through death he destroyed him that had the power of death, that is the devil. There is a fulness of efficacy in his resurrection from the dead, for by it "we are begotten again unto a lively hope." There is a fulness of triumph in his ascension, for "when he ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and received gifts for men." There is a fulness of blessings of every sort and shape; a fulness of grace to pardon, of grace to regenerate, of grace to sanctify, of grace to preserve, and of grace to perfect. There is a fulness at all times; a fulness of comfort in affliction; a fulness of guidance in prosperity. A fulness of every divine attribute, of wisdom, of power, of love; a fulness which it were impossible to survey, much less to explore. "It pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell."
Oh, what a fulness must this be of which all receive! Fulness, indeed, must there be when the stream is always flowing, and yet the well springs up as free, as rich, as full as ever. Come, believer, and get all thy need supplied; ask largely, and thou shalt receive largely, for this "fulness" is inexhaustible, and is treasured up where all the needy may reach it, even in Jesus, Immanuel -- God with us.
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Facts about Joseph Goebbels
Joseph Goebbels Biography
Joseph Goebbels was Nazi Germany’s Minister of Propaganda and a member of Adolf Hitler‘s inner circle during World War II. Although he was of age, Goebbels did not serve in World War I (1914-18) because of a physical deformity to one of his legs. Instead he studied at eight different universities and ended up with a doctorate from Heidelberg University in 1921. Goebbels was a student of romantic drama, but his talents lay in journalism and speech writing. He joined the Nazis in 1924 and quickly rose in the ranks; by 1926 Hitler had sent Goebbels to run things in Berlin and edit the party newspaper, Völkische Freiheit. As the Reichminister of Propaganda after 1933, Goebbels persecuted political opponents, burned books and urged the annihilation of Jews. After Nazi losses in 1943, Goebbels was the de facto domestic leader of Germany while Hitler concentrated on war strategy. Goebbels, in weekly radio addresses, encouraged the German people to fight to the death as the tide turned against the Nazis, and he and his family were with Hitler in a Berlin bunker at the end of the war. Goebbels and his wife, Magda, killed their six children and then themselves on 1 May 1945, a day after Hitler’s suicide and seven days before Germany surrendered.
Goebbels kept diaries from 1921 to 1945, parts of which made their way into public view in the 1980s. Although there were questions of authenticity at the time, in 1992 copies of his diaries were found in the archives of the former Soviet Union… Goebbels is often referred to as the father of “the Big Lie,” a term that has come to mean repeating a falsehood until it becomes accepted as fact. Historians point out, however, that Goebbels was remarkable as Propaganda Minister because he was honest with the German people about Germany’s chances of defeat.
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A little over a year ago my wife and I were blessed with twins. Now we have four daughters, and I am surprised at the depth of emotion each of them evokes in me. Whereas once I scarcely felt I had enough love for just me, I now have love for five. I never knew, and even now am surprised to discover, that I have such a reservoir of love within me which seemed to grow deeper the greater the demands placed upon it.
Even when the twins won’t go to sleep at night and I get angry, and the older children wake them once they’re asleep, and I get angrier, yet I know that I love them. Surprised by these hidden depths of love within me, I reflect on God’s love, and feel that I know it better now. If I can love like this how much more can God? Hosea seems to come by a similar path to a realisation of God’s love, through his love for his faithless wife [chapters 1 & 2], and for his son [chapter 11], both of which he sees as images of God’s love for His people. I remember clearly how once a woman bringing up her children on her own, not always with manifest success, said to me that she had stopped believing in God when her husband left her. Gradually I have concluded that what she meant was that when she believed that her husband stopped loving her, then she was no longer able to believe that God loved her. Our ability to know God’s love is dependent upon our knowing human love. How else can we know what the experience means? Jesus preached about God’s love, and demonstrated his own love for the loveless around him –the broken, the poor, the rejected. Perhaps He did that because He knew that unless those people experienced human love they could never grow to know divine love. And He became known as God incarnate, love in a human form, by those who had come to know the love of God of which He spoke, having first been loved by Him. Perhaps I, in a much lesser way, also become God incarnate in as much as I love my children, and they knowing [I hope] that love, come to grasp God’s love too. But this depth of human love is shown by all manner and condition of men and women, to their children, their families, to neighbours, to relative strangers even. In them too I see the love of God incarnate, although I don’t imagine for a minute that they would call it that – they would think that I was being very pompous if I named I thus. And in a sense they’d be right. Often I seem to be drumming up to great significance, virtues which some people live with, day by day, very humbly. The Spirit of God quietly goes about Her business, evoking this love in people for each other; whereas I struggle to talk about it with an air of profundity as if it were a subject only Christians had some experience of.
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The story of the Dick Johnson and Old Mummy murders of 1858, was of well known Klikitat settlers in that period. None less than the prominent and politically powerful Applegate Family who lived in Yoncalla, Oregon, were their friends and neighbors and tried to help Dick and his extended family of in-laws maintain their settlement in the Umpqua Valley. Letters from Jesse Applegate in this era were received by Territorial politicians and the Superintendent of Indian Affairs, James W. Nesmith, first to help the family secure their land in the Umpqua Valley, then to help stave off the impending attacks by white settlers, and finally after the murders, there was a flurry of correspondence attempting to get the territorial and the federal officials to bring the murderers to justice. But, Indians in this time, by territorial law, could not testify in a court of law, and so there were no legitimate witnesses to testify against the murderers.
Native peoples between 1850 and 1855 could have gotten a land claim if they were dissociated with a tribe. Dick Johnson and his family did not have such a claim, only a letter from the superintendent allowing them to remain on their land. This was not enough for some of the white settlers in the Umpqua basin. As you read the following narrative you can see that the family was constantly being harassed, just because they were Indians. The Klikitat people were not originally from Oregon but were well known for coming into Oregon to hunt elk, especially on the Umpqua River. There were numerous Klikitat people who chose to break off from the main band and take up residence in the new American settlements. They normally would be laborers for the white farmers. Old Chief John who lived in locations near Oregon City and near Blue Lake, was one of these Klikitat settlers, as well as William McKay (pronounced Ma-kye) who settled in Dallas, Oregon and married a native woman of the Grand Ronde Reservation.
The writer of this narrative is Sallie Long, one of Jesse Applegate’s daughters. She was clearly intimately involved in the history of the area and was present when the events happened. It would be a future project to integrate Long’s memory here, with other Applegate accounts in letters in the future. Long is writing to the Oregon Historical Society, suggesting that George Himes, the President of the Society, use her narrative in some way. A search of the OHQ has yet to turn up a story in print associated with Long. The Reed College Bulletin, however, appears to have printed a version of the story, as well as a version in the book Jesse Applegate: A Dialogue with Destiny by Leta Lovelace Neiderhaiser.
The following is yet another story of how Tribal peoples in Oregon had no rights to freely live like other people. There were a few laws but the laws could be easily manipulated to make white settlers blameless. It did not matter if the Natives in question were assimilating, living quietly and at peace, and finding ways to integrate into American society, exactly as the Federal government wanted them to do. A few racially charged settlers could still take whatever actions they wanted and destroy the native peoples and take their lands without any worries of being held responsible for their actions. Its is startling that this story, and those of the multitudes of other native peoples who had the same treatment in the West, is not being taught in our history books as US history.
The family consisted of Dick Johnson and his wife and two (I Think) little children- his sister- (name I think was Eliza) and her husband “Jim” and her little son (four or five years old) old “Lemyei” Dick’s mothers and her husband- not Dick’s father- “Old Mummy”. These were very old people- some one had named him “Old Mummy” and told him it meant a “very old person” which name was then accepted in good faith by the simple kindly old fellow. We sincerely liked the Johnson family- Mamma always enjoyed a visit from “Old Lemyei” very much- and the young woman Eliza was very intelligent talked easily- was clean and neat, in person and dress, Dick’s squaw who was an Umpqua was inferior to the others in appearance and intelligence. “Old Lemyei” like a true mother in-law did not think her good enough “Cultus Cloochman Hilloo amy Tillacum” She was young, fat and sleek looking, liked red handkerchiefs and shawls- beads etc.- Lemyei in spite of her age was straight, tall, and lean, walked with a long, strong step, wore always upon her head a little conical shaped basket from below which, her long straight hair , mixed with white, hung down her back. I don’t remember ever seeing it braided, but it was tied back with a leather string sometimes, once there were big red and blue beads on the ends of this string which took my fancy, and the old woman noticed me looking at them- so she said to Mamma “Nica-ticka saplil pe musum gleese- ict tenas me Cloochman ticka nica beads- Spose close-copa mica?” Which meant that if Mamma was willing, that she would give me the beads- and I should get her a piece of bread and butter- Sapalil pe musum gleese- The exchange was made. They were the kindliest, friendly people I ever knew, never obtrusive, never saucy, very industrious, very honest, every promise was kept, every debt was paid. My father kept a little store, and they bought a good many things for which they paid promptly- dressed deerskins were a legal tender, smoked venison, wild nuts and berries, all members of the family worked. Their little farm was not by any means the best land then unoccupied, it was away from any of the white settlers in a little nook in the hills where it would not seem that it would be coveted by anyone. They had 2 little log cabins some log outhouses for their horses- and fowls- all made by themselves, a small field where they raised wheat for their bread, and the oats for their horses- a nice little orchard, with peach and apple trees in bearing. Their desire to be like white people was intense, and every kind of useful plant, seed, or shrub, that was given them, was carefully planted, and tended. When the first gooseberries came on their bushes, they took samples of them to their white friends with the utmost pride and gratitude. They went to their grain fields step by step and pulled out all injurious weeds from amongst the growing crop- such as tarweed, thistles etc.- no one had such nice clean crops. The women asked to be taught the secret of making patch work quilts, which they greatly admired, and with the patient persistence for which they are renowned mastered, and practiced, this very laborious and useless art- that is I mean the two young women – Eliza and Mary- Old Lemyei made no attempt to imitate the mechanical arts of the white man. While the two young women wore the fashions of their white sisters and attended church (they were great church people) in ruffles and collars and cuffs.
Old Lemyei stalked about in her red blanket and basket head dress- an Indian. Strolling Methodists were the most frequent teachers of religion- in those early days. They visited us about once a month. The Indians usually attended meeting. I don’t know how much they understood of the sermons- but they liked the music which was altogether vocal- every body singing at once. Many Ideas are the children of custom- and I who have spent a life time on the outskirts of civilization- still believe that the truest worship went up from little log cabins of the Pioneers, borne on the voices of those untrained singers. That was before we learned to praise with a machine.
The Indians bought leather and made their own harness- in imitation of that used by their neighbors- learned their little ponies to work. Mrs. “Jim” acquired a side saddle and rode like her white sisters- Mrs. Dick tried it but as she always had a “pappoose” to carry- gave up the idea. But “Old Lemyei” rode her Indian saddle with a foot on each side till the end. The Indian saddle was queer looking affair- made of undressed hide stretched over a wooden frame the principal part of which was a forked stick.
Dick came often and consulted with my father in regard to his affairs- and my father wrote letters on his behalf to the different Indian agents- who gave him permits to stay on his little farm. But they did not seem to have power to protect him in the enjoyment of his labor, or to avenge his murder. The Constitution of Oregon at that time did not permit an Indian to become a witness- and the only witnesses of the murder of Dick Johnson and Old Mummy were their women and children- Jim was away from home.
Old man Canady coveted the little farm, more from the improvements than the value of the land- for at that time there were thousands of acres of vacant land in this county- better in location and quality than this- he ordered the Indians to vacate a number of times- and threatened them. My father advised Dick to be very careful to give no plausible cause of complaint and explained to him his defenseless condition but with his letters from the agents and his strict avoidance of offense he hoped to overcome the enmity of his foe. Different acts of aggression were committed against him to provoke some word or deed which could be seized as an excuse. On one occasion a big white brute John Marshal- jumped onto “Old Mummy” at Camp Meeting and beat him cruelly because he was an “Injun” – a circumstance for which the poor old fellow was not entirely to blame- as he had not been allowed any choice in that matter. It was expected that Dick would resent this outrage- and no doubt he wanted to do so, but he realized its purpose, as did “Old Mummy” himself.
It was early one evening that the murder was committed. The twilight was just coming- Old Mummy was the first of the family to be killed, he was out in front of the house cutting some wood to start the fire- and the first shot was fired at him through his back. He fell forward across the stick of wood- and was found there by those who came to bury them. Dick on hearing the shot run out of the cabin and seeing at once what had happened- tore open his shirt and turned his naked bosom towards the murderers, saying “shoot if you wish it!” They shot him at once.
[Jesse Applegate’s accounts state that it was Dick who chopping wood and was shot first and found slumped over the wood, and Mummy second and Jim was shot at and grazed by the bullet which killed his horse. There were eight men in the posse, three of whom hid in the woods and five confronted the Johnsons, the first stated he was Nesmith (James Nesmith, Superintendent of Oregon Indians), which Dick knew was a lie. Charlotte Blake, Jesse Applegate: His Attitude Toward the Oregon Indians, Reed College Bulletin, November 1942]
The women and children fled to a little gully or ravine close by and hid in it- but I think no attempt was made to hurt them. “Jim” arrived home in time to see something of the matter but too far away to interfere in any way. He was unarmed and I suppose afraid. He hid from the party of murderers and as soon as he got a chance made a run for the house. He was shot at but not hurt. Soon as they were gone he gathered the women and children together and took them to the house of some friends R. Smith in Yoncalla valley. A party of settlers gathered at once when the word came to them. Went to the place and held an inquest. My father was one of these. The Indians lived in Rice valley south and west of Yoncalla Valley.
I remember my father telling that at the Inquest Old Lemyei stripped the shirt from “old Mummy’s” back and sitting down beside the body placed one finger on the bullet hole then pointed it straight at the face of an old man present- and said in plain jargon [Chinuk wawa] “Your son did this”- “The old man shook like a person with ague.” My father said- This was old man Allen- John Allen the son lives near Drain at present, the only one of the murderers band that is left. There was an attempt to bring the murderers to justice, but there were no witnesses to the deed who were permitted to give testimony. And the ashes were not cold upon the desolated hearth stone, when one of them, moved into the little cabin. There was a nice little field of grain growing two fat pigs in the pen- wheat and oats in the barn- hay in the little stable- chickens and geese- several cows. The friends of the Indians protected them in removing all movable property and live stock- but “Jim” a cowardly fellow would not attempt to live on the farm- and the family finally went to the Reservation and finally back to the same savage condition from which Dick had made such heroic efforts to rise.
What I have written you is my impression and memories when I get some accounts from the old people that I shall visit as I have time- I will write them to you, just as they are given me- perhaps they will not agree with what I have written in all respects. You will be judge and jury.
Lemyei, Dick and Jim’s wife, were Clickitats- Mummy perhaps the same. Lemyei told my mother that Dicks father was a “skookum Tyee” [Strong chief]. That he was killed in war. That she and her children became the property, or slaves of his conquerors, another chief, or tribe. That she hated her new owners. That Mummy helped her to escape with her children- and she never returned to her people. But once she and Mummy were gone for several months- some where north- when they returned she told my mother that she had been to visit her “Illahee.” [land]
Further records suggest that the family did indeed go to the Grand Ronde Reservation, likely for protection from this type of treatment. Dick’s wife Lemyei died there in the early 20th century.
From the Meacham Collection at the Oregon Historical Society.
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Mr Frank Terrill 1 was born in Southampton, Hampshire, England on 10 August 1884. He was baptised on 10 October that same year in St James', Southampton.
He was the son of James Laten Terrell (b. 1852), a house painter, and Sarah Ann Greenham (b. 1858). His father was native to Southampton and his mother to Weymouth, Dorset; the couple were married in Southampton in 1879 and went on to have thirteen children, losing two in infancy. Frank's known siblings were: Percy James (b. 1879), Thomas James Peter (b. 1881), Alice Laura (b. 1883), Ernest George (b. 1886), Louisa (b. 1888), Walter (b. 1889), Alfred (b. 1891), Bertram (b. 1893), Mabel (b. 1895), Arthur (b. 1897) and Cecil (b. 1900).
Frank first appears on the 1891 census when he and his family were residing at 8 Standford Street in St Mary, Southampton. The 1901 census shows the family living at 2 Trinity Cottages, St Mary, Southampton and Frank, aged 16, is described as a baker's assistant. When he went to sea is not clear but he would be absent from the family home, the same address as in 1901, when the 1911 census was taken. His mother would pass away before the close of the year.
When he signed on to the Titanic, on 6 April 1912, he gave his address as 5 Grove Street, (Southampton). His previous ship had been the Oceanic and as an assistant saloon steward he could expect monthly wages of £3, 15s. Also serving aboard was his younger brother Bertram, as a seaman.
Frank survived the sinking, believed to have escaped in lifeboat 11. His brother Bertram was among the lost.
Frank was not called to testify at either the British or American inquiries into the sinking and returned home and continued to work at sea, serving for the duration of WWI in the merchant service.
He was still working at sea by 1940 when he appeared on a crew list for the Antonia and was still a resident of Southampton and unmarried. What became of him is currently unknown2 but recently a number of his personal items, including Titanic paraphernalia and his WWI Merchant Seaman medals came up for auction with Henry Aldridge & Sons.
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Joseph Heinrich Beuys was a German visual artist. He was a professor in Düsseldorf and is regarded as one of the most influential German artists from the second half of the 20th century. He became best known for his plastic objects, performances and Fluxus concerts.
His early oeuvre consists mainly of drawings and watercolors that, like his early sulputren, are still directly related to reality, although his figures usually have a symbolic meaning. Thousands of drawings and watercolors were created in the 1950s, for which he used unconventional materials such as: tea, stain and fruit juices. Common themes were women, all kinds of animals and mythological subjects.
In 1962, Beuys came into contact with the Fluxus movement and the multidisciplinary performance art of that group. Beuys participated in several Fluxus festivals and is seen as one of the most important and famous members, although he soon went his own way. His work also changed: instead of drawing, he started to do much more performances because he believed that in this way he could let his art play a more important role in society.
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Princess Charlotte of Wales grew up knowing that she would one day be Queen. As the only child of the future George IV of the United Kingdom and Caroline of Brunswick, she would succeed her father. History would not play out that way.
Charlotte was born almost nine months to the day after her parents’ marriage. They separated just three weeks into marriage and by some miracle, Caroline was pregnant. A lonely childhood in the middle of a feuding family followed. For Charlotte, marriage became the price she would have to pay to be free. As her father once said, “Depend upon it, as long as I live you shall never have an establishment unless you marry.” 1 A marriage between Charlotte and the Hereditary Prince of Orange (later King William II of the Netherlands) was being arranged, but he did not leave Charlotte with a good first impression. She was adamant that she would not leave England. “As heiress presumptive of the Crown, it is certain that I could not quit this country, as Queen of England still less. Therefore the P of O must visit his frogs solo.” 2 Then she met Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld.
Prince Leopold was the youngest surviving child of Duke Francis of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld and Countess Augusta of Reuss-Ebersdorf. He had been forced to find his own way in life, as a younger son he was not expected to inherit any position. It was a confusing time for Charlotte. She was being bullied to accept the Hereditary Prince of Orange, and now she had another option. She became determined that she would not marry the Hereditary Prince of Orange. She was advised to be patient.
On 2 May 1816, she finally married her prince in a dress that cost over £10,000 with a white and silver slip, covered with transparent silk net embroidered with silver lamé with shells and flowers. Her sleeves were trimmed with Brussels lace and her six feet long train was held with a diamond clasp. She wore a wreath of diamond leaves and roses, a diamond necklace and diamond earrings and a diamond bracelet. They were off to a happy start of their marriage. Charlotte began calling him “Doucement” as he continually whispered it to her when she became too excited or too loud. The next year, Charlotte was pregnant.
It was estimated that she would give birth around 19 October and by the end of August, preparations were in full swing. The team to assist Charlotte during childbirth consisted of Sir Richard Croft, Dr Baillie, a nurse named Mrs Griffiths and Dr John Sims, who had some experience with instruments and could be called when required. Sir Richard Croft had his own bedroom, and upon arrival, he immediately subjected Charlotte to a strict regime intended to reduce her weight. She was purged and bled regularly. 3
Charlotte quickly grew weaker and weaker. 19 October came and went. On 4 November around 7 o’clock in the evening, Charlotte’s labour began. She promised her nurse, “I will neither brawl nor shriek.”4 At midnight, she began to feel nauseous and around 3.30 Sir Richard Croft decided to send for witnesses, and Dr Baillie was fetched. At 5.15 the first arrival was the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies. The Home Secretary arrived at 5.45. At 6 o’clock, the Archbishop of Canterbury arrived. The last to arrive were the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Lord Chancellor and Dr Baillie. Charlotte’s labour continued ineffectively for the rest of the day. By the evening she was tired and hungry. She had not slept for 36 hours and had not eaten for 24 hours. Sir Richard Croft would not allow her to eat or sleep.
At 10 o’clock in the evening, Dr Baillie was finally allowed to see the patient as the use of forceps may be required. Dr Sims was called for, and he arrived at 2 in the morning. Around 8.15 the witnesses were informed that the Princess was still making gradual progress and that it may not be necessary to use forceps. Another day went by but around 6 o’clock in the evening, meconium, a child’s first faeces, oozed onto the sheets. The baby was clearly in distress. Sometime during the next three hours, Charlotte gave birth to a stillborn boy. The doctors tried to revive him, but it was to no avail. Charlotte had borne it all with “a Brunswick heart”. 5 At 9 o’clock in the evening of 5 November, the witnesses were informed that the Princess had given birth to a stillborn son. The nurse carried in the corpse for inspection.
Meanwhile, Charlotte was still bleeding as her uterus had not fully contracted after the birth. The doctors removed the placenta by hand, and the bleeding appeared to have stopped. She was finally given something to eat and some camphor julep to stimulate her heart. The witnesses were sent home at 11 o’clock after being assured that the Princess was doing well. Leopold wrote a letter to his father and was probably given a sedative to sleep. Just after midnight, Charlotte took a turn for the worst. Her pulse was racing, and she vomited up the little food she had eaten. She clutched her stomach and cried, “Oh, what a pain! It is all here!” 6 By the time Sir Richard Croft was awoken, Charlotte was cold and had difficulty breathing. She was also bleeding again. He decided to warm her up by applying hot water bottles and blankets to her abdomen. The bleeding continued. Dr Baillie decided the Princess needed wine and brandy. 15 minutes later there was a rattle in her throat. Charlotte turned on her face, drew up her knees to her chest and fell silent. There was no pulse. Charlotte was gone.7
Leopold was devasted by her death. “Life seems already to have lost all value to him, and he is convinced that no feeling of happiness can ever again enter his heart.” Charlotte and the baby were wrapped in linen and put into separate coffins. Even in the Netherlands, the Prince of Orange wept and ordered court mourning. 8 England sank into a deep feeling of mourning, their only focus of hope in this economic depression was taken away. In the evening of 18 November, a black carriage drawn by six horses carrying the little Prince, followed by a black hearse drawn by eight horses with Charlotte and a third carriage carrying Leopold set off for Windsor. Charlotte was installed in the Lower Lodge as her son was temporarily laid to rest in the Royal Vault in St George’s chapel. Leopold spent the night by Charlotte’s coffin.
Charlotte lay in state for a day before her coffin was carried to St George’s Chapel in the evening. The service lasted until 11 in the evening and was not attended by her father. Her grave would later be adorned with a marvellous marble statue paid for by the public.
Now the public needed a scapegoat. Sir Richard Croft may have already been contemplating suicide. On 13 February 1818, he slouched in a tall wing chair and put a pistol in his mouth. His blood and brains were caught by the back of the chair, but the bullet went through into the wall behind.
This “triple obstetric tragedy”, the death of child, mother, and practitioner, would eventually lead to physicians favouring quicker intervention during a protracted labour. For Charlotte, it would be too little too late.
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 51
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 76
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 188
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 190
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 190 – 192
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 193
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 194
- James Chambers (2007) Charlotte and Leopold p. 198 – 199
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weeks Boris decided it was time to give up on her, or it may have been
his wives, jealous of their own children’s well-being. Jamilla was a lost
cause. She was draining the family’s savings. If she died, any money
spent on her would have been thrown away for nothing. The fact that it
was my money made little difference. I, too, might weary of medical bills
that never ended. And then a son or a newborn might fall ill and die be-
cause my purse—or my compassion—had become exhausted. Still, there
was shame in this, the disgrace of abandoning kin. Boris had drunk an
impressive amount of alcohol before he flapped through my doorway to
say, “The family doesn’t think you should keep paying.”
He had expected my reaction and had prepared his defense: “All the
doctors have just given up.”
“I want to see her.”
We made our way to the hospital on foot. The afternoon sun scolded.
Why were we out at this time when sensible people were sheltering in-
side? When even animals sought refuge—the ducks cooling off in pud-
dles of urine and bathwater, the pigs wallowing in the runoff from public
Boris complained. Why did I want to go to the hospital? What did I
think I would see? Jamilla was just lying there, every day looking worse.
But the hospital staff had not given up on her; they were still giving
her medicine. I knew this because I was paying for it.
Yes, Boris acknowledged, they were giving Jamilla too many medicines. And nothing was working.
It was my money, I reminded him. Mine to spend or not. Not his to
He closed his mouth in a hard line.
The British had built Wa Hospital in the 1930s and ’40s. It was an airy,
shady place, a collection of one-story wards that branched off from either side of a central loggia. Each ward was flanked by deep verandas
that were sheltered in turn by enormous neem trees.
The entrance to Jamilla’s ward reeked of resignation and disinfectant.
Before pushing open the screen door I took a deep breath and stiffened
my back. Hospital wards were desperate places. Patients lay inert on
high metal beds as if already on their biers. Family members camped
beneath the beds to cook, bathe, and comfort. As Boris and I walked
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On June 8, 1931, the bruised body of beautiful socialite Starr Faithfull was found on a deserted Long Island beach. She wore a silk Lord & Taylor dress and nothing underneath. An autopsy found her liver filled with barbiturates.
Investigators found a diary that revealed the wanton details of her short, unhappy flapper life. It included references to sexual liaisons with 19 men, including AJP:
Spent night AJP Providence. Oh, Horror, Horror, Horror!!!
‘AJP’ was a powerful politician named Andrew J. Peters, her mother’s cousin by marriage. As mayor of Boston he had sexually abused 11-year-old Starr Faithfull. And then he paid off her family to keep quiet.
Starr was born Jan. 26, 1906 in Evanston, Ill., to parents who came from old New England families. Her father was Frank Wyman, a Beacon Hill ne’er-do-well working for an investment brokerage firm in Chicago.
Her mother, Helen Pierce, came from the impoverished branch of a wealthy family. Helen’s father and, later, her husbands could not earn or keep money. As a child Helen was sent to live with her grandmother at the old Alanson Tucker mansion in Derry, N.H., a town founded by one of her ancestors, the Rev. James MacGregor.
Starr’s parents moved to New Jersey after her birth. She grew into a bright, outgoing child. At 11, her rich cousins and aunts paid for her to attend an exclusive boarding school, Rogers Hall Academy in Lowell, Mass.
One of her Massachusetts relatives, 45-year-old Andrew J. Peters, took an interest in his young cousin. Peters had served as a congressman and Woodrow Wilson’s assistant Treasury secretary before his election as mayor of Boston. Her mother assumed he had an avuncular interest in Starr.
For years afterward, Peters took Starr Faithfull on long automobile trips and stayed with her in hotels. She spent summers with him and his family on North Haven island in Maine.
When Starr reached her teens, she went through periods of odd behavior her family didn’t understand. She grew sullen and withdrawn, dressing in boys’ clothes to hide her femininity. Two months before graduation, she dropped out of Rogers Hall to live a life of Jazz Age depravity.
During that time her mother divorced her father. In 1925 Helen married Stanley Faithfull, her neighbor in Brookline, Mass. An inventor with social pretensions, he hadn’t made a dime in years. His first wife, who died, had been Leverett Saltonstall’s governess.
Starr and her younger sister Tucker took the Faithfull name and moved to Greenwich Village with Stanley and their mother. They lived a few doors down from New York City Mayor Jimmy Walker.
The young woman now known as Starr Faithfull continued her erratic behavior. Sometimes she seemed normal: happy, outgoing and well-dressed in stylish clothes. But at 19 she spent nine days in a Boston mental hospital. She was committed to Bellevue in New York after she was found drunk, naked and beaten up in a hotel room.
On July 1, 1926, Starr Faithfull took a nine-month Mediterranean cruise, the first of seven or eight ocean voyages. She then took three long visits to London. Where the money came from was a question. Her stepfather had no job, and her mother's inheritance was a heavily mortgaged house in Centerville on Cape Cod.
Starr Faithfull liked to show up at bon voyage parties on Cunard steamships and stay on board when the ship left, trysting with ships’ officers. She abused alcohol, barbiturates and inhalants like those Peters had first given her. She seemed happy during her trips to London, but on one visit she took an overdose of sleeping drugs and nearly died.
In 1924, Starr Faithfull told her mother what Peters was doing to her. At some point Peters began paying Helen and Stanley Faithfull to keep quiet.
Peters, no longer mayor, sought the Democratic nomination for governor, but didn’t get it. In 1928 he seconded the nomination of Al Smith for president.
On June 8, 1931, a beachcomber found the body of Starr Faithfull in a pile of seaweed on a deserted Long Island beach. She wore an expensive summer dress from Lord & Taylor with nothing underneath. Her nails were bright red, her body bruised and her liver full of barbiturates.
She was identified as Starr Faithfull several days later. Authorities then retraced her last movements. On May 29, 1931, she had been put off the Franconia on a New York dock, drunk and screaming, “Kill me! Kill me!” On June 5, she left the family’s apartment at 9:30 a.m. with $3 in her pocket. She apparently sneaked aboard the Mauretania, bound for the Bahamas.
The autopsy revealed she had drowned, but her bruises suggested she had had help.
Dr. Otto Schulz, who performed the autopsy, said as much, according to the Brooklyn Standard Union:
…his examination of the body led him to believe that Starr had been drowned in shallow water, and that she had been roughly handled. It is his assumption that two men held her head under water until she was dead.
A police officer found her diary – her ‘Mem Book’ -- which detailed a decade of her sexual assignations with 19 men, including ‘AJP.’ The tabloids picked up the less steamy entries and reporters began to associate AJP with Peters. Rumors flew, and the former mayor had to issue a statement denying he’d had improper relations with Starr Faithfull.
Murder or Suicide?
Her stepfather insisted someone murdered her to keep her quiet. He also accused the district attorney of dragging his feet for political gain. Stanley Faithfull produced a check for $20,000 from Peters and a copy of the 1927 agreement to hold Peters harmless.
Then the New York Daily News broke the story that Faithfull had gone to Peters a few days before his stepdaughter’s death to ask for more money.
Her body was about to be cremated when the district attorney ordered a halt. They found another diary, and authorities said someone who wanted her silenced had pushed her overboard from the Mauretania.
Several days later, they changed their minds. A Cunard ship’s surgeon, Dr. George Jameson Carr, returned from England and revealed he had received several letters from Starr. She fell for him after he pumped her stomach the morning after a night of heavy drinking. He hadn’t returned her affections. In one letter, she wrote she wanted,
...to end my worthless, disorderly bore of an existence before I ruin anyone else's life as well. I certainly have made a sordid futureless mess of it all. I take dope to forget and drink to try and like people, but it is of no use. Everything is an anti-climax to me now. I want oblivion.
Officials closed the investigation, but Stanley Faithfull continued to claim Starr Faithfull was murdered.
Late in the year, an inquest into the cause of her death was held. It reached no conclusion.
Peters reportedly had a nervous breakdown after she died. Two of his sons, John and Alanson, died of polio in 1932. Another son, Bradford, died in a car crash in 1933. Andrew Peters died of pneumonia on June 26, 1938.
The 1935 John O’Hara novel Butterfield 8 famously retold the story of Starr Faithful, as did the Academy Award winning film starring Elizabeth Taylor.
This story was updated in 2019.
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Assistant engineering professor Paola Passalacqua is one of seven UT faculty members selected to receive a 2017 Regents’ Outstanding Teaching Award, the highest teaching honor granted by the UT System Board of Regents.
The award, which comes with a $25,000 stipend, is meant to honor faculty members of UT System institutions who go above and beyond in their work. Passalacqua currently teaches undergraduate courses in hydraulics and hydrology. She has taught at UT since 2011 and said her main priority as an educator is to foster an environment in which students feel comfortable and ready to learn.
“I believe learning should be an enjoyable experience,” Passalacqua said. “My goal as a teacher is to establish a classroom experience which is engaging, welcoming, fun and structured, yet informal.”
The candidate selection process requires several evaluations by students and peer faculty members as well as a detailed teaching portfolio compiled by the nominee.
Engineering professor Desmond Lawler spoke on Passalacqua’s behalf during the selection process. Lawler said Passalacqua’s spectacular teaching as well as her tremendous impact made her the perfect candidate for the award.
“Paola has raised the bar considerably with her excellence in the classroom,” Lawler said. “Rarely, if ever, have I seen such a dramatic impact of a faculty member on students through undergraduate teaching as I see in Paola.”
Engineering graduate student Kyle Wright said Passalacqua inspired him to pursue his career in engineering even further by giving him the opportunity to continue his work beyond the classroom.
“Taking (Passalacqua’s) class as an undergrad shaped the rest of my life,” Wright said. “At the end of the semester, she invited me to participate in her research, which was the motivating factor in my decision to go to grad school. I don’t know that I would be doing anything that I’m doing now had it not been for that push from her.”
Passalacqua said she takes pride in encouraging students to pursue their passions.
“I love teaching because it allows me to share my passion for my field with students,” Passalacqua said. “Whatever they decide to work on in their future, I think the passion and enthusiasm we can communicate to our students through teaching goes beyond the actual course knowledge. It shows that people can pursue their dreams and follow their passions.
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Introduction and Early Life:
Sam Cooke was an American singer-songwriter and entrepreneur. Widely regarded as one of the greatest and most influential soul singers in history, he invented soul music and inspired thousands of singers and musicians over the years. His powerful yet smooth vocals had an incredibly effortless delivery that could never be surpassed.
Born “Samuel Cook” in Clarksdale, Mississippi in 1931, his father was a Baptist minister. His family relocated to Chicago in 1933. He attended Doolittle Elementary School and later moved on to Wendell Phillips Academy High School. Cooke and his siblings developed an early interest in music, both as listeners and performers.
Career and Musical Achievements:
Sam Cooke became the lead singer of the gospel group, Highway QC’s, at the tender age of 14. He joined the Soul Stirrers in 1950 and recorded various gospel songs. Cooke is credited with bringing gospel music to the attention of a younger crowd of listeners. His charming looks made him a sensation and brought him a massive audience of fans, comprising of mostly young girls.
Cooke later experimented with rock ‘n’ roll, soul, and rhythm and blues genres and eventually became one of the earliest soul performers to reach out to a mainstream audience. He is also credited with pushing the boundaries of race in popular music. Cooke broke through to the pop charts after releasing a series of chart-topping singles such as “Lovable”, “Chain Gang”, “Sad Mood”, “Cupid”, “Bring it on Home to Me”, “Another Saturday Night” and “Twistin’ the Night Away”. A prolific songwriter, he also made several appearances on television.
Cooke was fatally shot dead in 1964 by Bertha Franklin, the manager of a Los Angeles motel, at the peak of his career. Only 33 years old at the time of his death, his funeral was attended by thousands of fans from all over the country. His body was buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale, California.
Awards and Accolades:
In recognition of his extraordinary contributions to music and art, Sam Cooke has been inducted into multiple halls of fame, including the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1986, the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 1987, and the Rhythm & Blues Music Hall of Fame in 2013. He was honored with the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1999.
Sam Cooke was married twice. In 1953, he married his girlfriend and singer-dancer Dolores Mohawk. The marriage ended in a divorce in 1957. Cooke married his high school sweetheart, Barbara Campbell, in 1959 and they had three children: Linda, Tracy and Vincent.
Download Sam Cooke Songs:
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Creative Writing Prompts for AdultsAdult Creative Writing Prompts
Seventy creative writing instructions
You can use the following prompts to write any kind of music, be it general diction, enigma, thriller, phantasy, history, etc. They played a tune she had previously listened to, but she couldn't recall where. When I woke up with a thump in my arms, but when I saw it, I saw nothing - it was gone.
This information refers to fiction or young adult writings. She had been a student for the last three lessons and she wanted to do something when she noticed a rattling noise in the canteen. She was combing her wavy, sinuous coat, and as she thoughtfully reflected in the reflection glass, she asked herself what to do.
It' s been two years since she last saw him, but Annie thought, with a funny gut feel that he was still looking as good as ever. Had someone asked Jane what would have happened that particular date, she probably would not have suspected that it was the devastation of her whole life by odd psychic powers, and that she was now on her way to war.
An odd being, half man, half horseman, galloping up the slope and throwing his skull back, radiating a throaty cry that seemed to rock the ground of the forrest. A very common man, too common, with his uniform and perfect bristles, with streamlined mustache and regular size; in fact, he would have gone imperceptible if it hadn't been for his bright green color.
Its name was Vorell Bodog, and it was one of a breed of creature you've never known before. There' s a far-off country, not unlike ours, populated by odd beings that no one but one has ever found; but if you saw it, you would be lucky to be living here.
and that' s how I knew. He was a good-looking, gloomy man with sculpted cheek bones and a broody look - that was John. She was often referred to as the beauty of the city, with its long black locks and cream-coloured skin, but when she contemplated herself in the reflection glass, she could only see the shortcomings - the stubbly nostrils, the pudgy cheek and the big snout.
When these first few words don't do it for you, these prompts can help you create a story: He aims to find his mum and dad; his fear is the opposite gender and his fear. He aims to make his dad a piano player, and his anxieties are failures and girl.
She' s socially and bravely, but she hated it. She aims to be good enough in class or she will be under house arrest and her worries will be penalised by her family and her family. She aims to keep her sibling from a mystical threat, and her anxiety is that she is not good enough.
She aims to unravel a riddle at boarding college while her marks fall by the wayside. Are you going to use these prompts?
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The pedestrians and pedestrians began to take a long way off, and they thought that there would be a new bridge in the near future.
they found that the man who had made up his mind to demolish the bridge had no intention of building a new bridge here.
The river used to be a nocturnal song that was ripe for the heart. It played the day of going to the end of my life when I was an adult. When faced with the monotonous concrete and glass towers of the paths in the city, the music becomes more intense, reaching deep into the heart and awakening memories of the past.
But where is the river now?
With the rapid pace of modern times, the river has become mottled in the corner between the bright and the dark, and nobody cares. Carried home heavy and vast, experiencing the reality of wandering around, suddenly found a long stream of water, flowers on both sides, these have become the epitome of the times.
Standing by the river, the river is silent. When I think of the ten mile long dyke, I was alone. The lonely figure is as sad as late autumn.
In my memory, the River belongs to our generation. Today, it quietly hides. Or drowned by the sea of time, or frozen by years. No one of us can find it.
Smoke cleared, how to swim? I tried my best, screaming loudly, hoping that the distant river could hear the cry.
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Long ago the Gods were born from the light of the cosmos and reveled in creation. They never took dominion over any of their creations but simply moved on to create something new when the current was completed. One became discontent with simply creating and sought recognition for his deeds. His name was Bala.
After the creation of man, Bala came to earth as a man in order to rule as a god amongst men, but in taking the form of man his body was deformed into a man-bat. Bala used his power, and those few gods he could persuade to join him, to enslave the human race becoming known as the Dread Lord.
Upon learning of Bala's deeds, the Pure Gods tried to persuade and eventually attacked him, but were no match for his overwhelming power gained from the worship of men. Those men that eventually rebelled against Bala and aligned themselves with the Pure Gods became known as the Durapasya, the Warriors of Light.
Upon realizing that they were individually no match for Bala's power they all sacrificed a part of their divine power and used it to create a single divine entity, and named her Devi. Though they did not grant this being an immortal form, for they were frightened of being betrayed again as with Bala. Instead they gave the Durapasya the power to infuse the Devi entity into a human host in order to create an avatar of Divine power. (paraphrased from Virgin Comics issue #0)
This is the story of Tara Mehta, and her voyage from a life as a social worker to becoming the Devi entity. However, she is a new kind of Devi, one that must fight inner battles as well as those against Lord Bala without.
Created by Shekhar Kapur as one of the Shakti titles.
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|About the Chronology|
|Add a Chronology Entry|
Base Ball Comes to Massachusetts Youth
|Tags||Equipment, Holidays, Pre-modern RulesEquipment, Holidays, Pre-modern Rules|
|City/State/Country:||Duxbury?, MA, United States|
|Immediacy of Report||Retrospective|
|Age of Players||YouthYouth|
"I well remember when baseball made its first appearance in our quiet little community."
Charles Sinnott writes that in early childhood "the little boys' ball game was either "Three-old-cats" or "Four-Old Cats," and describes both variations.
He recalls that "The game that bore the closest resemblance to our modern baseball was "roundstakes" or "rounders." In some communities it was know (sic) as "townball." He recalls this game as marked by the plugging of runners, use a soft ball, featuring stakes or stones as bases, compulsory running -- including for missed third strikes, an absence of foul territory, an absence of called strikes or balls, and teams of seven to ten players on a team. "It was originally an old English game much played in the colonies."
In describing the new game of base ball, he recalls adjustment to the harder ball ("it seemed to us like playing with a croquet ball"), gloves only worn by the catchers, an umpire who was hit in the eye by a foul tip, fingers "knocked out of joint" by the hard ball, a bloody nose from a missed fly ball, and "that we unanimously pronounced [base ball] superior to our fine old game of roundstakes."
SEE FULL CHAPTER TEXT AT "SUPPLEMENTAL TEXT," BELOW --
Chapter 13, "The Coming of Baseball," in When Grandpa Was a Boy: Stories of My Boyhood As Told to My Children and Grandchildren, by Charles Peter Sinnott (four types pages; presumed unpublished; from the Maxwell Library Archives, Bridgewater State College, Bridgewater MA).
Protoball does not know of other use of "roundstakes" as a predecessor game in the US.
Duxbury MA (1870 population about 2300) is about 35 miles south of Boston.
Sinnott died in 1943. On the date of his hundredth birthday, in August 1959, his family distributed 100 copies of his boyhood memoirs.Edit with form to add a comment
Is the date "1870c" reasonable for the item? Sinnott was born in 1859, and writes that he was in his teens when he first saw base ball. His old-cat games would have come in the mid-1860s.
It is presumed that Sinnott stayed in or near his birthplace, Duxbury MA, for the events he writes of. Is that reasonable?
Edit with form to add a query
|Submitted by||Tom Shieber|
|Submission Note||Email of 2/23/2018|
|Has Supplemental Text||Yes|
Charles P. Sinnott, When Grandpa Was a Boy: Stories of My Boyhood as Told to My Children and Grandchildren; Chapter 13, pp.73 - 76, "The Coming of Baseball."
I well remember when baseball made its first appearance in our quiet little community. It was long before there was any National League or any American Association. I was a boy well into me teens before I ever saw the game.
All through my early childhood the little boys' ball game was either "Three-old-cats" or "Four-old-cats." In three-old-cats there were at least three players, a pitcher, catcher and batter. No fielders were necessary though several might play if desired. A batter might strike out or fly out. There was no running of bases, for there were none to run.
In four-old-cats there were two batters and two catchers. The two batters stood thirty or forty feet apart facing each other. Each batter had a catcher behind him. First one catcher and then the other served as pitcher to the opposite pair. If one batter hit the ball both had to change places and might be put out if hit by the thrown ball while making he change. Batters might also strike out or fly out. Several fielders might play if desired. The only base running was the change of positions by the batters. When a striker was put out his place was taken by his catcher or by one of the fielders. This did not much look like baseball but we did have to pitch, catch, bat, and field. These two games were popular on the school grounds.
The game that bore the closest resemblance to our modern baseball was "roundstakes" or "rounders." In some communities it was know (sic) as "townball." This game of roundstakes was often played on village commons, or muster fields, on holidays or other public occasions. Among the larger boys it was the popular game at school.
It was this game that was so modified as to become later the baseball of today. It was originally an old English game much played in the colonies. A soft ball was always used. It was made of yarns or other soft materials and covered with leather or a network to prevent unwinding. Instead of throwing this ball to a baseman it was thrown at the baserunner himself. If a hit was made by a thrower, the runner was out. The bases were usually posts or stakes, but sometimes stones. These had to be circled or touched by the runner. There were no fair or foul balls. The batter ran on any hit, however light, or on his third strike. There were no called balls or called strikes. The batter could strike out, fly out or be hit be a thrown ball when between bases. The game was played between teams or sides of equal numbers, usually from seven to ten. The play was generally without an umpire.
When the new game of baseball made its appearance in our neighborhood, the boys at once organized a club. Boys who could play a good game of roundstakes usually made good baseball players. It was not easy, however, to learn the use of such a hard ball as the new game required. It seemed to us like playing with a croquet ball and we had our share of accidents before we became accustomed to it. Only the catcher wore a glove and this was not the padded affair of the present time. He wore no mask or pad and at the vert beginning even the glove was wanting. This general absence of gloves for the players made our accidents more numerous than they should have been.
A kindly old gentleman, who was fond of sports but too old to play, offered to be our "Empire." We accepted his rule, for he knew the game much better than any of us. It took us some time to accept graciously his call of strikes when we had not struck at all but that was simply one of the wrinkles of the new game that we had to learn. We often questioned the closeness of his decisions but we had to learn that his judgment was final.
I recall one afternoon when it seemed to us he had been more autocratic than usual behind the bat, that a foul tip escaped the catcher and took our old friend in the eye, for he too was without a protecting mask. He fell instantly. It was the quickest fall of an "empire" I has ever known. But if the fall were sudden the comeback seemed equally quick. He sprang to his feet again and at once resumed his place as close to the batter as ever and this time, more truly than before, with an eye single to the work in hand for his injured eye was seen tightly closed as a result of the accident. This grit we all admired and old scores were soon forgotten and new decisions were more kindly received.
For days the "empire" moved among us with one eye in deep mourning in spite of the great piece of raw beef we had bound upon it at the time of the accident. He seemed undisturbed by his personal appearance for he regarded the crippled eye as a battle scar and carried it as a proud distinction.
Most of the players also suffered to some extent in learning to handle this "dead ball" as it was then called, although it seemed very much alive to us. I had two fingers knocked out of joint and on one occasion I lost a thumb nail while trying to handle a swift grounder.
Mills Ferris, one of our school boys, made application for membership in he club. Mills had an unusually large nose which was always getting in the way. He rarely ever engaged in any simple sport such as wrestling, tag or blind-man's-bluff without in some way, getting his nose mixed up in the game and he would almost invariably come out of the sport with tears in his eyes as a result of an injured nose.
In his first game of baseball he undertook to catch a high fly and got it in the nose instead of his hands. Nevertheless he appeared the very next day with only smiles on his face which the day before had been deluged with blood and tears. Mills remained one of our best players, but always with frequent nasal entanglements.
Through many painful experiences like these our club finally became reasonably proficient in this new game, that we unanimously pronounced superior to our fine old game of roundstakes. I do not recall that our team played unusually brilliant games but in our contests with clubs of our immediate vicinity we managed to win a fair share of games. We loved victory and endured defeat, but in victory or defeat the new game remained popular
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Sydney Fuller, 8th Suffolk, noted in his diary on 21st May 1917; "We passed through the ruins of Boyelles, and halted on the open ground near the Arras-Albert railway. Here we made bivouacs, with our groundsheets. the men who had been on "detail" were there - as brown as berries. they were a strange contrast to the men who had been in the line, who were sallow and tired-looking. rainy night. We got a bit wet, as our "waterproof" roof leaked in places.
Sydney and his chums would have been issued back in England, though most probably worn out and replaced since, a single 6ft by 2ft waterproof panel of rubberised canvas. You could choose to sleep on it, to keep the damp from coming up from below, or sleep with it over you, to keep the rain from coming down on you. Along all four sides, it had a series of eyelets, which could be joined to a fellow chums groundsheet with a spare bootlace. With the aid of a piece of twine, it could be strung between two trees, or with two stout twigs, it could be guyed into a simple tent. Ineffective, crude and impracticable, the Army took much time to realise that something better was desperately needed and in mid-1917, a version of the groundsheet was modified to include an extra panel and a collar so that it could be properly worn as a waterproof cape. Buttons and buttonholes replaced eyelets to that a better seal could be made with a chums cape when making a rain tight shelter.
The hot conditions that had erupted on the Somme earlier that month led to men acquiring the most unusual suntans. In days without any protection from the sun's glare, the standard "Somme-tan" as it was known was to have bronzed arms up to about three inches above the elbow - where the shirt sleeves were to be ruled to in shirtsleeve order. Sometimes it went a little higher when the sleeves were hacked off the shirt, but both were accompanied by a tanned 'v' shape under the collar where the bib-front of the regulation grey flannel shirt was rolled in.
It was quite unique to the Western Front with its scorching hot days and damp, drizzly nights. Mens faces to took on a bronzed appearance, so much so that on occasion's chums joked to one another "Hello Johnny Turk!"
Welcome to our online 'blog' charting the history of the many Battalions of the Suffolk Regiment and the part they played in the Great War.
Starting back in March 2014, we have recorded the events of 100 years ago on the centenary of their happening.
Keep checking back to see how the Great War is progressing for the men of the Suffolk Regiment.
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The Battle of Arras had the highest concentration of Scottish troops fighting in a single battle during World War One, with 18,000 of them sadly losing their lives. Descendants of two of those who fought at Arras have come forward to share their stories.
The first is from Margery MacKay, who has shared the final letter her family received from her uncle, Private Donald Gunn Mackay, which he penned 17 days before he was sadly killed during the Battle of Arras on the 28th April 1917.
Before joining the 15th Battalion of the Royal Scots at age 29, Mr MacKay worked at George Harrison Textiles and resided at 40 Buccleuch Street, Edinburgh, with his father, mother, five brothers and sister, who were all devastated by his death. Ever since, the family have cherished the last letter he sent to them.
Here, in an excerpt from the letter, Donald talks about sharing food parcels from home with comrades and family news.
“Many thanks for your letter of the 8th of April, also for the bundles of papers and for the parcel, all of which I received after coming out of the advance. The parcel was a treat and we fairly tore them open. We were all so hungry and I had one from Selkirk two days later.
… I am glad that John has been kept on even though he is at Gretna. I am glad that aunt Lizzie is a little better. I hope she will improve. I had letters from Aunt Joan and Willie. I saw Archie McMillan in the trenches and he was asking for you.“
Margery finds his letter very moving, as it shows that all they longed for was news of home and the dream that one day they would be reunited with friends and loved ones.
Alasdair Hutton OBE has also told of his grandfather, Lieutenant George Hutton, who served in the 9th Battalion of the Royal Scots. Before enlisting, 38-year-old George Hutton was a butcher and spice merchant who left behind a successful family business in the Glasgow Gallowgate to join the war effort.
On 9th April 1917, the very first day of battle, Lt Hutton suffered a grave injury when he was wounded by shrapnel in his upper back. Fortuitously, he survived the offensive and was repatriated back to the UK, where he made a good recovery. According to Alasdair, the horrors of that day were never spoken about by his grandfather:
“I recall seeing a wound in my grandfather’s right shoulder when I was young, but he never spoke about his war to myself or the family. I was only young then so that is not surprising.”
Following his recuperation, Lt Hutton went on to operate the Officers’ Mess of the Third Battalion at Glencorse Barracks in Penicuik, where fellow officers awarded him the ‘Order of the Boiled Egg’. It serves as a great testament to Lt Hutton’s character, as well as the humour and comradeship that existed among the troops – a tremendous piece of legacy for his descendants to preserve.
Alasdair has explained that there is still a lot that he does not know about his grandfather’s time in service. He plans to deepen his knowledge about him and his regiment’s involvement in Arras through his war service record, which is held at The Royal Scots Regimental Museum in Edinburgh.
Alasdair is the narrator of the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo and he will also narrate the Beating Retreat taking place in the Place des Heros in Arras on Sunday 9 April to commemorate the battle.
You can learn more about WW100 Scotland’s Battle of Arras commemorations here.
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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/Washington, George
WASHINGTON, GEORGE, an American statesman, military officer, and 1st President of the United States; born of English stock in Westmoreland co., Va., Feb. 22, 1732. His father died early, but his mother, Mary Ball, gave him an admirable training, which was continued later by his elder half-brother, Augustine. Of actual schooling he had little, save such as sufficed to make him a practical surveyor. He spelt badly, but was able to do accounts well; he wrote poor verses, but was careful to copy out 50 odd “rules of behavior”; he had as little of the true literary afflatus as any youth of genius could well have, but he tamed the wildest horses and dominated the most unruly of his schoolmates. In short, he was a young Virginian Cyrus, riding well, shooting well, and telling the truth. But if it was fortunate for his country that he escaped becoming an epic poet, it was equally fortunate that he gave up the idea of entering the English service as a midshipman on account of a dutiful regard for his mother's wishes. One can contemplate with pleasure the picture he presents as a 16-year-old explorer, surveying the lands of Lord Fairfax amid the wild passes of the Alleghenies. The youth who so bravely fronted all “moving accidents by flood and field,” who gained a reputation for sobriety and prudence both with the savage tribes he was forced to encounter and the official circles of Williamsburg, was doing precisely the work best fitted to prepare him for the higher labors of his manhood.
He rose rapidly, and in three years was made adjutant-general of militia in one of the border districts. But he was soon called away to accompany his invalid brother Lawrence on a voyage to the West Indies. This was destined to be his only experience of foreign travel; but he was by nature little capable of being tainted by provincialism. Returning to Virginia, he found his military charge renewed, and was given speedy opportunity for active service. He was dispatched by Governor Dinwiddie in the fall of 1753 on a mission to the French invaders of the Ohio region — a dangerous task, which others had declined, but which he accepted with alacrity. He braved the rigor of the season and the peril of the long and almost unknown way, and in about three months' time was back at Williamsburg with the French answer. Neither savages nor treacherous guides, nor ice-gorged rivers could prevail against so bold a heart or so keen an eye; nor could flattery at home undermine a nature so well balanced, a modesty so innate and pure. He was at once put in command of the temporary militia of the colony, and was subsequently made lieutenant-colonel of the augmented forces. His superior officer soon died, however, and he was left in full charge of the expedition to the Ohio. He acquitted himself admirably in the fight at Great Meadows, but was forced to capitulate shortly after, the result being honorable, and on the whole fortunate, considering the rashness of the enterprise.
The death of the French officer Jumonville in a preliminary skirmish led to a curious sort of reputation for the young colonial soldier, the future liberator of America being denounced as an assassin because of an absurd mistake by which the leader of a scouting party was converted into the bearer of a flag of truce. But while French censure could not hurt Washington, Dinwiddie's conduct with regard to the reorganization of the Virginian troops did; and after a manly remonstrance he resigned, showing in this matter, as well as in his subsequent refusal to submit to be outranked by officers holding royal commissions, that perfectly poised dignity of character for which he is probably more noted than any other great man in history. When Braddock, however, offered Washington a post as aide-de-camp which he could accept with honor, he was glad enough to march against the foe and to tender advice which no man in America was better fitted to give and no commanding officer less likely to profit by. The prudence of Washington as a counselor, as well as his intrepid conduct at Fort Duquesne, taught all discerning observers that he had in him the stuff of which not only good border soldiers but also great generals are made; and one of these observers, the eloquent preacher, Samuel Davies, was wise enough to predict that “that heroic youth, Colonel Washington,” would one day render his country some distinguished service. For a time his services were chiefly directed toward securing the safety of the Virginia borders, and he found leisure to make a visit to Boston on military business, as well as to fall in love.
His marriage with the widow, Martha Custis, took place in January, 1759, and those who are wont to accuse Washington of lacking sentiment may be advised to study carefully all that can be learned about the romantic affair. Military life seemed over for him, and he settled down as a gentleman farmer, serving his colony in the House of Burgesses, where he was formally thanked for his exertions in the public behalf, but was too modest to be able to reply; looking after the interests of his parishes in the local vestries, dispensing hospitality in true Virginian style, and superintending his estates in a thrifty fashion peculiarly his own; and last, but not least, keeping up his spirits and his health by frequent indulgence in the manly sport of fox hunting. At the age of 30 he was plainly the greatest soldier in the colonies, the man to whom all eyes would turn should any public danger impend; and if no danger came, he would nevertheless be one of the wealthiest and most prominent citizens of the “Ancient Dominion.” He had thus little to wish for except children. But if children did not come, his wife was destined to be filled with a higher love and more absorbing cares. He was to be the Father of his Country, From his seat at Mount Vernon, which he had been progressive enough to link with the rest of the world by a private wharf, he watched the clouds gathering in the political heavens, and he showed a statesmanly prescience in being almost the first American to perceive that a complete break with England was necessary to the peace and prosperity of the colonies.
He was no revolutionist, but neither was he afraid to trust the conclusions of his own mind; and if he was no orator, he was at least not the man to mince his words. Cæsar himself did not more thoroughly see the necessity for one-man rule at Rome than Washington saw the necessity for public independence in America. He declared at Williamsburg, in 1774, that he was ready to raise 1,000 men, support them at his own expense, and march them to the relief of Boston. A few weeks later he rode on horseback with Patrick Henry and Edmund Pendleton to attend the 1st Continental Congress in Philadelphia. He was, by the confession of Henry himself, easily the greatest man among the delegates. The 2d Congress saw him again in attendance, and ready to give his life for his country. But though he could brave death he could not face praise, and he left the chamber when John Adams nominated him to Commander-in-Chief of the Continental forces. The next day he accepted the post, while protesting his own unworthiness and refusing to accept any pay beyond a reimbursement of his expenses. No Roman of old ever came forward to save the State with purer intentions or with more favorable auguries of success. Though to weaker spirits the prospect was appalling, strong men drew happy omens, not from the flight of birds and the entrails of victims, but from the justice of the common cause and the character of Washington. Nor did they mistake, nor do we now mistake, when we assign the success of the Revolution to these two causes.
As one traces the weary years that elapsed between his taking command (July 3, 1775) and his laying down his office (Dec. 23, 1783), it is perceived clearly that under Providence the issue of the mighty struggle depended on him. Had he lost heart at the supineness and bickerings of the people at large, had he grown weary of correcting the blunders of incapable subordinates, had he disdained to control a fatuous Congress, or to put down a wretched cabal among his own officers, had his nerves given way at the sight of the sufferings at Valley Forge, had his spirit wavered at frequent defeat — in short, had he been anything but the noble patriot and great commander that he was, the course of history might have been changed, and the United States might have died in its birth and forever, or come into existence again years later and under far different auspices. But he was Washington — the noblest figure that any people has ever set in the forefront of its life and history. While he lived and fought on with his ragged troops, the Union was maintained in spite of all State squabbles; while he was in command, any alliance made with France must be one which America could accept with dignity; while his brave heart beat, repulse meant only fresh resolve, and hardship and suffering only more splendid rewards of triumph.
It is idle to deny that he was the soul of the Revolution, and it is equally idle to ask whether or not he was a great general. Whether he was, technically speaking, a master of the art of war, students of that art may decide; though it is as well to remind them that Frederick the Great praised his Trenton campaign as a masterpiece of strategy. But that he is worthy to rank with the supreme commanders of history, no man of sound judgment and capable imagination will deny. Not that he always won his battles, or won them in the most approved way; not that he flamed like a comet in the heavens, threatening desolation to the nations; not that he moved across the world's stage like a Karl or a Timor. His career does not enthrall us as does that of Alexander; it has not such tragic elements of inspiration and pathos as has that of Hannibal; it does not leave us breathless with admiration as does that of Cæsar; it does not exalt us and horrify us as does that of Napoleon. But it does give us that supreme sense of satisfaction which flows from the perception of harmony and proportion; it does thrill us with the intense and elevated joy which must ever follow the spectacle of great powers consciously working for the successful accomplishment of divine justice; it does fascinate us by means of those elements of sublimity and pathos that are never absent from the contemplation of a lonely but serene elevation above the common tide of humanity.
Nor are concrete evidences of his greatness as a soldier lacking. We remember the Berserker rashness and daring displayed at Fort Duquesne and at Monmouth, and we recall William the Conqueror at Hastings. We watch him at the crossing of the Delaware and at Valley Forge, and we recall Hannibal on the Alps. We observe him turning a ragged body of suspicious New Englanders into trained soldiers ready to die for him, and we recall no less a man than Cæsar. We see him put down the Conway cabal and reduce Congress to his bidding, and we recall Marlborough. We see him quell Lee with his fiery eye and biting words, and we somehow recall Cromwell. We watch him in his tent, brooding over the treason of Arnold and weighing the claims of mercy and justice in the case of André, and we recall only his own imperial self. Yes, Washington the general is a supremely great man, and those who deny the fact do so because they have not been able to survey his career from the proper point of view. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that to the trained student his greatness is even implicit in his proclamations to his soldiers from first to last.
He was no master of style, but certainly for directness and vigor of phrase, for patriotic purpose, for clear-sighted content, his circular letter to the governors of all the States (June 8, 1783) is unsurpassed among the political documents of the world. His entire correspondence from the time he retired from command of the army till he re-entered the service of his country as its first President, is a monument to his modesty, his magnanimity, his prudence, and his wisdom. Frederick the Great himself, resting from war that he might restore order and peace to the people, is no grander figure than this victorious American general, watching from Mount Vernon the fortunes of his country, and lending the weight of his counsel and his example to the sacred cause of union. He served this cause still further by presiding over the convention in 1787, and 1789 he entered on the presidency of the nation, assuming a new role for which he was admirably fitted and in which he was destined to achieve magnificent success.
To many persons Washington the statesman is harder to realize than Washington the general. This is probably a result of political partisanship. Men look back to those two great founders of parties, Jefferson and Hamilton, and forget the chief who dominated and controlled them. Washington really made Hamilton and he always used Jefferson when he needed him; it was thus perhaps in accordance with weak human nature that Hamilton should have been ungrateful to his memory, while Jefferson was impelled to pay him a tribute—noble in spite of its jealous touches. No fact in history is more clearly established than that Washington was the chief figure in his own administrations. He came to the chair of State with the best equipment possible, and he would have left it vacant forever had it been requisite to fill it with a successor who should be his equal. He had not the analytic mind of Hamilton nor the philosophic grasp of Jefferson, but his training for the duties of a statesman had been superior to theirs. He came of a race used to act and to command. From an early age he had to rely on himself, and so he attained to that self-discipline which is indispensable to a political leader. Circumstances determined that he should learn the lessons of life from men rather than from books; thus he stood in no danger of becoming a doctrinaire. His early experiences as a surveyor, a backwoodsman, and a soldier gave him a true sympathy with democracy, and hence enabled him to understand the only rational principle on which a stable government could be founded in America; while his good birth and training, and his position as a planter aristocrat, put him in touch with that English past from which it would have been impossible for the new nation to break entirely. Add to all this the fact that his nature was essentially straightforward and manly, and that he had not a conspicuous weakness, that his mind was clear and flexible, and if not quick, certainly not slow, and we surely have as well-equipped a statesman as the world's history can furnish.
Compared with him, how the other figures of the period, even the greatest, shrink and diminish! The spiritual dignity of his altruism sits not on Franklin; his breadth and catholic charity of judgment belong neither to Hamilton nor to Jefferson: and who would think of comparing with him the Madisons, the Jays, the Morrises, the Ameses, the Wilsons of the time, able and patriotic men though they all were. Dignity, steadfastness, uprightness, serenity, benignity, wisdom—these are the characteristics of Washington's statesmanship, whether we regard his firm policy of resistance to the insolence of revolutionary France, or his refusal to plunge his country into a second war with England, or his cordial acceptance of the financial measures of Hamilton, or his steady accentuation of the national principle, or his noble efforts to reconcile his cabinet, or his strong but humane policy toward the Indians, or his prompt crushing of the Whisky Rebellion, or finally, his progressive views on the subjects of slavery and national education, and his prophetic comprehension of the importance of the West. A perfect equipoise of powers, which taken separately would not be supreme, appears to be the characteristic mark of his rare variety of genius, which among men of action is illustrated in Alfred the Great, and among men of letters in Sophocles. It is to this class that Washington belongs—to the class of men whose balance of faculties is so serenely perfect as to constitute genius of perhaps the highest order. What shall we say of such a man, save that he was as great in peace as he was in war; that he was veritably the Father of his Country?
Washington became Commander-in-Chief
of the American army on June 15,
1775, and for several years his history
was that of the Revolutionary War,
elsewhere recorded. Suffice it here to say
that he created the American army;
fought the English generals, Howe, Clinton,
Burgoyne, and Comwallis, with
various results; till, finally, he surrounded
Cornwallis at Yorktown, and
compelled him to capitulate. To his
intrepidity, prudence, and moderation the
United States is almost wholly indebted
for the independence which was secured
to it by the treaty of peace concluded in
e after this event Washington
resigned his commission to Congress, and
in his address on that occasion the
magnanimity of the hero was blended with
the wisdom of the philosopher. He
returned to his seat at Mount Vernon and,
like Cincinnatus of old, he returned to
his former and favorite pursuit of
agriculture. The federation of the States
having failed to afford an efficient
government, Washington proposed conventions
for commercial purposes, which led
to the Convention of 1787, of which he
was a member, which founded the
present Federal Constitution, considered
by him as the only security against
anarchy and civil war. Under this
Constitution he was chosen President, and
inaugurated in New York, April 30,
1789. His government was marked by
that well-tempered prudence which
distinguished all his conduct. Having been
re-elected as president, he held office till
1797, when he again retired to his estate
at Mount Vernon. In 1797, when there
arose a difficulty with France, threatening
hostilities, he was appointed
Lieutenant-General and Commander-in-Chief,
a post which he accepted with extreme
reluctance, but with that spirit of obedience
to the call of duty which has been
the governing rule of his life. On Dec.
12, 1799, he was exposed in the saddle,
for several hours, to cold and snow, and
attacked with acute laryngitis, for which
he was repeatedly and largely bled, but
sank rapidly, and died, Dec. 14.
Washington was childless, but most happy in his domestic relations. He was mourned even by his enemies and deserved the record: “First in peace, first in war, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.” The following estimate of the character and intellect of the great American patriot is from President Jefferson:
“His mind was great and powerful, without being of the very first order; his penetration strong, though not so acute as that of a Newton, Bacon, or Locke; and, as far as he saw, no judgment was ever sounder. It was slow in operation, being little aided by invention or imagination, but sure in conclusion. Hence the common remark of his officers of the advantages he derived from councils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, he selected whatever was best; and certainly no general ever planned his battles more judiciously; but, if deranged during the course of action, if any member of his plan was disarranged by sudden circumstances, he was slow in readjustment. The consequence was that he often failed in the field, but rarely against an enemy in station, as at Boston and York. He was incapable of fear, meeting personal danger with the calmest concern. Perhaps the strongest feature in his character was prudence, never acting until every circumstance, every consideration, was maturely weighed; refraining, if he saw a doubt; but, when once decided, going through with his purpose, whatever obstacles opposed. His integrity was the most pure, his justice the most inflexible, I have ever known; no motives of interest or consanguinity, of friendship or hatred, being able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in every sense of the word, a wise, a good, and a great man. His temper was naturally irritable and high-toned; but reflection and resolution had obtained a firm and habitual ascendency over it * * * * His person was fine, his stature exactly what one could wish. Though in the circle of his friends, where he might be unreserved with safety, he took a free share in conversation, his colloquial talents were not above mediocrity, possessing neither copiousness of ideas nor fluency of words. In public, when called on for a sudden opinion, he was unready, short, and embarrassed. Yet he wrote readily, rather diffusely, in an easy and correct style. He read little, and that only on subjects of agriculture and English history.”
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|WASHINGTON, MRS. WASHINGTON, AND HER CHILDREN AT MT. VERNON. A REPRODUCTION OF THE PAINTING BY EDWARD SAVAGE|
|Photo, Paul Thompson||Photo, Paul Thompson|
|MARTHA WASHINGTON, FROM THE PAINTING BY GILBERT STUART||GEORGE WASHINGTON, FROM THE PAINTING BY GILBERT STUART|
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|PAGES OF THE CASH BOOK WASHINGTON KEPT IN HIS OWN HAND|
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|THE CHAMBER OCCUPIED BY MARTHA WASHINGTON AFTER HER HUSBAND'S DEATH. THE WINDOW AFFORDED A VIEW OF HIS TOMB|
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John 7:37-46.March 5.
THE TWO great feasts of the Jews were the Feast of Passover, from the fifteenth to the twenty-second of the first month, and the Feast of Tabernacles (dwelling in booths), from the fifteenth to the twenty-second of Tishri, the seventh month, corresponding closely to October 1, but varying according to the Jewish calendar, which was calculated on lunar time. These two great feasts divided the Jewish year, and were the great occasions on which the people from all over the Kingdom were expected to visit Jerusalem, the capital city, to spend a week in fellowship together, in thanksgiving to the Lord and the making of vows to him. These two festivals represent the beginning of a yearthe one the civil year, the other the Church year, yet both might be termed religious in the sense that the entire national government was built upon a religious foundation. Israel was God's nation, and its laws were from him.
Each of these feasts had its peculiar religious sacrifice, pointing to our Lord and his sacrifice and the Gospel Church, his body. The Passover festival in the beginning of the year was the anniversary of the deliverance from Egypt, the Passover lamb representing Christ, our Passover sacrifice, and the feast following representing the liberty and joy and blessing which come to all of the Lord's people passed over through faith in his blood. The fall festival was held in connection with the Day of Atonement and its sacrifices for sins, which typified the better sacrifices of this Gospel age and the ultimate atonement for the sins of the whole world, and the consequent ultimate removal of the curse which still rests [R3509 : page 55] upon the world of mankind. This festival was instituted at the time Israel passed from the wilderness into the Land of Promise. It commemorated the wilderness life and the entrance into Canaan, where they were privileged to enjoy their inheritance and have more substantial dwelling places. It was really the festival of the New Year, and a kind of thanksgiving occasion for the ingathering or harvest of the year.Exod. 23:16; Lev. 23:33-44.
"In Jerusalem booths were erected everywhere, in court and on housetop, in street and in square. These arbors or booths were made of branches of treespalms, sycamores, olives, pines, willows, etc. Nobody was living at home, everybody in these boothsall the people from the city and crowds from the country. All distinctions of rank, all separation between rich and poor, were for a while forgotten, as each one dwelt in as good a dwelling as his neighbor.
"At night, four golden candelabra, each with four golden bowls for light, were in the center of the court, and the light emanating from them was visible to the whole city. Around these lights pious men danced before the people with lighted flambeaux in their hands, singing hymns and songs of praise, whilst the Levites, who were stationed on the fifteen steps which led into the woman's court of the Temple and which corresponded to the fifteen psalms of degrees, i.e. steps (Psalms 122-134), accompanied the songs with instrumental music.
"The Temple illumination was symbolical of the light which was to shine from out the Temple into the dark night of heathendom; then, at the first dawn of morn the blasts of the priests' silver trumpets, of the army of God, as it advanced with festive trumpet-sound and call, to awaken the sleepers and to utter solemn protest against heathendom."
"It is supposed that on the last evening of the festival, when the splendid light of this grand illumination was to cease, Christ called attention to himself, 'I am the Light of the world' (John 8:12), which is to shine forever and illuminate not only the Temple and the Holy City, but all the world,"the Sun of Righteousness.
The last of these seven days of the feast was called the Great Day. It was in it that the entire festival ceremony and rejoicing reached its climax. Again we glean from Edersheim and others, as follows:
"According to Jewish tradition the pillar of cloud by day and the fire by night, symbolical of God's presence and guidance, at first appeared to Israel on the fifteenth of Tishri, the first day of the feast. On that [R3509 : page 56] day Moses was said to have come down from the Mount and announced to the people that the tabernacle of God was to be reared among them. We note that the dedication of Solomon's Temple and the descent of the Shekinah glory upon it took place at this feast.1 Kings 8; 2 Chron. 7.
"The last great day of the feast was the climax of all this symbolization. Early in the morning the people, with the Paradise apple (an orange) in their left hands and branches in their right, marched to the sound of music in a procession headed by the priest, who bore a golden pitcher to draw water from the Pool of Siloam, south of the Temple. The priest having filled the golden pitcher at this fountain, brought it back into the court of the Temple, amid the shouts of the multitude and the sounds of cymbals and trumpets. The return was so timed that the procession should arrive just as other priests were laying the pieces of the sacrifices on the altar of burnt offering toward the close of the ordinary sacrifice-service.
"On each of the seven days the priest made a circuit of the altar, saying, 'O, then, now work salvation, Jah! O, Jah, give prosperity!' But on the seventh day they made the circuit seven times remembering how the walls of Jericho had fallen in similar circumstances, and anticipating that by the direct interposition of God, the walls of heathendom would fall before Jehovah and the world lie open before his people to go in and possess it.
"The golden pitcher full of water was then poured upon the altar. This ceremony was considered of vital importance and apparently symbolized the out-pouring of the holy Spirit. Immediately following the pouring of this water the Hallel was sung. This consists of Psalms 113-118. These were chanted, with responses, to the accompaniment of the flute. As the Levites intoned the first line of the Psalm, the people repeated it; while to each of the other lines they responded, Hallelu Yah (Praise ye the Lord). Then the priests blew a three-fold blast on their silver trumpets."
Our lesson relates to the last feast of Tabernacles attended by our Lordthe one which occurred just six months before the crucifixion. In a previous lesson we saw that the feeding of the five thousand was at a time when many of them were on their way to Jerusalem to the feast of the Passover, so that the present lesson is at least six months laterquite possibly a year and six months later, as evidently there was a considerable time during which our Lord "could not walk in Jewry, because the Jews sought to kill him."
On the occasion of this feast, many wondered whether or not Jesus would attend it, for it seems to have been well understood by a considerable number that the chief priests were so envious against the Lord, so enmitous, so bitter, that threats had been made against his life. While our Lord realized that his life was under divine protection until his "hour" should come, nevertheless it would appear that he did not tempt providence by going unnecessarily in the way of danger, but rather shaped his course according to the conditions he found. Thus, too, he admonished his disciples, "When they persecute you in one city, flee ye to another."
The context shows that at this time some of our Lord's brethren (probably his cousins, for cousins at that time were called "brethren") seemed to doubt his Messiahship, and urged him to go up to Jerusalem and perform his mighty works there, where the most learned men of the nation would have an opportunity for seeing and criticising and fault-finding, and if possible refuting his claims and miracles. Our Lord's answer was, "Go ye up to the feast; I go not up to the feast; mine hour is not yet fully come." For our Lord to have gone up early to the feast might have provoked the animosity of the religious teachers the more. His delay in going was no injury to the publicity of his teachings either, because the people naturally inquired for him, expressed wonder, discussed his claims, told one another what they had seen and heard in their own cities, villages, etc. It was toward the latter part of the feast week that our Lord arrived on the scene and went straightway to the Temple, and when the religious sentiments of the people were at their highest pitch he called their attention to the deep spiritual things symbolized by them year by year continually.
It is presumed that it was just at the close of the pouring of the golden pitcher full of water on the altar, a libation to the Lord, and while the multitudes in the warm climate were probably thirsty and had their thirst rather aggravated by the sight of the water, that Jesus made the announcements which constitute the essence of our lesson, "If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink. He that believeth on me, as the Scripture saith, Out of his belly shall flow a stream of living water."
No wonder the people said, as the Prophet had foretold, that our Lord spake in parables and dark sayings. How many, how few of the multitude who heard could gain any reasonable understanding of this message! Even under the blessed influences that are ours under the Spirit dispensation, how few have any adequate conception of what these words signify.
All have some conception of what natural thirst is, and of the refreshment that comes through partaking of literal water, and to understand our Lord's words respecting the water of life which he has to give, we must carry the figure forward and realize that there are other thirsts and cravings of the human nature which need satisfaction, which without satisfaction cause unrest, distress. These cravings of the heart we briefly refer to again as thirst for rest, peace, joy and fellowship. Only those who have such thirsts are called upon"Blessed are they that hunger and thirst." Many of our race at the present time are so depraved mentally and physically that they have no hunger and thirst for better things than they now enjoythey already are full and satisfied with the imperfect things possessed. The Lord's appeal at the present time is not to these, but to those who hunger and thirst, "If any man thirst let him come unto me and drink."
This is the appeal of this Gospel age: the Lord is seeking for the thirsting ones and finding them, and if they will drink at his fountain of grace and truth, they will find the satisfaction, the comfort, the joy, the peace, the rest, the blessing, which the world can neither give nor take away. Blessed, therefore, are the thirsty, and favored are they who are now drinking of the waters given forth by the smitten Rockour Lord.1 Cor. 10:4.
The Apostle commented upon our Lord's words, explaining the first part, but not the second. He says, "This spake he of the Spirit which they who believed on him should receive." The receiving of the Spirit is the satisfying of our thirst. All through life we are drinking at this fountain. We will not be satisfied until we awake in the Lord's likeness; then, as the Apostle declares, "I shall be satisfied when I awake in thy likeness"when this mortal shall be swallowed up in immortality, we shall be like our dear Redeemer, see him as he is, and share his glory as members of his body.
The holy Spirit was exercised upon the prophets, and under its influence they spake and wrote. But the holy Spirit granted to the Gospel Church at and since Pentecost is different; it is the Spirit of adoption, the Spirit of understanding, not the Spirit of prophecy. It was not possible for any to be begotten of the Spirit as sons of God until the ransom-sacrifice of Jesus as on our behalf had been accomplished, not until he had ascended up on high and presented the merit of that sacrifice on our behalf to the Father, not until it had been accepted by the Father. Then this blessing of the Spirit of adoption was shed forth upon the apostles. All accepted to membership in the body of Christ since, by association with the fellow-members, are made partakers of this one Spirit, by which all are sealed until the day of deliverance. Eph. 4:30.
"Out of his body shall flow a stream of living waters." This verse was not fulfilled at Pentecost, where the Lord's followers merely began to drink of the spiritual truths, and by them to be united into one body of many members, of which Jesus is the head. It is from this one body that ultimately the stream of the water of life shall flow during the Millennial age for the blessing of the whole world. Our Lord referred to this saying, "My word shall judge you in the last day"in the great day, the Millennial day; the world shall be judged by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God. The water of life represents the Truth, and the amount of this water of life or Truth that shall proceed from the mouth of the Lord, from the mouth of the glorified Church, shall be such a stream, such a flow, as will reach to every part of the earth. "The knowledge of the glory of God shall fill the whole earth."
In the present time, those who drink at the fountain of the water of life, are merely the sanctified in Christ Jesus, and our Lord declares of these that his grace and truth in them shall be as a well of water springing up into life everlasting. In Revelation, Chapter 21, we are given the picture of the aggregation of the various members of the body of Christ in glory. The whole is pictured as the New Jerusalem, and from it issues the stream of the water of life which our Lord referred to in his discourses. It will be a great river of the water of life, and on either bank of it will be the trees of life, nourished and supplied by it, bearing good fruit, and the leaves of those trees will be for the healing of the nations.
Thus seen the Lord's discourse briefly pictured the blessings coming to his followers during this Gospel age, and the blessings that shall in the next age proceed from them for the comfort, blessing and uplifting, restitution, of all the families of the earthof whosoever wills to take of that river of the water of life, which then will flow freely, and to which all will be clearly and distinctly invited by the Spirit and the Bride.
Peace and unity are greatly to be desired; yet these are not always possible, not always advantageous. If all were perfect, peace and unity would certainly be the only proper condition, but so long as there are imperfections, errors, etc., there must be differences. In harmony with this our Lord declared that his message would not bring peace but a sword under present conditions. He will be the Prince of Peace by and by, but not until peace shall be established upon a righteous basis. Before that time he will be the King who will reign in righteousness, and dash evil systems and things to pieces as potters' vessels, with a rod of iron.
There are those who say peace, peace, when there is no peace and when peace is not possible, and the Lord's people are not to be of these. This does not mean that the Lord's people are to be breeders of strife. On the contrary they are exhorted everywhere in the Scriptures to be peaceable and peacemakers; but with all efforts for peace, and their love of peace and their peacemaking qualities continually increasing, the message that our Lord gave them will breed disturbances. Why? We answer in the words of our Lord, because there is no fellowship between light and darkness, there can be no peace nor truce between the two; in proportion as the one obtains control, the other is excluded.
In harmony with this we find in this lesson that there was a division among the people because of himsome approving and some opposing. Thus it must be with us as we lift up the standard of righteousness: if we will let the light of truth shine out, those who love the truth will be more or less attracted by it in proportion as their hearts are sincere, truth loving. Those who love the error will become antagonistic in proportion to their lack of sincerity. If this was the case with our Lord, can we think that it would be possible for his disciples to find it otherwise? Surely not. We must have our feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of peace. Ours is the Gospel of peace, yet we will find that as we bear it to others our path of progress will be a difficult one and we will need all the protection the Lord has provided in his fore-statement of what we must expect, and his promises of blessing and glory to the overcomers.
While our Lord was in the Temple teaching, the Jewish rulers, aware of his presence, were conspiring for his life. A meeting of the Sanhedrin was called, and officers representing the body were present in the Temple amongst the people, charged with the responsibility of finding some fault with the teaching and making it the pretext for a measure of insurrection, and further, the arrest of our Lordunder a charge either of teaching contrary to the Law of Moses or contrary to the Roman laws. On every occasion they sought to entrap him in his words, but being unable to do so, they returned to the Sanhedrin to report.
What a sad commentary it is upon the deceitfulness of the human heart, that these men, who were thus [R3510 : page 58] seeking for the apprehension and death of Jesus, were the most influential men in this, the holiest nation of earth. Not only so, they were Doctors of the Lawmen supposedly the best versed in the Mosaic Law, its letter and spiritmen whose position in Judaism corresponded to that of Doctors of Divinity in Christendom to-day. We may well ask, as Pilate subsequently did, "Why, what evil hath he done?" The answer must be that there was no evil except in the hearts of these most talented, educated and nominally most religious men in the world.
We can imagine that if one were to have inquired as to their motive, the answer would have been, We are so loyal to God, to his Law through Moses and to the interests of this mighty people, over which God has made us rulers and teachers, that we are zealous to put down this man who, though he seems to be God-fearing, sympathetic with the poor, etc., is, we believe, a most pernicious man. He is pernicious in that he is representing himself to be the Messiah, and because he is really a man of ability, he has hoodwinked the people. If we let him alone, the power of controlling this nation, which now rests with us as the moral and intellectual leaders of the nation, will pass out of our grasp; this man will establish himself, and the whole people of Israel will look upon us as being foolish, and conclude that they were able to know the Messiah and that we, their intellectual superiors, were stupid or out of divine favor so we could not recognize the time of our visitation.
This would be their way of reasoning on the subject, but the Lord's view of the situation would be the very reverse, that they were hypocritical, that they were pretending to be what they were not in reality, that much of their praise and service toward the Lord were formalistic lip services, and that pride lay at the bottom of their endeavors and professions, and that this pride was touched by the success of our Lord and his wisdom, and the fact that the multitudes heeded his message: they were envious, malice burned in their hearts, they hated him without a causesimply because he was better, holier, wiser than they, and because the people were recognizing this fact.
How dangerous a thing is envyselfishness! How many of the Lord's people to-day are afflicted by it so that they refuse to recognize the Spirit of the Lord, so that instead of seeking to encourage one another and to add to the influence of one another and to realize that the whole work of the Lord is one, alas, how often is the spirit of strife and vain glory found! How displeasing everything of this kind must be in the sight of the Lord!
When the officers returned to the Sanhedrin, the question was asked, Where is your prisoner? Why did you not bring him? Were you not able to entrap him in his words? Is it possible that any man could speak in public and that keen-minded men such as you are would be unable to entrap him in anything he might say that would enable you to form a charge against him as a teacher of that which would be injurious to the people, that he said nothing that you could construe to be a violation of the Law of Moses or the law of the Romans? The answer was a volume in itself,"Never man spake like this man."
The Lord's people, seeking to walk in his footsteps, continually find that the world is still full of envy and malice and hatred. They still find it true that "The world knoweth us not, even as it knew him not;" they still find that amongst their opponents, amongst those who seek to do them injury, amongst those who seek to entrap them in their words and who would apprehend them and injure them in reputation, if not in person, they find some of the worldly noble, the worldly wise, the worldly religious. The Lord's message to these is, "In your patience possess ye your souls." Their proper course is to set a guard upon their lips that they sin not with their mouths, that they should not only pray but strive that the meditations of their hearts and words of their mouths be acceptable to the Lord, and in proportion as this is true of them it will also be true of them that they will be wiser and more discreet in their language than othersapproximately like unto him who spake as never man spake.
But what a matter this is to guard the tongue! Truly the Apostle said that he who is able to conquer his tongue is able to conquer his whole body. It is so easy to say something that ought not to be said, it is so easy for the majority to repeat an evil rumor, to cast a reflection upon the character of another, to assassinate in this manner, or at least to wound or injure, the interests or feelings or good name of another. Let us more and more in this particular also seek to be like our Lord, seek to speak as other men do not speak, and thus show forth the praises of him who hath called us out of darkness into his marvellous light.
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(See Grant)—Lahoma Lucile, daughter of Chief William Charles and Nannie (Haynie) Rogers, was born at Skiatook, May 4, 1900. Educated at Skiatook and married in Oklahoma City, Oct. 19, 1920, Roy, son of Mr. and Mrs. W. H. Letteer. They are the parents of Jane E. Letteer, born September 11, 1921. Mrs. Letteer is the daughter of William Charles Rogers the last chief of the Cherokees amid the great grand-daughter of Captain John Rogers, the last chief of the Old Settler Cherokees.
Whatever may be their origins in antiquity, the Cherokees are generally thought to be a Southeastern tribe, with roots in Georgia, North Carolina, and Tennessee, among other states, though many Cherokees are identified today with Oklahoma, to which they had been forcibly removed by treaty in the 1830s, or with the lands of the Eastern Band of Cherokees in western North Carolina. The largest of the so-called Five Civilized Tribes, which also included Choctaws, Chickasaws, Creeks, and Seminoles, the Cherokees were the first tribe to have a written language, and by 1820 they had even adopted a form of government
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Tougenkyou Tougendai 1-1-1 :p Appear to be living in Hamadori-chiho, Fukushima, Japan.
I don't know is there any people who read it or not. Here is simplified description of who Tougenroushi is.
Tougenroushi is a kind of hoby programer. Programing history of Tougenroushi is started from a programmable calculator which was bought by his father in the days of junior-high school. His father bought two programmable calculator until his high school graduation. He became addicted to it.
Even at the time of university exam, he didn't decide his life plan. He studied mechanical engineering which is said to have marketable skills. But he wasn't a good student.
After university graduation, he joined copier machine maker without any sense of purpose. He requested many transfer by his personal circumstances, and then finally he got a work of design progress management. But because he tend to absent, he was fired out from design department. After transferred to stuff department, he got a ill of depression and then he was fired from company.
After he lost job, didn't do anything for very long time. Once at a time, he bought a Mac. He used the Internet to develop the breadth of knowledge. Starting from HTML/CSS, he learned AppleScript and shell script. Then finally, he started to learn Objective-C at age of 50s.
It does not mean that everything is in his memory. He just know basic rules. So, Tougenroushi program is incomplete without internet.
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What happens if you drink five litres of undiluted squash?
It has emerged that Kumbuka, the gorilla that escaped from its enclosure at London Zoo, drank five litres (nine pints) of undiluted blackcurrant squash before being tranquillised. What impact would this have had on his health, asks Harry Low.
The western lowland silverback left his den through an unlocked door and entered the zookeepers' enclosure, where he seized his chance to drink something sweet - lots of it.
He would have been more familiar with the diluted version of the drink, which forms part of the gorillas' daily diet, according to a spokeswoman for the zoo, along with cold fruit tea and leafy greens such as cabbage and kale. They are also fed other fresh vegetables including broccoli, carrots and cucumber.
Gorillas have quite large stomachs so this epic helping of concentrated squash could have caused severe stomach pains and diarrhoea, according to Prof Phyllis Lee, a primatologist at the University of Stirling.
"Five litres is quite a lot for a gorilla to consume in one go but given a gorilla's manual dexterity, I would assume that some would have been spilled," she says.
"He must have found it and taken his opportunity, similar to how a four-year-old child would."
Lee added that she would expect the squash to affect the consistency of Kumbuka's poo rather than its colour - even in the case of blackcurrant - though she added that she had not studied the matter closely.
But what about the effect of the sugar? Might this have caused a surge of physical activity once the effect of the tranquilliser had worn off? Apparently not in this case.
"Within two hours Kumbuka was back with his family, snacking on treats, and probably wondering what all the fuss was about," according to Prof David Field, who carried out a report into last week's incident.
Had a human drunk five litres of undiluted squash, the results would have been similar, but possibly more extreme.
It would be almost impossible for a human to take that much squash on, according to dietitian Dr Sarah Schenker.
"I would imagine it would lead to a very upset tummy and disrupt the digestive tract," she says.
Diarrhoea and sickness would be the main symptoms, she suggests, though they would not last too long.
"It wouldn't cause lasting damage - maybe you'd feel the effects for a day."
According to Phyllis Lee, Kumbuka's size - he weighs 29 stone (184kg) - would have helped him cope with his squash-drinking binge.
There would have been no danger of overdosing on vitamin C, she says, and no damage to the teeth from just one episode of this kind.
"That would only be caused by continually consuming sugary drinks."
Additional reporting by Stephen Fottrell
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Eleanor likes to stand on the stairs and look out the window. She seems to prefer this to going outside (even though she can). I used to try to coax her outside…thought she needed to run up trees and do all the things that cats are supposed to do. One day, as I was trying to give her a little push, I had the thought, “She is very happy playing inside. Why am I trying to change that to make her conform to some idea that I have about how cats should behave?”If she could have spoken at that moment, I think she would have said, “You go outside if you want to Mary. Do what makes you happy. Quit trying to change me.”
When I am happy inside, I find that I can accept others around me much quicker. When I am not so happy with myself or my life at the moment, those seem to be the times when I try to “tweak” others into being different. This never works out well! It almost always creates more issues to be cleaned up later.
Today, I will pay attention to what is happening within me before I interact with anyone else. If I am not feeling great, I will love myself (and others) enough to work gently on me, until I am feeling better….take a deep breath, then keep my mouth shut!
“And why worry about a speck in your friend’s eye when you have a log in your own? How can you think of saying to your friend,‘Let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,’ when you can’t see past the log in your own eye? First get rid of the log in your own eye; then you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend’s eye”. Matthew 7:4
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Frown Lines Before and After
This patient was concerned with the heavy lines between her eyebrows. Dr. Tirgari and our team administered a Botox treatment, which eliminated the lines and gave the patient a fresh, youthful appearance. These lines are also know as frown lines and are associated with aging as well as facial expressions. They tend to be one of the first signs of aging, but can easily be eliminated with Botox injections.
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Michaela Rhua is stopping by the Spicy Butterfly Garden today to share two of her newest releases with us. That’s right… two new books for Ms. Rhua! That’s awesome! Run with it, Michaela! 🙂
Thank you for hosting me today Jessica.
Wow! It sure has been a busy time lately. I have had not just one but two book releases – both of which I am incredibly proud of!
The first came about after an online chat with some fellow Evernight Publishing authors. The result was Her Type of Guy! It is a collection of short naughty stories which focus on a man with a particular need or kink.
For every desire, there’s a man to meet it. Someone’s annoyance is another’s kink. In this naughty collection of short stories, indulge your fantasies, and follow our heroines as they find just the right type of guy or guys…
From bouncing cocks to virgins, slow coaches, true Scotsmen, and messy play partners, sex toy experts and their mischievous friends, these guys are in need of their ladies. Why is one guy too grumpy to believe, another always too early? And can there ever be a future with a hired killer?
Only one way to find out. You might just meet your ideal guy.
Here are two snippets from my stories in this hot little collection.
Adam watched Sophie work from behind his glasses as he had done many times. He knew her routine well: tidying the shelves, restocking the popular titles, fluffing the cushions and sorting the toys. Her movements were swift; she brought order to whatever she touched. He longed for her slender hands to touch him and for those long legs to be wound around his waist as he ground into her. Her round breasts looked like they would overfill his hands.
The jangling of the bell awoke him from his daydream. That is all it was pure fantasy.
Ready for another?
Only When Allowed.
Stopping right in front of him, she lifted a finger to his face. She traced the outline of his lips and slowly down his chin. Alex was rooted to the spot. Lillian leaned into him and her warm breath fanned his ear.
“Come,” she said before turning and walking away towards the lifts.
Alex did not need to think twice. He almost ran to follow his boss, ready to obey her every command.
I’ve featured this collection of stories a couple weeks ago for Morgan King too and I must admit that it sounds incredible. I’ve bumped it up on my TBR list!
You can find this collection of naughty stories here:
And other eStores.
My next release is Guardian Possession which is published by Breathless Press. This is book 2 of the Guardians Series. The first was Guardian Awakening published earlier this year. You don’t need to read book 1 but hey don’t let me stop you!
Zachriel wants payback. Royanne wants freedom. Capturing her reveals his past. Can these two demons find love and a future together?
He took his hands out of his pocket and reached out. His large, calloused hand enveloped hers, and her warmth met his cold. She was soft, and he wondered if the rest of her was the same.
“I’m Zach, good to meet you,” Zach replied while inching closer. Touching her was enough to establish a link to her mind. I have you now. She was still wary but calm. Underneath the layers of her mind was something else. Need. This I can work with.
“So, how you finding life at base?” he asked, still holding her hand.
“Well, you know fun, fun, fun!” she replied sarcastically.
He could feel she was unhappy.
“It all helps for the future, you know.” He sensed her need for freedom.
Royanne moved her hand away, but he noticed she lingered at little as they released their grips. He had her now; her mind was his, but he needed more. A taste of her, then the link would be stronger. Damn, there were too many people passing the entrance to the alleyway for him to make his move now. If he got her wanting him enough to go to a hotel room, that would be perfect.
Michaela Rhua always dreamed of writing but this never happened until she met the lovely group of ladies known as UCW. Their passion for writing and encouragement inspired her to see if she could do it too. Now she loves writing!
She has teenage children and a husband, who also keep her busy. However, it is whilst travelling into work that she has time to create her characters and imagine other places in which they exist as her world skims by the window. Conversations overheard often lead to the birth of new ideas that she scribbles down in her trusty notebook.
Michaela is a multi-published author with Breathless Press, Evernight Publishing and a self-published anthology with authors from The Nuthouse Scribblers.
Feel Free to Stalk here:
Thanks for stopping by, Michaela! Congratulations on your new releases. I look forward to reading them both! 🙂
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J. O. Cherry, who for the past four years has lived retired at Le Roy, has resided in Decatur county since 1869,
and for many years devoted his time to agricultural pursuits. He was born in Muskingum county, Ohio, August 19,
1841, of the marriage of Matthew and Mary (Offiter) Cherry, who removed to Ohio from the. Keystone state in 4828.
The father was born in Washington county, Pennsylvania, and was there reared to manhood. His first wife, who was
in her maidenhood a Miss Reed, passed away in that state, and his second wife, the mother of our subject, died
in Muskingum county, Ohio, when about forty five years of age. He was subsequently married a third time and had
in all seven children, but only two are living, our subject and a brother. The father died in Muskingum county,
Ohio, when seventy seven years of age.
J. O. Cherry remained a resident of the Buckeye state until he was twenty two years of age, and then removed to
Jackson county, Iowa, where his father owned two hundred and forty acres of land. He remained there until his marriage,
after which he took up his residence in Henry county, Iowa, where he resided a few years before removing to this
county. In 1869 he became a resident of Decatur county, locating on section 4, Garden Grove township, where he
still owns two hundred and forty acres of fine land. He also holds title to eighty acres in Clarke county and during
his active life successfully engaged in farming and stock raising, specializing in breeding shorthorn cattle and
Poland China hogs. He made all of the improvements upon his place and the farm is excellently developed and well
equipped. For a few years he has rented his land and has lived retired in Le Roy.
On the 4th of July, 1865, occurred the marriage of Mr. Cherry and Miss Mary Cline. She was born in Westmoreland
county, Pennsylvania, in 1843, a daughter of Tobias and Mary Cline, who in 1851 removed to Iowa by way of the Ohio
and Mississippi rivers. They located in Jackson county, where they passed away. To their union were born a large
family of children, but only three survive, those besides Mrs. Cherry being Susan and Caroline. Mr. and Mrs. Cherry
have had six children, namely: Harry, who died in early manhood; John, a resident of California, who married Miss
Dudley; Ida, the wife of George Seay, also living in California; Emma, who married a Mr. Bingman, a resident of
California; Ora, who gave her hand in marriage to Nelson Breckenridge and is living in the Golden State; and Josephine,
the wife of William Heaton. Mr. and Mrs. Cherry also have thirteen grandchildren, some of whom are married.
The democratic party finds in Mr. Cherry a loyal supporter and he has served as a member of the town council of
Le Roy. Both he and his wife hold membership in the Presbyterian church, of which he is an elder, and all movements
looking toward moral progress profit by his cooperation. The leisure which he is now enjoying is the merited reward
of former toil and none begrudges him his prosperity.
History of Decatur County, Iowa
And its People
The S. J. Clarke Publishing Co.
Decatur County, IA
For all your genealogy needs visit Linkpendium
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By John G M Scott, Frank D Mack and James M Clarke
Published in 2007 in two volumes by The Mint Press, price £75.
Available from Stevens Books at Taddyforde House South, Taddyforde Estate, New North Road, Exeter. Tel: 01392 459760
or your local book shop quoting ISBN 9781903356449.
Devon people are very fortunate in many ways, particularly those with an interest in its bells, clocks and churches. Few counties have an up-to-date book on the subject; most previous studies having been published between fifty and a hundred years ago. In fact the only previous comprehensive study of Devon bells took place in 1864/5. Ringers will be aware of the number of changes that must have taken place since then, and many have long looked forward to a new survey.
Devon was again fortunate over 50 years ago, when a new priest came to the Diocese of Exeter to commence many years of service to it. Whilst born in London into a naval family, John Scott considered himself Devonian; he was certainly brought up and lived all of his adult life here. John became interested in bells and ringing whilst at university and whilst his history studies there were interrupted by service as a naval rating during the WW2, his return took him into the study of Divinity.
In 1961, on the death of Preb. Ernest Cox, John became the Diocesan Advisory Committee’s bell advisor. As befits someone with an historical “bent”, he began to record the details of each bell and installation that he came across whilst undertaking these duties. This work was to form the basis of his “magnum opus”. This interest took John on to the national arena with long-standing membership of the Towers & Belfries Committee of the CCCBR, and to the Bells Sub-Committee of The Council for the Care of Churches, amongst others.
When the late Frank Mack joined John to assist in his Diocesan duties, and visits were organised to collect information on those bells not so far gathered, the possibility of a new book began to arise. On Frank’s death, his place was taken by James Clarke who continued to encourage John to publish his work. The final spur to publish was when he was diagnosed with bowel cancer, and he realised that his time was limited. It was particularly pleasing that he was able to complete the work and enjoy the plaudits before he was taken from us.
The price will no doubt put off some possible subscribers, but if you enjoy a good history book then this one is for you; it will last you a lifetime and is very entertaining. In volume 1, John writes about the towers, bells, frames, founders, ringers and clocks. His work on uncovering more of the lives and work of the west-country founders in particular, has been widely recognised in archaeological circles. Volume 2 lists all of the buildings of which we have details of bell(s), and as much information as is available about them.
Modern technology allows us the possibility of keeping the information in the book, up-to-date; as our predecessor Revd. Ellacombe could not do. Hence the Errata and Addenda sheets will be regularly updated by me and, I hope, my successors.
James M. Clarke.
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Sunandha Kumariratana was born on 10 November 1860 as the daughter of King Mongkut of Siam (Rama IV) and Princess Consort Piam. She was first Queen consort of King Chulalongkorn (Rama V) of Siam and also his half-sister. All of his four wives were also his half-sisters. King Mongkut had at least 82 children with various consorts and concubines.
Sunandha Kumariratana had a daughter on 12 August 1878, named Kannabhorn Bejaratana and she was pregnant again when tragedy struck on 31 May 1880.
While on the way to the Summer Palace Bang Pa-In the royal boat she and her daughter were travelling on capsized. They were many onlookers who witnessed the capsizing, but they were unable to help. They were forbidden from touching the Queen on pain of death, even if it meant that they couldn’t save her life. They were even instructed to do nothing by a guard on another boat, though he was later punished for his strict view of the law in such circumstances. So sad that this tragedy could have been avoided.
Queen Sunandha’s ashes are enshrined at the Sunandha Nusavarya Memorial in the Royal Cemetery at Wat Ratchabophit with her daughter.
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The central relationship of the novel is the complicated one between Fowler and Pyle. Pyle wants to maintain an amiable relationship with Fowler. Initially, Pyle’s youth and political views make Fowler cautious of Pyle, but Fowler also takes a liking to Pyle’s blunt and innocent American charm. This complicated relationship is made more complicated when Pyle tells Fowler that he is interested in Fowler’s girlfriend, Phuong, as well as by the cultural differences between them: Pyle consistently calls Fowler by his first name, Thomas, though Fowler only feels comfortable referring to Pyle by his surname. Fowler lies to Pyle multiple times in order to make himself seem a more viable partner for Phuong. Contrastingly, Pyle lays his intentions out to Fowler very clearly, but his lack of consideration for Fowler’s relationship with Phuong is as aggressive as Fowler’s deceit. They admire each other, but are each also jealous of the other. Their mutual love for Phuong draws them together in a way that is extremely uncomfortable for Fowler.
The relationship between the two is very uneven. Fowler’s role in Pyle’s assassination demonstrates the ultimate betrayal of friendship. On the other hand, Pyle saves Fowler’s life at the risk of his own, a symbol of utmost loyalty. The text shows various ways in which the artifice of friendship breaks down due to deception and betrayal. For example, Fowler tries to maintain the veneer of friendship with Vigot even as Vigot suspects him of Pyle’s murder. Yet it is not loyalty or communication that can save a friendship either, as seen in the failure of Pyle’s selflessness and communication to produce a successful friendship with Fowler. As in politics, Greene suggests that aligned goals are actually the most important factor in maintaining a friendship.
Friendship, Loyalty, and Betrayal ThemeTracker
Friendship, Loyalty, and Betrayal Quotes in The Quiet American
That night I woke from one of those short deep opium sleeps, ten minutes long, that seem a whole night’s rest, and found my hand where it had always lain at night, between her legs. She was asleep and I could hardly hear her breathing. Once again after so many months I was not alone, and yet I thought suddenly with anger, remembering Vigot and his eye-shade in the police station and the quiet corridors of the Legation with no one about and the soft hairless skin under my hand, “Am I the only one who really cared for Pyle?”
I liked his loyalty to Harding—whoever Harding was. It was a change from the denigrations of the Pressmen and their immature cynicism. I said, “Have another bottle of beer and I’ll try to give you an idea of things.”
“Home?” I said and laughed, and Pyle looked at me as though I were another Granger. Suddenly I saw myself as he saw me, a man of middle age, with eyes a little bloodshot, beginning to put on weight, ungraceful in love, less noisy than Granger perhaps but more cynical, less innocent, and I saw Phuong for a moment as I had seen her first, dancing past my table at the Grand Monde in a white ball-dress, eighteen years old, watched by an elder sister who had been determined on a good European marriage. An American had bought a ticket and asked her for a dance: he was a little drunk—not harmfully, and I suppose he was new to the country and thought the hostesses of the Grand Monde were whores. He held her much too close as they went round the floor the first time, and then suddenly there she was, going back to sit with her sister, and he was left, stranded and lost among the dancers, not knowing what had happened or why. And the girl whose name I didn’t know sat quietly there, occasionally sipping her orange juice, owning herself completely.
“Of course,” he said without conviction, “she may choose to stay with you.”
“What would you do then?”
“I’d apply for a transfer.”
“Why don’t you just go away, Pyle, without causing trouble?”
“It wouldn’t be fair to her, Thomas,” he said quite seriously. I never knew a man who had better motives…
I have read so often of people’s thoughts in the moment of fear: of God, or family, or a woman. I admire their control. I thought of nothing, not even of the trap-door above me: I ceased, for those seconds, to exist: I was fear taken neat. At the top of the ladder I banged my head because fear couldn’t count steps, hear, or see. Then my head came over the earth floor and nobody shot at me and fear seeped away.
“You saved my life there,” I said, and Pyle cleared his throat for the conventional response,
“So that I could die here. I prefer dry land.”
“Better not talk,” Pyle said as though to an invalid.
“Who the hell asked you to save my life? I came east to be killed. It’s like your damned impertinence . . .” I staggered in the mud and Pyle hoisted my arm around his shoulder. “Ease it off,” he said.
“Yes. I wish you hadn’t written it.”
“Because it was a pack of lies. I trusted you, Thomas.”
“You shouldn’t trust anyone when there’s a woman in the case.”
“Then you needn’t trust me after this. I’ll come sneaking up here when you go out, I’ll write letters in typewritten envelopes. Maybe I’m growing up, Thomas.” But there were tears in his voice, and he looked younger than he had ever done. “Couldn’t you have won without lying?”
“No. This is European duplicity, Pyle. We have to make up for our lack of supplies.”
I went into the passage. There was a door opposite me marked Men. I went in and locked the door and sitting with my head against the cold wall I cried. I hadn’t cried until now. Even their lavatories were air-conditioned, and presently the temperate tempered air dried my tears as it dries the spit in your mouth and the seed in your body.
I thought of the first day and Pyle sitting beside me at the Continental, with his eye on the soda-fountain across the way. Everything had gone right with me since he had died, but how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry.
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This extract from the Tunstall Year Book, which was published in 1905, gives an account of the Sir Smith Child Clock Tower in Tower Square which was built by public subscription and presented to the town in 1893.
THE SIR SMITH CHILD CLOCK TOWER
“On Thursday, the 23rd November 1893, the ceremony of unveiling and handing over to the town this Tower, which was erected during the lifetime of Sir Smith Child, as a permanent memorial to commemorate his unparalleled acts of benevolence to Tunstall, was performed by Mr Alfred Meakin, in the presence of Mr J G Child, and a numerous company.
“The Tower, which is erected at the west end of the Market Square (Tower Square), and is constructed of buff terra-cotta, stands some 50 feet high, is fitted with a striking clock with Cambridge chimes, having four dials, and at the base of the structure is a bronze bust of Sir Smith Child in a niche designed for that purpose.
“The cost of the Tower has been over £1,500, which amount was contributed by over 3,500 subscribers.”
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“Then He said to them, ‘My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death. Stay here and watch with me” (Mathew 26:38).
Jesus asked His disciples to stay there and watch with Him. But the disciples failed to do so and rather slept. Seeing this, Jesus told Peter “What! Could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Mathew 26:40, 41).
Jesus told these words when they were in the Garden of Gethsemane. That was a time of agony. Jesus had foreseen that in a short time he was going to be caught and the disciples were going to face very big tests and tribulations and only to make them stay prepared, He had asked them to stay and watch with Him.
But the disciples went to sound sleep. So, when the time of the test and tribulation came they were not able to withstand the situation. Many slid back and went away from Christ. The reason for their defeat is that they failed to stay with Jesus Christ. Is it not?
You also may face such tests and tribulations. Jesus never said that those who follow Him will never face such tribulations. Instead, the Scripture says: “In the world, you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33) and “Yes, and all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution” (II Timothy 3:12).
When Jesus Christ lived in this world, He was very simple and experienced lot of sufferings. We read in Hebrews 4:15 “For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.” He was tempted in every way as you are. So, He is the one to sympathise for you.
Jesus was always with His Father and that was why He was able to overcome all the tests. He went and prayed in the early mornings. He prayed for the entire night. He went to a lonely place of wilderness and prayed. He went to the Garden of Gethsemane and prayed.
Dear children of God, when you stay with Jesus, He will give you all the power to overcome the tests and tribulations. Staying with God alone is a blessing for you.
To meditate: “Nevertheless I am continually with you; you hold me by my right hand” (Psalm 73:23).
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Robert Smalls was amazing. He was an enslaved man who was forced to pilot the
USS Planter for the Confederate Navy during the Civil War. The USS Planter was docked in Charleston, South Carolina. In the early morning hours of May 13, 1862, Smalls and a crew of fellow enslaved people sneaked aboard the heavily-armed Planter, slipped it through the harbor, picked up family members at a designated point, and sailed into the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean. To help fool the Confederate soldiers, Smalls wore a captain’s uniform and a straw hat so that he would look like the captain of the ship. As the ship passed by Confederate checkpoints (including Fort Sumter), Smalls responded with the proper signals so that the Planter was let through without alarming the Confederate Navy.
When he was beyond Confederate lines, Smalls raised a white flag of surrender and delivered the ship, its arms, and its passengers to the Union navy. Robert Smalls had a well-thought-out plan, he was brave, and he was determined. What he did was incredible!!!
Later, Robert Smalls ran for and was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. He was the longest serving African-American member of Congress until Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. was elected in the late 20th Century.
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Julian Lathrop was the son of the noted artist William Lathrop. Julian was born in Ohio but moved to Solebury with his family to live in the miller’s house in Phillips Mill. He attended the one-room schoolhouse in Phillips Mill, now St. Phillip’s Church, then attended Worcester Academy and Harvard College. After serving in World War I, Julian studied history at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and was awarded a degree from Harvard. He worked in the summer at Camp Marienfeld in New Hampshire
Laurie Erskin was born in England to parents who were actors. They all came to America when his father brought a touring company. After serving in World War I in the Royal Flying Corps, Laurie became a bond salesman, but his real love was writing. After a short stint selling bonds, he went to work writing for newspapers and teaching writing. He created Renfrew of the Royal Mounted, a boy’s fictional hero first seen in a magazine, then in eleven books, and eventually heard on radio.
Arthur Washburn was born in Boston in a distinguished New England family. He was a descendant of Hannibal Hamlin, vice-president under Abraham Lincoln. Arthur graduated from Amherst College and was rejected for service in World War I because of a heart murmur. His great-grandfather founded Robert College, and Arthur taught there for two years. He went on to teach at Moses Brown School and Riverdale Country School. And in the summers he worked at Camp Marienfeld.
Robert Shaw was born in Nova Scotia but grew up in New Jersey. He attended Harvard College and Oxford. He taught at Grace Church Choir School in New York. In summers he also worked at Camp Marienfeld.
One summer Robert persuaded the camp owners to invite Laurie Erskin to the camp as a storyteller. Thus, the four founders met at a small New Hampshire summer camp for boys. There they discovered that they all had a common interest in a different type of school for boys, much less regimented than the usual high school, but rigorous in requiring high standards of achievement. Julian Lathrop was from Solebury Township and invited Laurie Erskin and Robert Shaw to come to his home area because he thought they might like it. They found the name of our Township charming and named their school for it. So was born the Solebury School, with the first students arriving in the fall of 1925.
The school started with four boys and four teachers. In 1926 the founders purchased the Michener Farm on Phillips Mill Road and moved the school. The school was incorporated in 1928 and reincorporated as a non-profit institution in 1938. In 1949 the Solebury School became co-educational when it merged with the Holmquist School for Girls, which was located just down the road at the corner of Phillips Mill Road and River Road, now the Hotel du Village. Solebury School is today one of the community’s gems and reflects Solebury’s ongoing commitment to education.
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I received an advance review copy of "Scout's Duty" last week, and would have gotten to it earlier except reasons.
Let's get the stars out of the way: 5 out of 5. The book isn't published yet, so I don't have the link to buy it, but as soon as it gets out there, I'll include the link.
David Rice is a Scout, First Class. He's many other things as well, but being a Scout goes to the core, and has an impact on the kind of friend and the kind of husband he is. When he was a little boy, and later on an older boy, he loved listening to the stories of an old, retired Scout who lived across the street from him, so every thing he does is a culmination of a lifetime dedicated to the concept of duty.
In this book, David starts off at what most would consider the top of the heap. He's married to the beautiful Princess who is destined to rule her kingdom, and there is really only one other superpower on the planet. So, David could be content either to rest on his laurels, or set about a conquering the Tartegians and then ruling the entire planet. To his credit, neither course of action seem to appeal to him.
The outside world intrudes, through the wormhole in a crippled ship, David, being a Scout, goes to rescue them. And we get to meet the really, honest, no-kidding nasty bad guys, because that's no ordinary ship: it's PIRATES!!!
For a Juvenile/YA book to be good, in the Heinlein tradition, certain things HAVE to happen. The hero can't just stand off and give orders. He has to give the bad guys a fair fight. And, he has to win, in the end. And THIS is a good Juvenile! There's not a thing in here that would make me uncomfortable if I was reading it to my 10 year old, Kenneth. The pirates have tortured and tormented a young boy to make him into a cruel cyborg; David kills the cyborg, but not without a pang, as he considers that the boy was a victim, too. He refuses to lie to the bevy of gorgeous babes, scantily clad slaves forced to be entertainment for the captain: nope, he gives them shirts, and promises to do his best by them.
Okay, let's sum up: this is the best of the trilogy, in my opinion. It's clearly an excellent juvenile. It's also well written enough that I enjoyed reading it as well, and I am NOT a type who reads at the level of see Spot run! While you would benefit from reading the other two books (Scout's Oath and Scout's Honor), you don't have to read them first to enjoy this book. Give it some good cover art, and I'd be happy to see this in every school library in America.
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We met Eve in Poetry TX after we received a call to help 20 exotics cats find new homes. What we found when we arrived was one of the most appalling situations we have ever walked into.
Eve and her sister Layla were two of the luckier ones at this private resident. Eve lived outside in an area that was actually larger than any of the other cats had, but was also evident that the care they received was no different than any of the others. The water was so green that you couldn’t see through it and was obviously contaminated with feces. There was no way to lock the sisters up so that we could get in to clean the water or the mounds of feces and old bones. We had to come up with a way we could siphon the water thus getting fresh water in for them.
Along the outside of their cage was a small den where we found 3 skulls that we believe to belong to two older lions and one younger lion. Once we were able to get into the cage we were able to clean up the remaining piles of bones which we believe to be from carcasses of deer.
Eve is actually a very large and muscular female hence her Barbary traits. She is the only one that wasn’t declawed. We affectionately call Eve our little linebacker. Eve is a little more cautious than the others but seems to be the first to figure out things. Our plan is to spay Eve and Layla and to integrate them with Aramis and Aurora.
The Barbary Lion, Atlas lion or Nubian lion (Panthera leo) is a subspecies of lion that has become extinct in the wild. There are around 40 in captivity in Europe, with fewer than a hundred in zoos around the world. The last known Barbary lion in the wild was shot in the Atlas Mountains in 1922. The Barbary lion was believed to be extinct in captivity as well. However, possible Barbary lion individuals or descendants have been located in zoos and circus populations within the last three decades. The Barbary lion is often considered to be the heaviest of the lion subspecies; the calculated weight for the males is 440-600 lb and females 260-400 lb. Some experts, however, have expressed the belief that such weights are greatly exaggerated, and that the Barbary lion was similar in size to the lions in East Africa.
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Agneta Gynning Ambassador fShare Agneta Gynning is sculpting her work in various material such as bronze, marble and rubber. She is connecting both classic and modern influences. Her first exhibition was in 1995 and has since then been exhibited in Scandinavia, Florence, Paris, London, New York, Miami and Shanghai. Her work is represented in both private as well as public collections. A very collectible and interesting artist.
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Photo courtesy of Jackie Estrada
It’s with a very heavy heart that master illustrator Bernie Wrightson has passed away after a long fight against brain cancer. His wife Liz broke the new late Saturday night.
It is with great sorrow that I must announce the passing of my beloved husband, Bernie. We thank you for all the years of love and support. His obituary is below:
After a long battle with brain cancer, legendary artist Bernie Wrightson has passed away.
Bernie “Berni” Wrightson (born October 27, 1948, Baltimore, Maryland, USA) was an American artist known for his horror illustrations and comic books. He received training in art from reading comics, particularly those of EC, as well as through a correspondence course from the Famous Artists School. In 1966, Wrightson began working for The Baltimore Sun newspaper as an illustrator. The following year, after meeting artist Frank Frazetta at a comic-book convention in New York City, he was inspired to produce his own stories. In 1968, he showed copies of his sequential art to DC Comics editor Dick Giordano and was given a freelance assignment. Wrightson began spelling his name “Berni” in his professional work to distinguish himself from an Olympic diver named Bernie Wrightson, but later restored the final E to his name.
His first professional comic work appeared in House of Mystery #179 in 1968. He continued to work on a variety of mystery and anthology titles for both DC and its principal rival, Marvel Comics. In 1971, with writer Len Wein, Wrightson co-created the muck creature Swamp Thing for DC. He also co-created Destiny, later to become famous in the work of Neil Gaiman. By 1974 he had left DC to work at Warren Publishing who were publishing black-and-white horror-comics magazines. There he produced a series of original work as well as adaptations of stories by H. P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. In 1975, Wrightson joined with fellow artists Jeff Jones, Michael Kaluta, and Barry Windsor-Smith to form “The Studio,” a shared loft in Manhattan where the group would pursue creative products outside the constraints of comic book commercialism. Though he continued to produce sequential art, Wrightson at this time began producing artwork for numerous posters, prints, calendars, and coloring books.
Wrightson spent seven years drawing approximately 50 detailed pen-and-ink illustrations to accompany an edition of Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein, which the artist considers among his most personal work. Wrightson drew the poster for the Stephen King-penned horror film Creepshow, as well as illustrating the comic book adaptation of the film. This led to several other collaborations with King, including illustrations for the novella “Cycle of the Werewolf,” the restored edition of King’s apocalyptic horror epic, “The Stand,” and art for the hardcover editions of “From a Buick 8” and “Dark Tower V.” Wrightson has contributed album covers for a number of bands, including Meat Loaf. The “Captain Sternn” segment of the animated film Heavy Metal is based on the character created by Wrightson for his award-winning short comic series of the same name.
Characters he worked on included Spiderman, Batman and The Punisher, and he provided painted covers for the DC comics Nevermore and Toe Tags, among many others. Recent works include Frankenstein Alive Alive, Dead She Said , the Ghoul and Doc Macabre (IDW Publishing) all co-created with esteemed horror author Steve Niles, and several print/poster/sketchbooks series produced by Nakatomi.
As a conceptual artist, Bernie worked on many movies, particularly in the horror genre: well-known films include Ghostbusters, The Faculty, Galaxy Quest, Spiderman, and George Romero’s Land of the Dead, and Frank Darabont’s Stephen King film The Mist.
Bernie lived in Austin, Texas with his wife Liz and two corgis – Mortimer and Maximillian. In addition to his wife, he is survived by two sons, John and Jeffrey, one stepson, Thomas Adamson, and countless friends and fans. A celebration of his life is planned for later this year.
There have been many tributes and thought about Bernie from friends, admirers and colleagues. One of the ones that I loved the most was from William Stout;
It is with great sorrow I report the death of my friend, colleague and hero, Bernie Wrightson. Without going into Wrightson’s entire biography, please allow me to express some random bits about our relationship and why he and his work meant so much to me. Bernie was one year older than me — which doesn’t seem like much now. A one-year difference seemed enormous in my youth, however. I followed his early fan and fanzine work (which included an formative piece of his that ran in the Creepy magazine letters section one issue), then celebrated when he finally trail-blazed into the Big League of DC comics. Bernie showed me it was possible to have that dream of being a young man and making a living drawing comics to be a distinct possibility. Bernie will forever be linked with his impressive and groundbreaking DC Comics run of Swamp Thing (a character he co-created with writer Len Wein) and his celebrated Franklin Booth-ish Frankenstein illustrations, that brought him even more acclaim, as well as great notice from some heavy-hitting art collectors. I loved what Wrightson brought to Batman and Spiderman as well. Bernie just seemed to “get” things on every level — he recognized the “essence”. He understood that certain key elements of genres that inspired him just might inspire others, too — and he was right. Bernie was a co-founder of The Studio, an east coast phenomenon that included Michael Kaluta, Jeffrey Jones and Barry Windsor Smith. This powerhouse of talent inspired me to help form a west coast version at my own spacious studio on La Brea Avenue that at times included Richard Hescox, Dave Stevens and Paul Chadwick. Bernie picked up the brush-inking torch from Frank Frazetta. I looked at both of these great artists for inspiration and analyzed their remarkable technique with their weapon of choice, a Winsor-Newton brush. Frank and Bernie inspired other brush-men, including Dave Stevens, Mark Schultz and Frank Cho. I dubbed our loose group “The Last Brush-men of the Kalahari” (an artistic take on the Lost Bushmen of the Kalahari). I’m happy to report that a few up-and-coming young lads (and a couple of older guys) have since taken up the torch of brush inking, seemingly inspired by our endeavors. If I had to describe Wrightson’s basic style at its very essence, I’d call it Frank Frazetta’s solid drawing and ability with a brush combined with the truly disturbing and demented visions of EC’s Graham Ingels. I looked at Bernie’s inking when I wanted to figure out how to depict veins on well-muscled arms. His take on dinosaurs — while not the last word in scientific accuracy — nevertheless seeded my imagination with his dramatic portrayals of these great beasts, helping me to see them anew with fresh, unblinking eyes. I was the go-to creature designer for the movie biz until Wrightson came to town. My offers immediately shriveled and shifted (rightfully so) to Bernie. Bernie was THE master monster artist. His imagination in that arena seemed breathtakingly endless. I didn’t mind losing the work because it meant that I got to see more of Bernie’s amazing creations up on the movie screen — and I’d much rather gaze upon his fascinating creatures than my own. Through moving in the same comic book convention circles I finally got to meet Bernie. He was as gracious in person as his art was solid and we became fast friends, especially connecting with our shared love of monsters, dinosaurs and EC comics. I initially passed on seeing the movie The Texas Chainsaw Massacre until I read in an interview that Chainsaw was so scary it had made Bernie pee his pants. On that high recommendation I dashed to the World Theater to catch a three-movies-for-99¢ screening of this grindhouse wonder. I was not disappointed. In 1984 the job of production designer for Return of the Living Dead came down to being between Bernie and me — with Bernie the director’s first choice. The producer gave me the gig because I had more experience in film than Bernie at the time — but I did manage to slip some Bernie-isms into some of my designs so that he might be there in spirit. I tried to work with my pal whenever I could, but our work paths seldom crossed. When possible, we’d send each other jobs in The Biz. We mostly saw each other and hung out at conventions, though. I was delighted when he finally met the love of his life, Liz — a real sweetheart, as Al Williamson would say. Bernie’s other friends agreed with me that Liz was one of the best things that ever happened to Wrightson. I’ve watched Bernie’s talented sons grow and mature into fine young men. I feel very much like an uncle to them and share the pain of their dad’s passing. I’ve lost a dear, dear friend — but the world at large has lost a truly great artist. Though his mortal form has passed into the land beyond beyond, his magnificent body of work will live on forever.
Photo Courtesy of Bill Morrison
Many other have posted their favorite Wrightson artwork and photos of him. While my own encounter with him mirror what many others have echoed that he was a generous and kind person and was always loved to meet his fans. I have two stories that I would like to share. The first one is from the late 1980’s or early 1990’s at San Diego comic con where he was to be in artist alley because of personal reasons he was only able to make it on Sunday the last day of the convention at a spotlight panel. He profusely apologized that he was not able to make it to the whole convention so he said that anyone who had brought to the convention for him to sign could line up and he would talk and answer questions while he also signed the items. I had him sign his Superman piece from the Superman #400 that had been released in a portfolio by DC Comics. At the time I never thought of how that meeting would show what a kind and caring person he was.
In 2011 at the Long Beach Comics Con he was a special guest. He had been working with Steve Niles who’s dog Sonny had been recently been diagnosed with cancer and a number of comic artist friends had done original artwork to help raise money to help pay for treatments. Of course Bernie was one of the first to do artwork for Steve and created one of the best Swamp Thing pieces that I have ever seen. All of the artwork was auctioned off and there was no way that I could afford any of the art let alone Wrightson.
Lucky for me I had over the past few years became friends with Steve and he showed me a print of the original artwork that a friend had made for him. There were only ever five of them produced and Steve had one extra. I asked him if he wanted to sell it and he was a little hesitant at first but I proposed that what if I donated money to him to help pay for Sonny’s treatment and he said that was a great idea and so that is how I got the print. Of course I had both Steve and Bernie sign it and got a picture with them both and Sonny. It was Halloween weekend and being Bernie and Steve’s favorite time of the year so they were dressed up for Halloween.
Me, Bernie, Steve and Sonny
Monica Richardson, Liz Wrightson, Bernie, Steve and Sonny
What I take away from Bernie Wrightson is of course his amazing artwork from Creepy, Swamp Thing, Captain Stern, Frankenstein, and so many others. But over the years running into him at conventions I understood what so many of his friends and family already knew that he was kind and gracious. He loved meeting fans and would always sign anything for you.
Over the years I have met hundreds of comic book creators but Bernie was one of the rare ones. He understood that some fans were very nervous when they meet them and he always made you feel at ease and would take time with you to talk to you and make you feel special. I also want to say that his lovely wife Liz was as gracious as Bernie was. You could tell that they were meant for each other and my heart breaks for not only her but all of his family and friends. While I didn’t know him personally but just meeting him has left an impression of a special person that I thank for not only his artwork but his kindness.
Jackie Estrada summed it up the best;
To Know him was to LOVE him-a wonderful human being along with being one of the all-time great artists. My heart goes out to his wife Liz and to all who are felling this great loss.
Photos Courtesy of Jackie Estrada
The best way to honor Bernie Wrightson is to end this with a look at his artwork that inspires, excites and will alway stick with you. A picture is worth a thousand words and his art will live on and inspire generations to come.
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It was only in 2006 when I had my own copy of the Bible and it was only in 2015 when I got to read it from cover to cover. To be honest, there are many portions of the Scripture that are difficult to understand, much more difficult to endure reading until the end. Take for instance the many genealogies or the several enumeration of laws in the Old Testament. Deuteronomy and the Book of Ezekiel were the particular books that I found hard to finish and digest. But I guess just like our journey here on earth, we cannot read and understand the Scripture alone, we need the help of God.
In my journey in reading the entire Scripture, I was able to see new perspectives in some stories that I keep on hearing since high school. An example is the story of Jesus walking on the water. My reflection to this story has always been about Peter and I having small faith and having doubts. But as I read and reread the story, I realized that Peter has in fact a strong faith. Why? Because among the apostles/disciples on the boat, he was the only one bold enough to say to Jesus, ‘Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.’ Who else was bold enough to say that? None. Maybe because all the others were either afraid or not yet believing.
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Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Becoming Grace Kelly
In 1953, Alfred Hitchcock was searching for a female lead for a film he was directing at Warner Bros., Dial M for Murder. While looking for an actress to cast, he reviewed an old screen test Kelly had done at Twentieth Century Fox and watched Mogambo. While Hitchcock thought Kelly was stiff, if not a bit wooden, he saw that she had potential. Almost immediately, the master of suspense started to mold Kelly into the prototypical cool Hitchcock blond. When Dial M for Murder was released, the reviews were good, some even thinking it better than the stage play upon which it was based. This time, Crowther mentioned Kelly in the sixth paragraph (out of seven) of his review saying, “Grace Kelly does a nice job of acting the wife's bewilderment, terror and grief.” From the likes of Crowther, that was absolutely glowing praise.
Once again, Hitchcock took complete control of Kelly’s image and introduced her to screenwriter, John Michael Hayes. As Hayes would state in an interview before his death in 2008, Hitchcock asked him to get to know Kelly and study her speech patterns. Hayes was instructed to write dialogue that would seem natural coming out of Kelly’s mouth. Hitchcock thought (and rightly so) that if Kelly collaborated with Hayes on some of her dialogue, her characterization would avoid the stiffness of some of her earlier roles. The fact that Hayes’s wife was a former model made him the perfect person to write for Kelly.
When Rear Window opened at the Rivoli in August of 1954, 2,000 people attended the premier, a benefit for the American-Korean Foundation. It was an immediate commercial and critical success and people took notice of Grace Kelly in what would become an iconic role for the then 25-year-old actress.
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We'd just had a series of cold, grey days. It was a pre-cursor to winter and difficult to shake the tired feeling that accompanies cheerless weather. I felt fatigued, spent.
I was tucked under a big squishy duvet. The kind that gently engulfs your chilled, weary body as soon as you get into bed. Coccoons every part of you in an indulgent embrace. I felt sleep approaching easily and I was ready for it to draw me in like a deep cleansing sigh.
And I slept. Amazingly well. Deeper than the ocean. Hours passed and I remained disengaged from every sound, every stressor, every temporal affair.
I had to pee. And some fragment of my brain knew it. But it's voice against the masses was miniscule. A blip on the subconscious radar. The rest of my body wanted to stay right where it was - in a deep, beautiful abyss of uninterrupted slumber. But as minutes passed, the real-life pressure on my bladder persisted, advancing from a feeling of annoyance to anguish. And soon that miniscule voice became a shout and then a roar that could not be ignored.
So, they - the pee part and the sleep part of me - arrived at a compromise.
And suddenly, I was at a toilet. A big, clean, white bowl, mine for the taking. I hurriedly sat down and felt that familiar, grateful, pang of relief. Ahhhhhh... I peed like a pro. Like a racehorse. Like I'd been retaining all the water in all the oceans in all the world since the beginning of time. And I was grateful.
Until I woke up. In my bed. In my pee.
And that feeling - is not one you need ever experience. The relief was almost simultaneously cancelled out by the horror at what I'd just done. I reached down to confirm the worst. My flannel ducky pajamas were soaked. I gasped. The gasp woke up Corn.
"I just peed the bed!" I blurted and threw off the covers. Then I ran bowlegged for the bathroom, clutching my crotch.
When I returned to the bedroom, clean-up supplies in hand, Corn was up and wearily pulling drenched sheets off the mattress. He didn't say much. Actually, nothing. At first I thought he was mad, but quickly realized he was still half-asleep. It was 3 in the morning after all. I, on the other hand was in a complete frenzy. I felt like a superball on speed. I was delirious, incredulous and giddily embarassed. The only other time I peed the bed was when I shared a room with my sister. I didn't know the protocol for doing it in adulthood. And not to mention how to rationalize or explain it to Corn.
But I didn't have to. He was so tired, that he crept back onto his (dry) side of the mattress, turned away from the scene of the crime, pulled a blanket up over his shoulder and readied again for sleep.
But I, having just stunned myself into re-evaluating myself as a fully-functioning adult, was nowhere near falling back asleep. Towels, sponges, sprays in hand - I got to work on the platter-sized stain leeching into my posturpedic. I hopped around, laughing nervously and blathering away to the back of Corn's head about how I couldn't believe what just happened, how I was sorry, how embarrassed I felt, how I was dreaming about a toilet, how that must have been a really deep sleep and would he please please never ever TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS EVERRRR??!!!
He promised groggily.
Then a whole new series of thoughts struck me: What if this isn't a one-time thing? What if this happens again? Will I have to buy rubber sheets? Will I have to wear diapers? What if I have an underlying medical problem? What if I'm incontinent the rest of my life? I went on and on inventing ailments and scenarios as I scrubbed and cleaned and dabbed and sprayed.
"Man," I sighed, shaking my head. "I just can't believe I did this. I'm 31 years old and I peed the bed." It was more a self-assertion than anything.
Corn stirred. He turned to face me, his eyes alert. And with all the earnesty in the world he said,
I literally fell to the floor laughing. And not a nervous "I'm a bedwetter" laugh. A real one. Because in all the havoc I had created, in all the insanity of the scene, THAT'S what he singled out as important. And in that moment, I knew my self-induced chaos was irrelevant. Big deal. So I took a whiz in the bed. I'm sure I'm not the only one. It's not like I peed my pants at a job interview. As a matter of fact, I might wet the bed again (not that I have). Maybe just for fun (not that I would). But I chilled out about it and as dumb as it sounds, I felt lucky to have Corn. Easygoing, calm, best-ever Corn. And I'm happy to tell you I haven't wet the bed in 5 months.
And that's why the next day, I told the story to anyone who would listen. Can't let a little bedwetting ruin a good story. Even if it happens to you.
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Then the maiden went to the back door that led into the garden and called out,
»O gentle doves, O turtle-doves,
And all the birds that be,
The lentils that in ashes lie
Come and pick up for me!
The good must be put in the dish,
The bad you may eat if you wish.«
Then there came to the kitchen door two white doves, and after them some turtle-doves, and at last a crowd of all the birds under heaven, chirping and fluttering, and they alighted among the ashes; and the doves nodded with their heads, and began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and then all the others began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and put all the good grains into the dish. Before an hour was over all was done and they flew away. Then the maiden brought the dish to her stepmother, feeling joyful, and thinking that now she should go to the feast, but the stepmother said, »All this is of no good to you, you cannot come with us. You have no proper clothes and cannot dance. You would be laughed at and would put us to shame.«
Then she turned her back on poor Cinderella and made haste to set out with her two proud daughters.
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A young man, an eternal invalid, loved a girl, but she was merely fond of him. They met for a while and even kissed. How did this come about? As far as the invalid was concerned, it was clear: he loved her passionately. As for the beloved girl, one should explain that she met the young man during a transition period between one lover and the next, and the eternal invalid took advantage of this brief pause in her life to enter it as a lover without any protest from the beloved. The invalid crept further and further into the beloved girl's life, first one finger, then a hand, a shoulder and a head, poised to insert his entire self, while the beloved looked on with some affection and some astonishment, and laughed a gentle laugh that the eternal invalid interpreted as good-humored enjoyment at the sight of his curious yearning.
The beloved allowed the eternal invalid to circle around her for almost two months. He never gathered much of her sweet pollen and, moreover, asked for none. He liked to watch her, to think of her—especially to think of her, because when he could not see her and he thought of her, his heart would contract with such stifling pangs of longing. The bliss implied by her absence was so vast and wonderful that he felt that this anticipation was itself the essence of life, and he would sit and anticipate and anticipate. Of course, he could not have anticipated had she not occasionally quenched the thirst of his anticipation and given it some concrete basis. And so she would come to him once or twice a week, laugh a little, softly caress his head; he would kiss her hands, reach up to her neck. Then she would comb her hair and leave. As soon as she stood to comb her hair, even before she left, the anticipation of her next visit would begin again.
Two months passed this way. The eternal invalid spun dreams of divine happiness, and the beloved came and went, came and went, until she tired of it. The eternal invalid bored her. A man who does nothing in her presence but sit and gaze at her and secretly smile to himself with delight may fascinate himself, but he surely bores those around him, particularly those from whom he demands his happiness in a slow, draining sort of way, those who know it is not in their power to give this happiness, and those who simply have no patience for him. And it was not just that he bored her. Let us suppose he had not bored her, would she then have been his? The answer is no. Such a peculiar idea never entered her mind. But why not, in fact? That is the question the eternal invalid wished to ask her afterwards, when it was all over, but he did not dare. The question, however, persists: Why not? Why with someone else but not with him? Why must his kisses stop at her neck? Why does she always laugh? Why is he not beloved, but only liked? And why did she suddenly lose interest? What had he done to her? "He did not do anything to me," the beloved would probably have answered, had she been asked. "He just didn't seem connected to love." She would laugh-her teeth exposed-a laugh that would be extremely painful for the invalid, were he there, an insulting laugh (and even so, how beautiful!), a laugh she would begin with a small burst of joy at the thought of being desired, which she would hasten to end upon realizing it was shared by no one, and would replace with an expression of discomfort and annoyance over the fact that something she found pleasurable could cause grief to another—you can't even laugh with a clear conscience in this world—and besides, she was altogether sick of him, of this eternal invalid.
After two months, the pause in the beloved's life came to an end, she met a young man who loved her and whom she loved. For a week or so she did not come to visit the eternal invalid (she used to visit him, rather than allow him to visit her, because it was improper to allow young men of his sort into one's home). The eternal invalid waited a week. He was afraid something had happened to the beloved, although the prolonged waves of cold that enveloped him indicated that deep inside he knew the real reason. He agonized for a whole week before rushing to the beloved's home. He went in the evening. From downstairs, on the street, the apartment was dark except for one window, her bedroom window. He went up the stairs inside the building. Near the door he heard music and a young man's voice. He went downstairs and waited outside on the sidewalk, gazing at the lit window. He waited for three hours, during which time the light went off for an hour, candlelight flickered, and then the light came back on. After three hours a young man came out of the building, opened a car door, got in and drove away. The eternal invalid climbed the stairs again and stood listening outside the door. The music had stopped, the man's voice could no longer be heard-it had been him, the owner of the car—the sound of running water came from within: she was running herself a bath, a nice warm bath. The invalid did not dare knock on the door; he went home and continued to wait. "She must come," he thought, "she said she would come a week ago, she is late, she is not punctual, but she will come." Another week went by and she did not come. The eternal invalid was stunned. His mouth was dry, the insult caused his throat to make perpetual swallowing motions. In the mornings he would gather up all his strength just to command his body out of bed.
Another month went by. She did not come. For the eternal invalid, reality gradually lost all tangibility, slowly emptying out of every object and all matter until finally only one fact remained, a fact that filled the space of the universe with its paralyzing terror: the beloved was not coming. He escaped into sleep. He restricted his interaction with the world to the bare essentials, and even these were executed with great effort—oh, how hard it is to stretch one's lips into a smile upon hearing a joke when shame and fear contract them so forcefully!—and the rest of his time was spent under the icy oppression of the insult and humiliation in his gut, with pangs of remorse for all the errors he must surely have made in his relations with the beloved and which had caused her to abandon him, and in hallucinations of bliss shared with the beloved, hallucinations he attempted, unsuccessfully, to smuggle into his dreams at night, and by means of which he also attempted to blur a few of his terrible waking hours. But, all things considered, the situation was not yet utterly hopeless, since she still had not told him anything explicit, either positive or negative: she simply had not come, and if we were to analyze this fact according to bare logic we would not find a single indication that the affair with the beloved was over. She simply had not come, there could be many reasons for this, and so as far as he was concerned, the love affair went on as before, she continued to be the beloved, she was his, she would arrive at any moment, she was just late.
Three months go by. Astonishment usually lasts a few seconds; a big surprise might prolong it for a moment or two—even, let us say, so as to satisfy the insistent among us, for half an hour. But the eternal invalid has been existing in a state of astonishment for three months. He still cannot believe it. His astonishment is not one that proceeds linearly through time: it comes in waves, separated by brief intervals of forgetting, making each new wave as painful as the first. To illustrate: the eternal invalid gets up in the morning and is astonished. The paralyzing astonishment lasts while washing and shaving, and continues as he gets out of the bath tub. Now he is faced with preparing breakfast, and being that he is fond of this meal and tends to concentrate on it, the first astonishment ends upon entering the kitchen. His mind is occupied with food. He eats a slice of bread with margarine and pickled herring. In the middle of taking a bite out of the second slice, once the initial taste of breakfast has passed and he is half-full, a new wave of astonishment suddenly floods him. His jaw pauses, his throat stops, and the food in his mouth loses its taste as he is entirely overcome with astonishment: "I don't understand, I don't understand, I don't understand!" An odd sort of astonishment, indeed. Because what is so complicated here, what is there to understand? A young woman left a young man-is that so hard to comprehend? Well, a young woman leaving a young man in general—this he is capable of comprehending, it is easily understood, but that the beloved should leave him? No, no, here we have something ungraspable, beyond his comprehension, a wonder, an enigma, and his mind continues to rock continuously to the beat of one rhythm: "I don't understand, I don't understand, I don't understand!" Until this wave of astonishment passes too. Over the course of the day, some thirty or forty astonishments, and another four or five in the middle of the night, wash over the eternal invalid with an icy chill and exhaust him.
One day the eternal invalid happens to learn that the beloved has gone to Switzerland. For what purpose? To study, to expand her horizons, to have fun. The date of her return? Undetermined. The eternal invalid turns pale, abandons all unessential acts and shifts to automatic mode, like machines that, at some point, stop being operated and continue to run on their own. The eternal invalid also begins to feel a pressure in his head.
Six months later, in the summer, when the streets and beaches are filled with half-naked women and the loneliness becomes intolerable, the eternal invalid is forced to rally a little, to recuperate from his paleness and to once again amuse himself with a familiar logical analysis: what's the panic, he has not yet been told a single explicit thing to this day, either positive or negative, she simply has not come, she has gone away, gone to study—to study, not to get married, and if we analyze the situation logically we will not find a single indication of the end of the affair, and so on and so forth. The eternal invalid obtains her address in Switzerland and writes her a letter. He asks why she did not come on the day they had arranged to meet nine months ago, what happened to her and why she did not bother to inform him of her journey or at least send a postcard. The beloved takes two months to reply because, so she writes, it was difficult for her, his letter caught her by surprise, she was confused, she wrote letter after letter and kept tearing them up.
"Aha!" An inner joyfulness breaks through the layer of ice inside the eternal invalid, "I am still capable of confusing her! I have some influence over her! She is still mine, I must simply make an effort!"
And besides, she continues, she did not come that day because she thought he did not want to see her, that was the impression he had given her during their previous meetings, and if he had really wanted to see her that much, why did he not come to her after the meeting that did not occur? Why didn't he find out what had happened to her—she might have been run over, she might have been dead! Why did he wait so long, why did he abandon her? Now she is confused. And finally: she will probably come to Israel next summer for a visit.
A cry of victory from within the eternal invalid. She thought he did not love her, it was he who was the cause of the separation, he, he—she had loved him and still loves him as she did at first, as evidenced by the confusion caused by his letter. This sort of confusion would not have been stirred in someone who was not in love. See how far his power reaches: a few lines of his on a piece of paper produced a storm in the soul of a young girl in Switzerland. And further evidence of her love: she recalls the meeting to which she did not come. Nine months have passed and yet she remembers. That meeting was critical not only for him, but for her too. For who, besides someone in love, would retain for nine months the memory of a meeting that did not even occur? And who else, besides someone in love, would repeatedly start letters and tear them up? And who, besides someone in love, would quickly come in summer, as soon as the school year was over, to clear up the matter and restore their love to its proper state? Yes, all he needs to do is explain himself to her next summer, tell her she was wrong, that he loved her all along, that although he seemed restrained, he loved her passionately, that his love is not stilted, but rather that he himself is a somewhat inhibited man and it is not his fault, he will tell her, he will explain, and she will return to him. A most beautiful reunion will occur here next summer as they fall into each others' arms, he tells himself with a satisfied smile, stretches his back, and immediately runs out to sit in a café and watch passers-by with the look of a man who has it all.
Upon the demise of the first wave of joy, it is replaced with remorse over all the needlessly wasted time. He regrets not having knocked on the door of her apartment that evening. Suddenly he remembers the young man who had been with her, the electric light that turned to candlelight, and pain rips open his heart. That young man had not waited and suffered like him, had not needlessly tormented his soul for many nights, and yet he was given the ultimate pleasure, he was allowed to hold the beloved, to kiss her beyond her neck, to undress her . . . . It seems there are some who deserve it and some who do not. But how does one purchase this prerogative? And with how much suffering? He stops being pained by the victorious young man and returns to his remorse. Because even if she had spent the night with that man—and there still is no proof of that, he might have been a student who came to advise her on choosing a major, and the candle was lit merely for ambience—but even if so, well then what of it? These are modern times, it happens that a woman sleeps with someone, caught up in modernity, and what of it? What of it? Now he does not grasp at all why he did not knock on the door. And why did he not go to her the next day? Why did he wait? Didn't he know the universal rule, whereby a man who desires something goes to the desired thing and tries to take it? Why did he wait? What had held him back? Pride? Shame? Fear of failure? Would not all of these losses have been made up for by the radiating joy he would have gained? What had been wrong with him, then, what was the source of the paralysis that had taken hold of him and not let go for several weeks, now lost forever? The eternal invalid chuckled in self-ridicule and tried to do away with any analysis of the question. He did not enjoy carrying out scientific investigations into the depths of his soul. He saw his soul as being made like a beast's firm intestines, and rather than analyze and inspect it, he preferred stuffing it with the crude nutrition to which it was accustomed. A handful of unrefined insult mixed with a pinch of dry sorrow, drizzled with some greenish-yellow tough remorse, and his soul-intestines would be happy.
And so the eternal invalid concentrates on remorse. Indeed, he should have knocked on the door, should have knocked on the door, and having failed to do so, he should have returned the next day, should have returned the next day. He replays the entire period of time during which he could have gone to the beloved and fallen into her arms and won the happiness she was saving for him, and in his mind's eye he sees this thread of wasted time day after day, hour after hour, in precise detail, accompanied by a secret, rhythmic, inner murmuring: "Tuesday, August Eighth, I could have gone to her in the morning, I could have gone to her before noon, I could have gone to her at noon, I could have gone to her in the afternoon, I could have gone to her at dusk, I could have gone to her in the evening, I could have gone to her at night, I could have gone to her at dawn. Wednesday, August Ninth, I could have gone to her in the morning, I could have gone to her . . . " And as he imagines every single section of the day in precise detail, each with its own particular lighting and atmosphere, he plants himself in each scene again and again, never tiring, in one repetitive picture: walking into the beloved's apartment building. When he has completed this process, this chain, this cycle of the past year, his heart sours within him at every fraction of time in which he could have gone and did not, he returns to the beginning and starts anew, this time hour by hour: "Tuesday, August Eighth, I could have gone to her at eight in the morning, I could have gone to her at eight-thirty, I could have gone to her . . . " And now he also envisions the scene that could have occurred at each one of these times, and even the probable continuation of the meeting: "At noon they would lunch together, at dusk they would walk along the beach, in the evening they would sit in her room, his head on her lap, at night they would turn off the light . . . " In torture-games such as these, time trickled by for the eternal invalid, seeped through on a vast plane drop by drop, never flowing, never rushing, as if to allow him the possibility of utterly exhausting every drop of pain, all the nausea and the burden in each tiny moment.
Nor does the pressure in his head stop. Something inside keeps beating. The eternal invalid is afraid to be ill now, of all times, when the beloved is finally back within his reach. He tries to relieve the pressure in his head. He goes to the beach, where he runs around in the sun a little, gets a tan—which is also a good idea for his appearance. There is, after all, a tender heart to be captured soon, and it is most desirable that when the beloved visits she find him supple and shining and smooth and full of life like a young beast of prey. However, he must not go too far with the physical exertion, he feels weak, he must protect his heart from excessive effort and preserve his energies for the nights of love awaiting him next summer, because at least on the first nights of their reunion he must appear to be an exuberant, tireless lover who wants no sleep, who doesn't even know what sleep is, who has only one desire, to insert into his beloved a stiff cylindrical organ and thrust it inside her with great expertise for half the night until she screams that she can bear it no longer, that she is rent all the way up to her throat, that she is dying, she has never before had such pleasure, and then he must stop for two moments, moisten her neck softly with his tongue, stroke her gently like a saddened tiger with an excess of power and a need to consume, then assault her again until the morning light. There is no question: difficult, draining, even hazardous work lies ahead. But what is to be done about the pressure in his head? The pressure is emotional, undoubtedly; a great sadness has accumulated in his soul and has found no outlet, he must let it loose, allow it to break free. He must burst into a great sob. He once read in a magazine that people often hold in stifled sobs from childhood, contained for many years, and their diaphragms constrict, tighten up, their breathing canals compress under an oppressive armor of muscles and they lose the ability to breathe. As a result, the brain receives a limited supply of oxygen, becomes tired, blurred, and develops symptoms such as constant beating and pressure. The diaphragm, therefore, must
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Born on January 17, 1984
Said to be age 14 in 1997
Former waitress at Kelly's Diner
Formerly 66 Harbor View Road, Port Charles, New York (Quartermaine Mansion)
Formerly 324 Wharf Street, Port Charles, New York (Kelly's Diner)
Single/Never Been Married
Frank Bowen (biological father)
Paige Bowen (biological mother)
William Shaw (adoptive father; deceased)
Nancy Shaw (adoptive mother; deceased)
Emily Bowen-Quartermaine (twin sister)
Ethan Lovett (lovers)
Nikolas Cassadine (dated)
Joined forces with Ethan Lovett to swindle money from Nikolas Cassadine and the Quartermaines [Jan 2009]
Struck by a car driven by Nikolas [Dec 2009]
Rebecca Shaw first appeared in Port Charles during a crisis at General Hospital. Despite the shorter hair and heavy eye makeup, her resemblance to the late Emily Quartermaine was unmistakable. Rebecca insisted that she had never heard of Emily nor was she related to the young woman whom everyone seemed to view as a saint. Few believed Rebecca's claims, especially after she went through a breast cancer scare; Emily had nearly died from breast cancer.
Meanwhile, a grieving Nikolas Cassadine became fixated on Rebecca, which Rebecca seemed to resent. Rebecca briefly dated Lucky, the only person who seemed to accept Rebecca for whom she was. Nikolas, certain that Rebecca was as attracted to him as he was to her, resented his brother's relationship with Rebecca, so he decided to teach Rebecca and Lucky a lesson. Nikolas invited Elizabeth to Jake's and then proceeded to flirt with her in front of Lucky and Rebecca. Elizabeth realized what Nikolas was up to, so she played along with it. When Nikolas kissed Elizabeth, Lucky and Rebecca grew jealous.
Rebecca was forced to admit that, despite her better judgment, she cared out Nikolas. While Lucky and Elizabeth rekindled their romance, Nikolas and Rebecca embarked on a new relationship. However, as Rebecca fell in love with Nikolas, her past returned to haunt her. It was revealed that Rebecca Shaw and Luke's newfound son, Ethan Lovett, had met each other in an airport. When they discovered that they were both headed to Port Charles, they began to talk. Instead of going to Port Charles, Ethan and Rebecca became lovers and then hatched a plan to swindle the Quartermaines and Nikolas out of a large chunk of their considerable fortunes.
Rebecca was angry because she had learned that she had been adopted out while her twin sister had remained with their parents. Further adding to her fury, Rebecca discovered that a wealthy family had later adopted Emily and then she had married a rich prince. Rebecca felt that she was entitled to a share of the Quartermaine and Cassadine fortunes because she had been cheated out of a similar life as Emily's. After months of careful planning, Ethan and Rebecca arrived in Port Charles to put their con into motion.
Eventually, Rebecca and Ethan arranged for everyone to find out that Rebecca had been Emily's long lost twin. It was crucial to their plan. The Quartermaines were delighted by the news. Monica and Edward accepted Rebecca with open arms while Nikolas fell more in love with Rebecca; unfortunately for Rebecca, so had Ethan. Ethan grew jealous of Rebecca's attachment to Nikolas, so he threatened to expose everything. Rebecca begged Ethan to reconsider because she feared that she would lose Nikolas. Ethan agreed to keep quiet, but it was too late. Lucky had learned of the truth and had decided to tell Nikolas.
Nikolas was shattered by the betrayal. He decided to hurt Rebecca as deeply as she had hurt him. Nikolas pretended to forgive Rebecca, but it was a ruse designed to set her up for a painful downfall. Ethan tried to warn Rebecca not to trust Nikolas, but she refused to listen. During this time, Nikolas turned to his best friend, Elizabeth, for advice. Nikolas and Elizabeth realized that the attraction that had led them to kiss in Jake's months earlier had grown, not diminished. Nikolas and Elizabeth embarked on a torrid affair. As his love for Elizabeth grew, his desire to punish Rebecca lessened.
Nikolas decided to break things off with Rebecca because he couldn't ignore his feelings for Elizabeth. Rebecca was devastated, but determined to salvage her relationship with Nikolas. One night, she returned to Wyndemere with the intention of working things out with Nikolas, but she found him in the turret room making love to Elizabeth. Rebecca was livid, but she decided not to confront the lovers.
Rebecca spent several weeks threatening to tell Lucky about Elizabeth and Nikolas' affair. She then blackmailed the lovers to step aside, so that she could seduce Lucky. Rebecca decided that Lucky deserved someone better than Elizabeth. Lucky saw through Rebecca's attempt to seduce him away from Elizabeth, so he decided that Rebecca needed to understand the close connection that Lucky, Elizabeth, and Nikolas had shared with Emily. When Rebecca realized how deeply they had loved her sister, Rebecca decided to keep quiet about Nikolas and Elizabeth's affair. When Monica offered to send Rebecca abroad, Rebecca accepted.
As Rebecca boarded a plane bound for Paris, she sat down next to a passenger named Aaron who bore a striking resemblance to Emily's love, Zander Smith. Aaron's company had transferred him to Paris. Rebecca and Aaron seemed to hit it off immediately.
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Devotional: Faith is Ready
Today’s example of faith is something that has been examined by philosophers, portrayed by artists, and revered by theologians throughout history. Abraham is asked by God to sacrifice his only son. We can hardly fathom what it must have been like to be asked such a thing, much less to be read to go through with it. But that’s the amazing thing about Abraham’s faith in this story–he was ready to obey what God asked, and ready to offer his very best.
Questions for Meditation
- Because of his faith in the promise of God, Abraham was ready to obey God through his sacrifice. What are some times in Abraham’s life when he wasn’t ready to obey God? Why was he ready now?
- What does the growth in Abraham’s readiness teach us about our own faith?
- How can we test whether we are ready to obey God in our own lives?
- When faith is ready to offer, it means that because we can hold onto God, we should hold everything else loosely. What is something, perhaps in the past or present, that you have held onto that the Lord is asking to let go of?
- What happens when we allow our own preferences to die and we obey and offer in order to align with God’s will?
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There are many stages to life. I once heard a great sermon by pastor Mike Breaux titled, “From Walker to Walker”. He showed how we go from a baby walker to a walker used by the elderly, and all the stages in between.
My ex-wife and I were at a company party at a skating rink. I wanted my son to enjoy the evening as well. They wouldn’t let me carry him around while I skated, but they let me push him around in his walker. One problem: the plastic wheels got hot from the speed and melted. It’s hard to use a walker with one side of each wheel flat. Although by using it after that evening we always knew where he was in the house; right where we had left him.
Two train buddies, Judy and Jan, are retiring this month. I’m happy for them, but a little envious, for now they get to do what they want to do, and not what they have to do to survive. This should be a good stage in life.
Then there are the stages of cancer. I have another friend going through that right now. She smiles, and says she is doing okay, but I wonder when she looks at herself in the mirror is she really okay? I struggle with finding the right words to say to her. I can tell her I am praying for her, but how do I show her I really care?
As we walk through the stages of life, which is like a vapor that passes before our eyes (James 4:14) it is important to make the most of each one. The only way to do that is to trust God as you are in that particular stage and to be content in it. No matter how you are walking through life know this; if you are a child of God you are not alone. You may be single, married, have lots of friends, or just one, but there is indeed one who is always walking with you. His name is Jesus. Whatever stage you are in He may walk beside you, in front of you leading the way, or He may be carrying you, but He is indeed there with you.
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Maggie is starting high school, which would be scary enough, except that she has also been homeschooled her entire life—and the mother who taught her has abandoned the family. Maggie would like to think her three older brothers could give her some support, but her oldest brother Daniel is busy with his many friends and theater, while her twin brothers Zander and Lloyd are locked in an epic battle of their own.
At her new school, Maggie does make two friends, peppy Lucy and her moody brother Alastair. But she wonders what's going on between Alastair and hotshot soccer captain Matt. Then there's Maggie's shortcut through the cemetery on her way home, which brings her into contact with a sad-looking nineteenth century woman ghost. Eventually she learns who the silent ghost is and why she is sad, but what does it have to do with Maggie, who feels like the ghost is following her around?
This book is made up of small incidents, like the fact that Maggie's father finally cuts his longish hair short and how that bothers Maggie. But the incidents add up to matter, just the way they do in real life.
Hicks's characters are so angular that they sometimes look older than they are, especially the boys with their strong noses and jaws. But I soon got used to her style. And Hicks is a dab hand at dialogue, not to mention humor. The high school play Daniel stars in is about zombies, for example. Here are a few lines that come up after the play:
"You were great in the play. I completely believed you were horribly killed by zombies."
"Thanks. It's a gift."
I like the way Maggie's brother Daniel is popular, but with a different group of kids than most books show, and he is a little chunky. There is a bullying theme here, but it's not handled in the usual way. Hicks manages to create a minor mystery out of that subplot, and we find that boys have their struggles and secrets, just as girls do.
I should mention that this story is not about high school romance, though there's just a hint of it in spots. Being friends with boys seems to have as much to do with Maggie's brothers as with people like Alastair. I found this rather welcome! Maggie has enough on her plate without a gigantic romance, too.
Besides the challenges of being the new girl and bullying, two themes at the heart of the book are sibling loyalties—especially when they are tested—and the pain of a family whose mother has left them. This is all handled subtly, building beautifully to a quiet but satisfying conclusion. Hicks is not into easy answers, but the answers she does give are real and possible and right.
Scoot Anya's Ghost over on your book shelf and make room for Friends with Boys!
Also: See Page by Paige by Laura Lee Gulledge, another graphic novel about a shy high school girl who's new in town and finding her place in the world.
Note: I will be at a history education conference in Kansas City next weekend, so I won't be posting. But then I'll come roaring back with my annual Pistachio Awards the weekend of March 31.
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Back with another lesser-known real design, this time it's the M1895 Lee-Navy rifle, a turn of the century straight pull that saw use with the US Navy as a shipboard weapon. It's a rather unique gun since it's origins are as an anti-torpedo boat gun, thus the high velicty 6mm cartridge designed to have long range and penetrate thick wooden or steel siding of a small, fast torpedo craft. Obviously stopping a torpedo boat with a rifle was hugely impractical and only became moreso as torpedo range increased and the boats go bigger, but these weapons remained on US ships to arm guards for a few years before they were phased out in favor of the more universal Krag rifles. Very interesting design, as far as I'm aware the upwards camming straight pull is totally unique to this particular weapon. The high velocity 6mm (the lightest rounds it could fire traveled at a blistering 3300 fps, and heaviest still had an impressive 2560 fps muzzle velocity) is very reminiscent of more modern cartridges and certainly seems ahead of it's time. Indeed, the excessive wear it incurred on the rifle was one of the reasons it was withdrawn from service as it was just too much for metallurgy of the day to handle. Very happy with how the drawing turned out and am looking forward to posting my next project here soon.
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Once upon a time, there was an angel who goes around helping others. She enjoys the joyful aura surrounding the earthly beings. One day, she came across a poet who is young, handsome, wealthy and talented. He even has a beautiful wife. However, he was never happy and asked the angel for help. The angel did not give him anything. Instead, she took away everything that he had owned. Half a month later, the angel went back and the poet was very unhappy. The angel returned everything to him then. Another half month later, the angel went back again and this time round, the poet is finally happy. It is always when we lose something then we will cherish things. Happiness lies in the attitude that we have.
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Victorian Fairy Spotters
I was strolling around downtown Ann Arbor, MI yesterday and I ran across a series of whimsical and beautiful pieces by James (Jim) M. Bordeau in the WSG gallery on Main Street. He has created several brass and glass contraptions which he calls “Victorian Fairy Spotters,” as well as one “Steampunk Wand” (the curly one in the corner). I love the notion of a special tool just for finding fairies, and it made me think of one of my all time favorite books, Lady Cottington’s Pressed Fairy Book. I would have loved to handle them but it was an art gallery, not a store, so I resisted the urge to touch. The lighting made it difficult to take photos of the ones lying flat without casting shadows so I could only get a detail of the one above. The spotters were between approximately 8-14 inches in length. I haven’t been able to find much more information about the artist, but there is a very limited profile here.
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About the test
This test measures how many words you can keep in short term memory at once.
The number of words you need to remember grows continually, until you can't keep them in your head anymore.
Go as long as you can. You have 3 strikes until game over.
Your score is how many turns you lasted.
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At first glance, Dürer’s Virgin and Child With Half a Pear may simply look like a lovely Renaissance mother holding her baby, but so much more is being visualized as the artist gives flesh, blood, and bone to the Son of God.
From 1531 to 1535 Luther delivered many of these sermons, what are known as his Hauspostille (house postils). These were written for fathers to use as devotional material in their households, as well as for pastors to use for aid in sermon preparation. Just as Luther expected the head of the household to teach the Catechism to his children, so he desired them to have devotions with them, a practice that Luther was eager to do himself.
Although Luther was in hiding during this period, it did not mean that he entirely stopped his scholarly and reforming activity. Indeed, the Reformer busied himself with a number of important matters.
Though many hymns have been attributed to Ambrose, “Savior of the Nations, Come” is one of a few hymns that is evidentially attributed to Ambrose. Martin Luther, also writing during a period of great adversity, provided a literal translation of this text into German from which many English translations have since been produced. Fred Precht rightly says of the hymn: “In the history of hymnody this hymn is the Advent hymn par excellence.”
Certain holy things mark the communion of saints. How many of these holy things there are can vary in the reformers’ discussion. Far from being some nebulous concept and invisible reality with little or no definite connection to the solid world of human experience, the Lutheran reformers pointed to an identifiable, locatable church, which was Christ’s own church as his words rattled ears, as his gifts met and hallowed embodied sinners, and as those so touched came to speak and sing of their incarnate Lord, and to suffer alongside him.
The Litany was in use during Luther’s early years of reform, though he desired it to be sung in the Mass and the daily offices of the congregations.
When the attacks of the evil one assail us and in times of thanksgiving, we can trust in the One who is faithful and has promised to be with us always and rejoice with Luther that “Our victory has been won; the Kingdom ours remaineth.”
An interactive timeline of before, during, and after the Reformation that was, is, and always will be All About Jesus.
Although Luther had initially believed that his condemnation at Worms was the end of his life and Reformation, it proved ultimately to be merely the end of the beginning.
Thanks to the combined impact of the printing press and the urgency of the Reformers to translate the Bible into many languages, generations of people have been able to receive the gifts of the Gospel through the written word in their own language.
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**Ever a work in progress, we’re trying to find a new way to share weekly sermons. Until we do, I’ll be posting them here.
“Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit to Galilee, and news about him spread throughout the whole countryside. He taught in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. Jesus went to Nazareth, where he had been raised. On the Sabbath, he went to the synagogue as he normally did and stood up to read. The synagogue assistant gave him the scroll from the prophet Isaiah. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me. He has sent me to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the prisoners, and recovery of sight to the blind, to liberate the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. He rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the synagogue assistant, and sat down. Every eye in the synagogue was fixed on him. He began to explain to them, ‘Today, this scripture has been fulfilled just as you heard it.’”
Message: Dream (July 7, 2019)
In the beginning….before life, earth, even light and dark…
God had a dream…a vision of what might be…and God spoke…and there was light.
And it was good.
Oh, to be divine…
to get it right every time…
and to find it good.
How many of us when we try to create…something, anything, find ourselves saying not, “It is good.” but rather asking, “is it good enough,” and finding ourselves saying, no, no, and once again no.
How many of us find our imagination limited by our insecurities, before we even pick up a pen, paper, paintbrush, measuring cup?
How many of us when considering our creativity, think of it in the past tense?
I used to draw, I used to color, I used to be creative…
We treat creativity, and imagination, even dreaming as if it is something for childhood, something we grow out of.
Barbara Brown Taylor, a master storyteller, and preacher, tells a story of the loss of imagination
A friend of mine clearly remembers the summer he lost his imagination. He was eleven years old, a distracted fifth-grader who yearned for the last days of school so he could return full-time to the fields of play. Memories of the previous summer spurred him in, long days spent lying on his belly in the backyard, racing miniature cars and trucks with his friends. When the last bell of the school year rang, he ran home to get everything ready, and the next morning he hauled it all outside. With the early sun heating up behind his back, he sat down in his special place surrounded by special toys and waited for the delicious feeling to creep over him, but nothing happened. He picked up his favorite truck and ran its wheels over the ground. “Rrrrrr!” he roared, as he had done so many times before, but it was not the sound of an engine this time. It was the sound of a boy’s voice pretending to be an engine, he was suddenly self-conscious. One by one he tried all of his old tricks, but none of them worked. The bridge to his old world was gone. He no longer had access to it, and the lost opened up a hollow place inside of him. He looked at his toys and saw what he had never seen before: they were small and cheap, a child’s toys. It had all been a silly game. Standing up, he dusted himself off and left the fossils of his dream lying in the yard (Taylor, The Preaching Life. pg.38).
Have we lost our imaginations, left them behind in the dust of childhood?
What would it take to unearth them, dust them off, clean them up, oil them, and use them?
What would it take to set free again, your holy imagination, your ability to see what is not yet, but might be? To see the realities of this world and the possibilities of God’s kindom?
Think of Jesus, a carpenter, standing before his neighbors, his family, inviting them to see not Jesus, the carpenter, the son of Mary and Joseph, the brother of James, the eldest of six or more, but rather to see Jesus, the son of God, divinity embodied. To see Jesus, filled with the holy spirit, sent to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the prisoners, and recovery of sight to the blind, to liberate the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
His neighbors…couldn’t see it…they saw only the carpenters son, and they tried to drive him off a cliff. It’s part of the story we didn’t read this morning. No one said creativity, holy imagination was safe.
The disciples had the imagination to see that Jesus was different…for he saw them differently. Instead of fishermen…he saw fishers of people.
Instead of tax collectors and cheats…he saw children of God.
Instead of political zealots, outcasts, and misfits…Jesus saw men (and women) who would follow, who would change the world with love.
Have we lost our imaginations for what the kingdom of God might be?
Have we lost our imaginations for what we might have to give?
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Yesterday I finally got around to seeing Fellini's Nights of Cabiria, which on the whole is just a wonderful, astounding movie, and I highly recommend it to anyone who hasn't yet had the pleasure (or hey, even if it's just been awhile).
One aspect of Fellini's films that's often commented on, particularly in the Nights of Cabiria, La Dolce Vitia, 8½ run of films, is how fully he creates the world of Rome of the time. Now, granted, I've never been to Rome, never mind the Rome of the late '50s and early '60s. However, as a cinematic world, I understand it perfectly through these three films. Rather than take a look at how it's fully created through the entirety of Nights of Cabiria, never mind the entirety of the latter two films, I want to take a look at the sequence inside the Piccadilly Nightclub, which really caught my eye yesterday.
More after the jump...
The club itself feels like a standard themed nightclub, but it's the people that are really special here. At every turn we're confronted with people, people who have pasts and opinions and mannerisms, rather than just a cavalcade of extras to fill the space with.
Okay, first, check this out. Seems to be a pretty standard establishing shot of some dancers at the club, right? But check out the guy all the way on the left side of the frame. Watching this in motion, he's actually nodding his head up and down, and in this frame, it really looks like he has his eyes closed. Given that he's standing, and dressed the same as the man opposite him in the room, who is standing attentively, I can only gather that he must be a member of the waitstaff whose shift is going on a little longer than he'd like.
Then there's this gentlemen. We first see him when Cabiria takes her seat, and is simply sitting and eating - and really, is there anything better than a man who seems to have come to a nightclub purely for the food? (Although, a few moments later, as Alberto and Cabiria proceed to the dance floor, he bounces a little in his chair to the beat of the music - perhaps he enjoys accompaniment with dinner)
But then, for reasons that are never explained or even hinted at, when the nightclub's singer calls for a round of applause for Alberto, the man looks straight at him, almost condescendingly, and asks, "Must I applaud too, Alberto?" And that's it. We don't see Alberto acknowledge him in any way, but through this simple question and the manner in which it's posed, they clearly know each other in some way, to the extent that the man feels comfortably publicly placing himself above Alberto, a celebrity who clearly enjoys the favor of the town.
Once the dance gets started, we're introduced to four more people who intrigue me...
The doorman, who we first see helping Cabiria through the curtain, is seen here tiredly saying to his companion, "Mambo. The world turns around the mambo. What a mambo." However, when Cabiria really gets into it and explodes in dance, he exclaims, "Oh, boy! What a mambo!" Bored with his job a little, perhaps, but this is still a man who can be surprised.
Between these exclamations, when Cabiria is really at the height of her dance, she looks over enthusiastically towards an unknown person...
...and we see a woman, who we've seen before sitting totally alone, who is absolutely having none of it.
One could gather she's stuck-up, too good for the silliness Cabiria is indulging in, or simply jealous that it's not her on the dance floor with Alberto Lazzari.
And then there are these two...
Probably the most intriguing patrons. We've seen the woman before, sitting with a group of other women, and although I couldn't spot the man before he and she start dancing, I doubt they came together. And yet, here they are, dancing together. I mean, obviously, to each his own, but how often does one see an attractive, young-ish man picking up an elderly woman?
Obviously, these are all small details, and not at all the point of the film, but that's exactly why it's so remarkable - these people are not integral to the film, and yet they feel fleshed out, dignified in their own way. They rarely feel like extras, but rather people who just happened to be there that night. And I just absolutely love details like this, details that show that this place, these moments, and really this film mattered to the director, and given that I've now spent much more time perusing the nightclub than the film actually does, clearly it's a world that matters to me as a result.
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Annabel. In 1879 in a county house north of London I meet my nemesis. The manicured lawns of Lord Marchington's mansion stretched away into the middle distance. The lake shimmered in the afternoon light. Lord Marchington's daughter Annabel stood on the terrace below me staring out across the grounds as a young gardener or groundsman tended to the lawn edges.
"A fine view Miss Gresham," I called for the family name was Gresham not Marchington. "Oh, Mr Thompsett, I did not see you," she replied as she turned and looked up at me as I looked down from my bedroom window, attired for the moment in shirt sleeves as I paused while dressing.
A poor artless thing, plain, unattractive, her dark hair cropped mannishly, she would make some impoverished nobleman a truly miserable bride, though her dowry would doubtless make the whole miserable exercise bearable. "Indeed it is quite remarkable," she added.
"Remarkable," I agreed. "Quite remarkable," she repeated absent-mindedly as she stared at me for longer than strictly necessary before she returned to staring at the grounds.
I pitied her as I pitied her father, two sad aristocrats trapped by their very affluence, inheriting huge but decreasing wealth so needing to marry for wealth and position instead of love. The father needed people such as myself, business people, fifty years before I should not have been allowed in the front door but today with the railways criss-crossing the country I was welcomed with open arms and though aged only twenty seven years I was seemingly treated as an equal though with exquisitely concealed contempt.
I stepped away from the window pulled on my tie and waistcoat and checked my appearance in the mirror. His Lordship had summoned us to his study for a business meeting before the serious business of dinner and cards.
We sat around the long table in the green room, Blatchford, Lord Marchington's appointee to the board and de facto chairman opened proceedings, "Gentlemen, I have the last quarter's accounts," he announced, "Trading conditions remain difficult," he said.
Difficult? how could they be difficult? I wondered, "But with careful management we have managed to stabilise the position." "Stabilise?" Cornard queried, "Good god man, we should be struggling to spend the proceeds not talking about stability!" "We were seriously under capitalised for the present," Blatchford continued, I smelled a rat, something was very wrong, "But after rationalisation and disposal of certain assets, the barque 'Cullombine' and the steamer 'Princess Alice' we." "You sold the Princess Alice?" Brompton gasped, "For gods sake why?" "And who to?" I queried, "For how much?" Blatchford blushed redder than a ripe Tomato, "Why, to a broker, Allenby's," he said.
"So why does she still sail with the Marchington colours," I queried. "Maybe the new owners?" Blatchington queried. "Maybe you sold her to another or Marchington's lines?" Grant queried, "I detect skulduggery." My heart pounded, we had been well and truly rooked, Marchington's man moving assets between his holdings as if he were sole owner until one firm became unviable and we the investors lost everything.
I knew in an instant that the game was up, "Anyone for a spot of shooting?" I asked. "Good god man the light is going," Grant protested in confusion.
"Oh not game, the noble Lord for I swear I'll shoot the bastard!" I announced, "So if you will excuse me!" I stood up and left them, anger overwhelming me, why had I trusted them? a quarter of my equity effectively gone, probably not worth shooting the lord and being hung for but. Annabel si por el culaunque me duela mi suegra xxxx in the hallway, "Mr Thompsett, why you look quite decomposed," she declared.
I laughed, "Not decomposed yet, discomfitted perhaps." "I find the gardens very relaxing," she said, "Shall you join me for a stroll, let nature soothe our cares away?" "Why wild fingering with cookie fucking hardcore and massage I agreed, an alternative strategy presenting itself, Marchington might yet be wounded worse than with musket and ball I decided.
I let Annabel talk, she could barely string two sentences together coherently, flitting from flowers to butterflies and such like, quoting Latin names of the most unlikely nature as if by rote.
We strolled to the edge of the lawn, passed through the high hedge and stopped in the glade where the ride led arrow straight towards the sea in the far distance.
"Your father has robbed me, Miss Annabel, stolen from me," I said firmly, "So in my turn I shall steal something quite precious from him." "Steal?" she asked, "So why confess to me." "I shall steal your honour," I declared, "Disrobe!" "Hahaha," she laughed, "How delightful, oh you have such a wonderful sense of humour Mr Thompsett." "Disrobe damn you!" I demanded.
"Oh dear," she retorted, I do believe you are serious Mr Thomsett, are you overcome with passion? "A passion dude is favourable to fuck with ebon justice and revenge perhaps," I snapped. "Oh you do say the most charming things,"she said sarcastically, "I wonder you don't have ladies queueing up to touch your feet." "Disrobe damn you!" I repeated, "Or I shall do it for you!" She made a half hearted attempt to run but I caught her, five yards from the hedge and safety it might have been a mile as I caught her round the waist and swept her off her feet.
She fell backwards and I guided her down and swept her voluminous skirts up around her neck. Skirts and underskirts I swept up until her woman's parts were entirely revealed but for a triangle of unkempt dark hairiness, the like of which no whore would dare to allow. The lack of pantaloons might surprise the lower orders but rest assured it was naught but the norm for ladies of the time, as with such voluminous skirts, pantaloons would be entirely unmanageable without assistance.
She lay quietly and offered no resistance, but she gasped as I tore at the buttons on my fly and sought to lower my breeches one handedly. I thrust my knee between her knees and spread her thighs, and as my breeches and under breeches descended so my member swelled reassuringly in the cool air. She stared at my member, with more curiosity than fear. I touched her inner thigh, she moaned softly, her skin was so soft, silken almost, no sign of dark hair, had she shaved them? I touched her mound, "No!" she protested, "Please!" "Quiet," I demanded, "Now relax and enjoy, or clench and suffer the consequences." I ran my finger tip around the groove seeking the moist entrance to her womb but her muscles clenched firmly denying me.
She trembled as if chilled. I swept her gown from her left shoulder, it fell revealing her left breast. I brushed the nipple tenderly and watched and felt it harden She gasped as the teat swelled under my touch. With my other hand I explored between her legs until I found the soft yielding place and eased my finger tip in to her virgin womb.
She moaned softly, further my finger entered and further she yielded, a second finger I entered, a third seeking her virginity. I went to use my thumb but, "No please!" kianna jayde rides a big stiffy cock pleaded but she made no attempt to throw me off as I sank down and knelt between her knees.
"Damn you my patience is exhausted," I declared and I grasped my now fully erect member, and sought her womb as a place to embed it.
It seemed odd that she stared with unseemly interest but I paid it no heed. It seemed most odd on reflection, but as I advanced she made no attempt to escape, indeed her hand stole to her exposed breast, perhaps to cover it again perhaps to arouse herself but again I paid no heed as I eased her thighs wide apart. A final exploration with a finger proved her womb was ready to receive me so I aimed my member at her womb and as the tip parted her soft moist vaginal lips in my mind were thoughs of naught but sheathing myself and taking her honour, pleasure would be but a bonus.
The lips of her womb welcomed me more easily than I expected. She seemed excitedly moist. I entered far more easily than I expected and when I went to thrust against her maidenhead, there was naught to slow me. Nothing. So instead of having to repeatedly thrust against her maidenhead to burst it asunder, I quite suddenly found I was sheathed entirely indeed my root was against her belly and I was sheathed completely.
Realisation took a moment but then it was laid bare, she had no maidenhead. She was no virgin, she had no honour and indeed she was matching my every thrust and enjoying it as wantonly as any brothel whore. Realisation hit me, she had tricked me "Oh Mr Thomsett you have taken my honour!" she giggled. "You had no honour!" I protested.
"But who is to know?" she giggled, "No one, but pray continue. Have your evil way with me, use me like a whore if you will." "You tricked me!" I protested. "Mmmmm," she whispered, "I have a weakness for broad shoulders, a firm jaw line and a nice bulge in the breeches." "Well rest assured I have no weakness for disagreeable bean poles who trick me," I replied.
"Fine words Mr Thomsett," she teased, "But your member disagrees, he just loves it inside my womb, he told me." "Madam my member does not talk," I replied. "But he does," she replied, "He is so sweet and tender, gently caressing and soothing me." "Then that is my error. I had intended him to chastise you, I see I shall have to be more forceful." I declared as I thrust as hard as I might.
"Yes, harder, faster, show me how much you desire me," she whispered with laughing eyes. I did as she bid, my mind blurring in a frenzy as my tool swelled and my very being expanded until it might be released in a moment of ecstasy. It burst forth as sunlight from cloud, a damn burst like a broken canal gate gushing and aby jones bellissima camgirl con delle tette enormi parte, "Ohhhh," she gasped and smiled.
"Are you done?" she asked. "Indeed," I agreed, "Completely spent your work is done." I pulled myself from her. She rolled from under me and stood up, "Yes, you'll do" she declared and taking her gown in both hands she tore the front wide open popping studs and buttons and tearing cloth. "What are you doing?" I demanded. "Nothing!" she smiled. I heard footsteps approaching and then they were upon us, "Thompsett you cad," Grant declared.
"Thomsett you bloody fool!" Allenby cautioned. "He, he did things," Annabel complained, as more of the party joined us, "He took advantage, I do believe he took my honour!" "Call the constable!" Allenby demanded.
I did not resist, Lord Marchington could not bear to look at me so they took me to the cellar where they locked me in a store room. It was late evening when Menzies the constable came to see me, "I have to arrest you sir, but as there is no suitable cell for a gentleman at my abode his lordship has agreed to keep you here." "On what charge?" I asked. "Why rape sir, or breach of promise, or assault, or all three," he suggested. "Is he safe?" Annabel asked as she came into the cellar, "I should feel safer if he was chained up." "Quite safe madam," the constable insisted.
"Can you not chain him up?" she suggested. "For heaven's sake," I said, "I am no monster, you tricked me madam, you seduced me remember?" "Oh really," she demanded, "Chain him up I say!" The constable was unsure, "I don't believe," he started to say.
"Chain the blighter up," Lord Marchington bellowed from somewhere unseen so they did, using two pairs of hand cuffs threaded through hooks let into the wall in medieval times for this very purpose so I could only stand or sit on the hard wooden seat provided but at least I was allowed to sit and face away from the wall. They left me to my thoughts. It was late into the night when Annabel came,she wore a huge all enveloping dressing gown and carried a huge whale - oil lamp. "Hello," she said, "Did you enjoy it?" she asked.
"Taking my honour?" "No," I said, "I did not." "Oh dear," she said, "For I found your cock to be most agreeable." "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You were very passionate," she said enigmatically, "Like little Kenny, but your cock is bigger, not so wide or fat as Milligan's or Prout's but longer than Carstairs or Flanagan but not big enough to hurt me like Mr MacGuire did when he tried." "What?" I demanded in shocked surprise.
"Did you not know that I have consorted with almost all the servants, with grounds - men and footmen?" she asked coyly, "Why ever since as long as I can remember I have used them for my play things." "What, all of them?" I demanded.
She nodded agreement, "Indeed, I took advantage of them Mr Thompsett, and now I have the advantage of you also." "Consorted, fornicated, fucked?" I asked in horror. "Absolutely, fornicated, sodomy, I took my pleasure wantonly Mr Thompsett?" she explained and she asked, "Did you not see me watching the new gardener earlier.
Why with his bronzed torso, his rippling muscles and his bulging breeches I would have laid for him in an instant." "Laid for him?," I queried.
"Indeed but sadly he likes a girl with big udders Mr Thompsett, but I have such modest ones, do you like big udders?" she asked. "On a cow," I admitted, "But yes, I own I like big udders as much as the next man." "So you do not like me?" she asked.
"Hardly," I admitted, "You had me locked up." "Which is such a shame because you are so beautiful and manly and you fuck so passionately," she declared.
"Miss Gresham!" I protested. "You raped me," she said, "Why?" "To hurt your father of course," I admitted. "And you didn't find me attractive at all?" she asked. "No, but the act itself was not unpleasant," I admitted.
"No indeed it was quite delightful," she declared and she closed the cellar door. She slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders and stood before me naked but for her stockings and slippers. Her small breasts stood out firmly from her chest as she stood with hands on hips, "Are you sure you do not find me desirable?" "Entirely," I said but she advanced towards me. "Absolutely sure?" she asked as she fumbled with my fly buttons and belt to release my member from my breeches.
"Please unhand me, this is unseemly," I hissed, "Please!" But my member betrayed me, he reared mightily. "Absolutely sure?" she asked as she put one foot on my seat and raised herself up while grasping my member. "Absolutely sure?" she asked as she sank down impaling herself. "Oh my lord!" I gasped, "Heaven preserve me!" "It's nice, nice and long not too fat," she assured me, "With a nice powerful spurt, Mmmmm," she said as she humped up and down.
Her small breasts wobbled up and down as she pleasured herself, "Mmmmmm, I like that." "Uh," I said, "Hurting my wrists." "Oh dear, poor Mr Thompsett," she commiserated, "But enough, spurt if you please and I shall bid you good-night." "I cannot just spurt to order," I insisted but she had distracted me from the task in hand and my body betrayed me once more and a jet of seed shot through my member and flooded deep inside her.
"It seems that you can Mr Thompsett," she pointed out, "And I find your member hunk seeking his lusty revenge smalltits and hardcore acceptable so perhaps if you would care to make an offer of marriage the whole matter of our misunderstanding can be forgotten." "And if not?" I asked as she climbed off me.
"Hanging is the penalty I think," she confirmed as she slipped her dressing gown on, "But think of me as you dream." "My breeches, can you pull my breeches closed?" I asked. "No, absolutely not, what a strange request to make of young lady, sorry," she replied and she left me, laughing as she went. So there I sat, member displayed as I tried to sleep. "Good god the man's a pervert!" Lord Marchington's deep voice boomed as he entered the cellar, "But for some inexplicable reason my Annabel has begged for mercy for you as she understands it was overwhelming desire in your part which led to this unseemliness." "Indeed sir," I agreed.
"In that case, I give my blessing, no dowry mind," he admitted. "What?" I demanded. "She'll drop all charges as soon as your wed," he suggested, "Old 'Wobbly' Wilberforce the Magistrate from Castlethorpe can do the honours before lunch if you get a move on." "So I marry Annabel or hang, may I have time to consider?" I asked.
"No you may not," Annabel protested as she joined us, "And put your member away, it looks ridiculous." Wilberforce indeed declared us married that very morning, she in her ordinary gown and myself in handcuffs which were only removed when the ceremony ended.
"May I go?" I asked. "Indeed, after the marriage is consummated," Wilberforce agreed. So we repaired to Annabel' bed chamber. We undressed very decorously and slid beneath her bed sheets. "I wanted you the moment I saw you in the bedroom window," she said, "Your broad shoulders, your firm jawline." "I own I don't even begin to like you," I insisted, "But I shall use you like a whore." "Really!" she said.
"With no consideration what so ever!" I insisted. "Good," she said, "For I am with child, it is why I did not resist you, I had to entrap you or at least entrap someone, but you are a fine lusty figure of a man, do you see." "Oh good lord." I declared hopelessly. "I can hardly marry one of the gardeners can I?" she suggested, "Sorry." "No matter," I insisted, "Get your legs apart and I shall forget all in the throes of ecstasy." "Forget all?
surely not," she said and she grasped my member. "Forget, forget what a stupid idiot I have been," I said as I rolled over and placed my knees between hers. She guided me into her moistness, I slid into her easily, "I shall forget," I said as I began to hump. "Yes," she said, "Kiss me knead my breasts use me," she urged, "Harder my lover, show me how much you desire me." "Desire is not love," I cautioned as I slowed my pounding to a gentle easement.
"Then show me love," she said. "I do not love you," I said and she wriggled deliciously beneath me, "Though I own you do rouse passions within me." "And so you would wish me to continue to consort with gardeners would you?" she asked.
"No, I shall keep you for myself," I said. "Then I own you do love me," she insisted, "Or you would prong me from the rear like Kenny the gardener so you might imagine I were your beloved." I stopped thrusting entirely, "But why allow them to use you thus?" I asked. "I have needs Mr Thompsett, urgent needs, do you see?" she asked, "I need a lusty lover, or three." "Oh you poor child," I said commiserating. "Hardly a child Mr Thompsett, I have eighteen years remember." she said. "And I twenty seven almost," I admitted, "And I also have needs," I added and I again began to thrust against her.
Apocalypse arrived with the precipitous abruptness of seed in a gushing waterfall and our union was consummate. I rolled aside, "We are one," I sighed, "Are you content?" "For now," she said, "Shall we rejoin the party?" "What rush away as if I am paying by the hour, I think not, no come here and kiss me, play act at being my lover," I suggested, "Then there are mulifarious permutations of conjoinment to explore." "Really!" she said, "Oh I do so want to try new permutations, the gardeners were very predictable." "Oh good lord," I cautioned, "You are worse than a whore." "Oh no, I shall be much better than any whore," she laughed.
And then there was a knock at the door, "Are you done sir?" the Butler asked, "Only the physician has another call." "He will want to check you have made a woman of me!" Annabel assured me.
"Then yes, one moment and we shall be ready," I called and dressing hastily I made black dicks and black pusies way from the room. The Physician did his mischief, as I waited outside the door. This was much to her enjoyment judging from Annabel's giggles and then all was silence, and then a sober faced Annabel faced me, "There is no child," she said, "Oh good god, it was all for nothing." "It?" I queried. "The rushed marriage, father said I must seduce someone, but I was deceived," she said awkwardly.
"No matter," I said as I held her arms. "No church, no gowns, no ceremony," she said awkwardly, "I feel so foolish." I held her tight, "We can have a blessing, 'tis much the same, if you like?" I suggested. "But I didn't need to trap you," she said sadly. "Oh I think you did," I replied, "That is if you wanted white crack the big black scene powerhouse explore all those various ways to conjoin." "How so?" she asked.
"No dowry, no udders to speak of, how else were you to entice me?" I asked. "But you still want me?" she asked hopefully. "Indeed," I agreed, "You fuck more nicely than any whore of my acquaintance, and I am sure between the two of us we can extract a reasonable dowry from your skinflint of a father." "Actually I think he admires teen crying pain hardcore and homemade cum ass xxx anything to help the poor business acumen and wants you to manage his business affairs for him," she said nervously.
"With his bunch of cheating stealing thoroughly untrustworthy cronies I doubt I can be of any service what ever," I replied. "Yes but they cheat him too," she explained, "Can we really have a blessing in church with a white dress and everything?" "As long as you wear it and not The hot ass of hollie hendrix gets her laid I agreed.
"Oh thank you!" she said and she pulled me back into the bedroom. The physician looked embarrassed, "You don't have to stay," Annabel teased. "Oh yes, good day," The physician exclaimed as he slipped away and then it was just we two again, with all the world of positions in which to conjoin to explore. But plenty of time for that, I simply lay her on her back, I parted her thighs and I inserted my member girls fool around on cam and flash goodies her gloriously hot and wet box and I was transported straight to heaven again.
To be continued Note this is 'Entrapped by Miss Annabel' wiles' reposted because of troll activity and re edited and rewritten.
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THE LAST BEST WEST: THE HOMESTEADERS
by B.B French
The people who made application for homestead entry were from many walks of life, and many parts of the world, there being no less than sixteen nationalities. They had congregated here where most of them hoped to establish homes. To attempt such a venture, all had one thing in common - a great amount of intestinal fortitude. One homesteader was an engineer who had helped build the Panama Canal; another had been Second Mate on the biggest sailing vessel afloat; and another fellow had travelled from England with the British Navy, rounding most of the world before returning to the United Kingdom; and there were the men who had panned for gold in the Yukon and Alaska before settling here.
To reach this area, most prospective settlers travelled by steamboat and/or by railway at settlers rates. To reach their prospective homestead they travelled by ox carts or horse-drawn wagons. Some railway coaches were heated by a potbellied stove at one end of the car, while several gas lanterns hung from the ceiling above the aisles. The floors were usually of wood, but sometimes there was a strip of carpet down the center of the aisle to walk on. The seats, though upholstered in leather, were hard and straight-backed. Restrooms or washrooms (such as they were) were available, Ladies at one end of the coach and Gents at the other. There was a Smoker section on some of the cars so that cigar and cigarette smoke would not bother the non-smokers. Air conditioning came through an open car door or window. Drinking water was provided at each end of the coach, and a type of built-in paper cup dispenser was provided. However, it was very likely that the cup would collapse while you were drinking and you would acquire a wet lap and not quench your thirst, so it was quite common for folk to carry their own aluminum collapsible drinking cup.
Homesteaders like this one brought all their possessions with them
Everyone either carried their own lunch or didn't eat unless they purchased apples, peanuts or popcorn from the "Newsy". The train did stop at the Divisional Points where you could get off and eat if you so desired. Many people travelled overland in covered wagons pulled by oxen or horses, leading cows behind the wagons, while the chickens and geese were crated and were either inside the wagon along with the family and all their possessions, or were fastened onto the outside of the wagon.
Some folk, when reaching Edmonton, purchased lumber and built a scow which they floated down the Saskatchewan River after loading the scows with their personal possessions and families. They then beached the scows as near as possible to where they planned homesteading, and used the lumber in the scows for part of the construction of their new home.
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Dad's Trip Made My Mom Strip by Oediplex 8==3~ Based on an il-lust-ration by Pandora's Box, If sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, what does a good gosling get? Lena was furious, Lena was horny. Amateur doxy rides on a hard rod hardcore and massage was hurt, Lena was frustrated.
Lena was unhappy, Lena was in heat. Lena had a husband, she hadn't had sex in two weeks. Lena hadn't seen her husband in that real slut party christmas morning dirty party starring ja tube porn because of a business trip, now he had called to say he had to stay a few extra days, unexpectedly.
They had a good boy, Jeff; they didn't have a good marriage. Lena sat on the love-seat sofa, waiting for her husband to call from his hotel before his 'evening business meeting'. She suspected her husband was cheating on her out of town and that was the reason for the few extra days delay. He was going to shack up with some bar-bimbo he picked up and bedded on the company expense account.
She was going to confront him today when he called. She expected him to ring in about a half hour, after Jeff got home, so he could say hi to the boy too. As Lena sat there with her mind on her libertine husband and her libido's hunger, she began to daydream about her first boyfriend. She loved making out on the couch when her parents weren't home. Today she had dressed casual around the house since she was alone.
Her hand crept up under the loose blue blouse she was wearing to her bra-less breasts as she continued to remember her sensual past. Making-out was so much fun! How her sweet tender young beasts had been suckled, and the nipples stood out so red and hard. Her boyfriend had loved going down on her. She raised her skirt and put her other hand on her panty-less pussy, as she reminisced about the talented tongue of the tender-aged teenager who so sweetly tortured her from titty to clitty.
Oh! She was sooo horny! Her finger found the button then slid down to dip in the well of her womanly weeping cunt, just like her boyfriend had petted her. Her first boyfriend had, back then, been the same age as her son was now.
They even sort of looked alike. Maybe that was why she had been attracted to her husband. Only he didn't like to eat pussy, at least, not the way her first sweetheart did. Lena pitied the lady - no, make that slut, which her cheating spouse was screwing.
That gal would not walk away bowlegged like when Lena's teen lover had made ravaging sex to his nubile girlfriend.
She wondered briefly if her son was as big youbg girl old man sleeping his legs as her boyfriend had been. Yes, she had proof now of hubby's infidelity. When Mr. 'screw more days longer' called yesterday, Lena had heard a young female voice laugh, then answer the door and call out that room service had brought another bottle of Champagne.
So Lena was madder than hell. Here she was a hot momma (yes a middle-age mom, but still a very attractive woman, in short a MILF), a red hot momma ready to rumble and rock and roll and raise the roof and break the bed and raunch all night long; and he was wasting it on some tramp that likely didn't have half Lena's experience in pleasing men.
Lena wished for her school days again, when boys and girls played doctor and explored each other's bodies. Then when you get older you grope each others bodies, then progress to lips kissing, then lips kissing everywhere, lips and tongues all over each others bodies. Until finally on that day you play the game past the limit, you go all the way, the dancer is indian tube porn do it.
It never seems planned but it always seemed inevitable in retrospect. That the trip down the slippery slope to having sex was something that was ultimately unavoidable. Was it like that for her husband's affairs? Was he trying to recapture his youth, like that answer to the same question in "Moonstruck". When the hell was 'Dumb-Fuck' going to call? She had wanted a chance to give him hell before Jeff came home from school, but he said he would call when Jeff was in.
Maybe she should have an affair with a younger man, to recapture her own youth. To be like a kid again, making out on the couch, with no one else but only them.
Just the two alone; to kiss, and grope, and lick, and taste, and make sweet love to your sweetheart. Lena continued to tug her long pink nipples and upskirt show with cock sucking kana shimada tube porn her slick crotch. She drifted off into the fantasy of being laid by her first boyfriend, with fingers guiding her body toward a release. A climax she had saved up for the Cheat's homecoming, but now was just a mass of tension needing to be unsprung.
Just then she heard Jeff come in. She quickly sat up and pulled her dress down. Lena gathered her blouse closed and tucked it in a bit. with the waist band of her skirt. Jeff came into the room with a huge grin on his face. "Boy, have I got good news!" the youth couldn't contain himself. "I got my first A of High School!
Now I get that reward Dad promised! A whole night of miniature golf with dad.
I bet I'll beat him, just like last time. We haven't gone in 6 months! Dad's going to be home tonight right mom?" Lena looked at her son and knew she would have to disappoint him. "Oh, Baby, He had to stay a few days longer on his business trip. So your putting will have to be put off." She could see the pain in her son's eyes, of not having the immediate gratification he had hoped for, so proud of an A. He had worked so hard for it she was sure. What could she do to make it up to him, for his sexy monika has her tight butthole hammered mouth teen failure to be home to congratulate his son on a job well done.
Maybe something appropriate to the course he got the A in. She asked the downcast kid, "What subject did you get the A in, Jeff honey?" "In Health Class, Mom." "And what were you learning about in health?" "This semester we studied sex education!" "Well! No wonder you took an interest in your studies and got a good grade. So. . an A in sex class - ehh?. . Do you want to become a gynecologist?" "A what?" "A doctor who takes care of women, helps them have babies and so on.
You get to look at women's crotches all day long! Then for some crazy reason she didn't consciously understand, Lena lifted her skirt and spread her legs then closed up everything again, giving her son the best, if brief, beaver-shot of his whole life. "Mom!
What was that!?" "You tell me, you're the whiz-kid that got elegant lesbians fucking with strapon pantyhose erotica A in sex-education!" "Well, I haven's seen many, and I only caught a glimpse, but I believe we have the parent of a bushbaby, a mommy-bush." "And mommy-bush is missing daddy-shrub!" Lena blurted out inadvertently.
"Is that why your nipples are so pointy mom?" her boy asked. "Yes, you learn that in Sex Ed?" Then suddenly, Lena knew how she could reward her child for the A he had brought home. "Did they show a picture of a woman's breast in class, Jeff? Have you ever seen a woman's, a grown woman's naked breast, Jeffy?" The last was spoken in a lilting, breathy tone which obviously offered a peek at her peerless peaks.
"They showed a side ways cutaway, not like looking at Dad's girlie-magazines you guys let me gawk at. I never have seen a breast nipple erect, not live and poking out. ready to be touched. . like yours are." He had returned her implied invitation to gander at her gabonzas, with a gambit to cop a feel It turned Lena on, she felt her body responding to his tentative advances, like a kid again herself, ready to make out on the couch. "Could I, mom?" "What?" Lena was brought out of her romantic erotic reverie.
"Can I see you breasts, see your nipples erect? Open your blouse and let me see your mammaries, please, mom!" Still in a dream-like state Lena re-opened her top to display half-inch rosy spikes atop of the full fruit of peach colored pendulous pillows. Bold as a broker's brass balls, Jeff reached out his right hand and cupped her left tit and gently squeezed.
"Are you going for extra credit?" The hot momma whispered as her thighs began to spread. God did he remind her of her sweetheart of long ago, he was her sweet boy, why not reward him. It sent a gush to her cunt thinking about what she might do, to provide a suitable substitute for the Putt-Putt fiasco. Perhaps he might be interested in playing with a different kind of an unforgettable knob riding hardcore and blowjob, balls and hole?
Once more the youngster broke into her thoughts with a surprising statement. "My shrub is growing, want to see?" and he pulled down his pants. Sure enough the once fuzzy was turning furry. (And what mother wouldn't be proud of a stalk like that on her son?) Lena thought to herself. Jeff's dick was like a double to her boyfriend's. She had had such fun with it, it had such fun in her. Oh, to recapture the first taste of love, the sweet kisses, the thrill of the first push past her hymen, making her a woman, the exhilaration of her first cum with a cock in her cunt!
Her son would have all that adventure before him. She was sure that he would love couch cuddling as much as his mom. Maybe even with his mom! Her child stood before her in just his shirt now as he stepped out of his jeans, which lay in a wad on the floor.
His penis was a preternatural large organ for his age, putting his father to shame with the man-size club he carried. It was already hard, thrusting up from his loins like a thick flagpole with a red knob at the end that had the daintiest hole at the tip.
A spout for baby-making cream, and now thanks to the school, he knew how to use his tool. Or the theory thereof, until he got the practice down pat, he still had things to learn. Should she show him? Well at least she could show him hers, since he was showing her his. She flipped up her skirt again to reveal her narrow band of dark hair crowning the coral gash of damp feminine fecundity. Why not? Her husband, his father, was out tom-catting around; why shouldn't the home pussy get some fun?
The kid was missing out on putting while the old man was puting it into Miss Affair-of-the-Month. Jeff was gazing down at his mother's exposed privates, who's pubis was so publicly splayed and displayed before him. His erection bobbed with yearning for haven in his mummy's honeypot. He had to have her and he was sure she had the hots for him too.
The sex-starved mother wiggled her finger at the boy with the over-size toy, indicating he should get into position. Jeff knelt between his sunny leone hot xxx blue film wide angle limbs. He resumed clutching her left breast and placed his left hand on his mom's right thigh. The tip of his penis hunted her hot-spot like a heat seeing missile.
Just like when she was an innocent girl, once more with a boy about to lose his virginity in her body. Yes it was her son, and daddy wasn't home to know what was going on 'back at the ranch'. After all, who would know if a little naughtiness happened? A little diddle on the divan, 'When the cat's away. . .', just then 'the cad who was away' rang. "Hi! Honey, its me, I miss you! the phone made his voice sound even less sincere. "How's Jeff?
Is he home from school yet? Let me talk to him." Jeff froze as he heard faintly the quite distinctive sound of his father's voice on the phone, asking for him.
How could his father know he had been at the very portal of his mother's vagina, at the moment before passing into manhood and entry to paradise, just about to be the man of the house while papa was away. Then he realized that the moment was just a coincidence. His mother had not come to her senses but was smiling and holding her skirt high so it wouldn't get in the way of their impending passion. She nodded her readiness to fuck and closed her eyes as she held the phone to Jeff's ear. "Hi, Jeff!" "Hi dad!
How's your trip?" Jeff's cock tip nuzzled in his mom's damp neither lips. "Fine, I have to stay a couple of extra days to finish up some details the company ass of teenie is banged blowjob amateur me to personally handle, and then I'll be back.
Meanwhile you take real good care of your mother. How's high school?" "Yes, I'm taking good care of mother." Jeff replied as the plum colored head of his fat dick slid into the anxious, eager, open, willing, waiting, wantonly weeping womb of his mother.
Both parent and child smiled at the sweet moment. "And dad guess what! I got my first A! Don't worry about taking me out to miniature-golf. Mom is taking care of things." Lena could now feel the meat of her son's love-muscle slither to be half way in, and then it twitched.
She loved when they do that! "She's giving me a special reward for getting an A in health class." Jeff concluded, with a push of his hips.
He thrust the rest of the way into his momma's jam-jar, to the hilt, root to clit, balls to bottom, tip nudging womb; a deep, hard, tight, hot, throbbing, hairy, animal, happy connection.
A union which was spiritual as well as physical, love bolstered by lust, lust emboldened by love. Mother and son as one; again and again and again as the boy banged his beautiful kid cock into his mommy's cunt.
"Yes, darling," Lena brought the phone back to her face, "You might say I'm giving our son an extra boner, whoops! I mean bonus for his achievement in class. Good-bye, darling I have to cum, oops! I mean go." Jeff's hips picked up the tempo and the sound of crotch flesh clapping together became louder and louder.
The voice on the phone sounded both a little confused and just a little suspicious. "Just what class did he get an A in? And what's that sound I'm hearing there?!" Lena laughed at his questions and with the rising of her long awaited orgasm.
She managed to gasp out an answer to the first question, "It was an A in Sex education." Her giggles turned into moans as she finished, "And he's teaching me everything he knows!" As she fumbled for the disconnect button, Jeff hit his peak and could be plainly heard by his father saying, "Here I cum mom, right in your sweet pussy!!! What is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, and the gosling gets to baste his giblet into the gravy as well!
Lena was no longer son small mom old sex, Lena was humping, Lena was in heaven, Lena was fulfilled, Lena was happy, Lena was fucking, finally. Lena had a husband she hadn't had seen or had sex with in two weeks. They had a good son, and right now Jeff was being very good to his mother, as she climaxed a second time and began to build to a third. Lena always loved making out on the sofa, and now she had a teenage sweetheart lover again to always make love to her on the couch, or wherever they wanted to.
Especially, when their parent/husband was out of the house! And that's how his dad's trip made Jeff's mom strip, and Jeff got his first A and first dip, all in one day!
Author's note to readers: I've got three dozen stories on this site and more to come, if you want more cums, read some of the others, don't go by the approval percentages, read and make up your own mind.
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Check The Full Family Tree Of Shivaji Maharaj From This Page. Shivaji Maharaj is also famously known as chhatrapati shivaji maharaj.
Bhosale family was most famous warrior clan of Maratha dynasty who ruled over many states of India. They were very famous Warriors. The strongest member of the family was Shivaji Maharaj. He was the legendary founder of Maratha Empire.
Shivaji’s origin belongs to Suryavanshi Sisodia Rajputs. Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj was born on 19th of February 1627 and died on 3rd of April 1680 and was the son of Shahaji Rare Bhosale and Jijabai.
Shivaji Maharaj Full Family Tree (Found on Web)
Shivaji Maharaj Family Tree (The One Which We Created)
His father had three wife’s named Jijabai, Tukabai and Narsabai. Ekoji was Shivaji’s younger brother and son of Tukabai. Sambhaji Sahaji Bhosale was the elder brother of Shivaji, and his mother was Jijabai.
Later, in his life, he married three queens named Putulabai, Maharani Saibai, and Soyarabai. Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj was the second Chhatrapati and ruler of Maratha Empire and was his eldest son of Shivaji and Saibai. Chhatrapati Rajaram Maharaj was the younger brother of Sambhaji and son of Soyarabai. Chhatrapati Sambhaji had one son from Yesubai named as Chhatrapati Shahu Maharaj born on 1682 and son of Rajaram and Rani Tarabai was Chhatrapati Shivaji II.
This was the great dynasty and family tree of brave Shivaji. Although this is a short text version, so I recommend you to check the image of Shivaji’s family tree from above to get a clear idea of his family.
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Chung regards herself as being luckier than many mathematicians. "As an undergraduate in Taiwan, I was surrounded by good friends and many women mathematicians. We enjoyed talking about mathematics and helping each other. A large part of education is learning from your peers, not just the professors. Seeing other women perform well is a great confidence builder, too!" Following that logic, Fan must have built up the confidence of many other women, for she has performed extremely well as a student and researcher.
As a young high school student growing up in Kaoshiung, Taiwan in the sixties, Fan Chung knew that she would be a mathematician. Her engineer-father told her, "in math all you need is pencil and paper." Attracted to combinatorics because it was fun, Chung recalls that "many problems from combinatorics were easily explained, you could get into them quickly, but getting out was often very hard ...Later on I discovered that there were all sorts of connections to other branches of mathematics as well as to many applications."
After twenty years of work at Bell Labs and Bellcore, which contributed powerfully to her mathematical world view, Chung went back to school as professor of mathematics at the University of Pennsylvania, where she had earned her doctorate in 1974.
She is convinced that students profit enormously from establishing connections among different branches of mathematics "It is like playing a game of GO (or HEX). If your territory is all connected together, then every piece is strong and useful. On the other hand, if the parts are separated, then they are weak and not effective." She aims to make them aware of the power of connections and applications. "If you learn lots of theorems without actually using them, it is like a rich man who never spends his money. There is no difference between that and having no money at all." She believes that mathematics students are short-changed if they aren't exposed to such connections during their college years. She argues that such experience will make them more employable--better researchers and better teachers.
Chung's appreciation for making connections dramatically increased when she started working in information technology in 1974. With her new doctorate in hand, she joined the technical staff of Bell Labs, which was richly populated with research scientists and mathematicians, including Nobel Prize winners. She remembers being intimidated by "all of those great name tags"---Pollak, Graham, Sloane, etc.---during her first days on the job. "But I got over it," she said, "and very soon I discovered that if you just put your hands out in the hallway, you'd catch a problem."
How did Fan Chung "catch problems in the hallway"? She says that the hardest part was establishing communication. "At Bell, our office door is always open and anyone can walk in," she recalled. "You need to have a willingness to find out what problems they are working on. Finding the right problem is often the main part of the work in establishing the connection. Frequently a good problem from someone else will give you a push in the right direction and the next thing you know you have another good problem. You make mathematical friends and share the fun!" Over the past twenty years, she has been remarkably successful working with others. Nearly half of her 180 papers have been done collaboratively.
Dr. Chung has a good nose for problems. She contrasted the differences between math noses and physics noses. "In physics there are clearly defined central problems, driven by our desire to understand the universe in which we live. Thus physicists have a clear notion of judging what the important problems are. In mathematics, by contrast, you can create your own paradigm and that can be wonderful. You can make your own rules and play your own game in small universes here and there."
She warns of dangers to be found in smaller free wheeling mathematical universes. "Because of the a large number of mathematical papers published each year (around 50,000), it is not easy to separate the wheat from the chaff. This makes it harder to determine the central problems." Chung claims that seeing a problem occur in several different settings and in different guises is key to identifying central problems.
Other keys to Chung's success in catching problems can be found in her enormous energy and determination. She says that "mathematics is on my mind all the time, sometimes even in the middle of the night." As a measure of her energy, consider her approach to raising a family. She had her first child during her last year of graduate school. "That is a wonderful time to have a child," she said. "You don't have to attend classes; you only have to write your thesis." After working at Bell Labs for only three years, she was pregnant again. Henry Pollak, her manager, wondered what she would do.
"I told him that I would work until the day I went to the hospital. Since I already had one at home, I thought what's the problem with one more? I didn't even take maternity leave; there was too much paperwork associated with that. So I just took four weeks vacation and wrote one paper in between."
In 1983, after the divestiture of Bell Telephone came the creation of several "Baby Bells" and Bellcore as well as a new research unit within Bellcore headed by Pollak. He asked Chung to work with him in developing a new mathematics research group at Bellcore. She became a manager, and recruited mathematicians "For the next seven years, in addition to my research, I had to write reports, attend meetings, and read the research papers of mathematicians I supervised," she said. When she first arrived at Bell Labs and wrote her first paper under Pollak, she discovered something important. "It was absolutely clear that he was reading my paper with care," she said. "I really appreciate what he's done for my papers and for the example he set. Without Henry, I would not have done as well as I did when I became a manager."
Many year later, when Chung told Pollak that her first paper was rewritten eight times, Pollak replied that his first paper had been revised twenty-four times. It's clear that the approaches to writing and reading at Bell are different than those found in many mathematics departments. It's no surprise Chung believes that both faculty and students would profit greatly from increased attention to writing and reading.
It was also at Bell that Fan Chung met her second husband mathematician, Ron Graham. She says that they do, in fact, 'talk shop', at home --- a lot. "Mathematics is an unlimited source of adventures. It is quite wonderful to have your better half stand by you through the up's-and-down's of your journey."
In 1990, Fan went to Harvard on her leave as one of the first Bellcore Fellows. "It is not easy for some people to leave management, but it was not so hard for me," she said. "Usually with positions in management you obtain more influence and you certainly have more power to make decisions. But I do not want people to respect me because of that power. I'd rather win their admiration because of the mathematics I'm doing."
At Harvard---using her tested method of catching problems--- she continued making connections with new mathematicians and new mathematics. "The interaction of combinatorics and other areas of mathematics opens up many exciting directions. It is like opening an old treasure box at the same time as you find modern power tools. So you have precious crystals in one hand; a laser gun in another, and the light can go much further."
Her work as a visiting professor at Harvard was so stimulating that she decided to return to academe, and in 1994 she accepted an offer of an endowed professorship at the University of Pennsylvania. But Professor Chung is deeply concerned about academic mathematics, in particular what she calls the "cloning process."
"Professors train students to work in their areas and thus there is a danger of narrowing down instead of broadening and making connections with the new information technologies and other emerging areas of mathematics," she said. "In most of our universities, the mathematics curriculum has changed very little over the past twenty years. It's comfortable, to teach what has been taught for twenty years, but look at the progress of technology during that same time frame. Of course, mathematical principles are unchanged. However, there has been significant growth in particular in discrete mathematics. Mathematics is more important than ever in dealing with all the hard problems arising from the advances of technology."
"There are many wonderful ideas from discrete mathematics that students need to know about. Because we live in the information age, many challenging problems arise in our binary universe. It is essential for the students to be able to connect the mathematics you learn in the classroom to problems we face in this information age! "
In spite of spending most of her professional life working in an application environment, Chung says that a large part of her drive to solve problems comes from the beauty of mathematics. She says that "the dividing line in mathematics is not 'pure' versus 'applied'; it is 'good' versus 'bad.'" Good mathematics, according to Dr. Chung, is characterized by its impact. "Bad mathematics is cooked up artificially, perhaps in isolation, and it will vanish from view very quickly."
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Today’s post was written by Burton Blume, a brand consultant/creative strategist based in Tokyo, Japan. He contacted us last year when we featured footage shot by his father, Lt. Wilbur T. Blume. We were intrigued by additional information Burton Blume was able to add to previously unexamined motion picture records. In this series of posts, Burton Blume relates stories of his father’s experience in the 9th Combat Camera Unit and of making a training film in Corsica that starred Catch-22 author Joseph Heller.
My Journey into My Father’s Past
When I was growing up, my father’s references to his military service were anecdotal; he never boasted about his exploits. He did, however, indulge my older brother and me in our fascination with WWII aircraft, particularly the B-25. There was an old black binder with a few prints from his days with the 340th Bomber Group but the motion pictures were nowhere to be found. We also inquired about Joseph Heller’s great antiwar novel, Catch-22, which we knew was inspired by the author’s wartime experience flying B-25s out of Corsica. Dad said he recognized some of the situations and characters in the book, but it was years before he came to appreciate Heller’s wise-guy sense of humor. When Dad passed away in 1989, he took his memories with him.
My personal journey into my father’s war began in 2008 when I read an article in the International Herald Tribune about Corsican historian Dominique Taddei and his book about the American bomber squadrons, USS Corsica. We began to write to each other and soon I was on the trail of Dad’s wartime photos. I knew about the old black binder, but where was it now? And were there any others?
I finally located a small storage room in Seattle where my brother had put some of my parents’ possessions. It didn’t look promising. We removed everything to have a closer look. There, in the deepest corner, we discovered treasure: two boxes containing documents, prints and over 200 4×5 negatives carefully folded in black paper and inserted in glassine envelopes. They were in perfect condition and revealed a whole world in crisp, black & white images.
Dad flew 34 missions as a bombardier and frequently doubled as a combat cameraman. Just 24 and a talented photographer, he had volunteered for the Army Air Corps after graduating from Ohio’s Miami University in June 1943. After completing flight school in Midland Texas, he returned to Oxford to marry his college sweetheart, Mary McQueary, in July. (Her wedding dress, which she made from a damaged silk parachute my father sent her, was featured in Life magazine.) The two of them moved to Greensboro, South Carolina, where Lt. Blume awaited his deployment.
In early March 1944, he received his orders. His flight hopped up the eastern seaboard to Newfoundland, crossed the cold Atlantic to the Azores, then made for Casablanca and Algiers. He arrived on Corsica on April 21st. Liberated from German occupation in October 1943, the island provided several forward bases for U.S. Army Air Corps. Four squadrons of B-25J medium bombers were camped along its east coast to provide close support for the allied armies that were pushing north up the Italian peninsula and cut off the retreating Axis troops by bombing bridges. Dad was assigned as a bombardier flying out of Alesani field.
In addition to combat missions, he functioned as a PRO (public relations officer) He shot photos of officers, visiting VIPs and everyday life on the base. He photographed the formations of B-25s taking off, landing and returning from missions over Italy. He photographed bomb patterns on the targets below. In the early hours of May 13, 1944 the Luftwaffe conducted a night bombing raid on Alesani destroying 60 planes. The next day, Dad was out photographing the damage.
Combat Weekly Digest was a newsreel produced for the Army Air Forces from 1943-1945. This issue features “Blood Goes to Battle,” a story shot by Lt. Blume that details blood bank operations in Naples.
From a historical point of view, one of the most remarkable things about the Second World War was the degree to which it was documented on film. Veteran Hollywood directors and cameramen, including John Ford, John Huston, George Stevens, William Wyler and Frank Capra volunteered for service. In addition, hundreds of young men with an aptitude for photography and cinema were identified, and pulled together to form “combat camera units” that were active in every theater of the war. Aerial combat photography contributed to bombing precision and accuracy while motion pictures had an increasingly important role in training, public relations and propaganda.
In June 1944, my father was reassigned to the newly formed 9th Combat Camera Unit. This opportunity changed the life of this aspiring young filmmaker. In his youthful enthusiasm, he designed an insignia for the 9th CCU, but I believe the only one that ever existed was the oversize patch he had made for his flight jacket.
Life in Corsica was more authentic than anything Lt. Blume had seen in Hollywood movies. His camera was his calling card on and off the base. He loved exploring the island in his free time, shooting photos of the local people and places he visited. Intrepid and resourceful, Lt. Blume knew how to get things done:
2nd Lt. Wilbur T. Blume, C.O. of the 9th Combat Camera Detachment here is currently making a movie film about the Red Cross distribution of doughnuts and coffee to our crews after their missions. He has film footage of our formations going out to the target, the bombs dropping over the target, the target area covered by smoke and the men eating and drinking during the interrogation. Production of one scene showing the Red Cross girls actually handing out the victuals was held up more than a week because the photogenic Red Cross girl was unavailable. Lt. Blume obtained two good-looking Red Cross girls in Bastia by having them sent down here on detached service to film the sequence. Fraud! Fraud!….. In a few days he will start on a film depicting the various types of training undergone by 340th air crews in between missions.
—The 340th Bomb Group War Diary, July 19, 1944
By the end of July 1944, Dad had flown 22 missions and had been decorated for heroism in aerial combat over Ferrara. The commanding officer, Col. Willis Chapman, assigned him to plan and produce a short documentary that would be called Training During Combat. The objective was to show the disciplined training exercises that contributed to the success of the 340th. Bombing accuracy had increased steadily through successive Mediterranean campaigns and earned the unit numerous citations.
There was considerable rivalry between various Groups under the 57th Bomb Wing. Each was vying for higher ratings in efficiency and bombing accuracy. Like other fields of human endeavor, promotions and careers were often linked to the success of these missions.
Produced under the Colonel’s watchful eye, Training During Combat was a more ambitious film than anything Lt. Blume had done before.
Join us tomorrow for part two, in which Burton Blume discusses finding Training During Combat and how Joseph Heller’s inspiration for the novel Catch-22 can be seen in the footage.
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It's unclear, but possible.
At the start of Volume 1 when she attempts to leave her bed, she immediately collapses:
She then had to take out Buck while on the floor, before using a wheelchair to steal the Pussy Wagon. At this point we are shown a 10 minute sequence about O-Ren Ishii, before The Bride finally regains control of her legs. The next shot is clearly daytime, so we can presume it took her all night to overcome this.
It's unlikely this was caused by muscle atrophy which is a symptom of coma, as she had no problem stabbing or slamming Budd's head in the door, nor dragging herself around or operating the wheelchair which indicates her arms are working fine. With this in mind, I believe this is a psychological injury caused by her trauma which could be labelled brain damage.
As to your examples, I disagree that these are symptoms of brain damage, but simply the result of two highly trained professionals fighting for their lives, which is necessarily going to be brutal and dirty:
Despite her previous reputation as the best female fighter in the world, the Bride does not look as a better fighter in her encounters with Vernita
The defining feature of the fight with Vernita is the location: a living room. The Bride quickly takes the upper hand, but at every point one of them is knocked down, they immediately grab something to hand to defend themselves with (the leg of a broken table, a fire poker, a frying pan, a kitchen knife). This is not the sort of fight which demonstrates real fighting skills, it's dirty.
O-Ren has been killing people with swords since she was eleven years old. We don't know that much about The Bride's childhood, but I think it's a fair assumption O-Ren started much younger than her and definitely had the upper hand. It may be that the only reason The Bride won was due to her training with Pai Mei, which O-Ren didn't receive.
Elle, like The Bride, was taught by Pai Mei, and they were very closely matched. Arguably the only reason she lost, was that Pai Mei took her other eye, which allowed The Bride to instantly blind her with a single hand movement. Presumably, Pai Mei taught The Bride this, but not Elle for obvious reasons.
Also she is outsmarted by Budd.
Outsmarted is a bit strong. The Bride didn't know that Budd knew she was coming, so she had no reason to expect him to shoot her through a closed door.
Also she fails to anticipate Bill's attack.
This is certainly questionable judgement seeing as he attempted to murder her, but he was very convincing, and the joy at being reunited with a child she assumed dead must be an indescribable experience.
So, is the Bride just as efficient fighter as she was before her head injury?
I believe so. The most important point is that they are the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. They are all excellent fighters, but their primary task was killing people who weren't expecting it, which is very different from killing someone who has all the same training as you and is expecting you to come.
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Waller, John Lightfoot, Lld
Waller, John Lightfoot, LL.D.
a Baptist minister, was born in Woodford County, Ky., Nov. 23, 1809. His early education was limited, yet he studied privately so diligently as to qualify himself for teaching school for several years, until, in 1835, he accepted the editorship of the Baptist Banner, a small semi-monthly sheet published at Shelbyville, Ky., in which occupation he continued to be engaged with great success until 1841. In 1840 he was ordained to the Christian ministry, and, after relinquishing his editorial position became general agent of the General Association of Kentucky Baptists, preaching in the meantime whenever he found an opportunity, sometimes as often as six times a week. In 1843 he succeeded his father, Rev. Edmund Waller, as pastor of Glenn's Creek Church. In 1849 he was elected a member of the convention called "to readopt, amend, or abolish the Constitution of the State." In 1850 he resumed the editorial management of the Banner and Pioneer (now styled the Western Recorder), and in April, 1852, the Bible Revision Association having been organized at Memphis, Tenn., he was elected president of the association, and held that office until his death. He died Oct. 10, 1854. See Sprague, Annals of the Amer. Pulpit, 6, 837.
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Jerome H. Powell took office as Chair of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System on February 5, 2018, for a four-year term. Mr. Powell also serves as Chairman of the Federal Open Market Committee, the System's principal monetary policymaking body. Mr. Powell has served as a member of the Board of Governors since taking office on May 25, 2012, to fill an unexpired term. He was reappointed to the Board and sworn in on June 16, 2014, for a term ending January 31, 2028.
Prior to his appointment to the Board, Mr. Powell was a visiting scholar at the Bipartisan Policy Center in Washington, D.C., where he focused on federal and state fiscal issues. From 1997 through 2005, Mr. Powell was a partner at the Carlyle Group.
Mr. Powell served as an assistant secretary and as undersecretary of the Treasury under President George H.W. Bush, with responsibility for policy on financial institutions, the Treasury debt market, and related areas. Prior to joining the Bush administration, Mr. Powell worked as a lawyer and investment banker in New York City.
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|"Story of the Pudding-Head"|
|Translation title||Purinheddo Monogatari|
|Special Chapter Guide|
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The Iron Wall Will Always be Rebuilt
Taketora tells Kenma to cut his hair because it makes him look like Sadako, but Kenma ignores him until the wing spiker points out that his hair makes him stand out. The next day, Kenma shows up with his hair dyed blond; only then do his teammates explain to him that Taketora meant that his hair stood out because it’s long, not because it’s black. Since Kenma didn’t bother to dye the roots, everyone starts calling him Pudding Head.
Taketora Yamamoto is walking through the hallways at Nekoma High. He stops crooning and squalls as he sees Kenma, but the latter doesn't flinch, keeping his eyes locked on his video game. However, Taketora keeps snapping at Kenma, telling him that he should do something about his hair; saying it makes him look like Sadako. Sadako is the central character and antagonist of Koji Suzuki's Ring Trilogy novels, whose face is concealed behind her long black hair (this is also a Japanese word which can refer to chaste boys/girls).
Still absorbed in his game, Kenma says he doesn't care until Taketora points out that his hair will make people notice him, it will make him stand out. This successfully gets Kenma's attention; unnerving him.
The next day, Kenma shows up at school with his hair dyed, his appearance confusing everyone. He tells them that Taketora said his former style made him stand out, but they explain that Taketora only meant to say it was long.
However, that doesn't affect Kenma. He gets anxious if his field of vision is too wide so he can't cut his hair. Taketora states that dyeing the roots wouldn't be that difficult, yet Kenma replies that he wouldn't bother making the effort even though it means he would end up with a pudding head.
Chapter notes Edit
Character revelations Edit
- Kenma gets anxious if his field of vision is too wide, hence why he can't cut his hair.
- Sadako - a Japanese word that refers to chaste boys/girls.
- Sadako is also a reference to Sadako Yamamura from the Ring Trilogy.
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James was the brother of Jesus. He was saved after Jesus was crucified and resurrected. James became a believer and was mightily used by God at Jerusalem. He said to count it joy when we’re tried so we can learn patience.
James 1:1-4 James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, to the twelve tribes which are scattered abroad, greeting. My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.
People sometimes have idealistic thinking about joy and how they should feel in hard trials. People that are in grief don’t feel joyful. Job felt no joy and even felt hopeless when he was in grief. How many of us say, “Behold, how joyful I am” when we are in terrible circumstances? Jesus is our example. When he was in the garden of Gethsemane, he was in agony and his sweat was like drops of blood. He had to get it settled for God to have his will in what was happening.
Luke 22:39-42 And he came out, and went, as he was wont, to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him. And…he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation. And he was withdrawn from them…and kneeled down, and prayed, Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
It was God’s will to let Jesus suffer as part of his plan. God knows every trial we have and he allows them for our good.
Isaiah 53:3-7 He is despised and rejected…man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief…wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities…oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth…as a lamb to the slaughter…
Isaiah 53:10 Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief: when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand.
We have to go through trials to learn anything. We need to learn patience, endurance, longsuffering, and stedfastness. Trials of difficulty and temptation help our Christian character to grow and be strong.
James 1:2-4 (Living Bible) Dear brothers, is your life full of difficulties and temptations? Then be happy, for when the way is rough, your patience has a chance to grow. So let it grow, and don’t try to squirm out of your problems. For when your patience is finally in full bloom, then you will be ready for anything, strong in character, full and complete.
Jesus’ joy was set ahead of him so he endured the cross. We endure hard trials and look forward to heaven. Jesus didn’t have happy, joyful feelings in his agony. Joy is not in the circumstances but it’s a choice we make to look forward. We don’t get all patience, longsuffering, and kindness when we’re first saved. We have to grow in these. The joy is set ahead and we choose to stay faithful. We face times when we don’t feel joy or that all is well, but we aren’t ruled by our emotions.
Hebrews 12:2 Looking unto Jesus…who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame…
The song “It Is Well With My Soul” by Horatio Spafford was written after the ship his family was on sank in the Atlantic. All four of Spafford’s daughters died. His wife Anna survived and sent her famous telegram, “Saved alone …” Spafford took another ship to meet his wife and when his ship passed near where his daughters died, he wrote the song.
“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul…”
A woman of Shunem didn’t believe that she’d have a son when her husband was old, but Elisha wanted to reward her.
II Kings 4:8-17…Elisha passed to Shunem…woman…constrained him to eat bread. And…oft as he passed by, he turned in thither to eat bread. And she said unto her husband…this is an holy man of God, which passeth by us continually. Let us make a little chamber…a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a candlestick…when he cometh…shall turn in thither. And …a day, that he came…said to Gehazi his servant…What then is to be done for her? And Gehazi answered, Verily she hath no child, and her husband is old. And he said, Call her…And he said, About this season…thou shalt embrace a son. And she said, Nay, my lord, thou man of God, do not lie unto thine handmaid. And the woman conceived, and bare a son…
The woman probably heard about Elijah raising the dead son of the woman that fed him at Zarephath (I Kings 9:17-22). She knew Elisha was a man of God like Elijah and had confidence he could raise up her son, so she said it was well.
II Kings 4:18-26 And when the child was grown…he went out to his father to the reapers. And he said unto his father, My head, my head. And he said to a lad, Carry him to his mother. And…he sat on her knees till noon, and then died. And she…laid him on the bed of the man of God…And she called unto her husband, and said, Send me, I pray thee, one of the young men, and one of the asses, that I may run to the man of God…he said, Wherefore wilt thou go to him to day?…she said, It shall be well…So she went…the man of God saw her afar off…said to Gehazi…yonder is that Shunammite: Run… meet her, and say…Is it well with thee? is it well with thy husband? is it well with the child? And she answered, It is well.
Gehazi didn’t think she should hold Elisha’s feet as she fell before him. Elisha said not to trouble her since she was vexed. There was no wavering in her confidence in Elisha and that God would help, so all was well. God answered her prayer.
II Kings 4:27-37 And when she came to the man of God…she caught him by the feet: but Gehazi came near to thrust her away. And the man of God said, Let her alone; for her soul is vexed within her: and the Lord hath hid it from me…Then she said, Did I desire a son of my lord? did I not say, Do not deceive me? Then he said to Gehazi…take my staff…lay my staff upon the face of the child. And the mother…said, As the Lord liveth…I will not leave thee…Gehazi passed on…laid the staff upon the face of the child; but there was neither voice, nor hearing. Wherefore he went…saying, The child is not awaked. And when Elisha was come…the child was dead…He went in…shut the door upon them twain, and prayed unto the Lord. And…lay upon the child, and put his mouth upon his mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon his hands: and he stretched himself upon the child…the child waxed warm. Then he…walked in the house to and fro; and went up, and stretched himself upon him: and the child sneezed seven times…opened his eyes…Call this Shunammite. So he called her… said, Take up thy son. Then she…fell at his feet, and bowed herself to the ground, and took up her son, and went out.
When Jesus was in the garden of Gethsemane, he prayed in confidence and God sent an angel to strengthen him. We need to be strengthened in hard trials and to rely on God’s word, not on feelings or opinions. Our reasoning or leaning on our understanding to solve problems will fail. God never fails. We need to trust him with all our heart and ask for his help.
Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
We can hinder God from solving our problem if we don’t put it on the altar for him to work out. He wants control of our hard trials so we can learn patience and longsuffering in them. Job endured and his happiness didn’t come until the end. He looked everywhere to find God but he didn’t waver in knowing he’d come forth as gold and his redeemer was alive.
James 5:10-11 Take, my brethren, the prophets…example of suffering affliction, and of patience. Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job…seen the end…that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.
The devil tries to condemn some who believe they need a bubbly joy all the time. Jesus told the disciples not to rejoice in what they did but that their names were in heaven (Luke 10:19-20). Paul and Silas suffered joyfully for the gospel’s sake.
Acts 16:22-34 And the multitude…rent off their clothes…beat them…cast them into prison…at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them. And…great earthquake…foundations of the prison were shaken…doors were opened, and every one’s bands were loosed. And the keeper of the prison…seeing the prison doors open, he drew out his sword, and would have killed himself, supposing that the prisoners had been fled. But Paul cried …Do thyself no harm: for we are all here. Then he…said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved? And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved…brought them into his house, he set meat…rejoiced, believing in God with all his house.
People suffered joyfully because they looked forward to joy in heaven. We don’t feel happy to be made fun of but can look forward to heaven. We have tests of faith, patience, and endurance to pass here. If we get an F, God wants to teach us how to pass the next test. God won’t scold us if we ask for wisdom but he’ll help us if we don’t waver. Doubt is from the enemy. God never fails and will help us. He wants us to see it is good when we’re afflicted so we can learn things.
Hebrews 10:33-34 Partly, whilst ye were made a gazingstock both by reproaches and afflictions…and took joyfully the spoiling of your goods, knowing in yourselves that ye have in heaven a better and an enduring substance.
(Notes from the Mature Class Bible Study, teacher Edith Tolbert)
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James Birrell Books & Biography
James Birrell left Glasgow at the age of seventeen to find his fortune. He only got as far as Leeds before his bank balance convinced him that he needed a job to fund his search. After ten years in a variety of suited jobs which served only to buy ponies for other peoples’ kids, James decided to give up searching for his fortune and took up writing instead. Gambling everything he had, which didn't actually amount to more than a rucksack full of shady clothes and a pair of inflatable bath pillow breasts, he hung up his tie and decided to take up the two finger tap dance while travelling in South America.
Convinced by his friends that it would be character building to work on a charity project he signed up to help build a school in Belize after his travels. It was during his three months of sleeping in the jungle that he first put his story telling prowess to the test. Sitting round the camp fire night after night , wishing he'd read the small print, he began writing notes on the stories he told by candle light to the accompaniment of mosquito slapping. An errant spark taught him the importance of keeping copies of his scribblings, a lesson that two hard drive crashes have subsequently helped to brand into his brain. Mistrustful of computers ever since one cheated him at solitaire, he is still in the habit of writing his notes out longhand before applying Elastoplasts to his fingers and pounding the keyboard.
From his hammock in Belize to the Ikea faux pine desk in his flat in Leeds he continued to scribble and type, eschewing the everyday needs of washing and eating and determined never to wear another tie ever again. Having given up the common mediocrity that was his corporate life James found himself embarking on a journey for which he had neither map nor compass. It was a road fraught with danger, stiff fingers and monitor neck, and driven by the need to pay his mortgage he finally had a manuscript ready to deliver. A quick shifty at the shelves in his local bookshop led him to an agent and the rest, as they say, was just a long walk to Hardwork.
With his first novel published and the notes piling for his next, the Universe decided to have a laugh with him and introduced him to the love of his life when he left the safety of his Leeds home to attend a publishing party under the bright lights of Old London Town. Love led him to leave Leeds, move to the Big Stink, get married, and become a father. All within twelve months of attending the party.
His life has changed drastically since that day he gave up the search for his fortune and first took up the way of the pen. His experience sits there as a warning to all. Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.
James can now be found sitting at his desk still writing by candle light with little traces of baby sick in his hair, and smiling.
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Her blue and purple striped shirt was faded just like her jeans. She was a medium built girl with a square shaped face and two curly ponytails above her ears that seemed frozen in time. They were always in the same spot; they never moved. Her earrings were small round hoops just large enough to fit her pinky finger through.
Her brother was a scrawny boy. His big elbows and knees were over-sized compared to his arms and legs. His hair was wild and uncombed with lint from his bed covers in the front.
Joanne and Max were silent as they tossed a ball to each other on their front porch. Cars moved up and down the street complying with the speed limit but ignoring the pedestrians. Not one car slowed enough to let a pedestrian enter the crosswalk. Instead, drivers blew horns warning them to stay out the way.
Sirens from a speeding police car pierced Joanne and Max’s ears. Their game of catch abruptly stopped. The ball flew free and bounced down the stairs. Their hands pressed against their ears muting the sound of the siren while their eyes followed the car. Now, they were standing at the edge of the porch leaning against the rail. A new realm unfolded before their eyes.
The police car disappeared. It had driven into some kind of bubble vortex. The front of the vehicle disappeared first, then the middle, and the words “Pico City Police.” The last thing they saw was the tail lights. The car was gone. Had anyone else seen that? Max looked at Joanne with his lips moving. She was sure he was talking, but she couldn’t hear a word. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Still, no sound came out. She called his name, “Max!” His eyes looked puzzled. Joanne could tell that he couldn’t hear her either.
Max suddenly remembered his ball was in the road and dashed down the steps. He picked it up. In the middle of the street with his arms extended outward, his hands and the ball disappeared. They had entered into a bubble vortex. Max’s hands were gone, just like the police car.
Joanne rushed into the street and grabbed Max around his chest. The strong vortex lifted his body. Only the tips of his sneakers remained on the ground. He went higher and higher, and Joanne held tighter and tighter. She held his waist wishing that he had worn a belt. She was losing the battle and needed a better grip; her hands couldn’t hang on any longer. Max’s blue sneakers were now eye level with Joanne. The white star on the side of it was huge from this close view. Joanne leaped up and wrapped her arms around Max’s bulging knees. She was not going to lose her brother. The vortex’s suction grew stronger, and Joanne tightened her embrace. She was pulled inside headfirst. Stuck partially between the bubble vortex and home, she felt a heavy pressure on her chest. A voice inside the bubble said, “Relax.” It was Max. She could hear him again. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Look,” he said, “over there.” Her body relaxed and glided into the vortex.
In front of them, stood a house like theirs, but better. The grass was greener, and the windows had flowers. The paint was bright, and the porch had new red bricks, not worn and chipped like the ones on their home. They thought the best thing about the house inside the vortex was the pool with the slide they had always dreamed of getting. The vortex had everything they ever wanted, even past Christmas gifts they wanted but didn’t get.
The place was weird but inviting. They entered the house and called, “Mom? Dad?” No answered. They didn’t’ see anyone else. They could do anything, and no one would tell them to stop. It was just them.
Joanne and Max wondered where the police car went. “Was there a door to get into the vortex with the police car?” Joanne wondered. Did the officer’s vortex make him happy? Maybe people not committing crimes would make him happy.
Joanne reached up and scratched her ear. Her pinky finger slid through the center of her hooped earring and accidentally pulled it off. The tug on her ear woke her. She sat up in her bed. It was all a dream. She inhaled the familiarity of her room, took a deep breath and fell back to deep sleep.
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Away & Away Publishing
Discovering Aberration is the story of Freddy Fitzgerald and his friend Professor Thaddeus Lumpen as they follow a map that the Professor acquired. Unfortunately, he acquired it in a less than discrete manner from a crime boss who was known for leaving bodies full of screws as signs of his displeasure. They immediately plan for an excursion with the hope of getting away clean before the notorious John-Joseph Heller catches up to them.
Things never go quite as planned and before they are off, they are just one of a veritable fleet of adventurers and have been joined by a student who is as adept as she is pretty. They sail in a modern steam vessel toward the island and a discovery that they all hope will change their lives.
I very much enjoyed the story of Discovering Aberration. The characters that start as stock figures developed quirks very quickly and become engaging and sympathetic as they do. There are some rough spots where the author leaps forward and back and switches narrative devices, but it is worth the effort to follow along to the end of the book. Like the best tales of its kind, the story is larger than a simple expedition to gain fame and fortune and we are treated to an opportunity to consider human hubris without the moral being pushed down our throats.
I would recommend the book to any who enjoy steampunk and Victorian style adventure.
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Key Concepts of the Philosophy of John Locke
John Locke was a 17th-century British philosopher who contributed both to modern political discourse and the foundations of empiricism. He would influence George Berkley and David Hume and a modification of social contract theory that would lay the foundation of the ideas of liberal democracy and classical republicanism. Locke would be an enormously influential figure in the formation of the early government of the United States and the drafting of that country's constitution. His political theory would also be an influence on the ideas of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Immanuel Kant, John Rawls, and Robert Nozick. Many consider Locke's views to be similar to modern libertarian thoughts; though, like most political philosophers, it is difficult to pigeonhole him into a single ideology.
Locke is considered the first of the three great British Empiricists. He objected strongly to the claims made by René Descartes that there are a priori principles from which knowledge can be derived. Locke insisted instead that human beings are born as blank slates or as a “tabula rasa,” as later philosophers would refer to it. Locke denied that there was an essential human nature and claimed that everything that a human being is comes from the senses. He made a distinction between simple ideas, like color sensations, tastes, sounds, shapes (these are similar to what David Hume would call impressions) and complex ideas such as cause and effect, identity, mathematics and any abstract concept.
Though his writing served as the foundation of the Empiricist school of thought, it is now considered far too simplistic, and while his writing received critiques from rationalists, it is often thought that the most devastating critiques came from empiricists themselves. For instance, Locke objected to the idea that Descartes put forth that a triangle is an a priori concept. He said that instead that the idea of a triangle was merely a reflection on the physical form of a triangle. George Berkley pointed out that in order for this to be true, you would have to simultaneously imagine a triangle that is equilateral, isosceles and scalene.
While David Hume was heavily influenced by Locke, he took his ideas to their utmost logical extreme. Hume did reject the idea of there being no human nature; however, his moral theory was based on the concept that human intuitions form the basis of morality and this is a refutation of Locke’s basic claims of the human mind being a blank slate.
Locke’s Political Philosophy
Locke based the foundation of his political theory on the idea of inalienable rights. Locke said that these rights came from God as the creator of human beings. Human beings were the property of God, and Locke claimed that the denial of the rights of human beings that God had given them was an affront to God. In this way, Locke had established “negative rights” for all human beings. Humans had the inalienable rights of life, liberty, property and the pursuit of their own goals. This is in contrast to “positive rights” such as the right to equality, health care or a living wage that have been claimed as rights by political philosophers since Locke.
Locke adopted the idea of social contract theory to form the basis of what he considered to be a legitimate government. The most famous previous version of social contract theory was that of Thomas Hobbes where he used the theory to form the basis of a monarchy. Locke found this form of government to be in contradiction to his ideas of inalienable rights and while he agreed with the idea that governments were formed by the agreement of society he disagreed with the idea that they were looking for security as the primary goal of society. Locke instead based his primary value of government on the idea of liberty, and he claimed that the only legitimate form of government was one that operated on the explicit consent of the governed.
This is where Locke’s philosophy becomes a bit complex. His ideal government was that of a Democratic Republic where policy was dictated by the will of the majority, but individual rights were to be respected. Contemporary governments have accomplished this through a series of checks and balances. Locke believed that the rights that I have described above had come from God, but at the same time, he also believed that Democracy could result in some of the property of the citizens to be redistributed. His justification for this was that once a government was formed it had to function as a ruling body and as functioning as a single body majority rules was the most fair way to implement any policy.
However, because each individual in the body politic would know that while sometimes they would be on the winning side of the majority other times they may not, the urge to wield tyranny against their fellow citizens would be somewhat curbed. In this way, what Locke was saying was that while the majority could become an oppressive force the individual’s fear of that force justified the upholding of certain rights among the citizens. The majority would respect the rights of others on the basis of wanting their own rights to be respected on similar issues and Locke felt that “the golden rule” would ultimately dictate action.
This proved wrong in the short term but governments that have formed on these principals have been essentially progressive and the rights of individuals have increased over time as Democratic Republics have developed. Still, both the ideas of individual liberty and democratic principles are often at odds with each other and the question of positive rights instead of Locke’s strictly negative rights still remain. Future social contract theorists Jean-Jacques Rousseau and John Rawls would both expand on this concept.
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ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān
ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān, (died June 17, 656, Medina, Arabian Peninsula), third caliph to rule after the death of the Prophet Muhammad. He centralized the administration of the caliphate and established an official version of the Qurʾān. ʿUthmān is critically important in Islamic history because his death marked the beginning of open religious and political conflicts within the Islamic community (see fitnah).
ʿUthmān was born into the rich and powerful Umayyad clan of Mecca, and he became a wealthy merchant. When Muhammad began preaching in Mecca about 615 ce, he soon aroused the hostility of the Umayyads, but about five years later ʿUthmān accepted Muhammad and thus became the first convert of high social and economic standing. Muhammad valued this contact with the Meccan aristocracy, and he allowed ʿUthmān to marry one of his daughters. ʿUthmān rarely displayed energy or initiative, however, and his role in the first years of Islamic history was passive.
ʿUmar, the second caliph, died in 644, and ʿUthmān was elected successor by a council named by ʿUmar before his death. Apparently ʿUthmān was selected as a compromise, when the more powerful candidates cancelled each other out. He also represented the Umayyad clan, which had suffered a partial eclipse during the Prophet’s lifetime but was now reasserting its influence.
As caliph ʿUthmān promulgated an official recension of the Qurʾān, which had existed in various versions. ʿUthmān followed the same general policies as ʿUmar but had a less forceful personality than his predecessor. He continued the conquests that had steadily increased the size of the Islamic empire, but the victories now came at a greater cost and brought less wealth in return. ʿUthmān tried to create a cohesive central authority to replace the loose tribal alliance that had emerged under Muhammad. He established a system of landed fiefs and distributed many of the provincial governorships to members of his family. Thus much of the treasure received by the central government went to ʿUthmān’s family and to other provincial governors rather than to the army. As a result of his policies, ʿUthmān was opposed by the army, and he was often dominated by his relatives—unlike ʿUmar, who had been strong enough to impose his authority on the governors, whatever their clan or tribe.
By 650 rebellions had broken out in the provinces of Egypt and Iraq. In 655 a group of Egyptian malcontents marched upon Medina, the seat of caliphal authority. ʿUthmān, however, was conciliatory, and the rebels headed back to Egypt. Shortly thereafter, however, another group of rebels besieged ʿUthmān in his home, and, after several days of desultory fighting, he was killed.
Learn More in these related Britannica articles:
Fitnah, (Arabic: “trial,” or “test”) in Islāmic usage, a heretical uprising, especially the first major internal struggle within the Muslim community ( ad656–661), which resulted in both civil war and religious schism—between the Sunnites and Shīʿites. The third caliph, ʿUthmān (reigned 644–656), a member of the Umayyad family of Mecca, had…
Islamic world: Discontent in ʿUthmān’s reignThis phase of conquest ended under ʿUthmān and ramified widely. ʿUthmān may even have sent an emissary to China in 651; by the end of the 7th century Arab Muslims were trading there. The fiscal strain of such expansion and the growing independence…
Egypt: Egypt under the caliphate…the assassination of the caliph ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān (656) began in Egypt, where the tribesmen resented the favouritism shown by the caliph to members of his own family. Uprisings led by the dissident Khārijite sect were frequent in the mid-8th century. In the 9th century the ʿAbbāsid caliph al-Maʾmun (reigned…
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National Novel Writing Month, Day 4 – Sixth Scene written: “A Viking in Rome”
Today, I was working so much on other stuff that I almost didn’t write anything. But finally I got to sit down at midnight, and wrote another scene “A Viking in Rome”. My word count has reached 4.040 words now, after 4 days. I need to accelerate if I want to reach 50k by 30th of November to win the National Novel Writing Month!
— Excerpt: A Viking in Rome: After the Viking got the case from the Coordinator —
The Viking examined the case the Coordinator gave into his custody with curiosity. So this was the case containing what they were looking for throughout all the centuries, the lost artifact. He felt excitement rising in him, thinking of all the possibilities it would give them. He almost felt disappointed about the nonchalant way the Coordinator gave him the case, no ceremony, no big fuss. But then, the Coordinator was a busy man and he was just another operative. He thought about celebrating the big event with his brothers with lots of met.
Before Rune became the Viking, he was living peacefully in a village in Scandinavia, settled down with his wife and three strong sons. That was already after many years of participating in raids into the east, into the illiterate slavic regions of his time. The term viking originally meant „to go on an expedition“ or to „to go on a raid“ in later times. He was born the son of Sten, thus Stenson. It is also not a coincidence the his name was Rune Stenson, rune stone. Born around the 10th century B.C. into the height of viking power and expansion he had all the adventures a born explorer like him could imagine to have.
He never imagined that his explorations would bring him as far as Italy of the 20th century. But here he was, in the heart of the Roman Empire. Though during his own time, the bright light of roman empire has already faded into obscurity for almost five centuries. And now, one millennia after his own birth, Rome was a just a shadow of its former self. Surely, the 20th century Rome was full of people, but it was incomparable to the heydays of Rome, when Cesar had been entertaining the whole empire with his many beast shows and gladiator fights at the Colosseum. Those were the days! The people here seemed to be very self-satisfied with themselves, lost in their daily routine. From his briefings he has seen that the romans were proud of their history and their ancestors, but they seemed to be only living in the past, two thousand years and nothing changes in Rome.
Rune was walking up the hill deep in his thoughts when a group of girls chatting loudly passed by him, dressed in long coats, sporting pale faces, black coloured hair and in general a very dark look. He remembered the term „gothic“ for this type of fashion style. To him the Goths were another teutonic people who invaded Rome successfully between the 3rd and 5th century B.C., very tough and dangerous. But then he was also a stranger here, and how could he know precisely what the local customs are.
The Villa Borghese was just next to Piazza del Popolo, where he left the Coordinator without much small talk, a hill overlooking Rome. The temperature was very high, the august sun was burning his pale, nordic skin. He was sweating in the black suit they gave him, tailored perfectly to his bulky figure, but still black and therefore very hot. He wondered if those girls were also sweating heavily like him with their long black coats. It was so much nicer in summer at home in the northern regions, but it was not his first time outside his original region, so he took it with bravado.
He was expected to get to the small lake in the park in about an hour, so he had time to explore his surroundings a little bit. He reached the platform overlooking Piazza del Popolo and the rest of Rome with all its cupolas. There weren’t any tall buildings in the entire historical centre, almost similar to the last time he visited Rome a few centuries in the past. He almost expected to see the Coordinator down there at the obelisk at Piazza del Popolo, but of course the Coordinator already left to some other errand.
Rune heard high tone chattering of the same girl group again, then suddenly his entire body convulsed. He had just a single thought – the case! His body totally out of control he overthrew himself again and again. He lashed out trying to hit someone, the old warrior in him reacting instinctively. But it was all in vain, they gave him another electroshock, then everything went black.
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Monster Paradise Chapter 669
Chapter 669: The Bizarre Seed
Chapter 669: The Bizarre Seed
Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation
Since any expenditure on the Stairway Mall would not affect their ranking, Lin Xie's name was still ranked first on the leaderboard. Many people paid close attention to the changes in Lin Huang's achievement these few days.
In the beginning, everybody was shocked when Lin Huang managed to break through the 50th checkpoint as the majority of them were stuck at the 46th checkpoint, having failed to get to the 50th checkpoint.
Lin Huang then only managed to break through two checkpoints in a day. Everyone could feel that his climb was getting tougher.
At the 51st checkpoint, he did not complete the level even after several hours, so they expected him to stop there. However, after more than 5 hours, he finally managed to get through it.
The next few checkpoints were tough for him, and it took him a long time to pass through each checkpoint.
Still, Lin Huang managed to reach the 55th checkpoint.
The 55th checkpoint was the fourth gathering point of the humans at the Stairway Tree. Anyone who was capable of reaching this checkpoint was primarily on immortal-level rank-7.
Everybody in the Genius Union did not expect Lin Xie, who was only on blue flame-level, to reach this checkpoint. Even Lin Huang himself did not expect this achievement.
This had to be recorded in the history as a mind-blowing feat because nobody who was on holy fire-level could ever climb to the 55th checkpoint in the past. Lin Huang was the first and only one.
After Lin Huang had broken the record, the Emperor's Heart even blasted an announcement to all the Genius Union's current members.
"Congratulations to Lin Xie, who's a blue flame-level! He has reached the 55th checkpoint! It's the highest checkpoint that a holy fire-level can reach so far!"
The announcement from the Emperor's Heart was pinned at the top of the Genius Union's forum.
Many of them who had not paid attention to Lin Huang's achievement were shocked when they received the announcement.
Some of them even started a topic under the pinned post in the forum.
#When you were a blue flame-level, which checkpoint of the Stairway Tree were you on?#
Soon, many people started commenting on this topic.
"The The first checkpoint (Covers face)"
"I've been frozen to death 11 times at the second checkpoint. I've no choice but to go back to the first checkpoint! (Nose picking)"
"I've been frozen to death 13 times"
"Hey, I didn't say anything though I've been frozen to death 28 times! (Shrugs)"
"When I was a blue flame-level, I think I was at the 29th checkpoint." This was Chan Dou.
"Oh my god. A pro has appeared. Allow me, the noob, to leech on you."
"I only saw a noob being sucked dry by a pro instead."
After logging out, Lin Huang was immediately pinged by the Emperor's Heart because he had broken a record.
Along with the announcement, a notice about a reward was sent to him as well.
"Due to your outstanding performance in the Genius Union, a bizarre seed is rewarded to you."
Aside from the notice, there was also an attachment, which Lin Huang opened. He found a black seed.
Feeling curious, he immediately downloaded it. After a short while, the download was completed. The virtual black seed appeared in his hand unexpectedly.
"What's happening?" Lin Huang was shocked. He knew that many of the items from the Genius Union could be brought to reality. However, that would only happen when the item was stored in the Emperor's Heart Ring, and one would have to take it out from there. However, the black seed had become a tangible item and had appeared in his hand right after he downloaded it.
Staring at the seed with careful observation, he noticed that the black seed was only the size of his pinky finger. He could not figure out if there was anything special about it.
Lin Huang then wanted to store it in his Emperor's Heart Ring, but he failed to do so. He had no other choice but to put it in his pocket.
Full of doubts, he opened the Heart Network to search for more information regarding the bizarre seed. However, he could find no information regarding it.
In the Genius Union, as he searched for the keywords "bizarre seed", the result screen showed that he had no authority to access it.
Lin Huang was even more curious now, and he sent Chan Dou a message. "What is a bizarre seed?"
After sending the message for less than two seconds, he received a video call from Chan Dou.
Lin Huang answered the video call, feeling odd.
"Did you obtain the bizarre seed as a reward?" Chan Dou exclaimed in surprise.
"Hmmm I'm just asking." Lin Huang did not answer him directly.
"I see." Chan Dou realized that he was being dramatic. After calming himself down, he replied, "The bizarre seed is an exclusive reward given by the Genius Union to those with outstanding performance. It's the best reward in the Genius Union. Its level even surpasses a demigod relic.
"Although I've never seen it before, I've heard from the seniors that the bizarre seed is actually a God's item. Its value may possibly be higher than a God's relic. When the seed is inserted into your body, each bizarre seed will grow into different fruits. Some of the fruits will allow you to have supernatural powers whereas some of them will turn into a God's item or a God's relic. What it'll grow into varies in different bodies. It's said that its breeding time varies according to different bodies as well. Some of them take only a day to grow into fruits whereas some of them can't germinate into fruits even after a hundred years.
"The seed can be activated easily. As long as you insert your Life Power into it continuously until it has been completely filled, it'll be automatically activated. The activated seed will enter the body of the person who inserted Life Power into it. You don't need to bother it after that." Chan Dou shared the method of activation with him. Obviously, he guessed that Lin Huang had obtained the bizarre seed as a reward.
"Thank you." Lin Huang did not bother denying that he had received the bizarre seed.
Chan Dou looked at him enviously and did not say anything else. He then hung up.
After the conversation with Chan Dou ended, Lin Huang took out the black seed from his pocket. Without a moment of hesitation, he started inserting Life Power as Chan Dou had taught him.
He was practicing his Army Attack Tactics while inserting his Life Power into the seed.
Soon, the first Life Wheel had been drained, followed by the second, the third, and the fourth Eventually, ten of his Life Wheels had been depleted, but nothing happened to the seed. The seed resembled an abyss as it engulfed all the Life Power in ten of his Life Wheels without being activated.
Lin Huang immediately used a Life Power Refill Card since his Life Power had been drained. After restoring the Life Power in ten of his Life Wheels, he began inserting Life Power into the black seed for the second time.
After half an hour, the Life Power in ten of his Life Wheels had been used up again. Still, there was no response from the seed.
Lin Huang then took out the second and the third Life Power Refill Cards and inserted Life Power into the seed yet again.
An hour had passed, and the amount of Life Power from 40 Life Wheels had been inserted. The little pinky-sized black seed showed no response though.
"It seems like it's hard to activate it in a short period of time."
Lin Huang forced a smile. He was exhausted, so he kept the seed in his pocket. He then started practicing his Army Attack Tactics to restore the Life Power in his body.
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"The Woodmans" -- now playing at the West End Cinema -- offers a candid yet difficult-to-watch series of interviews with Betty and Charles Woodman. The couple lost their remarkably talented photographer daughter Francesca to suicide at age 22.
They walk the audience through their lives in slow motion as they learn to cope with their loss, understand it and survive it; all of which they do with integrity as they look back and examine their own lives.
But the ending is so ironic, it makes you wonder if the suicide was meant to eclipse their own talents -- Betty as a ceramicist and Charles as a painter/photographer. Although many questions are answered, you still feel there is an underlying subtext waiting to be unveiled.
Would Francesca’s life have been any less important if she hadn’t followed “the family business”? Would that have been acceptable? Had the young photographer lived in a different era, would she have achieved the notoriety she sought? Why was she so impatient to get there?
Tormented, like many famous artists before her, Francesca seems to have experienced a growing depth of despair as she peeled back the layers as a student at RISD. Perhaps it's obvious looking back now, but it obviously wasn’t as apparent during the process.
One thing is for sure: Francesca Woodman was an intellectual, passionate talent whose photographic accomplishments in her 22 years could hardly be matched by anyone three times her age. But Charles Woodman, now 77, leaves us with a thought: “To stay alive is a pretty good thing to do.”
"The Woodmans," directed by Scott Willis, opened at the West End Cinema (2301 M St. N.W.) on March 31.
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74f18af4412e7ff37c39d9c7434c899ec2e31bb3887674d596af3ca919538a7f
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THE TRAGEDY OF COMLONGON CASTLE Simon Carruthers was born in 1517, son of Simon 9th of Mouswald (MOOzeld) and his wife Katherine, daughter of William Lord Carlile. In Apr 1531, Simon succeeded his father as 10th of Mouswald. In 1538 he married Agnes, daughter of Cuthbert MURRAY of Cockpool. In about 1540, his eldest daughter Janet was born and on 30 Nov 1541 a second daughter Marion was born. In 1544, Simon married Mariota, sister of John JOHNSTONE of that Ilk.
In about 1540, his eldest daughter Janet was born and on 30 Nov 1541 a second daughter Marion was born. In 1544, Simon married Mariota, sister of John JOHNSTONE of that Ilk. In the same year, Simon got a new free barony of Mouswald from the Crown. It included parts of the older Carruthers barony with various additional lands. The date of the instrument of sasine was 12 Jan 1514/15.Simon died after 12 Jun 1548 and before 13 Aug 1548 probably in a Border raid by the Thevis of the Marche" (Lord Herries). On 13 Aug 1548, Queen Mary granted Sir James DOUGLAS of Drumlanrig ward and marriage of Simon's two daughters. For this privilege, he had to pay 3000 pounds cash to secure their inheritance and he had to support and maintain them until they reached marriageable age. In return, of course, he intended to marry them to men sworn to him and thus secure their inheritance for himself.
On 21 Mar 1557, the uncle of the two girls Charles Murray of Cockpool and his brothers Archibald and Cuthbert wrote to the Lords of the Counsel stating that the two girls were now past the age of 14 and lodging a protest against Sir James Douglas of Drumlanrig. The protest states that he has kept both Janet and Marion in "subjectioun and thraldome" and will not permit them freedom to go about and visit their friends and deal with their affairs. The Lords demanded that Douglas bring the girls to Edinburgh and show the Counsel whether they were kept in "thraldome" or not and so the Counsel could see to it that they were set at liberty.
In 1560, the elder sister, Janet, reached mature age. Sir James told since her lands lay so near the Border, they had been laid waste and she and her sister would get no profit from them. He therefore proposed that she marry Thomas RORESON of Bardannock and Drumlanrig would give her a dowry (or tocher) of 1000 marks and "other considerations." Janet, seeing the way things were and that Drumlanrig was determined to acquire the lands, meekly accepted the proposal and on 14 Mar 1560/61, Janet signed her lands over to Sir James DOUGLAS of Drumlanrig.
Shortly thereafter, Marion came of age. She was informed by Sir James that she would marry John M'MATH, younger of Dalpedder and would receive the same settlement as was given to her sister. Marion, however, didn't have her sister's meek nature. She informed Sir James that she would choose her own husband and would dispose of her lands as she saw fit.
Drumlanrig kept Marion in close confines, to prevent her marrying someone who would support her opposition to Drumlanrig. On 28 Jan 1562/63, Marion appeared before Queen Mary and the Privy Council with her uncle Charles MURRAY of Cockpool. Drumlanrig insisted that if she appeared, she must be unmarried and in full possession of her lands. At this time she was living with the Chancellor, Lord Morton. On 30 Jan 1562/63, Drumlanrig went to Marion and insisted that she comply with his arrangements.
On 1 Feb 1562/63, John, Lord Borthwick appeared with Marion before the Queen and Council and said that since she was his friend and kinswoman, he would take her into his care for the next 40 days. She had to pledge not to leave him and go anywhere else under penalty of 2000 pounds and, under like penalty, not to leave his house AT ALL without notice to the Privy Council.
Later in 1563, Marion had to post bond (supplied by Thomas BORTHWICK of Pryncardo and Michael BORTHWICK of Glengelt) not to marry a traitor or a "broken man."
On 11 May 1564, at Comlongon Castle, Marion conveyed her lands to her uncle, Charles MURRAY of Cockpool. The deed was confirmed by Queen Mary on 24 Jun 1564. Sir James DOUGLAS of Drumlanrig challenged the deed on the grounds that his rights of ward and marriage made such a document illegal. Her sister Janet and her husband sided with Drumlanrig. The Queen agreed and rescinded confirmation of the deed.
On about 16 Feb 1564/65 or 25 Sep 1568, Marion CARRUTHERS supposedly committed suicide by throwing herself from the top of the tower of Comlongon Castle. There has been a question as to whether she jumped or whether an adherent of Drumlanrig's pushed her to her death. It is easy to reason either way. She had been frustrated at every turn in trying to get free of Drumlanrig. Her cousin James MURRAY later married Drumlanrig's granddaughter. Perhaps she became depressed enough to jump. However, there is also the very real possibility that the powerful Drumlanrig hired someone to make sure that Marion ceased to be a thorn in his side. However she died, she was adjudged a suicide (a neat political answer) and as such her lands were turned over to the Crown. The Crown then on 17 Oct 1570 deeded them to Sir William DOUGLAS of Hawick, son of Sir James DOUGLAS of Drumlanrig.
However it happened, the story goes, that grass refuses to grow on the spot where she landed and that Marion CARRUTHERS continues to walk in Comlongon Castle. (And she still hates the name of Sir James DOUGLAS of Drumlanrig and gets very irritated if anything pertaining to him is brought into the Castle.)
Marion is said to have fallen from the right hand corner of the tower.
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58455b69bbb6e058fd3a0cd96143947f185efd7cf9d3094ba4d33cb3877db472
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The president's office on the top floor.
The contrasting black and white furnishings were simple and elegant.
At this moment, the vast space was engulfed by a smothering atmosphere so oppressing that no one dared to raise their heads.
"Young Master Han, we've asked around, and no one saw how this child appeared. We couldn't find anything out from the CCTV either..."
This child appeared to have turned up from nowhere.
Without a trace.
"What did you say? Couldn't find anything out?" Yu Yuehan's voice was so chilling that it made everyone freeze in fear.
He lifted his hand and tossed the DNA report onto the table with a thud before dropping his dark gaze.
Such a young child couldn't have turned up here on her own.
"By the way, the DNA report has been confirmed to be authentic..." the bodyguard braced himself as he spoke.
The little doll was really his daughter...
In that huge room, the stony silence felt like the calm before a storm.
Only the tiny ball of cuteness was unaware of the perilous atmosphere, her round eyes blinking cluelessly.
She crawled toward Yu Yuehan and looked at him with a longingness to be carried.
Once she caught his eye, she pouted her lips and cooed at him.
Yu Yuehan felt a tightness in his chest, like an indescribable throbbing in his heart that sent a shock through his body.
Looking at the face that looked so much like his own, he shut his eyes, but at the same time, thought about how he had no idea where she had come from.
An overwhelming mix of emotions got the better of him, and he tugged at his necktie in frustration.
Suddenly, a furry little head propped up against his chest, like she was looking for something...
His body froze slightly.
The next second, he quickly looked down.
Before he could even react, he saw the tiny doll in his arms opening her little mouth, cheerily leaning forward to take a bite of his chest!
Two years later.
"Driver, please stop the car in front of the hospital." Nian Xiaomu held the cake that she had baked in her hands, got out of the car, and walked toward the registration counter.
"Hi, I'm looking for Doctor Tan in the Neurology department."
"Please make way, everyone! Make way!" A commotion broke out at the entrance of the hospital as a large group of people rushed in toward her direction.
The gory situation was an unbearable sight for everyone in the room.
"There was a traffic accident along the front street. A few victims have been sent to the emergency department in our hospital for treatment, and the most seriously injured one is a child..." said the first doctor to get out the ambulance as he worriedly informed his colleagues.
Upon hearing that, Nian Xiaomu's gaze fell upon the medical gurney in front of her.
A child around the age of three laid quietly on it.
A white princess gown stained crimson with blood, a delicate face that was as pale as a sheet of paper, and the tiny body that was curled into a ball...
She had only caught a glimpse of this, but Nian Xiaomu felt an inexplicable wrenching in her heart!
"This child has Type B blood, but our hospital has run out of Type B blood in our storage bank. There isn't time to transport blood from another hospital! Is there anyone here who can donate blood?" Someone rushed in from the other end of the room, his face flushed with a sense of great urgency.
"It's too sudden! Where can we find someone to donate blood at this time?"
"What can we do? We have no time to lose..."
Nian Xiaomu stood rooted to the ground, her mind filled with the image of that little face that she had just seen. When she heard the doctor's words, she instinctively rushed forward.
"My blood type is B. I can donate to her!"
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Just look into the skies to witness the achievements of women! Throughout history, many women were able to enter the cockpit and became pilots despite countless challenges. Today, as female pilots fly in the skies, they are inspired by legends.
Raymonde de Laroche is one of the most memorable female pilots in history. Answering the question of who is the first female aviator with her documented flight in 1910, Laroche is accepted as the world’s first female pilot.
Born in Paris as a daughter of a plumber, Laroche was greatly fond of sports during her childhood. Always on the move, she had various interests during her life. In her youth she acted under the name of Raymonde de Laroche. She also used this name in her later career.
Her interest in motor vehicles led her to airplanes after watching an airshow. She learned how to fly from a friend of hers who was a successful aviator. Finally reaching the skies as a licensed pilot, Laroche broke down the prejudices such as women could not fly planes demonstrating that being a pilot had no gender.
Known as “Sister Gökmen” before the Law on Family Names, Bedriye Tahir Gökmen had a great passion for flying. In 1932, she enrolled to ‘Vecihi Sivil Tayyare Mektebi’, the first civilian aviation school in Turkey established by the famous aviator, Vecihi Hürkuş.
Gökmen, ignoring being regarded strange as the sole woman among 13 students, attended the aviation classes with great enthusiasm. As she was working as a civil servant, she attended the aviation school early in the morning and all weekends. Despite the fact that her passion never hindered her work, she got some negative reactions in the institution she was employed, however she did not quit. In 1933, she began to fly as Turkey’s first female pilot. When the institution where she worked tried to fine her, it was cancelled due to Turkish Aviation Association’s intervention.
In order to continue her aviation career she applied for a test. As the only airplane of the school was out of service when the committee came for the test, this test could not be carried out. Despite Vecihi’s persistent efforts, the test was not conducted again, and Gökmen could not continue her aviation career. Afterwards, she was fired from her work, and no further information is available regarding her life later. In spite of the various challenges she faced, nothing stood in Bedriye Tahir Gökmen’ way to engrave her name in history as Turkey’s first female aviator.
Probably the most famous female aviator of all time, Amelia Earhart was the first female pilot to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. Born in Kansas, Earhart played basketball during her childhood then she learnt vehicle maintenance. With her fields of interest and lifestyle, even in her youth she showed that she had no regard for gender discrimination.
During World War I, Earhart worked as a nurse and extensively watched how pilots trained. While as a student at Columbia University, she had the chance to fly for the first time and began her aviation training in 1921. During her career, she set many records and wrote best-selling books about her flying experiences. With her achievements both as a pilot and writer, she became an inspiration for all women around the world.
During an attempt to make a circumnavigational flight of the globe, she disappeared with her colleague Fred Noonan in 1937 never to be seen again. Last seen departing from Lae with Howland Island as the intended destination, an extensive search and rescue operation was undertaken for 2 weeks. The mystery of her disappearance continues to this day. Amelia Earhart represents women’s achievements in the history of aviation.
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6f4e6e0c3f7edbdb115488c69bc3dc3ecf35dac0f7c91ee643ff68a259d8a9d6
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|Individual Anglican or Episcopal churches
form parishes. Parishes
are a subdivision of dioceses.
Dioceses, which are the fundamental unit of church administration and
governance, combine administratively to form provinces,
though church members are rarely aware of administrative divisions
between their diocese and their national church.
Sometimes these provinces are autonomous and sometimes they combine to form national churches which are autonomous. What it means for a province or national church to be "autonomous" is that there is no larger administrative unit that supervises it: no pope, no cardinals, no patriarch. Many parishes have only one parish church; some have more than one. There are many historical variations to this basic administrative scheme. Sometimes a diocese is divided into deaneries, or archdeaconries, and sometimes it is divided into archdeaconries which are in turn divided into deaneries. These divisions are not very important.
At the very center of the Anglican church are its bishops. Every Anglican bishop has been consecrated by other bishops, who were in turn consecrated by other bishops. This process forms a chain that, according to legend, leads back to the 12 apostles, who were the first bishops. There is no historical proof of this, nor does our faith depend on it. Historians have traced the succession of bishops back to the early 2nd century AD.
The bishops are the spiritual successors of the Apostles, and the chain of consecration is called Apostolic Succession. The Greek word for Bishop is episkopos, which is the origin of the word "Episcopal", and, for that matter, of the word "bishop": in Latin it became "episcopus", in Old English it was "biscop", which came to be pronounced "bishop" and later spelled that way, too.
Worldwide there are some 900 living Anglican bishops.
The primary unit of organization and governance of the Anglican church is the diocese. Presiding over each diocese is a bishop, who is called the diocesan bishop. Some dioceses have, in addition, other bishops, with titles such as Suffragan, Coadjutor, or Assistant Bishop.
When dioceses are combined into provinces or national churches, there is another administrative layer. This next level is administered typically by an Archbishop or Presiding Bishop. New Zealand in 1998 changed the title of its primate from Archbishop to Presiding Bishop; perhaps this is a trend in the former colonies. However, the important point is not the name, but whether the presiding bishop has metropolitan powers, i.e. some jurisdictional rights over the bishops in his province and their dioceses, or whether he is only the chairman of meetings of bishops. Another recent and controversial trend has been for presiding bishops not to have any diocese of their own.
Each province or national church has a periodic meeting of its bishops, which event has a name like "General Synod" or "General Convention". At these events the church forms its rules, elects its officials, and unifies its doctrines. The details of those rules and how they are applied are discussed on the Church governance page.
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43be82a1d82fa67db1f1833df2ce8ea1d1933de5c183033f28d2782db2881ac6
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The Zook Molasses Company started back in 1934 by M. Simon Zook filling a need for farmers to feed their livestock with quality molasses.
M. Simon Zook was raised on an Old Order Amish farm in Honey Brook, PA. Sim decided early in life that there had to be a better way to earn a living than plowing fields, so he left the Amish lifestyle with a sixth-grade education. At the age of 25, he began M. Simon Zook Company with encouragement and help of his wife Elsie. He traveled from farm to farm grinding feed and baling hay. He was able to stay ahead of the competition by flying his airplane over the fields to see who was going to be ready to bale next. He would then arrive on their farm the next day ready to bale their hay.
Eventually, he started mixing molasses with the feed to make the feed taste better to the animals. Sim, becoming very frustrated at the inconsistency of molasses deliveries, decided to travel to Baltimore, MD himself to pick up the molasses. This began a new aspect of the business which led to the formation of the Zook Molasses Company.
The company motto has always been “service with the best quality molasses.” Since the beginning, Zook Molasses has been serving the agricultural industry with liquid and dried feeding cane molasses and today now offers organic molasses, oils, and blends as well.
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William Farquhar (1770 -1839) is known with Stamford Raffles to have been instrumental in the founding of the colonial settlement at Singapore. When Stamford Raffles left the colony, William Farquhar became for four years first British Resident and Commandant of Singapore (1819-1823). He retired to Perth where he died 11 May 1839.
Born near Aberdeen, Farquhar joined, in 1790, the East India Company as a cadet (in the Madras Engineers) at the age of twenty. On 19 June 1791 he reached Madras and three days later became a commissioned officer, albeit of low rank. By 16 August 1793, William Farquhar achieved promotion to Lieutenant of the Madras Engineers. From Lieutenant, William Farquhar rose to Captain and then to Major on 26 September 1811.Working as an engineer for the East India Company he rose through its ranks and in December 1813 was appointed Resident of Malacca – known locally as the Rajah of Malacca. This was after being part of the force that seized control of Malacca away from the Dutch (18 August 1795). His role as resident was effectively that of Civil and Military leadership on the colony. Whilst in Malacca, William Farquhar married a local girl (Nonio Clement) who gave him six children.
William Farquhar also took a role in further British imperialist ventures such as the invasion of Java in August 1811. This latter adventure was led by Governor-General Lord Minto and Sir Stamford Raffles. A post he held until the Dutch successfully took back Malacca in September 1818.
Buried in Greyfriars’ cemetery; his tombstone is located behind the wee house on the way in from Canal Street. On it is found the inscription, “who served … and afterwards at Singapore which later settlement he founded.”
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e19a64fb32affc43de0d59a6ddf3bb084091d2d6fd715a6adb576ea96d5a5ea8
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Craig Gorham, Certified Prosthetist
Craig graduated from Rock Valley College in 1988 with an Associates Degree in Business Administration. He attended Northwestern University Graduate Program in Prosthetics in 1989. Craig was licensed in the State of Illinois, certified by the American Board for Certification and was a Fellow of the American Academy of Orthotists and Prosthetists. He was also a member of the American Orthotic and Prosthetic Association. Craig began his employment at Northern Prosthetics and Orthopedic Inc. in 1983. He greatly enjoyed working with his patients, and giving them mobility and independence. He is greatly missed by all.
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acda30e180e9a04f076a154d512d834acc7ded3af3dd2e8cfdd86f4e3b8121df
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Russell Baker, a Baltimore-raised, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, essayist and biographer who hosted the series “Masterpiece Theatre” on PBS and had a long-running column in The New York Times, died at his Leesburg, Va., home Monday, his son said.
The cause of death, which followed a recent fall, was unknown, said son Allen Baker, of New York. Mr. Baker was 93.
Mr. Baker was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1979 for his commentary and a second in 1982 for his autobiography, “Growing Up,” a memoir of his childhood in the Great Depression. He was born in Virginia and spent his early years there before his family moved to New Jersey and then Baltimore.
Mr. Baker was as great of a patriarch as he was a writer, Allen Baker said.
“We couldn’t have asked for a better father,” Allen Baker said Tuesday. “He was a tender and loving man to his family. … He was just a Regular Joe with an extraordinary job.”
Mr. Baker was born Aug. 14, 1925, and graduated from Baltimore City College in 1942. He enrolled at the Johns Hopkins University, then put his education on hold to enlist in the U.S. Navy in 1943 to serve during World War II.
Mr. Baker completed a bachelor’s degree at Hopkins in 1947, his son said. He married the former Miriam Nash, in Baltimore in 1950. The pair had four children; Mrs. Baker died in 2015.
“His work there caught the eye of James ‘Scotty’ Reston, then running the New York Times' Washington bureau,” The Sun said in a 1999 article. “Bored with reporting, he was given the column in 1962. He was 37.”
He was a New York Times columnist until announcing his retirement on Christmas Day, 1998 — a 36-year run that made him the longest-running columnist in the history of the paper of record.
“Don't make too much of it,” he joked in the 1999 interview with The Sun. “It's only daily journalism.”
In addition to his son Allen, Mr. Baker is survived by a sister and three children, Kasia Baker, of Nantucket, Mass.; Michael Baker, of Morrisonville, Va.; and Phyllis Baker, of Morrisonville, Va.; as well as four granddaughters.
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At last we started on that trip around England and Scotland which we had been talking about and arranging for so long. I had hired a Hillman 14 for four weeks at a total cost of £30 and I was to pay for all petrol, oil and other running expenses. The company paid insurance and supplied me with an A.A. Badge, which entitled me to full membership benefits. A chauffeur brought the car to the Society’s Building and took us as far as Hyde Park. I had never driven a car of this make, nor was I used to the traffic of London, but I managed alright and got safely through the London streets into the country.
It was a delightful time of the year, as the flowers were in bloom and the new leaves were on the trees everywhere. The bright sunshine made the delicate green very beautiful.
We stopped at an old country inn for lunch. We picked one of the very old style with a flat roof and low ceilings. Although we only had cold meat and pickles with salad we enjoyed it immensely and afterwards enjoyed still more a home-made apple pie and cream. It was a good start.
Shortly afterwards we arrived at Stonehenge and we had a look at these great stones which were carried a distance of 180 miles and erected about 2,000 B.C. After hearing and learning so much about this place it was most interesting to see it. We drove on through the green country and enjoyed the beautiful spring air and sunshine. I can now well understand why the English people want cars with sunshine tops.
At about 200 miles from London we stopped at a place called the Whit-Pot Mill to have tea. This was an old stone building, which the proprietress told us was over 400 years of age. We had tea in the garden under the large apple trees – “Devon Splits” and cream, strawberry jam and cakes. We were able to watch the big mill wheel turning with the water as we had our meal. The lady directed us to a farm house about a mile further on and just out of Torquay, where we could get accommodation for the night.
We were greatly pleased to see such a lovely old farm house for our first night. Lois was thrilled because it had the old fashioned stone buildings around it and particularly a thatched roof. After getting settled into our rooms we went out into the meadows and wandered over the hills amongst the wild flowers and the grain until it was almost dark. This was not as early as you might think, for at ten o’clock it was light enough for me to take a photograph and it did not get dark until well after that time. Eggs and bacon for breakfast as we started on our journey.
Early next morning I was out taking photos. of the harbour and the fishing boats. Some of the old fisher folk talked so broadly that I could scarcely understand them.
We got a late start at about 10.30, as we intended not to hurry much to-day. Once again, the roads were beautiful. I could not help comparing it with New Zealand, where we have roads which are very pretty in places. Here the whole countryside was one long picture. We passed through several small towns and these were most interesting on account of their age and the historical places they always held.
On the continent I was struck by the very narrow streets in the oldest portions of the cities and towns. I did not expect to find the same thing in England, but actually the condition was worse in many of the old towns we have now passed through. In several of these we had scarcely enough room for our car to pass between the buildings. Of course, there were also many so-called streets which were too narrow for cars and they are kept entirely for foot traffic.
During the last couple of days we have had some exciting and laughable experiences with these narrow streets. Yesterday at Mousehole (a French name pronounced Moozol), I drove into a corner and did not know how I could go forward or backward.
I was calling the place by the English pronunciation of the word and was just about to use some bad language when a man came forward and asked if he could help.
I afterwards learnt that this man waits there all day to “help such men as myself”. He got on to the running board and showed me where to go. He also offered to show me the smugglers’ cave, a huge cave about 400 yards long which was used by the smugglers in the early days.
It was very interesting, but not worth the trouble of climbing. However, if he had not taken us there he would not have earned his tip. A few minutes after he left us, while I was taking some photos. of the narrow streets, I saw him on the running board of another car which had got into difficulties and I took his photo. while he was getting out of his trouble.
In another town we went right through the town, including all the narrow streets, thinking that we would just go straight on to the next town. We were very disgusted to find at the other end of the town that we had to go right back again to complete our journey. It is a nerve racking business to get through, especially as we did not know the one-way traffic rules and this often lead us into trouble. Our guide book supplied by the Automobile Association is very good, but of course they cannot give us all the information we would like.
At Plymouth we saw the famous Hoe, which is an esplanade on cliffs. Previously Plymouth Hoe had been a name only, but when we saw the much talked about seaside we all had a very different impression.
Here we also had an interesting time visiting the spot from which the Pilgrim Fathers sailed to America in the Mayflower. I went down the old stone steps used by them as they boarded the boat.
What was more interesting was the old Elizabethan house where they all spent the night before they sailed. This old place has been preserved and was lately restored through the kindness of an American citizen. It contains the furniture and some other relics of that wonderful venture.
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The youngest of six children, Bill Withers was born into a coal mining family on July 4, 1938. He was born in Slab Fork, West Virginia and raised in Beckley West Virginia. His father died when he was just a boy of thirteen. He took to working odd jobs to help out his mother; at the age of seventeen he decided to join the Navy.
Withers served in the United States Navy for nine years. During his time in the Navy he became interested in singing and writing music. Once discharged from the Navy; he moved to Los Angeles in 1967, and began to seek a musical career.
Withers got a job as an assembler and worked for several different companies, which included Douglas Aircraft Corporation. With study employment, he recorded demo tapes and shopped them around using his own money. At nights he would perform in night clubs.
Once he finally had a hit with “Ain’t No Sunshine” he kept his job as an assembler because he wasn’t sure the fame would last. The music business is a fickle industry and there were no guarantees of success.
Withers met Clarence Avant of Sussex Records in early 1970. Avant liked Withers music, signed him to a recording contract and assigned Booker T. Jones to produce his first album. The album “Just as I Am” was released in 1971. The singles “Ain’t No Sunshine” and “Grandma’s Hands” were included in the Album.
Withers began touring, due to the success of his first album, with the remaining members of the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band. He was able to quit his job as an assembler when “Ain’t No Sunshine” won a Grammy. The song had already sold over a million copies and it was awarded a gold disc in September 1971.
He took a break from touring to record his second album, Still Bill. The single,“Lean On Me”, hit number one in July 1972. With sales in excess of three million, it was his second gold disc. Withers third gold disc was, the hit, “Use Me” which was released in August 1972.
November 30, 1972 saw the release of “Bill Withers, Live at Carnegie Hall”. He then recorded the album +’Justments in 1974. He was unable to record any more after becoming involved in a legal dispute with Sussex Records.
He didn’t stop working; however, and produced two songs for Gladys Knight and the Pips. Then in October of 1974, performed with James Brown, Etta James and B.B. King, in concert at the historic Rumble in the Jungle boxing match between Mohamed Ali and George Foreman in Zaire. This performance can be seen in the 1966 Documentary film, When We Were Kings.
In 1975 Withers signed with Columbia Records. His first album was Making Music, Making Friends. The single “She’s Lonely” from this album was featured in the movie Looking for Mr. Goodbar. He went on to release the albums Naked & warm in 1976, Menagerie in 1977 with the single “Lovely Day”. He released Bout Love, in 1978. The single “Get on Down” from Bout Love was also featured in Looking for Mr. Goodbar.
June of 1980 saw the release of “Just the Two of Us” winning a Grammy. He collaborated with The Crusaders for “Soul Shadows” and “In the Name of Love” with Ralph MacDonald.
In 1985 Withers released “Oh Yeah” then severed ties with Columbia Records which to date was his last studio Album.
A score of famous artist have covered Bills music, the list includes Barbra Streisand, Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin, Tom Jones, Paul McCartney, Sting, Joe Cocker, Mick Jagger, Al Jarreau and Many others.
Bill Withers music has been featured in many films and all across the TV screen.
Withers was Inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2005. He was honored by the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers in 2006. “Lean On Me” was enshrined in the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2007.
Bill Withers married Marcia Johnson in 1976 and the union produced two children, Todd and Kori. Marcia is the manager of his Beverly Hills publishing company. As the kids reached adulthood, they also became involved in the company.
While he prefers to live away from all the public eye, the pleasurable sounds of Bill Withers will always be present in the unique American musical experience.
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1336bceafb16a1d3d202eebe02b6b6609e408f40032af04f2dca6bdee9379412
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I walked on, in spite of searing pain, down a road whose direction and destination I did not know. When far enough away to be sure I was not still being chased I stopped to put my trousers back on. It increased the pain but rendered me more decent for travel on a public road—though how public I was not sure, as I hadn’t seen a soul for miles. The shot had not been fatal, but with an arse full of gravel I feared I could die of infection if the wounds were left untreated. I needed to see a doctor, but had no way to know where to find one, or even if the road I was on led to somewhere that a doctor could be found. All I could do was keep walking in hope that I would come across someone who did know.
From behind me on the road, I heard the sound of a rickety old wagon approaching. The clatter of the wagon was augmented by the sound of bells, and I heard the thing long before I was able to spy it. As it came closer, I could see that the wagon as festooned with American flags and had cowbells hanging below, accounting for the sounds I had heard. I thought the driver must be a traveling peddler of some kind. He pulled the horse to a stop when he came alongside me.
“You appear to be in bad shape, young fellow,” he said, “may I give you a ride somewhere?”
“Yes, sir, please,” I replied.
I briefly told my story and explained why it would be impossible for me to sit down next to him on the wooden seat. He pulled a blanket from the back of the wagon and fashioned a cushion for me, and I found that if I put all my weight on an unwounded section of my left buttock, I could ride relatively free from pain.
“Tell me your story in detail,” he said, “I may write a song about it.”
“Why would you write a song about it?” I asked.
“Have you not heard of the Saugerties Bard?” He looked at me incredulously.
“I’m not from these parts,” I said.
“The Saugerties Bard,” he told me, was the name by which he was known as he traveled up and down the Hudson Valley, playing fiddle or flute and singing songs he had written. He wrote about notable local events—murders, fires, steamboat accidents—and thought my story might make a good song. In town after the town he would sing a new song, then sell copies of the lyrics at a penny a sheet.
“Can you make much money at that?” I asked.
“I get by.”
The Bard’s real name was Henry Backus; he was short and squat with gray hair and beard, long but neatly trimmed; and he had a peg leg. He was nattily dressed in knee britches and a cutaway coat with a broad-brimmed hat on his head. He had been a teacher, he said, with a wife and several daughters, but his children were grown, and when his wife died he took first to drink then to religion, neither was effective at ending his grief, and he wound up in a lunatic asylum in Hudson.
“Now free from both grief and insanity I travel these hills and entertain people with my music and song, and I may wish to write one about your adventure.”
I told him my story starting from my arrival at Kaaterskill; fearing that my entire story would take more than one song to capture. He took no notes, but I could tell he was mentally putting words to meter, beginning the songwriting process in his mind.
As flattered as I was to have my misfortune immortalized in song, I told the Bard that my immediate need was finding a doctor.
“You seem to me sick at heart; you might do better with a visit to the Poughkeepsie Seer.” He looked at me closely then, “But you do look a mite pale, and I appreciate the value of timely medical treatment,” he tapped his wooden leg on the floorboards. “I am bound for Poughkeepsie. I will do my show there; then help you find a doctor.”
I would have preferred the doctor first, then the show, but when we arrived in Poughkeepsie I saw why we had to follow his order. As we entered the outskirts of town noise of the rickety wagon and its bells attracted the attention of dogs encountered on the way. They followed us and their barking, in turn, attracted other dogs as well as laughing children who followed alongside the bedecked wagon. We led a loud and joyful parade as we approached the center of town. There the Saugerties Bard stopped the wagon, stood up and began playing loudly, a familiar tune on the fiddle.
His playing was adequate, and the sound and sight were enough to draw a crowd of Poughkeepsie citizens away from their drudgeries. Dozens of men and women gathered around the wagon and applauded while he played them popular melodies on fiddle and flute. Then he began singing his own songs in a voice that was rough but pleasing. The melodies were familiar, but the words were intricate stories of events that were, no doubt, familiar to those in the crowd.
The sight of such a large and attentive crowd ignited a flame of larceny in my heart. It had become instinctual for me to view a gathering like this as so many sheep to be shorn and in spite of the pain, I jumped down from the wagon and walked through the crowd to see if I could come away with some wallets and watches.
I managed to lift a wallet from the coat of a gentleman who was listening intently to the Bard sing about a terrible powder mill explosion. I stuck the wallet inside my shirt, but as I hastened to the outside of the crowd, I realized that I had become feverish and was much sicker than I thought when sitting in the wagon. I became dizzy and had to go to my knees. Before I knew it, I was lying flat on the ground, going in and out of sleep, with much of the crowd now gathered around me.
The Bard and some other men loaded me into the wagon, and I passed out from the pain and fever. When next I woke, I was lying face down on a table in a doctor’s office.
“Ah, Mr. Ridley, you’re awake,” said the doctor as he put on his spectacles and readied his tools, “I believe you will live, but we must remove these stones from your backside.”
I concurred but wondered why he called me Mr. Ridley.
“This may hurt a bit.” He said as he dug a knife into one of my wounds and used forceps to pull out a piece of gravel. It hurt like hell. I heard a clink as he dropped the stone into a tin pan. I heard that clink at least a dozen more times, and the pain, each time, was greater than the time before.
Finally the doctor said, “That’s the last, Mr. Ridley. I will bandage the wounds and let you sleep until the fever breaks.”
Sleep I did. It was a deep and dreamless sleep that lasted into the following day. When I awoke, I felt refreshed and no longer feverish. I saw my clothes on a chair nearby, and as gently as I could, I dressed myself. The wallet I had stolen lay on the seat of the chair. Upon opening it, I learned why the doctor had called me Mr. Ridley. Inside was the calling card of Mr. George Ridley, Esq., with an address on Washington Street in Oneida, New York. Judging by the amount of cash Mr. Ridley’s wallet, he was a very successful attorney.
The doctor came in and was pleased to see me up and dressed. He said all the things that doctors say—take it easy, don’t put too much pressure on the wounds, come back if they start to infect—but I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was not worried about my chances. I paid my bill and gave him a little extra for his trouble.
After I paid, the doctor said, “It’s not my place to inquire how you happened to get a backside full of grapeshot, but if you don’t mind my saying, you appear to be a young man lacking in direction.”
“That would be the truth, doctor,” I said.
“I can help with your physical wellbeing,” he said slowly, “but for the rest, I would recommend that you visit the Poughkeepsie Seer.”
“Sorry doctor, but I’ve had my fill of religion.”
“Oh, this is not religion as you know it, Mr. Ridley. The Seer will look into your very soul; tell you what you need to know.”
I was anxious to leave the town before the real George Ridley got wind of someone traveling under his name. But after two recommendations, as I was already in Poughkeepsie, I decided to visit the Poughkeepsie Seer.
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b41f15ba80598096d64519138f38b66da0df13122afa930ea3982a6b3267b3ce
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Henry Tanworth Wells (British, 1828 – 1903) completed this painting in 1880. In Kensington Palace, 20 June 1837, Victoria learns that she has become queen of England. She wrote about this moment in her journal:
“I was awoke at 6 o’clock by Mamma who told me that the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham were here and wished to see me. I got out of bed and went into my sitting room (only in my dressing gown) and alone, and saw them. Lord Conyngham (the Lord Chamberlain) then acquainted me that my poor Uncle, the King, was no more, and had expired at 12 minutes past 2 this morning and consequently that I am Queen.”
Wells painted two versions of this scene, and both were popular during Queen Victoria’s reign. The first work, in oil paint on canvas, measures 2451 x 1918 mm, and it is held by Tate, London, United Kingdom.
Wells completed a second version in 1887. This oil-on-canvas work is called Victoria Regina: Queen Victoria Receiving the News of Her Accession, and it is held by The Royal Collection Trust, United Kingdom.
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c69dc5f24ec281609068cd906a89a092c43cc15f729335447d98064960293d26
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Alyssa is a Photographer who was born and raised in Minnesota. She is in her early twenties, and is currently attending her final semester at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design (MCAD). At MCAD, she has found a passion for architectural photography and most of her projects since have focused on the subject. She also enjoys shooting candid photography of the people around her and of her friends.
She found her love for photographing architecture in her second year of school when a practice photo of the side of a house made her think twice. Now, architecture has been a focus for two years, and had inspired many projects photographed with both digital cameras, as well as large format film cameras. Alyssa draws inspiration from other architectural photographers such as Bernd and Hilla Becher, and Mike Melman.
Alyssa also enjoys making her own photo books, and has since starting college. She has made eleven books over the last three and a half years and enjoys the process tremendously. Her most adventurous book was one she made for a project titled Whittier Typologies. This book was made into an accordion style and when closed it measures 15” x 12” x 2”, when the accordion is fully extended, however, the length of the book measures seventeen feet long.
Alyssa has a love for traveling as well, and lived in Florence, Italy for five months on exchange with the Accademia di Belle Arti di Firenze. During this time she focused on her love of architectural photography and learning new ways to view her surroundings. While in Florence she produced two photo books. One focused on doors throughout Europe and how they differed from those in Minnesota. The second book focused on looking up instead of down to your feet, and what you might see in these times.
Currently, Alyssa is researching and photographing for her senior thesis. Her future plans are very open at the moment, though she would enjoy continuing to travel, and has thought about teaching English as a second language. She is also interested in behind the scenes photography, as well as music photography.
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850aebc989395a437e87ce7d918776877644f0531ccee4e2ebc09a2184c4e5f3
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It is Dan Fitzgibbons’ strong belief that his main priorities are his family and his community. That has always been the case, of course, ever since he grew up as the youngest of five children in his hometown of Fargo, North Dakota. As a boy, he attended Holy Spirit Grade School through eighth grade and Shanley High. While in high school, he was an active member of the Sandpebbles singing group and a member of a key club. He also played varsity football and golf, as well as intramural hockey.
Beyond high school, he began his university education at North Dakota State before deciding to transferred just over the state line to Moorhead State University in Minnesota. There, he earned a Bachelor of Science in Marketing and Business Administration. Dan Fitzgibbons believes that it is his excellent education that set the foundation for his career, where he has developed into an expert in the business of computer storage systems. He is currently the Data Protection Business Manager for the Minneapolis office of EMC Corporation, which is a very prominent international technology company with more than 70,000 employees globally. With more than 25 years of technology and sales experience, he is one of the best. However, his greatest pride is based on his status in his adopted home town of Minneapolis, where he lives with his beautiful wife and two children. He has done a lot for his community and he loves doing so.
While creating a career that he can be proud of is something that Dan Fitzgibbons worked hard for, he also works hard for his community. He is a businessman with over 25 years of professional experience and the lesson he has learned from this experience is the value of giving back to the community of Minneapolis where he works and lives. Dan Fitzgibbons is a Data Protection Business Manager for the global technology leader EMC Corporation. In addition to his career, he also works with five Greater Minneapolis Area charities in order to fulfill his passion for helping people. One of the organizations he is a part of is “Dress for Success Twin Cities” which carries out the organization’s mission of empowering women “to achieve economic independence by providing a network of support, professional attire and the development tools to help women thrive in work and in life.”
Dan Fitzgibbons is certainly one of the best when it comes to the business of computer storage systems. With more than 25 years’ experience in the technology field, Dan is currently the Data Protection Business Manager in the Minneapolis, Minnesota office of EMC Corporation, one of the largest technology firms in the world. However, as important as his career is to him, to Dan Fitzgibbons, Minnesota is home and he wants to make his home the best it can be; family and community have always been the most important things in his life.
It probably stems from his childhood. Dan Fitzgibbons grew up as the youngest of five children in Fargo, North Dakota, where he attended Holy Spirit Grade School and Shanley High School, where he was involved in a singing group and a key club, even as he played for the Shanley football and golf teams and played intramural hockey. After that, he started his college education close to home and when he transferred, he only hopped just over the state line to Moorehead State. He eventually moved to Minneapolis and is now married and has two children there.
To Dan Fitzgibbons, Minneapolis is a great community and he wants to gives back however he can. That’s why he works so hard for a number of causes, including Dress for Success Twin Cities, which is a program that empowers women to increase their economic independence. He also does a lot of work with the poor and homeless, like Bridging, which provides basic household items to those transitioning out of homelessness. His work with Loaves and Fishes, helps to serve nutritious, hot meals to those who would otherwise go hungry and he also worked with Allan Law’s 363 Days Food Program to distribute sandwiches to the hungry and homeless.
For Dan Fitzgibbons, family has always played a role within his life. Growing up in Fargo, North Dakota — the state’s most populous city — he was the youngest of five children to Tom and Carol Fitzgibbons. Dan followed behind (in order) John Patrick — known as JP — Anne Marie, Mike and Joe. His youth in Fargo included first through eighth grade at Holy Spirit Grade School, which still exists today on 8th Street. He attended Shanley High School — also still in existence — on 25th Street South where he was involved in numerous activities. High school was a busy time for Fitzgibbons with theatre, Sandpebbles Singing Group, key club, football, golf and intramural hockey. When college arrived, Fitzgibbons was seemingly not quite ready to move away from home. He first began his post-high school career at North Dakota State University in Fargo, but later transferred to Moorhead State University in Fargo’s twin city of Moorhead, Minnesota — just over the state border. He graduated from MSU with a Bachelor of Science in Marketing and Business Administration in 1992. Soon after, Fitzgibbons began a family of his own. In 1994, he married his wife, Paige, whom he met in the early 1990s. Together, they have two children, Jack and Grace, although they have since relocated from the Fargo region to Minneapolis, Minnesota.
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814dfc0a4ae31b1e2a9fe3a43d08869f3d5ee9dcf303066042a7792b7fbb4e5e
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| violin | viola | cello |
Julia Perez was born and raised in Tomball, Texas in an incredibly musical family. At a young age, Julia was exposed to piano through private lessons, but eventually found her passion for performance with her discovery of viola. Once viola became her primary instrument, Julia soon found herself picking up several other string instruments such as violin, cello, bass, and ukulele. She then found joy in spreading her musical knowledge and began teaching lessons to violin and viola students. After several years sitting principal in the Tomball Memorial Symphony, Julia decided music was far more than a hobby and auditioned to study music further. Now Julia is a current Music Studies major at Texas State University with a concentration in viola. As a musician, Julia loves performing with the Texas State Symphony Orchestra, the Texas State Chamber Orchestra, and several small chamber groups. Julia is constantly seeking to improve herself as well as her students as musicians through hard work and dedication. Julia’s greatest joy in life is seeing her students progress to become fine musicians and sparking the passion for music in people's hearts.
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8d835d20907de8d1ac2e0a296780d4d492e13b25934a599cb9af2952930dd7d6
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Antoni Gaudí i Cornet was an architect from Reus, Catalonia, Spain. He is the best known practitioner of Catalan Modernism. Gaudí's works have a highly individualized, and one-of-a-kind style. Most are located in Barcelona, including his main work, the church of the Sagrada Família.
Gaudí's work was influenced by his passions in life: architecture, nature, and religion. He considered every detail of his creations and integrated into his architecture such crafts as ceramics, stained glass, wrought ironwork forging and carpentry. He also introduced new techniques in the treatment of materials, such as trencadís which used waste ceramic pieces.
Under the influence of neo-Gothic art and Oriental techniques, Gaudí became part of the Modernista movement which was reaching its peak in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. His work transcended mainstream Modernisme, culminating in an organic style inspired by natural forms. Gaudí rarely drew detailed plans of his works, instead preferring to create them as three-dimensional scale models and moulding the details as he conceived them.
Gaudí's work enjoys global popularity and continuing admiration and study by architects. His masterpiece, the still-incomplete Sagrada Família, is the most-visited monument in Spain. Between 1984 and 2005, seven of his works were declared World Heritage Sites by UNESCO. Gaudí's Roman Catholic faith intensified during his life and religious images appear in many of his works. This earned him the nickname "God's Architect" and led to calls for his beatification.
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c00b99c4d7f29fe911ce620ac3b9551fd3094ca06282068d1344fb191d77128e
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