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Apr 25, 2007
Message of Our Lady from Medjugorje
Message of April 25, 2007:
"Dear children! Also today I again call you to conversion. Open your hearts. This is a time of grace while I am with you, make good use of it. Say: "this is the time for my soul". I am with you and love you with immeasurable love. Thank you for having responded to my call."
Source: Children of Medjugorje
Humble thoughts of Audrey Yu @ 1:35 AM
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Apr 3, 2007
In loving memory...
...he has always been right here -- in my heart. We miss you, Holy Father! We always will.
Watch a slide show honouring Pope John Paul II here. Read more here.
Via Fr. Stephanos.
Humble thoughts of Audrey Yu @ 10:19 PM
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Apr 1, 2007
Cut the cord for the Lord!
Time for these spiritual oases can be found by figuratively cutting the electric cord of the television and the wireless signal of the Internet to make way for reflection, prayer and medidation.Somehow, I've spent really too much time on the Internet. Once I get my fingers on the keyboard, it would be rather difficult for me to stop. Thus causing me to lose my prayer time. Before, when I was still without broadband internet, I used to spend less time online and more time reading books on faith-related issues and the Bible. Now, I need to cut down on my prayer time because most of my time is spent in front of the computer.
I might not have any post at all this week, or I will just try to cut down my Internet time. I just want to spend more time with the Lord. This is the last week I've got to prepare for Easter.
May you also prepare well for Easter - the climax of Christianity and the most important feast of the Christian liturgical year.
Read the whole article from which the above text is quoted here.
Humble thoughts of Audrey Yu @ 11:46 PM
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Born in Stockton, California, Walker and her family moved when the artist was thirteen to a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia, where the family witnessed the shock of Deep South culture, a motif that Walker continues to employ in her artwork.
After graduating with an MFA from Rhode Island School of Design in 1994, Kara Walker became one of the youngest recipients of the distinguished MacArthur Fellowship in 1997; however, her achievement was wrought with controversy over her artistic interpretation of racial histories. African American feminist artists of previous generations, most prominently Betye Saar, saw Walker's work not as commentary, but as a regression for those who work to end the stereotypical representation of African Americans in visual culture.
Exploring themes of slavery, violence and sex, Walker's life-size, silhouetted wall installations recall the tensions between race, class and gender in the Antebellum South with playful, but powerful titles stemming from slave narratives and folklore. These images are meant to attract and to repulse simultaneously, forcing the audience to rethink the accepted history of slavery in America; however, through this work, Walker implicates all viewers, regardless of race or gender.
Walker's work is not limited to large-scale murals. NMWA's collection includes one of her artist's books, Freedom: A Fable; A Curious Interpretation of the Wit of a Negress in Troubled Times, with Illustrations, 1997. This leather-bound book utilizes the medium of the silhouette, but provides a narrative to the images that address race relations in the postwar South.
Walker resides in New York, where she is a professor of visual arts for the MFA program at Columbia University.
For more information, visit:
About the Artist Spotlight author: Jackie Witkowski will be a senior at DePaul University in Chicago, majoring in Art History. She is interning for the Education Department and the Library and Research Center for NMWA this summer.

subset: commoncrawl


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Are Medical Spas Safe?Cosmetic procedures such as laser treatments, wrinkle fillers, and Botox have become more popular than ever, and it's no surprise that many medical spas have appeared to take advantage of this growing market. However, as a result, many states are grappling with questions about the safety of medical spas and facilities. A recent article in the Boston Globe highlights some of the concerns about these spas that have driven a movement to tighten regulations in Massachusetts.
According to the Globe article, the number of medical spas has grown by 80% over the last 2 years. There are roughly 4,250 in the US, while Massachusetts has about 250. The state has been embroiled in an ongoing debate about the spas' safety, with legislation to bring in tighter controls stalling in the State House last summer.
Dr. Matthew Avram, the director of the dermatology laser and cosmetic center at Massachusetts General Hospital, fears that many patients may not be aware of their treatment quality when they enter a spa. "A lot of people assume that the person treating them in a white coat is a physician, and they don't ask," he told the Globe.
Staff members at medical spas are subject to few regulations, as they are not required to be licensed by the state, so long as a licensed physician owns or is associated with the facility. However, under Massachusetts state law, the doctor is not required to be on-site, which means that staff members often perform cosmetic procedures while there is no physician present.
The possible complications associated with injectable fillers such as Juvederm, Perlane, and Restylane are minor compared to surgical procedures. However, there are still a number of risks, including infection, bruising, swelling, and unwanted outcomes, which can be minimized by a qualified plastic surgeon familiar with the art and science of cosmetic enhancement.


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With Mitt Romney, Jon Huntsman and Harry Reid catching ample press in political news sources and the broadway musical "The Book of Mormon" fetching rave reviews, Mormonism has been at the forefront of many minds recently and the subject of several current articles and blogs. Coverage has been diverse and interesting, from proposing that we are currently experiencing the "Mormon Moment" or that Mormons are becoming quite mainstream to highlighting that amidst such a popular trend there are some undercurrents of Mormonism that the populace needs to be made aware of.
Whether you agree with the author's points or not it is indisputable that Mormons are starting to catch plenty of media attention; both positive and negative.
Amidst the reportage, I am beginning to notice that the vast majority of the accounts are focusing on "mainstream Mormons" by offering up white, prosperous Mormons as their examples.
Which raises the question – are all Mormons white and prosperous?
It's as if the media wants the populace to think as much.
However, the truth is far from being so clear.
As an example of the media bias, Prof. Brian Britt of Virginia Tech penned a generally scholarly and wonderful article about how mainstream Mormons are becoming these days and posited in his fifth paragraph that, "Mormons, predominantly white and prosperous, are perceived as more mainstream and 'American' than Muslims." While it may be the case that Mormons are (slightly) more acceptable to the general public than Muslims I believe Prof. Britt leads his readers to overgeneralize about a more diverse Mormon reality.
Although American Mormonism is predominantly caucasian, all of these "white" Mormons are not necessarily rich. Often, they occupy the middle in terms of economic prosperity and education, with Jews, Buddhists and Hindus all tending to be higher educated and more prosperous. Overall, Mormons are only slightly more likely to be middle-class than the typical American (read a report from the Pew Forum here). By only reporting about famous politicians, movie stars, musicians and authors the media misleads many to believe that Mormons are "rolling in the dough" as it were.
Moreover, beyond the American scene, Mormonism is by no means "predominantly white and prosperous." Indeed, American Mormonism represents only half of the international population of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. South Americans, Asians, Europeans, Pacific Islanders and Africans make up the other half of the international Mormon movement and their numbers are growing at a rapid rate. This may soon effect American Mormonism. Following wider immigration trends in the U.S.A., American Mormonism could generally brown and become more ethnically and economically diverse in the years to come.
This comes as a shock to most of us who only get fed what the American media, and our own religious bodies, tell us about Mormons. Case in point, in my religious education classes all of my students are surprised to find that Mormons are so diverse given the very popular presupposition that Mormons are overwhelmingly "white and prosperous."
While the majority of Mormons in America (granted, the focus of Prof. Britt's essay) are indeed white, they are not necessarily prosperous. Furthermore, internationally Mormons are much more diverse. So let us not be misled to think that as Mormons become mainstream that they are only "white upper class" individuals. Although many of the Mormons that come to the fore are "white and prosperous" it does not give the general public a clear understanding of a more diverse Mormon reality, and the LDS itself realizes that as it tries to make clear that its church has a distinct international flavor.
In reporting on how Mormons are becoming more mainstream, the media should be careful to provide a full picture of the reality of the LDS church. To do so it is worth noting that Mormons are much more diverse than they may seem at face value or in the public sphere. Mormons are not all white and prosperous and to assume as much prevents proper dialogue and befuddles an already confusing air surrounding the Mormon religion.


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Le grand escalier - Petit Trianon
Petit Trianon (Small Trianon), built between 1762 and 1768 during the reign of Louis XV, is a small château located on the grounds of the Palace of Versailles in Versailles, France. The park of the Grand Trianon includes the Petit Trianon.
It was designed by Ange-Jacques Gabriel by the order of Louis XV for his long-term mistress, Madame de Pompadour, and was constructed between 1762 and 1768. Madame de Pompadour died four years before its completion, and the Petit Trianon was subsequently occupied by her successor, Madame du Barry. Upon his accession to the throne in 1774, the 20-year-old Louis XVI gave the château and its surrounding park to his 19-year-old Queen Marie Antoinette for her exclusive use and enjoyment.
The château of the Petit Trianon is a celebrated example of the transition from the Rococo style of the earlier part of the 18th century, to the more sober and refined, Neoclassical style of the 1760s and onward. Essentially an exercise on a cube, the Petit Trianon attracts interest by virtue of its four facades, each thoughtfully designed according to that part of the estate it would face. The Corinthian order predominates, with two detached and two semi-detached pillars on the side of the formal French garden, and pilasters facing both the courtyard and the area once occupied by Louis XV's greenhouses. Overlooking the former botanical garden of the king, the remaining facade was left bare. The subtle use of steps compensates for the differences in level of the château's inclined location.
Marie Antoinette would come to the Petit Trianon not only to escape the formality of court life, but also to shake off the burden of her royal responsibilities. At Versailles, she was under considerable pressure and judgement from both her family and the court, and the Petit Trianon was her place of ease and leisure where she could rest from those trials. Since all was "de par la Reine" (by order of the Queen), none were permitted to enter the property without the Queen's express permission (not even, it was said, Louis XVI). Such exclusivity alienated the court nobility, which she did very willingly, since only the queen's "inner circle" (including the Princess de Lamballe, and Gabrielle de Polastron, duchesse de Polignac) were invited.
A house of intimacy and of pleasure, the building was designed to require as little interaction between guests and servants as possible. To that end, the table in the salles à manger was conceived to be mobile, mechanically lowered and raised through the floorboards so that the servants below could set places sight unseen. The tables were never built, but the delineation for the mechanical apparatus can still be seen from the foundation.
Within the queen's apartment, Marie Antoinette's need for privacy is apparent: the decor of her boudoir displays an inventiveness unique to the age, featuring mirrored panels that, by the simple turning of a crank, can be raised or lowered to obscure the windows. Her bedroom, although simple, is also elegant in accord with her general style, provided with furniture from Georges Jacob and Jean Henri Riesener. The wallpaper was painted by Jean-Baptiste Pillement [Wikipedia.org]


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I've been a bad blogger as of late. I wish I could say it's because I've been busy with sessions, but the real reason is I just haven't been in the mood to write. Or, if I have, there's been a 3 year old begging to play hide and seek or Candyland and he wins out every time. So, while there are no new sessions to post right now, I thought I'd share some personal pictures. I've been to many beaches in the world, and have many fond memories of camping out on the sands of Zanzibar, and waking up to the sound of rolling waves on Koh Samui. But take away the exotic factor and I'd have to say my favorite beach of anywhere is Cannon Beach right here in Oregon. Having grown up in Florida, I never was very fond of swimming in salt water or coming home with blistering sunburns. I was always much more excited about being there during a Florida thunderstorm, or in the winter when it was colder, which is why the beaches here in the Northwest are perfect. It's almost never warm enough to actually swim and the storms are amazing. In fact, the night we were there this past weekend the pounding hail and driving winds made for a restless night. Nevertheless, the storm let up on Saturday and Q and his friends headed back down to the sand to do some important digging and sea foam collecting. While the perfectionist in me sometimes craves that perfectly composted, perfectly exposed shot, the artist in me loves days like this when I can just step back and capture the action however it plays out. The sun may be too bright, the shadows too contrasty, or I may have forgotten to change some settings, but the imperfections sometimes make the pictures more real.
Look at their excitement and joy in the littlest things...running from the waves, collecting sea foam, making sand angels, kicking up mud. They don't mind getting sand in their boots, or mud in their hair. They giggle at the sea gulls' calls, and jump up and down at finding sea shells. Seeing the beach through a child's eyes is humbling...inspiring...enlightening. When Q grows up I hope he'll be able to see the many beautiful beaches of the world, but I also hope the he will always consider the beaches of his childhood special and never forget the joy of collecting sea foam, or making angels in the sand.


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Three weeks ago, I posted a photo of Jeff's new electric car by Nissan called LEAF. He has been driving this car to work and sometimes on our shopping day and he is loving it. What I love about it is the little section on the dash where it shows you how much tree you grow just by driving efficiently. Let me explain.
|Look at the inverted U beside the red lights - this is the gauge of how efficient you are driving
|Now you can see a tree, it starts just a trunk and then it adds branches until a full tree has grown
|Once the tree has grown, it moves to the side and it starts over again. The most Jeff's has grown is 2.5 trees during his commute to and from work when there's a lot of traffic.
As this is a 100% electric car and not a HYBRID, Jeff has never bought gas since May 8 and never will unless I trick him in paying for gas for my car. This car has a lot of bells and whistles but having said that, it is the quietest car that I have been on. It even has a tiny beep when backing up to warn pedestrians because the car is so quiet. The other bonus is that now he can drive on the HOV lane as he is driving a ZERO EMISSION car.


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Quote from Zootopia director Byron Howard:
When you're a storyboard artist here at Disney you have to be comfortable with your work getting thrown away. All of us who storyboard on this movie have done literally thousands of drawings that have wound up in the garbage, because these ideas come in and go out of the film very quickly. The idea is to be wrong as quickly as possible. We really try to try out as many ideas as we can, then when the right ideas click in, then you'll see from screening to screening, the rest of the film will build around those key ideas.
Making of Zootopia by CGMeetup
The post Make New Mistakes: Zootopia director on the creative process appeared first on Amy Jo Kim.
Source: http://amyjokim.com/blog/2016/05/03/make-new-mistakes-zootopia-director-creative-process/


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I really shouldn't be writing. I have guests coming over tomorrow for lunch. I have several hours of work to do in my kitchen with prep and cleaning and whatnot, but I just put my Chicken down for a nap and landed here.
On my couch. Next to Millie who won't stop licking her feet.
She's got dog OCD, I'm almost positive.
But that's okay because I love her and the cleanliness of our couch is just a small, but gross, price to pay for keeping her old ass content.
She turned 11 last month, by the way. She's gray faced, and gentle, and still has eyes that sparkle like they did when she was a puppy.
I think she will live to be 20. She knows how much our family needs her, and she's not one to leave her loved ones hanging.
Our Chicken is six months old now. He's nearly 16 pounds and just over two feet tall. He's measuring on the full-term baby scale rather than the averages of his preemie-ness. He measures in the 30th percentile for his weight and 20th percentile for his height. There was once a time he didn't measure on the scale of "normal" babies at all, so this feels Incredible Hulkish.
He started solid food this morning. That was fun. I mean, really fun. Around the four month mark, I started reading books and articles indicating how parents often get super excited about starting their babies on solid food, but recommending babies wait until around the six month mark before starting. I didn't get it. I wasn't excited about it. I was content nursing, and figured prolonging solids meant prolonging his babyhood for as long as possible. But about three weeks before he turned six months, I got the itch.
I guess it came from his newfound interest in the world around him, or something. I'd been able to watch him make choices. Blue rattle or crinkly butterfly? Belly sleep or back sleep? Pet Millie or squeal at her? He'd suddenly become incredibly distracted. He'd be nursing and hear a car horn outside of our apartment and nearly give me nipple-lash craning his head to figure out where the noise was coming from. He began to show a preference for playing on the carpet versus a blanket (better for gaining scooting traction, I guess), and can now also determine which lullabies are sung for bed and which ones are sung for fun.
So in watching him slowly turn into a person versus a helpless, clueless newborn, I decided there was nothing more in life I looked forward to than watching him taste his first bite of non-mom food.
It's kind of silly, but mostly awesome. I combed over my baby food book (which I've really enjoyed, by the way) and debated the all-important first food. Avocados, or pears, or bananas, oh my?
In the end, we opted for avocados blended with a couple teaspoons of top shelf breastmilk.
I woke up at 6:30 this morning ready to get the day started. The sooner Henry woke, the sooner he'd nap, and the sooner I'd be feeding him brunch a la avocado.
Dude slept until nearly 8:00 today.
Usually I'd have woken him to keep him on his loose, but existent schedule, but he had shots yesterday and was battling a low grade fever, so I let Sleeping Beauty catch a few extra zzz's.
I'm selfless, you see.
Once he was up and nursed, I plopped his shirtless body in his highchair ready for action. George manned the "good" camera and I directed the video. I mean, clearly this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and should be documented as such?
I get your point.
Henry tasted the first bites of avocado with careful inspection, but after that, turned into a baby bird waiting with mouth agape.
Sad to say, but he comes by that naturally.
He downed his helping with barely a mess.
Mission accomplished.
And, it lived up to the hype. All my careful consideration made me feel good about what I was putting into his body. I like to pretend this means he's going to ask for avocado slices on his sandwiches when he passes through the kitchen with his friends on his way to practice of some sort. To which I'll say, "Ummmm, Henry Bruno? Are your hands broken? Get it yourself. I'm blogging."
I've been missing my dad more than usual. No, he's not dead. He's very alive and well, but lives a plane ride away. Now that I'm a parent, I'm able to see the actions of my own parents more clearly. I'm able to understand that while Henry is my favorite miniature human alive, I could be watching television. I could be browsing the internet or browsing the shops on Austin Street or talking on the phone to Casey all day. Those are all things I enjoy doing- just not as much as I used to. Rather, I get to help Henry live up to his potential. And let's be honest, that's a hair more exciting than watching Real Housewives.
And now that I realize the things that are slowly losing importance in my life, I'm able to remember how involved my father was in my childhood. I don't recall him doing much that didn't involve me. He hunted, so I hunted with him. He fished, so I learned to thread worms on his hooks. He (and my mother) spent nearly every night of my youth trapped like rats in a viewing room of my gymnastics academy watching me fight tooth and nail to learn a glide kip, and when five nights of gymnastics a week didn't prove to help me reach my goal, my dad built a makeshift set of bars outside of our house so I could practice there. My dad spotted me for countless backhandsprings and ariel cartwheels, and more incredibly, managed not to give up on me when I couldn't master the coordination to play basketball any better than an overexcited ostrich.
His summer days were spent playing catcher when I decided my goal was to be the pitcher on my softball team. It must have been 147 degrees outside, but still, I pitched (sort of), and he shagged balls. I would imagine he burned more calories in one summer chasing the balls I was pitching "to" him than I have in my entire thirties.
But I get it now. And I appreciate it more now. And having my own child has helped bring about memories I've not thought of in decades probably.
As I tapped my fingers on my kitchen table at 6:30 this morning, sipping flat Pepsi and praying it's lack of carbonation wouldn't suffocate it's caffeine kick, I thought of my parents. I thought of the hours of sleep they went without and the times I used their bodies as jungle gyms or asked them to do things that made them tired/hot/sore/uncomfortable/bored. I had no idea the things I wanted to do weren't precisely the things my parents were dyyyying to do too. And I hope Henry doesn't know it either. At least not until the day he's awake at 6:30 anxiously awaiting the "excitement" of watching his own child experience their first food.
I hope it's avocados.
And I hope he calls to tell me about it afterwards.
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Life is so… changey.
For instance, today I sat Henry in his highchair. I rushed to strap him in, singing and performing distraction dances, and hoping he didn't realize what was happening. Complaint shrieks usually accompany this activity, you see. I was armed with my usual arsenal of toys to keep him "content enough", so that I could slice a few peaches to complement my oatmeal. Handing him his chewy keys, I squared a peach on the cutting board. Then I lined up three toys next to the cutting board, so I'd be prepared for most anything he could throw my way.
As if starting the clock, I jiggled the first toy in my lineup. Rattle, rattle, rattle. I made my first peach incision. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Second incision. Rattle, jingle, jingle.
So far so good.
It's not that I can't tolerate his cries (because TRUUUUST ME, America, I tolerate lots o' cries on the hourly)- it's that I want to eat my effing oatmeal to the sounds of a happy baby for a change. Plain and simple.
By the time I'd finished de-fuzzing my peach, I realized something magical was happening.
Henry was content.
No dancing, no rattling, no singing required.
Instead, he was focused on my juice drenched cutting board and the fleshy peaches destined for my oatmeal.
But maybe, just maybe, that was enough?
Instead of speed-dunking my peaches in the oatmeal, whisking my *almost* six month old from his highchair before he engaged in a full on baby temper tantrum, and eating my breakfast one bite at a time for over an hour, MAYBE, we could just… sit?
What the heck. Worth a shot.
I mixed the peaches into my oats, explaining each action in depth, and for the very first time, Henry absorbed every detail. Appreciatively.
He was interested. His eyebrows reacted as my spoon clinked on the side of the bowl. His fingers gently massaged his chewy keys, but his eyes focused on me like I was made of fireworks.
His face flexed with flirts and inquisition and sheer amazement. Watching me eat breakfast was… enthralling.
It seems like yesterday (oh wait, it was yesterday) Henry was in a constant state of turmoil. I could catch moments of peace, but they were the result of an exorbitant amount of effort on my part. The peaceful moments were the byproduct of my sweat- not the byproduct of Henry just "being".
But now? I was sitting at the breakfast table with the baby I dreamt of my whole life. He cooed at me as I described the flavors of my meal and even followed my finger as I pointed toward the window and remarked on the sunny morning. We engaged- our relationship nearly reciprocal.
When I was done, rather than rush to move him to his next activity, I replaced his chewy keys with his spinning wheel and turned my back to wash dishes.
He sat quietly, occasionally spinning his toy and smacking his hands on the tray of his highchair.
When I finished the dishes, I unbuckled my baby and swept him into an abrupt and aggressive hug. I kissed his neck, squeezed his chubby body, and squealed my appreciation to anyone who might care to listen.
My Chicken is changing. In the past week, he's started to sit up in a tripod fashion, he's rolled over from his back to his belly, he's started sleeping with one arm out of his swaddle, and he's learned he can just be.
I want to press "pause". Already.
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The truth?
Being a mother is difficult.
Wonderfully, endlessly, perfectly difficult.
Far more difficult than I ever anticipated, even though I did my very best to insert myself in those tall shoes whenever I found a small opportunity.
Perhaps that's my first problem?
Having to admit I was wrong. Having to admit I was incapable of understanding something I tried like hell to understand. Having to admit that when people said, "You can't understand until you have your own", (no matter how much my infertile soul wanted to shake the shit out of them), they were right. I couldn't, didn't, and wouldn't understand until I had my own.
I understood how much I would love Henry. That was easy for me to picture. As much as it made the anti-pet people of the world wanna shake the shit out of me, I knew what it meant to love something to the depths of my pancreas, care for something with a lifetime of devotion, and experience pure joy at the sight of the contentment of my dachshunds. I knew if I could multiply the way I felt for them by infinity, that is how much I would love Henry.
And I was right.
I knew every decision of my life would be made from a different angle after I had a child. I knew my perspectives would shift to consider his end game before considering my own. I knew my alone time would cease to exist, spontaneous lunches with girlfriends would be a thing of the past, and waking up in the nook of George's arm at 9:00 a.m. on a Sunday only to sleepily watch last night's episode of "Breaking Bad" before facing the day of doing whatever the hell we wanted whenever the hell we wanted would most likely take a pregnant pause for… eighteen years or so.
All of this I expected.
But what "they" were right about, was that I could never- not in a million years of praying for a child- predict how the overnight changes to "who I'd always been" would make me feel.
Loving Henry and caring for Henry was the easy part. Waking up twelve times a night to fill his tiny belly with milk was simple, all things considered. What became difficult was the sudden realization that to a large degree, I was homebound. Temporarily, yes, but still, homebound. Henry was (and still is) a bit of a challenge. He doesn't seem to be wired with much of a "go with the flow" gene. He has painful reflux, little patience, strong opinions, and a penchant for ear piercing screams.
It took a while- a loooong while- to find the coordination to load all the baby apparatuses to my body like an urban pack mule. And once I'd conquered that, toting along my already frustrated baby so that he could scream for three city blocks and then scream even louder while I grabbed just one, measly, speedy, rewarding, "gotta have it to provide me with a small taste of who I used to be, or I will crumble in defeat" Starbucks was quite possibly the most jolting experience of my entire life.
Come oooon, buddy! It's three blocks! It's five minutes! I did everything right! Gave you your reflux medicine, filled your belly, changed your diaper, read you a book, sang you a song, let you nap, made sure the weather was beautiful outside, positioned you delicately in the carrier so that the sounds of my hearbeat would sooth you while we walked, and took NO detours. Yet, that wasn't good enough.
But even once my muscle memory pitched in to help me out with the pack mule logistics, it was still a hard pill to swallow knowing I had such little control over how my son would react to even the slightest stimuli.
My "I don't give a shit" switch was slow to engage. I still turn red faced and sweaty when Henry switches from happy coos in the grocery store to the rage filled screams that could only come from a baby who is in the midst of losing an appendage. I give "less of a shit", but still care- maybe not so much for the gawking New Yorkers who are void of an "empathy face", but maybe more so for me? I used to like grocery shopping. Food is beautiful to me. In my former life, I'd browse pasta sauces and probe produce and smell seafood. Grocery shopping is now a tunnel visioned race to the finish line with the hopes the finish line isn't blocked by the elderly woman requesting a price check on matzo ball soup.
While it was once simple to schedule dentist appointments and hair appointments and drinks with friends, it is now one of life's greatest challenges. This may seem minor until you've got a cavity that makes your head want to explode and a torn tendon in your foot that makes it impossible to bounce the baby who seems solely reliant on said bounce to calm his moods.
I didn't expect this to feel quite so crippling. Pun not intended.
For the most part, I've always been proud of my ability to hold it all together. My house is always "clean enough". I can pull off a good meal. I can keep my legs shaved, my thank-you notes current, my dogs bathed, my husband nurtured, and my mental health stabilized. So having a baby just meant I'd add one more thing to the mix. It meant I'd have to work a little harder, but I was used to hard work. This hard work would be "easy" because I wanted it so badly.
So when I had Henry, I was unprepared for how I might disappoint myself. I felt confident I'd know how to make him happy. I had 36 weeks of learning him from inside of me, so in all actuality, I was pretty much an expert. I'd know the perfect way to rock and shush and hold him. My voice would sooth him. I'd read all the books, made uppity judgements of other parent's pitfalls, and vowed to never make the mistakes of those idiots (Oh how I've eaten my judgmental words!).
Rather than being the calming, soothing, all-knowing mother I thought I'd be, I felt like a failure. Not all the time, but at least multiple times a day. Nothing could have socked me in the gut like the feeling of being totally incapable of making my son happy. I knew it was crazy. Babies cry. It's how they communicate. I prepared for that. I didn't prepare, however, for how helpless and worthless it would make me feel. I wanted to fix him so badly. And when I couldn't fix what ailed him, I wanted to sob on top of his sobs and unintelligibly apologize.
There are days I feel I'm getting it right, and as he ages, those days reign supreme, but it's still a gut check. It's still a never ending test of patience and self doubt. It's an endless question of "Should I let him sleep six minutes longer? Will letting him sleep six minutes longer mean he won't sleep tonight? Should I have forced him to eat more? Is forcing him to eat more what made him spit up? Now that he's spit up, is he hungry again? Should I have let him fuss a little longer before feeding him in the middle of the night? If I'd let him fuss longer, will he have obesity issues when he's twenty? Should I have spoken Spanish (or Spanglish, because who am I kidding?) more often yesterday? Should I feel bad for using the television to help us endure five minutes of tummy time? Will those five minutes of television damage his eyesight or cause an attention deficit disorder? Is the five minutes of television more damaging than NOT doing five minutes of tummy time? Does he need more toys? Does he have too many toys? Is it too hot, cold, loud, stuffy, dark, light, crowded, desolate, boring, overstimulating in here? Is he spoiled? How do I unspoil him? But why can't I spoil him? Did I teach him enough today? Did I make him use his muscles enough today? Did I make him use them too much and that's why he won't stop crying? Did I hold him enough, kiss him enough, play with him enough, make him independent enough?
See? Never ending.
And then, came the changes in my marriage. Before Henry, George and I were champions of taking care of one another. And then we added a player to the roster. That player, came with a set of needs that momentarily sucked the life out of both of us. It became "every man for himself" around here and when George yawned, rather than sympathizing, I rolled my eyes. "Puh-leeeeaaaase, you think you're tired!?!?!" And when I'd roll my eyes, I could see the "Give me a break, you didn't even get out of your pajamas today!" judgment written all over his face. Both of us too tired and overwhelmed to properly communicate, I wanted him to read my mind. I wanted him to know to hand me the baby wipes without me having to put forth the energy of saying the words. I wanted him to understand why I did the things I did without having to explain myself, yet felt an overwhelming to explain myself so he understood that every move I made with Henry was laced with purpose and the intent of what was best for his "tomorrow". He wanted me to stop being bitchy. I wanted him to take care of me because I was drained from caring for Henry. He would put his arm around me, and rather than feel love, I felt "one more thing hanging on me". I prayed Henry would be on his best behavior when George would get home from work, yet wanted him to catch a glimpse of the struggle I'd dealt with all day and secretly hoped he'd cry. He wanted to check his work emails, I wanted to throw his computer out the window. I felt the pressure of no longer providing a paycheck. George felt the pressure of being the sole breadwinner. I felt disconnected from every part of who I used to be. George felt more connected than ever to his job, as it was our only source of income.
I shared this, all of this, with my best friends. It was the first time in my married life I ever had anything to bitch about, yet the first time in my married life I had everything I ever wanted. We wanted a baby so badly, so why was it so hard? The baby was the only thing missing before. Henry came into our world and completed it in ways I could have only dreamt of. With a sheer disdain for cliches, truly, my cup runneth over. And yet, I had the audacity to COMPLAIN?!?!
I never imagined how busy I would be in a day. When people used to say being a mom was the hardest job on Earth, I agreed, but now I can safely say I only agreed because it felt politically correct. Idiot. I've always worked hard. I've always put in lots of hours. I've always been good at what I've done. So now, my home is my office. I can say, unequivocally, my old job ain't got diddly on this one. Nobody is going to fire me from this one, but man oh man, is my new boss a ball buster. Moms who work outside of their home and hold it all together, you are UNBELIEVABLE. Moms who work from home, you are UNBELIEVABLE. I did not give this life the respect it deserved.
Lesson learned.
In the last month, things have settled. Henry doesn't cry as often. He even thinks I'm pretty funny sometimes. I have mastered a few shush/shimmy/pat/hum/bounce/rock combinations that work to calm him from time to time. I finally stopped silently wanting to flick George in the forehead for not reading my mind. I did something novel and decided to have an actual conversation with him versus stew in my own bitterness. Guess what? When you communicate, you solve problems, yo. Who knew? I'm starting to feel pride in my ability to tackle daily errands with Henry. The feelings of "losing who I used to be" are starting to fill with feelings of being proud of "who I am now".
I felt so out of control for a while, but now, I'm able to find perspective. And I don't feel so strange. I feel like we've all been there. Transition is hard. Motherhood is hard. The transition to motherhood, while my most favorite transition of my whole life, is hard.
And no matter, even on the hardest day, I never lose sight of the fact that this could have very well never happened for me. We could have tried to get pregnant for years and years and years without success, and I will take the hardest day of motherhood over the easiest day of infertility any day of the week.
One of my favorite quotes is from Joan Didion. She said, "I write to know what I think". Guuurrrl. It's no wonder I've felt a little lost. In my quest to be good at this mom stuff, I stopped taking my fingers to therapy. There is no excuse. This- writing this, feeling this and purging this and telling this story is church. Always has been. In order to be at my best, I have to do this. I have to forego the mildew on the shower tiles and tracking the source of the bizarre smell in the kitchen. I have to.
And before I go, I have to show you this guy. He will be six months old in a couple weeks. I love him. So very much. And appreciate the new "hard" and beautiful life he's given me.
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It started with teensy, tiny, scrawny little legs.
Like those of a chicken.
His skin draped over bones smaller than a sleeve of Sprees.
He was itty bitty. Pink. And wrinkly.
Therefore, my Chicken was dubbed "Chicken" (and sometimes Shicken, or Stinky Chicken, or even Sinky Shicken).
But today, just two days shy of turning a whopping four months old, those chicken legs have morphed into delicious ham hocks with rolls that cascade into the elastic of his diapers.
They are ticklish rolls. So ticklish, in fact, his pensive little lips betray his frown and show slobbery, pink gums and a curious lizard tongue as he smiles in delight.
I love him.
Beyond definition.
The smiley moments are few and far between, although gradually increasing as each day passes. At first, his fussiness seemed related to being born four weeks too soon. And then we learned of his acid reflux. But now, as much as I'd like to sugarcoat it, I think his fussiness is just part of his attitude. For now anyway. He likes what he likes. And if you deter from that, I can promise you, there will be a TOTAL. FRICKIN. MELTDOWN.
Because he was born a little early, he's evaluated on an adjusted age scale. He's not hitting the milestones of a typical (almost) four month old, but is seeming to lag about a month behind. We've had some early intervention evaluations and plan to continue until we see him catch up to his real age.
Aside from being "particular", Henry is an incredible sleeper. Should I admit that? I'm going to regret putting that in writing tonight, aren't I? Oh well. He sleeps like a dream. For most of his life we've been able to put him down in his bed (or bassinet) while he's awake. He usually gives us an appreciative sigh, turns his head to the side and conks out for as long as he's "supposed" to. He's been consistently sleeping through the night for nearly eight weeks. Sleep… is by far his BFF.
And mine too, obviously.
Those hours of sleep are valuable. You know, to give him the energy required to fuss at me for most of his waking hours.
I'll take it, though.
Even the most difficult days are better than the best days before he arrived.
And actually, I'm exaggerating. He's improved ten fold in the last three weeks. His crabby moments can often be distracted with a jingly toy. He now greets me in the morning with coos and aaahs that could melt titanium. He flirts. He grins with one side of his mouth when I tell him I love him. He splashes in his baths, surprises himself, and then smiles so big you'd think his mouth might overtake his face. He stares at George with such curiosity. He parrots the tongue clucks George makes, and when he's successful, his eyes sparkle with pride.
He is funny. And is totally aware of that. He does eyebrow yoga, giving me the most stern feedback, waits for me to laugh, and then breaks character and grins.
I loved him when I was pregnant. More than I'd ever loved before. But everyone said that love would be weak compared to the love I'd feel when I was able to hold him on the outside. It was true. And still is. The love I felt yesterday is nothing compared to the love I feel today. Every single day of his life suspends all comprehension of the infinite elasticity of my adoration and appreciation for him.
Children are amazing.
I could get high burying my nose in his sparse, feathery hair. I could glue my lips to his silky cheeks. I could watch him learn and observe and marvel at his world for the rest of my life.
I could gobble him whole.
Like a chicken.
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My Henry will be three months old in just a few days.
Moment of silence for his newborn-ness.
It is as though I'm now playing a game of Super Mario Brothers and ran into the mushroom… or whatever the hell it was that gave him super speed. The days are falling off the calendar so quickly I can't stand it.
Time, take a breather.
But I did put together a little ditty of Henry's first month. This is four minutes and twenty-eight seconds of carefully selected memories that I wanna slather in cream cheese and eat.
I made this video, and have watched it nearly three million four hundred and seventy seven times.
I cry a smidge every time.
Henry, my sweetest chickeniest buddy, you give the greatest memories.
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I've been a mother for just a hair under 70 days. My site has been "broken" since before Henry was born, making it challenging to load photos and manipulate posts. (Does anyone have a blog doctor they recommend, by the way?) I've been resting on technical excuses and "new baby" excuses for a while, but now that my son is developing a somewhat predictable nap routine, I've got to get back to recording our lives. (Photos may still be sparse until the blog doctor comes to the rescue.)
There are so many things I want to engrave in stone as to never ever forget them.
I don't have a stone or an engraver, sooo….
When we first brought Henry home from the hospital, we woke him for every meal. He lost more weight than was acceptable when he came home, so we were a 'round the clock buffet- force feeding and doing everything in our power to keep him awake long enough to feed.
After a few weeks, he started to get the hang of it and woke on his own every once in a while.
His moments of being awake were quick (maybe ten minutes after his feeds if we were lucky). Those moments were filled with the most somber, serious, annoyed, and disapproving faces. People joked he most likely would prefer the newspaper over Dr. Suess, and I didn't disagree. My mother-in-law always giggles about how George was born a 40 year old. When he was little he listened to news on the radio with his grandfather, and at two years old, they say he studied the newspaper to match the pictures with the stories he heard. Those early moments with Henry indicated he would follow in his father's footsteps.
When I was pregnant, I knew I'd give birth to a laid back baby. He didn't move much in utero. Unlike many of my friends, he didn't keep me up at night. On the contrary, he would worry me by his lack of activity, so I felt in my heart that I had a gentle, easily appeased, little snuggler on my hands. But I wasn't entirely right. At least yet. While he was born an amazing sleeper (so far) (and snuggler), the moments he's not sleeping have been more complicated than I'd pictured they would be. Swaddling has been a lifesaver, as moments when he's allowed freedoms are moments that send him over the edge. But even swaddled, he will switch from content to irate with a simple shift of my arm. He enjoys when I wear him. He enjoys feeling close and snug, but if I dare bend to pick something up or wipe a countertop… watch out. There is very little gray with him (another quality he shares with my husband as I am nothing but gray). He's either the happiest guy on the planet or screaming at the top of his lungs.
When he is losing his mind, we swaddle, then shush, then sway, and if all else fails, we brush his hair. Isn't that funny? He likes to be groomed. He's never happier than when he's in the bathtub. And trust me, if it weren't for his penchant for pooping in there, I'd probably leave him in until his sweet little toes were pruney.
Last week, his stern, perplexed face did something I began to doubt it ever would. He smiled. Or smirked, may be a better description? Regardless, an electric current flowed through my body and into my brain, nearly making me forget every scream-fest we'd ever endured. From there, all the effort I put into trying to stop him from crying changed course, and now my energy is spent trying to make him smile. His half smiles and smirks transformed (within hours, as all changes with him do) to full smiles and even laughs. "Burrrrring" my lips is apparently hysterical, and touching his chin almost always generates a grin.
From birth, he's been pretty fascinated by his own tongue. In our childbirth classes and in several of the books I read preparing for his arrival, it was recommended we pay attention to his mouth. We were told he would work his mouth if he were hungry. So basically, we spent lots of energy trying to force feed him. It took some time for us to realize his mouth is his toy, not his hunger bell.
My favorite moments, thus far, are the first feed of the day when he can barely contain his smiles to eat. He fills his mouth with milk, makes eye contact with me, smiles the biggest smile and spills his milk out all over. Loose lips, man. I also look forward to his baths, the moments he drifts off to sleep to the sounds of his own satisfied hums, the determined bobble-head look he gets when lifting his head during tummy time, rubbing my lips on his soft sideburns, his newfound cooperation with his nightly massage (which gets more fun with every ounce of leg chub he gains), and the moments I watch him staring with great intensity as George tells him a story.
Recently I was standing in line at Starbucks with Henry strapped to my chest. Over the sounds of Joss Stone and perky baristas and thundering New Yorkers, Henry lulled himself to sleep with a methodical "hmmm…hmmm…hmmm…hmmm…". It was loud and sweet and made even the most callous of coffee fiend soften a bit. I patted his tiny butt under the Moby, proud those sounds came from my sweet little slumber hound.
My first Mother's Day (with a human child) is this weekend. I feel honored to be able to wake up and feed my smiley, healthy infant. There were years Mother's Day had a different meaning, and for that, I almost mourn the holiday. I'm so lucky, so full, and so grateful, and I'm beyond hopeful this is the last Mother's Day my infertile friends spend without the same opportunity I have.
I'll close with a few of my favorite pictures since Henry's birth. Once I get my blog coding fixed, I will be a lot more liberal with pictures! (I'm sure you can't wait.) 🙂
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I'm playing catch up.
I imagined that after I had our baby I'd be sitting in my hospital bed writing Henry's birth story, and then after we got home, I imagined I'd spend most of his naps purging all the magical moments with him into my computer.
That didn't happen. I was either hooked up to a breastpump, visiting with some of our post-birth visitors, or reading the baby books I'd read once but had to read again since I now had a real life person to reference.
I did manage to send out a few birth announcements; however, I wasn't able to send them to everyone I wanted to. Social media has blessed our son with so many virtual aunts, uncles, and besties I barely scratched the surface. So, for you, the one who tolerated all the posts about me peeing my pants and all the self portraits of my belly taken from the bathrooms at work, I'd like to "announce" our baby boy the cyber way.
Thank you to my talented friend Alison, owner of Ten Tiny Toes Designs, for creating Henry's birth announcement. As always, she exceeded my expectations. If you have any print/design needs, she's your girl. Visit her Etsy shop or e-mail her with an idea. She will be your new buddy, I swear.
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We survived our big adventure in Manhattan yesterday. We were all beat by the time we got home last night, but all in all, it wasn't as big a shit show as it could have been.
I'm sure this isn't just a New York City thing, but I did experience the feeling that I was the only one on the planet who'd ever had a baby. People gawked as I hoofed it down the street strapped to a wailing infant whose cries may have been heard in Colorado. I swear to you, there are men who run the streets in lingerie and people who walk around with rats they've dyed purple perched on their shoulders, and I'm pretty sure they don't get the bizarre looks I received. Being a mother must make me aggressive though, because I found myself wanting to flip them all off and scream, "Oh yeah! I'm pinching him so he screams to annoy you! I love it when he cries like this, ya dick!"
Is it just me or does time stand COMPLETELY still when your baby is unhappy in public? What may have been 20 seconds of fussing felt like 3 days of window shattering screams. And also? You know how in horror movies there is always the scene with intense screeching sound followed by the camera zooming in on the face of the victim amidst a really terrifying situation? You know how the world around them gets smaller and closes in? My world did that. Surely I'm not alone… Bueller?
All sense of, "I'm cool as a cucumber" and "I'm just a few deep breaths away from total zen" melted away when I felt I'd never settle him down. And the worst part was that he was strapped to me (which was also the best part in lots of ways), but that crippled my ability to adjust him. With Henry, a two degree tilt can be the difference of sheer bliss and an all out tragedy. A fast jiggle can be the medicine that soothes his soul… until it instantly turns into the the poison that nearly bursts his spirit.
Armed with that knowledge, picture this…
I'm walking down the street at a rapid pace. I have a 94 pound diaper bag sliding off my shoulder. It is conveniently supposed to strap across my chest "messenger style", however, I have a flopping wildebeest- er, baby on my chest instead. I'm standing upright, then tilt to an angle hoping that'll solve my problems. His cries quiet for a few steps. I get cocky. I keep walking. People think I need a V8. Then his cries rev up again. So I jiggle. Cries continue. I shimmy. Cries continue. I hum. Cries continue. I shush and hum. Cries cease to whimpers.
I walk four blocks with my body leaned to the side- jiggling, shimmying, humming, and shushing like I'm under the influence.
When I met up with George, I threw the diaper bag at him like it was on fire.
We arrived at the radiology department at NYU for Henry's hip ultrasound. I was tunnel visioned. All I wanted to do was find a seat with some room so I could dig into the diaper bag for my nursing cover. It wasn't necessarily "time" for Henry to eat, but dammit, it's the only trick in my arsenal that seems to calm him once he's that worked up. George checked us in. (Thank god he was able to come to the appointment with me.) I bee-lined to a seat in the waiting room, fought with my diaper bag to free my nursing cover, slung it over my neck- realizing I didn't give a damn who saw my boobs or who I offended at that point. Within seconds, my angry baby's cries settled and my blood pressure returned to a "not totally dangerous" level.
So fun.
After showing the radiologists (and everyone else on the second floor of the hospital) what his lungs were made of, they confirmed Henry's hips were perfectly normal (I guess this is a concern when babies are breech). He instantly calmed once we re-diapered him, so fortunately we were able to exit the hospital a bit quieter than we'd entered it.
George was able to take the baby back to his office for an hour while I went to my post-natal OB check up. I thought this might feel freeing, however, I found myself tapping my toe with angst the whole time I was at the doctor's office. I pictured a massive baby meltdown while George was trying to work, and the doctor couldn't examine me fast enough. I worried Henry would be hungry (even though he'd eaten just moments before I left him and George packed a bottle for this exact emergency situation). I had anxiety that, for the first time in his life, Henry might be picky and turn his nose up at his bottle in hopes of nursing instead. I rushed back knowing the second I stepped off the elevator, I'd find George's boss reprimanding him for his squawking kid. Instead, I found a sleeping baby tucked peacefully in the corner of George's office- George surrounded by doting females admiring our offspring. Life without me? Perfectly awesome.
It was rush hour before we were able to leave, so we dodged the subway and caught a cab home. Henry was almost as exhausted as I was, so we opted to skip his bath and headed straight to bed.
We slept like babies.
My baby may be an occasional hooligan by day, but he's a consistent sleepyhead at night.
So we did it. We survived a day away from home. My diaper bag packing skills unfortunately didn't suck, as it seems we needed "most" of the crap I packed. (The bright side to that heavy beast will either be one extremely buff arm… or one really lopsided shoulder.) We endured the stares, some mild embarrassment, and some serious physical exertion, BUT, I successfully nursed my son in public without flashing my nips to the masses, I made it back home without ever bursting into tears of rage, and the best part, I gained confidence to tackle that sort of an "adventure" again!
I'm determined to have my baby AND my city.
Although I think it may require growing an extra arm.
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I've been living in a fantasy. I have a son. My home has been a revolving door of well wishers and house guests. I've spent substantial amounts of time with my mother, mother-in-law, and best friend. And, my husband was blessed with a generous amount of paternity leave. This week has been my first full week of alone time with Henry, and as much I loved having everyone here with us, alone time with him has been the goods.
For six weeks, we've "lathered, rinsed, and repeated" his schedule, sprinkling in occasional strolls through our neighborhood and exploring areas of Queens we'd not yet discovered due to moving here in the winter… and me being a ball of pregnancy discomfort. Sometimes I wrap him in my Moby sling. Sometimes he reclines in the stroller. But every time, our walks are relaxed and peaceful and without purpose.
Our pediatrician warned us against taking such a young baby on public transit, and said if it was an absolute necessity to do so, we'd need to do it during off-peak hours. Exposing him to the large crowds of rush hour was too dangerous to his immune system, and waiting until he was three or four months old was ideal.
We selected a pediatrician near our house, however, he's still a subway ride away. Fortunately, we have amazing family on Long Island, and our aunt has given up many a' morning to drive us to his appointments. She's been a lifesaver, and I never realized the value of a car until I had an infant. Before that, I'd have given up my driver's license for life. Now a car seems like a MAJOR luxury.
So today, we have our first required appointments in Manhattan. My days of blissful strolls will be replaced with the hustle and bustle of tackling public transit carrying my baby and all the crap he may need for an afternoon away from home… at least for one afternoon. Henry has an appointment to have an ultrasound on his hips (protocol for breech babies) and I have my postnatal check-up with my obstetrician. The logistics of making these appointments happen has stressed me out for weeks.
I made sure to schedule them at times when we'd not be on a crowded subway. George organized his work day so he will be able to accompany us to the appointments once we get to Manhattan, so all things considered, it could be much worse. George toted his carseat on the subway yesterday morning and so I will pick it up from his office and have something to sit the baby in once we arrive at our appointments (and then we will have it in case the subway is too crowded after our appointments and we need to take a cab home). I intend to wear him in his sling on the subway. I figure his body buried next to mine will be less susceptible to germs, plus it will allow me to have both hands available to carry his bag, hold the railings on the ninety flights of stairs we will most likely have to take, and fend off subway weirdos.
Sure I could take him in a stroller. As a matter of fact, we purposely moved into an apartment near a subway station with an elevator for this precise reason. BUT, if the subway station you are going to doesn't have an elevator, it kind of defeats the purpose. Dammit. In theory, I could get off at a different subway stop, adding a mere 10 BLOCK WALK TO MY ALREADY EXHAUSTING DAY, buuuuut…. no. And honestly, I'm not as agile with the stroller yet as I'd hoped to be. Getting it on to the tiny elevator of our apartment building proves cumbersome enough, and the island of Manhattan is highly suspect when it comes to being compliant with the Americans with Disabilities Act- not that having a baby is a disability, of course… I just need fewer stairs and more elevators now.
So, wearing him it is! And then we cross our fingers the trains aren't delayed or crowded. We cross our fingers we get a seat. We cross our fingers the baby doesn't scream the entire time, blow out a diaper, or barf all over me. We cross our fingers that our diaper bag will be filled with the appropriate items all the while not weighing three tons. We cross our fingers my boobs don't leak all over my baby, as his presence next to my body often makes that happen. We cross our fingers he doesn't get hungry before I'm able to find a discreet park bench to feed him on. We cross our fingers I don't need to do a diaper change outside of the 51st Street subway station. We cross our fingers it doesn't rain, snow, sleet, or get too cold, as walking is our mode of transportation once we exit the train. We cross our fingers the doctor's at both appointments are running on time and we aren't spending the day in waiting rooms, and finally, we cross our fingers that the disruption of his normal routine doesn't wreak havoc on his mood and sleep schedule for the weekend.
I have high hopes for managing my new life with my new baby with ease in the city and today will be a good indicator for how confident I will be with future excursions.
I love New York City. LOVE it. And today I squash the intimidation I feel for tackling it with a baby in tow.
Wish us luck. It's gonna be a looooong (but hopefully glorious) day!
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text:
The Health and Safety Executive is targeting the management of risk to lungs from dust for the first time in its latest site campaign
Construction firms across Great Britain will be targeted for their management of dust exposure by the Health and Safety Executive (HSE). The inspections will be the first time the regulator has targeted the industry with a specific focus on respiratory risks and occupational lung disease, looking at the measures businesses have in place to protect their workers' lungs from the likes of asbestos, silica and wood dust.
The Executive said inspectors will be visiting construction businesses and sites across the country throughout October and will specifically be looking for evidence of workers knowing the risks, planning their work and using the right controls, and if necessary will use enforcement to ensure people are protected.
HSE's Peter Baker, chief inspector of construction said:
"Around 100 times as many workers die from diseases caused or made worse by their work than are killed in construction accidents. Annually, work-related cancers, mainly linked to asbestos and silica, are estimated to kill 3,500 people from the industry. Thousands of others suffer life-changing illnesses from their work. Not all lung diseases take years to develop. Some, like acute silicosis or occupational asthma, can occur more quickly. As a result, we've launched this inspection initiative to find out what exactly businesses in the construction industry are doing today to protect their workers' health, particularly when it comes to exposure to dust and damage to lungs.
"We want construction workers to be aware of the risks associated with the activities they carry out on a daily basis; be conscious of the fact their work may create hazardous dust; and consider how this could affect their health, in some cases irreversibly. We want businesses and their workers to think of the job from start to finish and avoid creating dust or disturbing asbestos by working in different ways. We want to see construction firms encouraging their workers to firstly keep the dust down and wear the right mask and clothing."
The HVAC sector is expected to be in the spotlight during the campaign, given its generation of dust during drilling and chasing.
Mr Baker added: "Ultimately, we want construction workers' lungs to be protected from ill health, so they can go home healthy to their families and enjoy long careers in this important industry."
For more information on the programme of inspections and to download the HSE's free '#DustBuster selfie cards' visit: https://bit.ly/2QWLYib. The campaign is also on Twitter at @H_S_E,and on Facebook @hsegovuk and @SaferSites.
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text:
Here's another LITTLE DRAMA I wanna share to all of you. For the first time in (many) years, I will confess SOME secrets buried deep in my heart…those *things* I don't want to talk and remember about then, will be, finally OUT and EXPOSED here. Now.
Let me start the story.
* I hated RUTHIE AMPER the first time I saw her. She was so annoying. So loud and hyper and I just didn't like hanging around with TOMBOYish girls just like her.
* I shamingly courted a guy. Yah know, love letter stuffs and the like. It was kinda fun and it made my first year in college truly memorable. I even went all the way up to Galas QC to find his whereabouts. I sent him a rose too, on Valentine. Crazy crazy stuffs. Here's the funny thing, the guy (CV) and his friends thought it was Ruthie sending him all those love notes. It was a relief on my part. I owe you a lot, Ruthie. I could die instantly of shame without you protecting my identity. SO now, once and for all, to you CV and all EE 1996-2001 PUP, I am the real MARGARITA.
* I really did like John O. so much and I was vocal about it. And I thought Andrew C. was really handsome.
* I believed that Jayson J. was my soulmate.
* I hated SIR before. Ang angas kase. But the tide has turned, I'm loving him now, more than ever, for reasons I don't know. It was like, I said I wasn't gonna lose my head, but then POP! Goes my heart. Hahaha.
* I dated a guy who was 3 years younger than me. He's the younger brother of my very good friend. No naming names. Case closed.
* I had a slight crush on AD before, who is now my kumpare. Buti na lang at pwedeng ma-turn off.
* Falling in and out and in and out of love with RC — my-so-called-first *puppy* love. Contrary to what others say, first love does die especially if it wasn't meant. It may take a while but it will pass and your agony will end. Trust me.
* The reason why I got a perfect UNO with my Physics 1 class was because I cheated big time. The next sem I took Physics 2, I almost failed it.
* I failed Accounting class. It's not just acceptable for me. I would galdly accept it if I failed Calculus or Thermodynamics but a minor subject like Accounting, it's not just right.
* I had a really big fight with one of my very close friends (EO). We see each other almost everyday but things are never the same between us. There were things I hoped I never said to her. They're BAD for the soul. But I would like to think that all is well between us NOW although we rarely talk.
* I danced MACARENA in front of my classmates. It's a class presentation and I had to do it. Yuck talaga. Everybody was screaming as I groove into that song. The thing is, I was giving it my best shot. I was TODO BIGAY that day. Eiwww.
* I didn't like Syana before. She was very maarte and she looks very sosyal. Well, yah know, simple gurls like us don't hang around with rich kids because we could get insecure. I'm glad that we hit it off after a while.
* I had a crush on MCL kahit na he was so ANGAS nung college. I was just joking around then but when he started to show some real nice attitude towards me, I couldn't help it. But he's taken now. God bless on your fatherhood.
* Hitting 2 birds with one stone. Pag last full show na pala walang guard na nagbabantay. So after watching the movie in Cinema 1, we head right off to Cinema 2 without tickets. Deadma lang. Pero nakaka-kaba. Heads down, walking slowly, praying and hoping that nobody could see us. I swear, I'm never gonna do it again.
* Playing BINGO at SM with Jean Maceda. Haha. Up 'til now, we're still arguing kung sino ang nag pasimuno sa aming 2.
* Hiding from Ms.D so we could watch SN (joyce and albert movie). Real bad.
* Ruthie and I tried to watch Ligaya (Osang movie) but since it's R18, the guard didn't let us in. I was determined to lie about my age but I was never really good at it. We ended up watching Evita.
* Pumila kami nila Ruty sa Eat Bulaga para sumali sa isa nilang pa-contest. Call it desperate school girls.
* Singing out loud on class while listening to a walkman. I was totally unaware that I was singing my heart out.
* Staying at Luneta with Jean M., Emily E. etc., from dusk 'til dawn. Natulog yata kami dun eh.
* Attending swimming class with my friends (Syana, Elrin, mimi and ruthie) wearing the same swimsuit which was more like a ballerina dress – the one with the bloomers on it. We were so cute!
* Becoming JMB's mysterious text mate. Haha.
* Becoming one of the official MASCOTS of PUP ECE Batch 1996-2001. The TELETUBBIES. It is by far the craziest thing I've done in college. Shameful yet memorable. I didn't regret it. Never. It was fun amd we nailed it. We actually won first prize.
There are still a lot of crazy things I would like to include but these were the highlights. I would add some more if I have time.
Ayway, GTG now. SM here we come. Father just arrived early morning today and he can't wait to set his foot on SM again. Kidding.
I'm starting GY on Monday and I'm not sure how to deal with it. I will miss AM peeps. esp. YOU — secrate!
I can't wait for the complete season 2 of Prison Break. Argh! I only have episodes 1-10 of Season 2. I'm missing Scofiled terribly.
I was marathon-ing 12-in-1 KOrean films last night. Nakakatawa. Ang hilig nila sa ganitong expression:
Fighting! Fighting!
In Korean, it's AJA! AJA!
It actually means FIGHT! FIGHT!
But Koreans prefer present continuous tense. Haha.
Please don't ask me about some things in here, personally . There are things that are better left unsaid. Believe me, it's for the good of everyone.


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Reach for the ah-ha moment.
Great customer experiences have something in common. They're compelling. Personal. Whether on a website, mobile app, email, or in-venue screen, standout digital experiences wow customers. That's your goal for every interaction, every time.
For deeper relationships, deliver even deeper experiences.
To give their customers across the world richer, more personalized experiences, Deloitte decided to reinvent their online presence. And with the ability to deliver mobile-optimized content fast, they can connect with their customers — wherever they happen to be.
Set the stage for success.
To create a consistently amazing digital experience across all devices, you need modern tools. Starting with a solid foundation — a comprehensive digital marketing platform that's secure and built for business. Ideally, you'll want one platform that lets you quickly create and control a lot of compelling content and will grow with you.
Adobe is named as the only leader in Digital Experience Platforms.
In The Forrester Wave™: Digital Experience Platforms, Q4 2015, we received the highest scores possible in content, marketing, customer data, and more.
Customers and employees are on the move, and they expect their content to be relevant and engaging. So you have to create a lot of high-quality content quickly. To do that, you'll need to be incredibly efficient. Start by having all your assets centralized in a single hub, so you can access, manage, and monitor content from all across your organization.
You need to read minds, too.
To meet customer and employee expectations, you have to anticipate. Create personalized experiences on the fly — a push notification that comes just as your customer is driving by. Customized content that's exactly what your employee needs, when it's needed. To compete, you need to deliver relevant experiences that are consistent across devices, adjust in real time, and leave audiences wondering how you did it.
Be your best self. All day. Every day.
There's no downtime when it comes to customer experience. Because every interaction, at every touchpoint, affects how customers and employees perceive your brand. But with the right digital foundation, content marketing, and relevant experiences — you can create real connections with the people who are most important to your business.
Dive in deeper.
Explore how customer experience works hard for business.


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Visa for persons with outstanding abilities or achievements – O-1
O-1 visa is one of the types of non-immigrant visa that is designed for people who have outstanding abilities in any field of knowledge or skills. Implied – science, art, education, sports, business, as well as, the television industry and cinema. Another condition for obtaining this visa is the recognition of the applicant's capabilities at the national or international level.
O-1 A: on education, business, sports, and science;
O-1 B: concerning art, film and television industry;
O-2: for the persons accompanying the applicants to the O-1. For example, if the work to be performed by a person with O-2 cannot be performed by any person-representative of the United States.
O-3: individuals (children or spouses O-1 and O-2).
Requirements and selection criteria
A person who demonstrates outstanding ability on the basis of national or international recognition who wishes to continue his activity in the declared field of extraordinary abilities may apply for a category O-1 visa.
Exclusive abilities in the field of education, business, science, sports imply a certain level of preparedness, which indicates that this person belongs to a small percentage of people who climbed to the top in their field.
Extraordinary abilities in the field of art are a high level of achievements, which is confirmed both by the degree of mastery and by an essentially high recognition.
Outstanding capabilities in the field of film and television industry imply both a high level of skill and recognition. The person applying for O-1 should be considered the leading or prominent in the field of the television industry or cinema.
The process of obtaining
Foreigners with exceptional abilities applying for an O-1 visa must demonstrate fame or recognition (nationally or internationally), namely, to provide sufficient evidence in assessing their achievements.
These can be considered as international awards, as well as the following evidence in an amount not less than three:
documents on the availability of awards (prizes) in the area under consideration (national or international levels);
documents confirming belonging to associations (organizations) in this field of achievements;
publication in specialized or professional media about the applicant (beneficiary);
proof of a person's performance of critical or essential work;
evidence of a person's high wages (present or future guarantees).
Period of stay and possibility of its prolongation
The O-1 visa is designed for a period of up to three years. However, it can be extended for one year (in an unlimited period). There is also no need for proof of the residence of the applicant (outside the United States), or in refusing to retain it.


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I need the sea because it teaches me,
I don't know if I learn music or awareness,
if it's a single wave or its vast existence,
or only its harsh voice or its shining
suggestion of fishes and ships.
The fact is that until I fall asleep,
in some magnetic way I move in
the university of the waves.
-Pablo Neruda
Pablo Neruda was deeply in love with the sea. It is easily reflected in his poems, as well his lavish avant-garde homes that face the sea, are decked with wood and provide the ambiance of being on ship.
Who in the world does not love the sea(except those who get sea sick?)
But I want to delve further. What makes us love the sea?


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So easy yet so functional. The classic one-piece cut of this apron is a great style for most body types. We added facings to the sides of the bib, made these into casings, then threaded through an extra-long tie that acts a continuous drawstring, creating both the adjustable neck loop as well as the wraparound waist ties.
A mid-weight cotton or cotton/linen blend with a soft hand is our recommendation for this design. A quilting weight cotton is not likely to have the body needed for the best look. Pre-wash your fabric once or even twice to accelerate the softness. Then just lightly press; this apron looks great with a slightly wrinkled surface.
We used a beautiful cotton/linen blend from the Arroyo collection by Robert Kaufman Fabrics. Fat Quarter Shop has a nice selection of this contemporary collection in both striking neutrals (our choice) as well as saturated colors.
The continuous drawstring tie can wrap two or even three times around with a simple knot at the front or a bow at the back. Because it slides freely through the side casings, it's easy to adjust the neck loop to position the bib just where you like it.
With the strong directional motif of our fabric choice, we opted to mix the vertical stripes of the body with a horizontal cut for the single-layer pocket. It makes the pocket stand-out nicely against the main panel.
A free pattern download is offered below for both the side cut-out template as well as the facings. These have been bundled into one PDF to make the download easier.
This is a super fast and simple apron project – perfect for a beginning sewer. Plus, we provide links to several of our most popular technique tutorials, such as clipping curves, creating neat narrow hems with clean corners, and understitching.
As with store-bought aprons, our design is meant to be one-size-fits-all. However, we realize you may still wish to make yours smaller or larger. As a reference, this apron finishes approximately 24½" wide at its widest point across the center and the total length, top of the bib to the bottom hem, is approximately 30". The continuous tie is approximately 140" long, which allows for extra-long, wraparound ties.
Sewing Tools You Need
- Sewing machine and standard presser foot
Fabric and Other Supplies
- 1½ yards of 44"+ wide mid-weight cotton or cotton/linen blend; we used Diamonds in Pewter from the Arroyo collection by Erin Dollar for Robert Kaufman Fabrics but numerous colors and motifs within the entire Arroyo collection would be lovely and it's the perfect weight
- All-purpose thread to match fabric
- See-through ruler
- Fabric pen or pencil
- Iron and ironing board
- Scissors or rotary cutter and mat
- Seam gauge
- Seam ripper
- Straight pins
- Large safety pin
- Seam sealant
Pattern Downloads
- Download and print out our two pattern sheets: the Bib Cutaway and the two pieces that make up the Bib Facing. These patterns have been bundled into ONE PDF to make the download easier.
IMPORTANT: Each pattern element is ONE 8½" x 11" sheet. You must print the PDF file at 100%. DO NOT SCALE to fit the page. There is a guide rule on each page to confirm your print out is to size.
- Cut out the pattern pieces along the solid lines.
- Butt together the two facing pieces at the arrows as indicated on the pattern pieces. Do not overlap. Tape together to form the complete facing pattern.
Getting Started
- From the fabric, cut the following:
ONE 26" wide x 32" high rectangle for the apron body (our motif was cut running vertically)
ONE 6½" wide x 8" high rectangle for the pocket (our motif was cut running horizontally)
Using the facing pattern, cut TWO
THREE 1½" wide x 48" (length of fabric) strips for the drawstring tie
NOTE: You need enough strips to seam together into at least 135-140".
At Your Sewing Machine & Ironing Board
Bib cut outs
- Find the main panel.
- Fold the panel in half vertically, wrong sides together, matching the long raw edges.
- Find the Bib Cutaway pattern. Place it in the upper corner, aligning the pattern with the top and side raw edges as shown in the photo below. Pin in place.
- Cut along the pattern outline to create the side curves of the bib.
- Remove the excess fabric. Discard or toss into your scrap stash.
Create and place the pocket
- Find the pocket panel. Fold back all sides ¼" and press well.
- Along the top of the pocket panel only, fold back an additional 1" and press again. We're using our Clover Hot Hemmer for all measuring and pressing.
- Lengthen the stitch slightly and topstitch across the pocket to secure the top hem.
- Find the apron body panel. Place it right side up and flat on your work surface.
- Place the pocket right side up on the right side of the apron. It should sit 6¾" in from the right raw side edge of the apron and 8¾" up from the bottom raw edge.
- Keeping the slightly lengthened stitch, edgestitch the pocket in place along both sides and across the bottom. Remember to pivot at each bottom corner. You also want a tidy but substantial back-tack at the two top corners. These are the stress points for the pocket and it's good to have the extra stitching.
Attach the facing
- Find the two facing pieces. Fold back ¼" along the curved edge of each piece and press well.
- Place one facing piece right sides together along each each side of the bib. As shown in the photo below the ends of the facing are flush with the top and side of the apron panel. Pin in place.
- Re-set the stitch length to normal. Using a ½" seam allowance, stitch the facings in place along the inner curve.
- Generously clip the curves for a smooth turn.
- Press the seam allowance towards the facing.
- Flip over and understitch for the flattest finish. If you are brand new to this techique, take a look at our step-by-step tutorial on Understitching prior to starting. Leave the facings pressed outwards.
Hem the perimeter and create the casings
- Along the remaining raw side and bottom edges of the apron panel, create a ¾" double-turn hem. To do this, fold back the raw edge ⅜" and press well.
- Fold back an additional ⅜" and press again.
- At each bottom corner you can simply overlap or, as we did, create a clean corner with a diagonal point.
NOTE: If you are brand new to this corner technique, we have a handy tutorial you can review.
- Slightly lengthen the stitch again.
- Stitch the hem in place along both sides and across the bottom, staying close to the inner fold and pivoting at each corner.
- Along the top of the bib, fold back the raw edge ⅜", then make a second 1" fold to create the full top hem.
- Pin all the way across. Your facings should both still be pressed outward as shown in the photo below.
- Keeping a slightly lengthened stitch, topstitch across the top of the bib to secure the hem.
- Fold the facings into position against the back of the apron and press well.
- Pin along the inner folded edge of each facing.
- Again still keeping the slightly lengthened stitch, stitch along the inner folded edge of each facing to create the drawstring casings.
Make and insert the continuous tie
- Pin together the lengths of 1½" tie strips end to end. Then stitch together, using a ¼" seam allowance, to create the long, continuous tie. As mentioned above, it should be approximately 140" in length when seamed together.
- Press open the seam allowances.
- Fold the tie in half, wrong sides together, and press to set a center crease line.
- Open up the tie, wrong side up, so the crease line is visible. Fold in each long raw edge ¼" and press well. Then fold again along the original crease line, concealing the raw edges within the folds. The folded edges should be flush and the finished width of the tie should be ½". Both ends are raw.
- With the same slightly lengthened stitch, edgestitch along the folded edges.
- Make a simple knot in each end.
- Attach the large safety pin to one end.
- Insert the end through one side casing, from the bottom to the top, then loop over and insert through the opposite side casing from the top to the bottom. Make sure the tie doesn't twist on itself as you run it through both casings.
- With the drawstring tie inserted, trim the tails close to the knot and add a dab of seam sealant to each end to prevent raveling.
Project Design: Alicia Thommas
Sample Creation and Instructional Outline: Debbie Guild


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2019 could be the "busiest ever" for the Skye Mountain Rescue Team.
The MRT have completed their 47th call out this year, just two less than last year.
Sunday 18 August saw the team carry out two rescues in "terrible conditions."
A 12-hour search was carried out for a Spanish man on Bla Bheinn.
Fifteen team members were involved in the rescue.
The man had become separated from his companions and finally was located.
The second call out saw four members of the team assist two German visitors on the Trotternish Ridge.
Image from Skye Mountain Rescue Facebook page.


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Sunrise Water values the relationship we have with the contractors and developers working in our service area. If you require any assistance or have a question, feel free to contact the Technical Services Department.
For Customers Our Water Your Board Our Community Doing Business About Us Contact Us Site Map
Sunrise Water Authority | 10602 SE 129th Ave. | Happy Valley, OR 97086 | Phone: (503) 761-0220 | Fax: (503) 761-7406
©2020 Sunrise Water Authority, OR. All Rights Reserved. Website Created & Hosted by Vision Internet, - The government website experts


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The holiday season means a lot of things to many people: exciting get togethers, time with family, decorations and lights, and time with family (don't forget the presents). It's also a time of reflection and gratitude as we examine the year that's coming to an end, as well as an opportunity to look forward to a brand-new start.
Here at DOM360, part of our reflection includes the partnerships and relationships we've been privileged to foster this year. It includes the successes we've been able to achieve alongside our clients, as well as the teachable moments we've been fortunate enough to experience. And as 2017 approaches, we're excited to take all of these experiences with us to create even more success in the year to come.
That being said, we wanted to take this opportunity to wish a heartfelt "happy holidays" from our family to yours. We look forward to working with you in 2017.
Your friends and partners at DOM360


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Partners in Pharmacy is the former WONARD or the Women's Organization of the National Association of Retail Druggists, which was founded in 1905 during the 7th NARD Annual Convention. (NARD, the National Association of Retail Druggists, formed in 1898 was renamed NCPA, the National Association of Community Pharmacists in 1998.)
Partners in Pharmacy (PIP) is now an auxiliary organization that supports NCPA and the NCPA Foundation.
Since 1915, Partners in Pharmacy has been offering scholarships to pharmacy students pursuing a career in pharmacy. This scholarship program has touched hundreds of pharmacy students. The scholarships recognize pharmacy students for their exemplary academic performance, community service, and a demonstrated commitment to independent pharmacy.
The Partners in Pharmacy Scholarship will be
made on the basis of the following priorities:
All pharmacy students who are student members of NCPA are eligible to apply for the Partners in Pharmacy Scholarship per academic year. The student must be enrolled in an accredited U.S. school or college of pharmacy on a full-time basis during the academic term that the scholarship is awarded. Note: Students may only receive this award
one time.
Children of Partners in Pharmacy Officers, NCPA Foundation Officers, NCPA Officers, or NCPA Executive Committee members are not eligible to participate in the program.
Please click here for deadlines, the scholarship form, and other details about the application process.
The Partners in Pharmacy Scholarship is awarded
on an individual basis
and is non-transferable. Each recipient will receive a check made payable to his or her school from the NCPA Foundation on behalf of Partners in Pharmacy for $2,000 during the NCPA Annual Convention. Note: Award recipient must be present at the NCPA Annual Convention to receive this award. Up to a $300 travel stipend will be provided along with a complimentary registration to the NCPA conference.
Mail your application to:
NCPAF/PIP Scholarship Committee
100 Daingerfield Road
Alexandria, VA 22314


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Moe's Southwest Grill Pico de Gallo
|Welcome to Moe's?
Instead of unhealthy snacks, I can make a bowl of this with some baked low fat chips and enjoy my favorite movie night without guilt.
The irony of Pico De Gallo is, it's generally better chilled and served the next day; however, good luck on not eating the whole bowl during your next Audrey Hepburn movie night and having it last that long.
Moe's Southwest Grill Pico de Gallo Recipe
|This isn't salsa, it's awesome
● 5 chopped tomatoes
● chopped cilantro
● ¼ chopped white onion
● ¼ chopped red onion
● 2 teaspoons of Southwest Seasoning
● 1 teaspoon of chopped pickled jalapeños
● juice of ½ a lime
● 3-5 drops of Tabasco brand hot sauce.
1. Mix all ingredients in bowl.
2. Chill for 30 minutes.
3. Enjoy.


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Apologies for not being able to write lately… But I have been 'busy' and couldn't find the 'time' to write!
Did I just say that?
I try and not say anything like this. Because, who am I to challenge time?
We all have 24 hours in this world, like everyone else.
In fact this is one of the few things that we are 'equal' with the rest of the mankind.
In fact, the most important commodity is not gold, diamond or platinum which could be bought by paying a price, the ONLY priceless thing is a smile that you put on someone's face AND . . .
I remember a thoughtful quote which says it all:
"No one is busy in this world, it's all about priorities."
Makes sense?
So, if all of us have 24 hours then why some people make these very 24 hours feel like 48 and some of us don't even have time to do our 'homework'?
Why successful people achieve so much in a day & why most of us lament about not having enough time to even take 30 minutes off & take care of the machine which keeps working non-stop for us, i.e., our body.
Successful people take time out for their family, self development, creating new relationships & business ventures, yet someone of us watch our favorite (read: boring) TV show all evening, or 'chat' with friends, 'invest' time on Facebook or News Channels and still cry about 'not having time'.
People say 'time management'. But is it?
Isn't it 'self-management' that we actually need?
The time is the same for everyone, we just need to adjust ourselves in these 24 hours in a way that all our prioritized stuff gets done.
Whatever gets scheduled, gets done. (Robin Sharma!)
Do we ever schedule our day?
Yeah yeah, I know about the TO-DO List.
Have we made the TO DO list of the stuff that we usually leave out of the list?
Personal stuff?
Taking your spouse out?
Taking time out for the kids, parents, siblings, friends?
Of going for your daily walk/gym/sports?
Reading that important book/article/post that could make your life a little better?
Taking that course which could change your future?
Yes, you do.
Then, what happens?
I know.
Happens with me as well. (Sometimes, Thank God!)
Enter: The Big Boss who rules our world: Our Mood!
(You might want to read my earlier post, "Abhi Mood Nahi Hai: Lazy or Stupid? (Procrastination)"
Thinking about a conversation I had this afternoon with a friend prompted me to write this post.
Let me share it, briefly:
Me: TV seems to be the biggest culprit of all. It takes a lot of our time away.
Friend: Yes, I know and THAT is why I don't have a TV in my house!
Me: That's great. So, what do you do when you get home. Don't you do your work/study/exercise/read?
Friend: Yes, sometimes, when I feel like it. Otherwise, even if I don't do anything, the night sets in. And the day is suddenly gone.
Got the idea?
Successful people have as many distractions as everyone else has, and I am sure they have many more that money can buy that you & I can only imagine!
Yet, they are extremely focused on their priorities, goals and what they need to do to reach where they want to.
They do all the things that you & I don't because we have the excuse of 'I didn't feel like doing it today' and they somehow have taught themselves not to listen to this BS (yes, that is correct!) – anymore.
Its not the TV, laptop, cell phone or Blackberry. It is YOU who is creating excuses, procrastinating & so much so that we don't even feeling guilty for not doing what we are supposed to be doing.
Make a DON'T DO List. (Courtesy Tom Peters)
You don't need to answer your cell phone every time it rings. You could always call them back when you are done with importan stuff.
You don't even need to check emails every five minutes. Even if you check them after every two hours, the sky won't fall!
Say no to distractions. Friends who call/come in at the wrong time.
Focus relentlessly on the stuff that matters, because that is what is going to help you playing your best game.
Everything else is a 'waste of time'!
I end this post with this brilliant quote by Charles Darwin:
A man who dares to waste one hour of his life has not discovered the value of life.
Hope this helps.
Keep dreaming.
Follow your passion. But work on it, too!
Nuruddin Abjani
Photo: http://blogs.mulesoft.org/the-developer-testing-paradox/


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SundayJan 19/2012:16 pmCST
Puck Hogs take first franchise Rosemary
A night the Puck Hogs wont soon forget. With a full roster, enough to run out of jerseys, they stole a third consecutive Rosemary from the Blazers. Well, what was left of the Rosemary. With freezing cold temperatures the plastic snapped under preassure. Nothing that can't be fixed but like all great trophies, they break at least once. The Blazers were looking for a full underdog comeback after their remarkable comeback last week. The first period proved to be fruitful for both teams with 5 coming from the Puck Hogs end and the Blazers were able to keep the game relatively close. With the first period complete the Puck Hogs led by a less than comfortable lead. 5-3 would not be good enough but the defense took over for both teams in the 2nd half. Only 2 goals from each side with Puck Hogs goaltender Kelly Smith standing on his head and the Blazers D-men playing a full shutdown strategy. Alex Cave would score the eventual game clinching goal late in the period. Even with the oncoming furry from Blazer offenceman the Puck Hogs held their ground and pulled off the history making win in season 6 of the ERHL dynasty. 7-5 Puck Hogs Final score in 2008/2009 Final over Blazers.


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Catarina & Cole Engagement | Plymouth, MA
Last week, I was able to spend a beautiful spring night with Catarina and Cole for their engagement session. It was so great to get to know them and I am beyond excited to shoot their wedding in October!!
One Response
What a beautiful couple!