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CONFESSIONS OF A PLATE ADDICT: Country Living Inspired Découpage Pumpkins Use any design and xerox to thin white pater, cut out, assemble designs, tape on and then modge podge the entire pumpkin
making mackenzie childs pumpkins, chalk paint, crafts, seasonal holiday decor
Coastal Pumpkin Carving Ideas & Free Templates -Carved Pumpkins with a Sea Theme
Black candlesticks, white pumpkins on top. easy and lovely fall table decor Pumpkin Candlestick Centerpiece
Add Foliage to Pumpkins - Just use ModPodge to découpage a white gourd with pressed leaves, harvesting the foliage from your own backyard. Or you can stamp on tissue paper and Mod Podge it onto the pumpkin.
Faux Pumpkin touch ups

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My battle with sugar has been a long one. But for 2015, today has been a good day. No sugar for the whole day. I don't remember when last I went a day without succumbing to my chocolate, brownie, sugar cravings.. I am very proud of this. Now to keep going.
I have read from many sources that the best and only real way to kick the sugar monster to the curb, is to go cold turkey on its ass!
I've also heard that sugar is about as addictive as drugs like cocaine. Scary stuff…
I am not cutting it out of my life completely, by this I mean I will still eat fruits, honey etc which contains natural sugar. Let's see how my fight with the sugar monster goes…
I found a great post from TodaysMama with some useful tips to help you quit. To summarise:
- Admit you're an addict.
- Define sugar – What is sugar? Outline exactly what's off limits and what you CAN have.
- Get it out of your house.
- Look for hidden culprits – Low fat yogurt is often sweetened and contains loads of sugar.
- Give it 2 weeks (OK, lets be honest, 3) – it is commonly said that it takes 21 days to break a habit, lets see if the same applies to an addiction.
- Drink lots of water
- Treat yourself – Quitting sugar doesn't mean that you can't have "treats" in your life.
- Dark Chocolate
- Frozen Berries
- Apple & Almond butter are to name a few
- Skip the replacements – I agree with TodaysMama that cooking up the same treats just with sugar substitutes, doesn't necessarily make it healthy.
- Plan before you go out to eat
- Involve your family
- Start a pool/challenge
- One step at a time
To add no. 13 – You'll Fall Off the Wagon, Just Don't Blow the Wagon Up! We are all only human and we make mistakes, the biggest mistake you can make is be like "well I've blown it, I ate a piece of the slab of chocolate, I may as well make it worth it and eat the slab" – NO! Don't!


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Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2014 by Therese Walsh All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Crown Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York. www.crownpublishing.com CROWN and the Crown colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC. Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data Walsh, Therese. The moon sisters : a novel / Therese Walsh.—First Edition. pages cm 1. Sisters—Fiction. 2. Mothers and daughters. 3. Forgiveness— Fiction. 4. Families—Fiction. I. Title. PS3623.A36617M66 2013 813.'.6—dc23 2013018032 ISBN 978-0 -307-46160-5 eBook ISBN 978-0 -307-46162-9 Printed in the United States of America Book design by Barbara Sturman Jacket design by Kimberly Glyder Design Jacket photograph by Stephen Carroll/arcangel-images.com 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 First Edition
F e b ru a ry
G R O und Z E R O
The End of the Beginning
he night before the worst day of my life, I dreamed the sun went dark and ice cracked every mirror in the house, but I didn't take it for a warning. The day itself seemed like any other Tuesday at the start. Papa made pancakes, then went to the bakery to prepare for deliveries with Babka. My sister, Jazz, followed behind him shortly after that. Even though it was one of the coldest stretches we'd had that Februdown shirt from the pile of clothes on the floor ary, I chose a button- of my room instead of my wool pullover, because I planned to see Stan. When I went to say goodbye to Mama, I found the door to the kitchen closed from the living room. She'd have the oven on to battle back the chill in our house. The kitchen, at least, could be warmed quickly this way, a small room shaped like a stubby number 7 that doubled as Mama's office in the wintertime. "What's out there?" I asked when I stepped inside to find her staring out the room's lone window. She wore her frayed blue robe, thick socks, and a ponytail that was just to the right of center. It was still cold in there; the oven had yet to warm the room.
"Nothing," she said. "A gray sky." I was hardly aware. Even though it was the middle of winter, my nose filled with the scent of clothes right off the line on a summer day, like sunshine itself. That's what seeing Mama always did to me; it was my favorite part of having synesthesia. "If you live your whole life hoping and dreaming the wrong things," she said, "what does that mean about your whole life?" Her voice sank low, looked like roots descending in a slow and seeking way into the earth, which told me she was in what she called and- downs." one of her "up- I sat at the table, littered with manuscript pages, a plateful of cold pancakes, and a typewriter older than my mother. She'd been working on a fairy tale called A Foolish Fire nearly my entire life but had yet to finish it. I knew this was what she was talking about. "There's nothing wrong with your dreams, Mama," I told her. "Believe, believe." "Not everyone has your courage, Olivia." I might've suggested she take the trip she dreamed of taking, a bog in our state of West Virginia go to the setting of her story— called Cranberry Glades. But I knew a mention of the ghost lights she hoped to see there could send my mother's mood up or further down, and that maybe this wasn't the time to risk it. "Maybe you'll feel better after you take a nap," I said, because Mama called sleep her personal tonic. She said, "I take too many naps as it is," which is when I pulled off a boot. "I'll stay home with you today. If you're up for it, we can dream together for a while. We haven't done that in a long time." When I was younger, we called it "the dream game." Sometimes I'd describe life through my eyes— like the way thunder filled the gold fog— because she enjoyed hearing about air with a mustard- it. Sometimes we'd both poke our heads through the clouds, especially after math, when we were worn out from too much thinking. She'd lie on the couch with her eyes locked shut, and I'd fling myself
over a chair with my eyes wide open, and we'd unloose our wildest imaginings. Trees rained soft white buds the size of platters onto our shoulders and into our hair, covered us until we looked like exotic birds. We'd fly to Iceland or France or Russia or Brazil. Visit creamy blue pools and limestone cliffs and waterfalls that went on for miles. Sometimes we'd visit the bog and see the ghost lights, which Mama said were like a vision of hope itself, and she'd have a revelation about the end of her story. But it was all just dreaming. She told me she wasn't in the mood for that and urged me to go on with my plans. I took it as a positive sign that she sounded calmer when she said it, that the downward trek of her voice had stilled. I half expected her to say something about Stan— Don't let that boy into your knickers— even though I was nearly eighteen and we lived in the middle of nowhere. "Will you write today?" I asked, when she stayed quiet. She nodded but never turned around. I pulled my boot back on. I told her to stay warm. I told her I loved her. And then I left. I was the one who found her later— not moving, not breathing, dead with her head on the kitchen table. The gas on and the pilot light out, the windows and doors closed, sealing the room as tight as the envelope sitting beside her. I have a hard time recalling what I did in those next minutes. Screamed. Felt for a pulse that wasn't there. Called 911. Pulled her to the floor. Held my mother, and rocked us both, the way she'd rocked me over endless hours when I was a child. "You're not dead, you're not dead," I chanted, rocked harder, hoped harder, as cold air from a window I must've opened poured over us both. "Mama! Mama, please, wake up!" She did not wake up. The ambulance came and took her away, and I saw no colors or shapes from the siren— the beginning of a landslide of change. I hid the letter in the torn lining of my coat, where it dug at my heart like a spade, and I told no one. It was not a letter meant for
us— me and my father and sister. It was not Goodbye, life wasn't what I thought it would be. I've lived and dreamed the wrong things, and I no longer believe, so I am gone. Mama had turned on the oven, and the pilot light flickered out because it was an old stove in an old house, and she'd fallen asleep with the door closed, because that's what she did all the time. An accident. Ghosts sometimes visited from the other side, Babka always said; they breathed on glass as a sign of their discontentment. It was only later that I noticed frost on the bathroom mirror.
Ju ly
Fir s t Stage: DENIAL
Hope is the denial of reality. — M argaret Weis
C H apt E R On E
The Foolish Fire of Olivia Moon
y sister began staring at the sun after our mother died, because she swore it smelled like her. For me, it would always be the scent of oven gas, since that's how Mom went— fumes pouring out, her breathing them in. Like Sylvia Plath, my father said, because my mother was a tortured writer, too. Olivia's actions were just as purposeful. Burned her retinas out over a period of months, made it so she couldn't drive or even read. Well, she could've, if she'd used the glasses the doctor gave her— those big things that look like telescopes on her face— but she wouldn't. So no reading. No driving. Instead, she lived with her head always tilted to the side, with an oil smudge in the center of everything she might want to see. My sister's reality had always been bizarre, though, with her ability to taste words and see sounds and smell a person on the sun. So when she decided to toss our dead mother's ashes into a suitcase and go off to the setting of our dead mother's story to find a ghost light, I wasn't all that surprised. She'd never been the poster child for sense. There were dozens of tales about ghost lights, or will-o'-the-wisps,
as they're sometimes called— those slow- blinking lights that folks claim appear over bogs and swamplands. Some say they're the spirits of dead Indians or disgruntled miners, even unborn children. They're lost souls trying to find their missing parts. They're mer curial sprites who'll lead you to hidden treasure or danger if you follow, which is why they're also called Foolish Fires; trusting in them is not a sensible thing. Scientists say they're just swamp gases blinking to a strange pseudo- life now and then. A reasonable explanation, if you ask me. Olivia did not ask me. She woke up one day determined to find them. As if she might see with her blind eyes just when she needed to see— notice those lights hiding in a mushroom ring, or hanging alongside a thousand leaves in a hickory tree, or drowning with a bunch of cranberries in a bog. As if finding them might matter somehow, when our lives had been upended and nothing could ever be the same again. I knew better.
'm not a cripple, Jazz, and I can see well enough to walk around without falling into a ditch. I'll be just fine." Olivia stood at the end of the lane, a small tattered suitcase in one hand and a bag lunch in the other. Dirt swirled around her ankles when Old Man Williams rattled by in his pickup. I pulled as close to the curb as I could and glared out at her from the small window of the biscuit bus. The shame I'd felt havand- rust beast, which my grandmother ing to drive the ancient red- and father didn't even use anymore but which seemed unwilling to quit, had been worth it in the end. I'd won the job in Kennaton. I'd won it, and I couldn't even enjoy it. Not when my eighteen- year- old, legally blind sister was about to do another stupid thing. "And what happens when you get thirsty?" I asked. "I'll buy water." She rattled her pocket. Coins jangled from within. streaked blue At least those denim shorts were hers. The bleach-
V- neck she wore— like so many of the things she wore now— had been our mother's. Taking her things was Olivia's latest obsession, as was trying to braid her hair the way our mother did for her when she was young, when her hair was an artful mix of curls and waves. The opposite of the nest of neglect on her head now, with braids wound so tight they jutted from her skull like worms with rigor mortis. "What if you're not near a store?" "There are streams all over the state," she said. "I'll find water." "You'll get giardia." She didn't blink. My fingers dug into the cracked plastic steering wheel as the bus coughed. "And what happens when you're tired?" "I'll sleep." "Where?" She shrugged. "Wherever I am." "And where are you going to find these ghost lights, Olivia? Do you even know?" She looked sidelong at me with big, blue, broken eyes set in a pale face, and said, "Cranberry Glades," as if I'd asked her the time of day. I was sicker than I could say of hearing about the bogs and ghost lights of the Monongahela Forest. Our mother had talked about them a lot over the years, always in relation to her book. One of these days I'll visit that bog, see those wisps, and figure out the ending— you'll see, she'd say. I might've asked her how that could matter, tried to impress upon her the impossibility of finding the end to a fictional story out in the real world and that she didn't need a trip so much as dogged determination and hard work to finish. But logic wasn't my family's strong suit, and my mother had never been one to actualize a even one as straightforward as Visit Cranberry Glades. dream— "That trip isn't for you to worry about, Olivia. It isn't anyone's to worry about anymore," I said, giving logic a try despite what I knew about my blood. "We need to let it go."
"It's unfinished business," she said, and sounded for a moment a woman I respected for being both a dreamer like my grandmother— and a doer, even if she was far too superstitious for my taste. The dead remain when there's unfinished business, Babka had said after the funeral, reciting one of her Old World beliefs and covering the mirrors in our house lest my mother's spirit reenter our world through a looking glass. They were still covered, too, even though it had been five months since my mother died. The business is still unfinished, Babka insisted whenever I pressed her on it. Maybe my mother's ashes were scattered in my sister's suitcase, but I had no doubt that my mother's spirit had long since moved on. I'd seen the way she looked through magazines, planning trips we'd never be able to afford. I'd heard her gasp with longing over any number of things in People magazine: the latest red- carpet dress, elaborate mansions with manicured lawns, even a lobster drowned in a pool of butter— things you'd never find in our hometown. Dreaming. Always wanting what wasn't. No, my mother's spirit wasn't hanging around Tramp. She was gone. Free, finally, of the cement shoes that had always been of her own construction. She might've worn those shoes right out to the deepest part of the stream running through our town, let nature take its course, but that wasn't the path she chose when at last she chose. I knew something was wrong with me. I should've felt something about her death, more than I did— something that I could label and understand, instead of the knot that I couldn't. All I knew for sure was what that knot wasn't. It wasn't what I'd believed grief would be. And it wasn't the desire to memorialize my mother in marble or the stars, or make good on any of the dreams she'd abandoned along with her family. At the other end of the spectrum lay my father, whose grief was so evident that it hurt to look at him. Sometimes he stood in the staring into his bathroom with a portion of the mirror uncovered— own vacant eyes, his face half- shaved— hoping, praying maybe, that
my mother would sneak back through the glass. He blamed himself for her death, I knew, though I didn't understand the why of that; it's not like he'd turned on the gas. A few weeks ago, I came home to find her favorite chair gone. I couldn't begin to guess the number of naps my mother had taken in that seat, or the number of library books she'd read there, either. Maybe my father thought he'd miss her less if he didn't see that empty dented cushion every day. But if that was the reason he would've done well to get rid of all her things instead of leaving the most significant reminders of her right where they'd been. The typewriter in our tiny kitchen. Her manuscript tucked under that. The makeshift desk in their bedroom. Maybe it's time the rest went away, too, I told him just yesterday, hoping we could be rid of it all, quick and done. But spontaneous, dramatic gestures weren't his nature. A dog's bark brought me back to the present. "Olivia!" I shouted, when I noticed her start to walk away again— noticed Mrs. Lynch, too, on her porch across the road, staring at the two of us. I pulled the door handle, a snakelike metal bar angled up and out of the dashboard, until the squeezebox doors creaked open. "Get in, Olivia. Right now." "Goodbye, Jazz. Try not to worry," she said, and continued down the lane.
ur hometown of Tramp, West Virginia, had about a hundred homes, all of them old firetrap constructions, and only six businesses: a post office, a liquor store, St. Cyril's Church, a gas station, a corner store, and my grandmother's bakery. Everyone in town called the business Susie's— even though its real name was Sušienka, a Slovakian word for biscuit — and they called my grandeven though her real name was Drahomíra. She mother Susie— didn't mind. Not so long as they came in every morning and bought a bag of her warm small cakes. I tried to steer clear of them myself,
since most of my neighbors could probably attribute their potbellies to Susie's biscuits. Everything was a stone's throw from everything else in Tramp, so I drove a stone's throw and left the keys in the ignition. My grandmother was inside, cleaning a countertop. She stopped when she saw me, her face full of animation and an unspoken question. "I got the job," I said. She pressed her thick lips together and narrowed her wrinkled eyelids. "When will you start? Tell me everything." "In a minute, Babka. Is Dad here?" When she looked over her shoulder, I ducked under the counter and walked past her, into the kitchen, where the scent of bread had long ago been baked right into the walls. Now early afternoon, appliances sat cool and settled from the morning's work. My father was bottom in a chair, top slumped over a desk in the coralso settled— an increasner. There was an open bottle of something beside him— ingly common sight this summer. "Was he drunk for deliveries? When did he start?" "After lunch. He is just sad," she said. "Give him time. It has only been five months." It felt more like five years. I took the bottle. Vodka. Walked it over to the wide porcelain sink. "Don't," she said. "He'll just buy more." More of what we couldn't afford to begin with. Still, I knew she was right. I screwed the cap on the bottle and put it back beside him, then gripped his shoulder and shook. "Dad. Dad, wake up." He didn't stir. "Dad, come on. It's about Olivia. Olivia's in trouble." One eye squinted up at me. "Liv?" he said. "What?" "She's halfway down the street, heading out of town with Mom's ashes in a suitcase. She's keen on walking them all the way to the bogs, but with her miswired senses she'll probably end up in Canada."
Or dead. Flattened under someone's tires. Dead. Picked up by some hitchhiker killer. Dead from dehydration, from being lost or— "You have to tell her to come home," I said. "She won't listen to me." Vodka poured off him in sheets as he righted himself. Three sheets to the wind. Maybe that's where the saying had come from. "Ready?" I asked. He pulled himself upright, his hands on the desk, his left cheek coated in flour, his mass of dark, wavy hair— something Olivia and in desperate need of a trim. His eyes looked I had both inherited— a little screwed up. If my mother were suddenly brought back from the grave, she'd die all over again seeing him like this; she'd always thought him the handsomest guy on the planet. At least he never threw up on himself. "I can't drive," he said. As if. "I'll drive. Come on, she can't be too far." I pulled at his sleeve, but he didn't budge. "I should've taken Beth to the bogs," he said, almost moaning the words. "Why didn't I take her?" Another replayed topic. But you couldn't turn back time, or halt it, no matter how many clock batteries you chucked out the window. I felt the presence of the three ovens behind me as if they'd come to life and nodded their heads, mouths snapped shut. "Because she didn't want you to take her," I said, hoping my pointed words cut through his fog. "Remember how she always had an excuse whenever you brought it up? Remember how you tried that one time and she couldn't bring herself to get in the car?" What an ordeal that had been, what a disappointment for us all, but especially my father, who'd taken great pains to try to make it happen. "She didn't want to go," I continued. "Not really." "You'll have to take her down there, Jazz," he said. "In the bus." "You can't be serious." "Drive her down to Monon— Monongahela. Go on and find
those berry bogs for your mother." His eyes came into focus when or- flight kind of he said it, too, which made my pulse race in a fight- way. "Can we take a moment to ground ourselves in the reality of the situation here?" I said. "Olivia doesn't just want to visit the bog, have a moment, then turn around again right after. She wants to play hide- and- seek with a will- o'- the- wisp. She wants to find one. That could take an eternity, if they even appear down there, and for what purpose? It's not like seeing a light is going to bring Mom back. It's not like her ashes are going to care, either." My blood pumped harder when my father's expression didn't change. "All right," I said. "What if we find a ghost light but it's not the good sort of spirit Mom imagined? What if it's a trickster goblin who'll charm us right off a cliff edge?" His eyes lost their clarity, and I knew I should've taken more care with my words. But was it my fault that I had to sink to the level of superstitious bullshittery in order to make a point? "It's such a small thing to do for your father, to bring peace," Babka said. "Such a small thing for your sister, to keep her safe." My grandmother had such a wise way about her; that's what made her guilt trips especially potent. But driving around the state in an ancient bus searching for ether was not how I wanted to spend my time. Not when my life was about to change so dramatically. In one week and one day, I would start my job at Rutherford & Son Funeral Home in Kennaton, working directly with Emilia Bryce. I would be there four days a week as a rule, though my official start date— August 1st— was a Thursday. Emilia liked the neatness of the idea: new month, new staff member. I couldn't use my job as an excuse, though, because I hadn't told my father about my interview yet; I didn't know how he'd feel about me taking work in the same funeral home Mom's body had been laid out in. Babka had asked me at least a dozen times if the job was what I wanted, if something more than money motivated my decision.
I knew she asked for a bigger reason than being sorry to lose my rolling hands at Susie's, too. It was hard for her to accept that dough- I was a twenty- t wo- year- old doer who was not a dreamer— that such a thing could exist with the involvement of her DNA— or that my choices didn't have to satisfy a deep need of any sort. And, if they analysis was anything but my talent. did, I didn't know about it; self- The bottom line was that I wanted the job and wouldn't risk it on my sister's whim. Babka seemed to read my mind. "It will not take long to drive there, little macka." Much-ka. Cat. An endearment as well as a reminder to use my claws for good, to scrabble on behalf of my family, toward and not away from them. "You know your mother would want you to go after her, to protect." Oh, yes, I knew. I could almost hear her voice. Find your sister and bring her home, Jazz. She's off wandering again. When wasn't she? Following her impulses, regardless of sense. As predictable as smoke in the wind. But I could not live my life as my sister's keeper. I wouldn't. Please, Jazz. Be good. I was sick of being good. "Thank you, Jazz," my father said. I stomped my foot— " Wait a second!"— but he'd slumped down again, his head already returned to the desk. Babka led me out of the back room by the hand. "I have a map for you," she said, also assuming. I kept up my end of the argument, but I knew I was finished when she started to pack a bag full of biscuits for me, when I realized that's what Olivia had held, too— not a bag lunch but a sack from Susie's— that Babka had been aware of Olivia's plans all along. She handed it to me along with a jar of peanut butter and a dull knife, and said, "You never know. Maybe you'll find the end of the story." An inside joke I'd never found funny. Any doubt that I'd been bamboozled evaporated when she told
me she'd put the sleeping bags in the storage room and reminded me the cheapest how to unstick the tricky latch on the back of the bus— motel one could find, as the bus was all but gutted. Once home to racks of biscuits, the wide floor now housed only dust. She tucked money into my hand, if I needed to call or buy more food. "I thought you said this would take just a few hours." "A few to drive. A few to look. A few to sleep. A few to look again. A few to drive back. Just a few." She landed a wet kiss on my cheek, and her features turned serious when she said it: "Keep your sister safe. Keep you safe. And do not worry about Miss Emilia Bryce. Some dead can wait with patience. Some dead cannot."
he air that rushed out at me when I opened the door to the house nearly melted my skin, and that's saying something, seeing as I was coming from the hottest bus ever manufactured. But, along with covering all our mirrors, Babka had insisted we keep the windows closed. Those spirits— you never did know how they might slip in. And, of course, there was no air- conditioning in our house— or in any house in Tramp. There were no cordless teaketscreen TVs. We knew they existed, out tles, either, or iPads or flat- there in another sphere, but they were not a part of our world any more than was the water found recently, supposedly, o n Mars. A lack of money had a way of repressing a life, turning it back a few years— sometimes a few centuries. I suspected that it had a way of taking the dream out of you, too, that you cashed it in at some point in exchange for a few dollars. It was while I rushed around, grabbing what I thought we'd need for an overnighter, that I noted the latest change: My mother's desk had been moved out of my parents' room and into Olivia's. There it sat— t wo tall crates bridged with a plywood worktop— butted up against the end of my sister's bed. In the warmer months, my mother would spend hours there, writing longhand and typing and staring off into space.
On top of the desk's usual tablecloth covering were Olivia's exhumed from a small drawer filled with other rejected glasses— things I was probably never meant to find, including an unopened pack of condoms. Sitting beside the glasses was the framed photoa picture of a man with graph that had always been on the desk— steel eyes and a thin smile, his hand held in the air in the manner of a wave, or the waving off of a photographer. My grandfather. My mother's father. Sometimes my mother called this desk her altar, though I never understood why. She didn't exactly believe in God, though she wouldn't admit that and risk an eternity in hell; she'd always preferred purgatory to making a real choice. And now there it was— desk or altar— taken by my sister the way she took everything else. Everything except what had lain hidden under the loose floort wo letters, and they all began board in our mother's room. Twenty- the same way. Dear Dad. Dear Dad. Dear Dad. "Must be nice to always do whatever the hell you want," I muttered, taking one last look at the desk before zipping up my mother's old Kennaton State backpack, where those letters lay snug under food and water bottles. The pack was tucked away under the bus's dash when I reunited with my sister on the road, about half a mile from where I'd last seen her. This time, when I swung open the door, she stepped up and in. "You can be dangerously passive- aggressive," I told her. In an unusual display of good sense, she said nothing. Just settled into the seat behind me as we headed out of town.
C H apt E R T w O
Blue and Chocolate
was seven years and seven months when my father said he could hear music in the box fan that sat on the floor of our living room. It was fiddler's music, he said, well bowed and true. Mama, Jazz, and I couldn't hear anything but the sound of blades cutting into the hot summer air, but he hummed the tune for us and it was nice. I was so excited that maybe he was like me, but it only happened the one time. Back then, everyone but my family thought I was either crazy or had the wildest imagination they'd ever heard expressed. They didn't know that there were others who could smell sights (Papa was fresh- mown grass, the sun was Mama) or taste words (not every word, and not the way regular people taste, either; freckle, like the dots all over Mama's face, tasted like togetherness). They didn't know that others could see sounds (Babka's voice looked like a tumble of soft flour). They didn't know that I wasn't the only one who could see a calendar in her own head, with days and numbers that lingered in the background, like a hungry dog when you're eating a sandwich. They didn't know there was a word for what I had.
synesthesia(n.): the stimulation of a sense other than the one receiving input; sensory areas with faulty wiring That's what the dictionary might say, my doctor explained when he figured it out. After that, my mother told the school they needed to stop using colored chalk and ink in my classes, because if a letter was written in the wrong color (like A written in sky blue instead of cranberry red, which was the color it always was to me) it made my brain stall. But they didn't change, so she took me out of there in the sixth grade and taught me at home after that. Taught me everything I needed to know and everything she'd learned in three years of college besides. She always used black ink on white paper, which left my letters free to be themselves. D was a superior sort of hot orange, standing beside C, so modest in her buttery tones. O was my favorite, like water shooting out of a hose in summertime. My mother liked hearing about my letters about as much as Jazz didn't like hearing about them. Maybe that's because my sister had to stay in school even after I was taken out of it, and I was able to finish my twelfth- grade requirements early. The trouble between us began before that, though. The year I turned six, Jazz got a lava lamp for Christmas. It transfixed us both from the second she plugged it in, with globs of oily crimson that rose and fell like sleepy dancers in a pool of green. That's how "Silent Night" looks! I'd said, excited to share what I saw every time I heard the song. I grabbed the lamp, but it slid out of my hands and broke, spilling all those little dancers onto the kitchen floor. When my parents walked into the room seconds later to find Jazz boring holes into my skull with her eyes like some medieval torturer, Papa covered one of his own eyes to remind us that there were two ways to look at everything. It's not the end of the world, Mama said. Maybe Santa will bring you an even better lava lamp next Christmas.
Jazz's eyes flicked away from me and to my parents, where they stayed for a long second before she stormed away. I hate your synesthesia. And there's no such thing as Santa Claus, she said, already halfway up the stairs. I might've cried for a week over the death of Santa, but my mother pulled me onto her lap and reminded me of one of her life truths: It was okay to believe in things that others didn't believe in. It was okay not to believe, too.
leaned my forehead against the rattling window as Jazz merged onto the highway on the way to the glades, my nose raised to catch the slim breeze sneaking in through the permanently stuck window. The world was still an interesting place to see, even now that I was blind in the legal sense of things, unable to clearly make out expressions on faces or my colored letters. Being left with only the periphery made you look at life in a unique way, consider its exhalations and auras— like the deep, deep green of the forested hills on either side of us and the secrets it might hide. And in many streak sounds left by ways I could still see more than most: The red- passing trucks and cars looked like rubber eraser bits on paper, and a clear blue sky always smelled of warm chocolate and adrenaline. If I'd been in the bus with anyone else, I might've shared that the day was like a cup of chocolate coffee, but I knew better than to bother with Jazz, especially when everything down to her clothshirt revealed her storm- ing choice of gray shorts and a black T- cloud mood. She was driving us to the glades against her will and better judgment, she'd said, which meant I would get the mostly silent treatment from her for the duration, with a few snippety snap comments thrown in for good measure. How was I supposed to know she'd come home today with a job in her back pocket? It's not like my sister told me anything. And now I couldn't get it out of my head. A funeral home. The funeral home. I recalled my mother in her casket with her eyes closed, how
I'd stood beside her with my hand on her hair. They'd covered her sugar freckles with wrong- colored makeup, and I wanted cinnamon- to rub it off her face. I want to see Mama's eyes one last time, I told Missy Finnegan, one of Babka's oldest customers from Tramp, who'd stepped up to pay her respects. She'd lifted her glasses off her nose, looked at me with her tiny black eyes, and wiggled her teeth. They take the eyeballs out of 'em before now, child. Hang on to your memories. "Will you have to do the eyes?" I asked the back of my sister's head. "What?" she said, the word like a bite. "They take the eyes out of corpses, don't they? You won't have anything to do with that, will you?" "We don't remove the eyes, only the tongues." "Really?" I asked, before my brain kicked in. year- Maybe it was because Jazz always treated me like a five- old that I sometimes felt like one with her. She was the only person who'd ever made my mouth run off out of nerves. Sometimes I wished I were still five when I was around her. My five- year- old self never cared what my sister thought of me, or knew that what she thought of me didn't amount to much. I twined my fingers through a section of hair, started another braid, as Jazz ended our not- quite conversation by turning on the radio. A familiar lime static appeared as she searched in vain for a station. I was glad to see that static— glad to have it back. Grief had turned everything black as coal for weeks after Mama died. Even my inner calendar shut down then, when everything tasted like ashes and dust. No one knew. Not about that, and not about my eyes. Not until late May, when Jazz made me go with her to the bakery and asked me to list what was low on the pantry shelves but I couldn't, because I couldn't read the labels. Maybe Jazz wanted to be with dead people because she was in a dark place— so dark you sometimes forgot yourself and did things
you normally wouldn't do. Like drink half a bottle of vodka in the middle of a workday. Like stare at the sun. I turned my head, tried to see the sphere of fire in the sky, catch a hint of Mama's scent, but it was too far over the bus and I would never see it straight on again anyhow. The dark blot was to remind me of what happened, what I'd done. The there, though— eclipse of my central vision. The lime static disappeared as Jazz turned off the radio with a curse. Papa had put that radio in the bus years ago, when it was still used for deliveries, but he'd learned pretty quick what we all knew now. It wasn't the quality of the receiver that mattered in our neck of the deep woods; nothing ever sounded quite right near Tramp. I tried to make my voice light as I quoted a saying as well worn by our father as his shoes. can't live with 'em, can't "The mountains of West Virginia— imagine living without 'em." "How could you when they're all over the damned place, crowding around us like buildings ready to collapse?" Jazz said, which made me think of dead folk again, hollow of their organs and crowding the ground with their bones. "Will you have to do anything at all with the bodies at the funeral home? What will you have to do there, exactly?" "I'm in charge of the glitter nail polish." Not even my inner five- year- old could miss that sarcasm. I asked the question that got to the heart of the matter. "Why do you want this job, Jazz? Why now?" She flung the question back like a grenade. "Why do you want to drag us to the glades, Olivia? Why now?" I lost track of where I was in my braid, started another. Why now? Because this was something I could do in a sea of things I couldn't. Last night I'd found Papa disassembling Mama's desk in their bedroom, the tablecloth stripped off the crates and plywood, like flesh off old bones.
Don't throw it away, I said. That was her altar, remember? It gave her so much hope. I was glad not to be able to see the details of his face— the grooved lines near his mouth, the shallow pools that made his eyes, once deep puddles of blue. It was hard enough to see his voice, its edges frayed like butchered thread. There's nothing to hope for anymore, Liv, he said. Your mother's gone, and there's no undoing that. No way to wish or hope or pray it undone. She killed herself. my She didn't kill herself, I said, as my insides twisted in my chest— heart pulled over my lungs, my liver tugged up and turned, a braid of organs. It was an accident. And then I hugged him, kissed the top of his head, thick with the scent of alcohol and unwashed hair, and he buckled over and began to cry. Maybe it's because my mother's altar sat beside me all night that I dreamed of the bogs. I stepped over a wriggling and saturated o'- the- wisp, full bright, darting here earth until I found one: a will- and there. It smelled so strongly of hope that I could taste it. Hope that Mama hadn't killed herself. Of course I wanted to catch the wisp. I wanted Mama's dreams to have meant something, couldn't bear the thought that she'd died believing the opposite about that or her very life. But when I turned to tell my family, who were nearby but in that weird way of dreams also in a long, dark hall, they would not run with me to follow the wisp. And they smelled atrocious— like a stew of alcohol and unwashed hair, sadness and fear and confusion, and ellipses that went on forever, circling them and rattling like a snake. I ran from the ellipses, because running eased the pain of the letter jabbing at me through my coat. I ran for three days before I found the light again, and I swear it looked like someone smiled at me from within all that bobbing bright. Mama. I woke before I could reach for her, opened my eyes to find a
light still dancing like a grin in my blind spot. Impossible; I would never see anything in that spot again, Dr. Patrick had said so. Yet there it was. The sensation faded within a minute, but for the first time since my mother died I felt glad. Expectant. It had seemed like a sign. Talking to Babka about it decided me. I told her of the dream, how vivid it had been, like it was speaking to me, and how I didn't want to make the same mistake twice. Twice? she asked. I described the visions I'd had the night before Mama died, with the sun dying in the sky and mirrors turning to ice. Maybe my dreams are trying to tell me something, I said. But I'm not sure what they want me to do. Babka nodded. Maybe you won't understand it until later, but here is something I know for sure: Dreams like feet better than knees. What do your insides tell you? That's when I packed my bag. That's when I decided I wasn't going to take the trip alone, either, though my thoughts weren't on my sister. I found the blue jar with a small portion of Mama's ashes— the part of her we hadn't buried— next to my father's side of the bed. Mama had always loved the jar's vibrant hue, a match for Papa's eyes. Now it leaned against the wall beside an empty bottle of vodka. We'll do this together, I told her. You'll get to the bog yet, and we'll finish some business. Believe, believe. I leaned my leg up against my suitcase, where Mama's ashes now lay inside a sealed plastic bag. "Jazz?" My sister grunted in reply. "You're not doing the cremating, are you?" "Oh, for God's sake!" she said. That marked the end of her mostly silent treatment, when she let me know what she was really thinking. This trip was ridiculous. o'- the- wisp when they were If I thought we'd stumble upon a will- the definition of unpredictable, then I was ridiculous. Waste of
time. Driving around in this stupid bus. Daddy would drink himself into oblivion while we were away, because Babka wouldn't do a damned thing about it, and I knew it. One night. One night at the most, because we were going to be back in Tramp by Thursday, and then I was going to sit at home and behave, because she had a new job to worry about. Real money. Stop haranguing her about the funeral home. She knew I didn't like it, and that was too bad. And if I thought she wanted to sleep in this friggin' antique when it was so hot and unventilated, I had another thing coming. Thursday tasted like disappointment, like dry Cheerios without the sugar. She swore then with more conviction, and I could tell it wasn't at me. The bus buzzed, and my ears filled with the sound of tired brakes straining to slow, to stop, of tires riding over the rumble strips on the highway. I thought I saw a green sign to my right, the kind that tells you the name of the town off an exit ramp, but then it was gone and I couldn't have read it anyhow. "Hang on!" Jazz said, too late. The bus lurched, and somehow I landed on my belly, the floor heaving beneath me. "Are you all right?" I felt her beside me, her hand on my back. "Move something." I lifted my head. "I'm all right." "Good," she said, her voice thready with adrenaline. "I've got to check the bus. You stay put." "What happened?" I asked, but then I heard the door open in a shimmer of amber starbursts, and knew she was already gone. old flour motes I flipped over and opened my eyes. Decade- floated all around me, shook up like the rattled specks inside a snow globe. It was beautiful, the way they coated my inner calendar of numbers, days of the week, months of the year. There was a veritable blizzard of motes over July. July, which was now, this month. Catch them, Olivia, I imagined my mother saying, as I lifted my palm and smiled.


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We will be having our second community service event two weeks from now. Join us on Sunday, October 21 for the 26th annual AIDS Walk Philly! AIDS Walk Philly is the Delaware Valley's largest annual HIV/AIDS awareness and fundraising event. Join thousands of people in a 12K Walk / 5K Run to make a lasting statement about your commitment to conquering HIV/AIDS in our communities. Members attending will get to interact with Greater Philadelphia Ascend chapter.
2/22/2018Ascend featured in American Management Association's Playbook blog
10/11/2017New research report from Ascend Foundation on Silicon Valley leadership diversity
6/8/2017Inaugural Ascend Charity Golf Outing raised over $140K for the Ascend Foundation
4/19/2018Ascend New England: Are Leaders Born or Made?
4/25/2018Ascend NorCal Networking Mixer on the Peninsula
4/26/2018Ascend Charlotte: Challenge Yourself To Make A Difference


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Grocery delivery is a $4.5 billion industry — a small sliver of the $680 billion for grocery overall, according to the Chicago-based food industry consulting firm Pentallect, whose 2017 data excludes sales of pet food, health and beauty aids, flowers and alcohol. That figure is expected to jump 12.5% each year and reach $9 billion out of $735 billion in 2022.
"As more people get used to it, it's become more popular," said David
Livingston, a supermarket consultant with Wisconsin-based DJL Research.
"The business model for this has been getting better.". . . more


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50 ways to ruin a rakeDownload Book 50 Ways To Ruin A Rake in PDF format. You can Read Online 50 Ways To Ruin A Rake here in PDF, EPUB, Mobi or Docx formats.
50 Ways To Ruin A RakeAuthor : Jade Lee
Genre : Fiction
File Size : 65. 19 MB
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Book 1 of Rakes and Rogues USA Today bestselling author Jade Lee delights readers with the first in a vibrant, saucy Regency romances series. Mellie Smithson has a plan... Mellie Smithson is trapped in the country with no suitors and no prospects on the horizon except, perhaps, the exasperating-although admittedly handsome-guest of her father. Unwilling to settle, Mellie will do anything to escape to London... Trevor Anaedsley has a problem... Trevor Anaedsley's grandfather has cut off his funds until he gets engaged. Beset by creditors, Trevor escapes to the country-ostensibly to visit his old tutor Mr. Smithson-where he meets Smithson's lovely daughter Mellie. The obvious solution is suddenly before him-but will this fake engagement go as Trevor and Mellie plan? Or will they find that even the best laid plans often go awry? Rakes and Rogues Series: 50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (Book 1) One Rogue at a Time (Book 2) The Richer the Rogue (Book 3) Praise for 50 Ways to Ruin a Rake: "Lee creates a wonderful read full of madness and mayhem..." -RT Book Reviews, 41⁄2 Stars "With its wonderfully whimsical characters and fanciful plot, Lee's latest...is tailor-made for readers who like their Regency-set historicals served up with plenty of frothy fun." -Booklist "Full of witty banter and steamy love scenes, Lee will keep you entranced until the very end." -Historical Romance Lover, 5 Stars
One Rogue At A TimeAuthor : Jade Lee
Genre : Fiction
File Size : 56. 54 MB
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"This lively, humorous romp — Lee's ingenious take on My Fair Lady — may be her best book yet!"—RT Book Reviews Brant Wesley Hallowsby is a mercenary for wealthy aristocracy, but he meets his match in Bella "Bluebell" Ballinger, a blue-eyed, blonde-haired beauty, which means she's trouble As the illegitimate son of a duke, Bramwell Wesley Hallowsby grew up tough, on the fringes of society, learning to hide his hurt and cynicism with charm and Town polish. He's carved out a place for himself as a mercenary, serving as bodyguard and general strong arm for the peerage. Bram has nothing to lose... and he's exactly what Maybelle "Bluebell" Ballenger needs. Maybelle needs a mentor to teach her to speak and act like a lady, so she can claim the place in society she was denied. As they team up to take on the ton, Bram knows she's hiding something even from him. Despite the deception he sees behind those sparkling blue eyes, Bram wants to believe that Maybelle's love is no lie. But it seems fate has served him up his just desserts in the likes of this determined damsel. Praise for 50 Ways to Ruin a Rake: "Lee creates a wonderful read full of madness and mayhem." -RT Book Reviews, 4 1/2 stars "Wonderfully whimsical characters...served up with plenty of frothy fun." -Booklist
As Rich As A RogueAuthor : Jade Lee
Genre : Fiction
File Size : 70. 69 MB
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"a blend of humor and action-adventure with a few steamy scenes of passion"—Fresh Fiction Peter George Norwood, Lord Whitly, returns to London a wealthy man in want of a wife. And who better but the woman who fires his heart like no other, the "Wayward Welsh" heiress Mari Powel? Mari Powel's fiery Welsh temper is up. Peter Norwood, Lord Whitly, is back in town after six years romping around India making his fortune. Mari blames him for her social downfall and has spent all this time clawing her way back into the ton's good graces. How dare he show up on his first day back and publicly embroil her in a bet involving long-awaited apologies, illicit kisses, and Lady Illston's unruly parakeet? Mari is outraged, and is going to show him—and everyone else—what she's made of. Little does she know, the unrepentant Lord Whitly has been dreaming of her all this time. Now he'll do anything to win the wager—along with Mari's heart. Rakes and Rogues series: 50 Ways to Ruin a Rake (Book 1) One Rogue at a Time (Book 2) As Rich as a Rogue (Book 3) Praise for One Rogue at a Time: "Vivid and energetic...with a delightfully dazzling edge." —Night Owl Reviews "Readers will enjoy every enchanting moment [of] Lee's lively, humorous romp—may be her best book yet!" —RT Book Reviews, Top Pick! "A magnificent romp." —Fresh Fiction
What The Bride WoreAuthor : Jade Lee
Genre : Fiction
File Size : 84. 90 MB
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"Be warned, this book sizzles...If you want a read that will keep you up past bedtime having to know what will happen next, then this is the book for you."—Long and Short Reviews From USA Today bestselling author Jade Lee comes a new Regency romance set in a daring, high energy world where deep longings, secret scandals and the competition for social stature are all revealed against the backdrop of the glittering wedding balls and breakfasts of the Season. All Grant Benton, Earl of Crowle, can think of is restoring his family's fortune so he can go back to being a gentleman of leisure. But when he meets beautiful, purposeful Lady Irene Knopp, he begins to question whether there might not be a better way to live life after all... Lady Irene will never give up her fulfilling work dressing the most beautiful brides in England. She'd rather risk losing love forever than sacrifice her own life's purpose. Yet she has never met a more magnetic, attractive man than Grant. Trapped between the fleeting chance at love and passion for her work, is it possible she can have it all? Praise for What the Bride Wore: "A delicious romance between engaging characters... It's another keeper from a talented storyteller." —RT Book Reviews "Fun and passion-filled Regency... Readers will savor the numerous red-hot love scenes as Grant finds his way to maturity and love." —Publishers' Weekly "What the Bride Wore was a wonderful historical romance! Lovers of the genre, you should give this book a try." —Imagine a World
A Rake S Guide To SeductionAuthor : Caroline Linden
Genre : Fiction
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HE MUST RELY ON HIS TALENTS IN THE BEDROOM . . . Anthony Hamilton cannot help it. The way he looks, the way he lives, his past—it all conspires to make him a man men fear, women desire. His name fills gossip circles in a seemingly endless, lurid drama. But he's never forgotten the only woman he's ever truly wanted—yet could never have . . . TO MAKE HER FALL IN LOVE . . . Celia Reece knew Anthony well before he forged his scandalous reputation. The young man she remembers spoke kindly to her, made her laugh, and his devilish good looks always quickened her pulse. But Celia's mother had other designs—designs that didn't include marriage to Anthony. Now, Celia is widowed, and her mother is intent on finding her a new husband. Refusing to let any obstacle stand in his path this time, Anthony sets out to win Celia's heart by using the same skills that made him London's most irresistible rake . . . Praise for Caroline Linden and her novels . . . "A skillful blend of scorching sensuality and the tenderness that tempers passion . . . don't miss it!" —Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author "A fast-paced, can't-put-down romance." —Kat Martin, New York Times bestselling author
All The Ways To Ruin A RogueAuthor : Sophie Jordan
Genre : Fiction
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First friends, then enemies . . . Lady Aurelia hasn't always hated Max, Viscount Camden, her brother's best friend. In fact, as a besotted girl, she thrived under his kind attention— sure that he was the most noble and handsome man in the land. Until her young heart discovered what manner of rogue he really was. Now, though she enjoys nothing more than getting on his last nerve, she can't deny Max drives her to distraction— even if she tries to pretend otherwise. Now something more . . . Max cannot recall a time when Aurelia did not vex him. If she was not his friend's sister, he would stay far away from the infuriating vixen. Unfortunately, they are always thrown together. At parties and family gatherings . . . she is always there. Mocking him, tossing punch in his face, driving him mad . . . until one night, she goes too far and he retaliates in the only way he can: with a kiss that changes everything.
The Ruin Of A RakeAuthor : Cat Sebastian
Genre : Fiction
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"Sebastian proves she is a new force to be reckoned with in historical romances."—Booklist Rogue. Libertine. Rake. Lord Courtenay has been called many things and has never much cared. But after the publication of a salacious novel supposedly based on his exploits, he finds himself shunned from society. Unable to see his nephew, he is willing to do anything to improve his reputation, even if that means spending time with the most proper man in London. Julian Medlock has spent years becoming the epitome of correct behavior. As far as he cares, if Courtenay finds himself in hot water, it's his own fault for behaving so badly—and being so blasted irresistible. But when Julian's sister asks him to rehabilitate Courtenay's image, Julian is forced to spend time with the man he loathes—and lusts after—most. As Courtenay begins to yearn for a love he fears he doesn't deserve, Julian starts to understand how desire can drive a man to abandon all sense of propriety. But he has secrets he's determined to keep, because if the truth came out, it would ruin everyone he loves. Together, they must decide what they're willing to risk for love.
What The Groom WantsAuthor : Jade Lee
Genre : Fiction
File Size : 26. 5 MB
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"This book has it all: suspense, humor, sexy love scenes, and enough sweet words to make a girl swoon."-Romantic Romp Seamstress Wendy Drew knows she deserves better than the darkly seductive ways of the nefarious Demon Damon. Fortunately, Radley Lyncott is on hand to show her what she does deserve: a man who loves her like no other. Radley Lyncott has been in love with Wendy Drew as long as he can remember. When he went to sea, she was too young to court. Now that he's returned to take up his Welsh title, he is appalled to find that debt has ruined the Drew family, and—even worse—Wendy is being courted by another man. Family comes first for seamstress Wendy Drew, who is forced to settle her brother's debt by working nights at a notorious gambling den. But her double-life hasn't gone unnoticed—she has captivated none other than Demon Damon, a nefarious rake who understands Wendy's darkest desires and is hell bent on luring her into his arms. Praise for Wedded in Scandal: "An erotic tale full of emotion.... Jade Lee is an exceptional author, filling her stories with color and excitement." —Fresh Fiction Praise for What the Bride Wore: "Passion-filled Regency...Readers will savor the red-hot love scenes." —Publishers Weekly "[Lee's] sexy series will delight readers who relish experiencing a different side of Regency life." —Booklist Online
Bud Not BuddyAuthor : Christopher Paul Curtis
Genre : Juvenile Fiction
File Size : 37. 95 MB
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The Newbery Medal and Coretta Scott King Award-winning classic about a boy who decides to hit the road to find his father—from Christopher Paul Curtis, author of The Watsons Go To Birmingham—1963, a Newbery and Coretta Scott King Honoree. It's 1936, in Flint Michigan. Times may be hard, and ten-year-old Bud may be a motherless boy on the run, but Bud's got a few things going for him: 1. He has his own suitcase full of special things. 2. He's the author of Bud Caldwell's Rules and Things for Having a Funner Life and Making a Better Liar Out of Yourself. 3. His momma never told him who his father was, but she left a clue: flyers advertising Herman E. Calloway and his famous band, the Dusky Devastators of the Depression!!!!!! Bud's got an idea that those flyers will lead him to his father. Once he decides to hit the road to find this mystery man, nothing can stop him—not hunger, not fear, not vampires, not even Herman E. Calloway himself. AN ALA BEST BOOK FOR YOUNG ADULTS AN ALA NOTABLE CHILDREN'S BOOK AN IRA CHILDREN'S BOOK AWARD WINNER NAMED TO 14 STATE AWARD LISTS "The book is a gem, of value to all ages, not just the young people to whom it is aimed." —The Christian Science Monitor "Will keep readers engrossed from first page to last." —Publishers Weekly, Starred "Curtis writes with a razor-sharp intelligence that grabs the reader by the heart and never lets go. . . . This highly recommended title [is] at the top of the list of books to be read again and again." —Voice of Youth Advocates, Starred From the Hardcover edition.
Devil S Bargain The Regency Rags To Riches Series Book 2Author : Jade Lee
Genre : Fiction
File Size : 38. 4 MB
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Lynette is a penniless relation, thanks to the sudden death of her father. Refusing to burden her extended family, Lynette resigns to the inevitable: selling herself into marriage. But to whom? Viscount Marlock—a carnal, unrepentant, dark-devil of a man—has offered to arrange a profitable match. But for a price. The Viscount will teach her all she must know about ensnaring a man—using touch and tongue—opening her to the pleasures of the flesh. In turn, she must obey without question, trusting his whispered promises. But who will be caught, and who will be saved? REVIEWS: "A luscious bonbon of a read—the education of an innocent, hot sensual, romantic, and fun!" ~USA Today bestselling author Thea Devine REGENCY RAGS TO RICHES, in series order No Place for a Lady Devil's Bargain Almost an Angel The Dragon Earl


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From Our Editors
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- 2 beds
- 2.5 baths
- $213,555 price
- 1572318 mls id
- Half Baths: 1
- Neighborhood: Springfield Twp.
- Days on Market: 30
- Status: Active
Carefree living at Bridgecreek! This condo has two finished floors that back up to the woods and offers low-maintenance living.
- Appliances Dishwasher, Microwave, Oven/Range
- Area Hamilton-W02
- Cooling Ceiling Fans, Central Air
- Directions W On RR Hwy, Take Galbraith/Winton Exit-W On Galbraith-R On Winton-L On Compton-R On Bridgecreek L On Mis
- Exterior Features Balcony, Deck, Patio, Porch
- Heating Electric, Forced Air, Gas Furn EF Rtd 95%+, Heat Pump, Program Thermostat
- Interior Features 9Ft + Ceiling
- Parking Driveway, Off Street
- Roofing Shingle
- Rooms 8
- School District Winton Woods City SD
- View Woods
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Beautiful Drees Tribeca in Bridgecreek (Pool Community),1 yr. old-Features Private Entry with Open Floor Plan. 1st & 2nd floor walkout.Peaceful wooded backdrop!Large island in Kitchen with 42 in. Cabinets & Granite C-top.1st Fl. Laundry. Excellent central location, convenient to...
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You can't live without this condo!! 2 BDRM both w/ walk in closets. Loft is optional 3rd BDRM w/ closet. Fresh paint, new carpet, upgraded kitchen, 2 decks and a patio. Wyoming Golf Course is your beautiful backyard view! 1st floor laundry, 2 car garage and plenty of storage throughout 3 story...
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Listing Agent: Barbara Jones
Courtesy of: Drees / Zaring Realty
Office Phone: 656001662
Updated: 22nd April, 2018 10:14 AM.
966 Misty Steam Springfield Twp., OH


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In this edition of the Good E-Reader Radio Show we sum up all of the latest news of this week! Everything from Amazon and Barnes and Noble retail updates, to the HP Final Specs, Dell Streak and Dell Mini 5 news and WePad news! A great listen.
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|Half Baths
|Property type
|Minimum Stay
|4 nights
Description of » Tram Tower 4-bedroom townhome
This 4-bedroom 5.5-bath condo offers quick slope access and will comfortably sleep up to 10 guests!
*Lift Tickets and Lodging Promo!*
Please call us before booking this property online so we can see if your reservation would qualify for the Ski Free promotions we run throughout the season!
I'll look forward to helping you plan a wonderful Jackson Hole vacation!
Kathleen Rose, Grand Vacation Homes
While this unit does offer a private indoor hot tub and sauna, our guests also have exclusive access to a Tram Tower athletic facility which includes an outdoor heated pool (summer only), outdoor tennis courts (summer only), indoor hot tub, sauna, and a nautical workout room with lockers.
Highlights & Amenities Include:
• Ski-in, Ski-out
• Large rock fireplace
• Washer Dryer
• Spacious living, dining and kitchen
• Gas BBQ grill
• Wireless Internet
• Private 2-car garage
• 4 bedrooms, 5.5 bathrooms
• Bedding = King, 2 Twins, Queen, Twin bunks
• Large flat screen TV in living room
• Private hot tub
• 7 individual beds (great for multiple families, guys' trips, etc)
• Easy access to Teton Village shops and restaurants, like the Mangy Moose!
Keywords: Ski-in, Ski access, Slopeside, Teton Village, Ski in, Ski cottage, Mangy Moose, tram, Yellowstone
Yellowstone National Park, Grand Teton National Park
|Tax Rate
Rates do not include 14% tax/resort fees. Rates are subject to change.


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Jessica and Dustin are AMAZING, hands down the best wedding planners we could have hired for our wedding and I honestly don't know what I would have done without them. These two truly, truly love what they do, and the fact that they both went through planning their own wedding together speaks millions to their work chemistry. All of my friends, family, and other vendors who interacted with Jessica and Dustin had the same experience - they are wise, quick on their feet, detail oriented, and kind while still keeping everyone in line when needed. By the end of the night, we felt like Jessica was a part of our family. My biggest regret of the wedding was not hiring Jessica and Dustin earlier on in the planning. We hired 3LB as day of coordinators, but it is sooo worth having Jessica and Dustin around to help make decisions throughout the process. They are SO skilled at what they do, will take on any challenge you throw at them, and from the moment I spoke to Jessica, I knew I could trust her with everything. I am so beyond grateful to have found Jessica and Dustin, and am looking forward to the next family member to get married so I can work with them again!
BEST EVENT PLANNER, HANDS DOWN!!!! I hired Ingrid and her team last minute for decorations and event planning for a work party. By far, the best decision I've ever made. My wedding is in August, and I've went along and hired her for that event as well. She's proficient, efficient, and a visionary!! Her ideas are so thoughtful and personally organized! I am so impressed with her work and her expertise. She never ceased to amaze me. I got so many compliments on her flower arrangements and decorations that for so perfectly with the theme. I can't wait to see what she's got up her sleeve for my wedding in August. Also, this wasn't the first time I've hired Ingrid for an event. I hired her back in November 2015 for my MIL 50th birthday party. Her husband and herself, arrived much earlier for setup and made sure everything was the way we wanted it to look, before hey left the scene. They are so professional and such hard workers. I got a ton of compliments on their work that our family friend also hired her for her services for their wedding too! I will always refer Ingrid, without a doubt! She's my go-to person since Nov 2015.
Michelle and her assistant Angel did an excellent job coordinating my wedding on 03/18/18. They've obviously done this many times. I hired Michelle as a "day of" coordinator. I just gave her a list of my vendors and she took care of the rest on the day of my wedding, I didn't have to do anything at all. They took care of everything from start to finish.My guests were very impressed with their service as well. Would definitely recommend.
Planning for a wedding is very hectic, and with that you usually deal with either excellent or unsavory vendors. Georgia, from Bellissimo's flowers, gets a perfect 10 in our book. From the speed of her online responses, to the highly personable service, to her suggestions and her helping out with the final bill, no one can beat it. I suggest Bellissimos 100% for any couple planning their wedding.
There are not enough words to thank Ricki! She came in and saved our day. We knew we needed a local wedding planner because we live out of state and arrived in California just two days before our wedding. Ricki had everything all planned and ready to go down to the last detail. She has a way of working with people as the neutral third party to make everything go smoothly so all venders are working together in a most congenial way. She worked with us, giving us the fairy tale wedding we imagined. On the day-of, she assisted with making sure everything was set up as we envisioned for this most special venue. I would highly recommend Ricki for the most accurate and attentive service. There is no way we could have done it without her!
I was in search for a luxury wedding planner for a private estate for my wedding. I could never the perfect venue space without her help! The private estate that I am going to have my wedding is simply beautiful! I called a lot of local planners and spoke to a few on thumbtack to find the right place, but she was the only one to care genuinely about my needs and concerns and delivered QUICKLY. Now she is my wedding planner. She is very professional and extremely good at follow-through. She has a solid experience and great connections in the industry. I will recommend her to anyone who is planning an event. I will write more about her after my honeymoon! :)
Susan from Eventive Moments was our wedding coordinator for our 9/30/17 wedding in Pasadena. We do not have enough amazing things to say about her, but will try to be as helpful to others in this review. Susan was the following to us, 1. Organized, detail-oriented, punctual, experienced -- Her experience shows as she she kept us on track during the planning of our wedding, did not overlook any details, and was there for everything (rehearsal, setting up, cleaning up, etc.). 2. Professional and proactive -- Susan went above and beyond in the planning and day-of. A lot of things went off track at the wedding (none being her fault) like the caterers running late, the fire alarm going off, the EMCEE being clueless, however, NONE of the guests had ANY idea!! Every challenge that came up, Susan handled it gracefully and immediately. This is because Susan remained professional, calm, collected, and thought fast on her feet to improvise and get everything back in order without a hair out of place. 3. Creative and generous -- Not only did Susan keep all the big ticket items in line, but she was a tremendous help to us with smaller items, too, like party favors, seating charts, photos, and decor. She did not hesitate to help us print the seating chart or photos when we panicked two nights before and told her we didn't have time. She's incredibly crafty and creative, so everything she worked on was beautiful. 4. Talented -- Susan made sure the venue was set up immaculately. Everything looked beautiful and our guests were raving. She pays close attention to what you have envisioned and nails it. 5. Trustworthy, Kind, Passionate -- From the first phone call, we knew we wanted to hire Susan because you can tell she is passionate about her work and we felt immediate trust that she would do everything she could for us to make the day perfect. She is so kind and caring, and listens. She will go out of her way for you because she cares. We highly recommend Eventive Moments, we will be telling all our friends and family about Susan + Co and how monumental she was in making our wedding the most special day ever!
I was hesitant to get a planner at first because we were working with a very small budget, but Ira was (is) absolutely amazing. She worked within our budget, helped my plans materialize and made my wedding day beyond incredible. She is such a hard worker, so kind, and very knowledgeable for the planning industry. Thank you Ira, you are beautiful, inside and out!!
Having a wedding coordinator was the best idea ever! Friends have told me how stressful wedding planning was for them and I knew I didn't want that! Hiring a coordinator is another expense— but Alicia saved us so much money as well. She connected us to vendors that were in our budget and knew how to translate my ideas for decorations, centerpieces and favors in a cost-effective way. A huge bonus to picking Alicia as our wedding planner was all the vendors she knew. Our DJ, caterer, florist, photo booth and linen rental were all her recommendations are we are so glad we chose them. Although we had never seen these vendors in action, Alicia has worked with them multiple times at other weddings and knew we could trust them with our special day. Another way Alicia saved me from stress was the way she handled all of the communication from the vendors. She worked directly with all of them so that on the day of the wedding no one was asking the bride any questions because Alicia knew what was going on and they had been communicating with her. I would definitely recommend Alicia as a wedding coordinator. She was great at communicating with me and responding quickly. When I undertake an important project I have never done before I enlist help— why would I approach planning a wedding any differently? I have never planned a wedding before, but Alicia brought so much experience to the table. She is the perfect guide to your wedding planning experience.
Karen is true to her company's name- a DREAM! It was such a joy to work with her, and having her calming presence around one of the most potentially stressful situations was a Godsend! We had a very unconventional ceremony and reception location, and she had incredible ideas that really saved the day- She organized and wrangled a complicated venue, all the while being so positive and calm. She is patient, structured, thorough, and just such a joy to be around! You can tell that she's seen it all, because nothing rattled her, and she had inventive solutions for every single hurdle we had: event flow, ceremony planning, venue snafus! We are so grateful and blessed to have this attentive, experienced planner coordinate our wedding, and you will be, too!!
I have some advice for all you soon to be married couples out there: "Think Happy Dots!" Literally and figuratively speaking ;) I was so nervous to seek out a Wedding Planner (aside from the regular nervous breakdowns trying to figure everything out before our wedding date haha) I was worried about reaching out to anyone and being turned for being in a same sex relationship. I can't describe how relieving and heart felt it was to have found a planner like Megan; she was like our fairy god planner :) COMMUNICATION & LISTENING!! she had the perfect blend of the two. Walking through our venue on our special day I noticed every little detail and how she made it count. Petals perfectly placed, the lighting complementing the mood, the love put into our bouquets, and the smiles on our friends' and families' faces the entire time…everyone was all so happy helping us celebrate. Happiness simply illuminated the entire day. Maybe that's why it's called think HAPPY Dots :)))
Where to begin! Ruby was a savior during my wedding events and was able to offload so much of my stress and attend to all last minute details I was unable to do myself due to time constraints. I was able to trust and rely on her 100% and she did not let me down she knew exactly what I wanted and needed. Ruby made detailed timelines and checklists for all my events. She helped me plan and execute my wedding ceremony and it was perfect. She was able to offer me affordable vendors for photography, wedding dessert table that had a beautiful fruit and fondu, icecream popsicles/kulfi with customized labels passed out during our wedding that my guest raved about how delicious they were till today, decor for my wedding ceremony, and she was able to offer me multiple options for makeup and hair vendors for my wedding party. Overall ruby was amazing her attention to detail and her genuine kindness and sincerity was what made her so great at what she does. She went above and beyond for me and my events. She was my go to person for all my questions and was able to keep me calm and organized winding down to the events. I definitely recommend to booking her asap for all of your upcoming events. She does it all!
Gina Garrett is an event planning genius!! After working with Gina on my own events and attending others she has planned for friends and associates, I cannot imagine working with anyone else. I refuse to work with anyone else. She can handle small parties for 25 people or formal events for 800. I have seen Gina convert an empty warehouse into a dreamy and sparkling evening gala for 500 people that somehow was beautiful and grand, but also provided nooks and lounges for more intimate conversation. The wedding that she planned for a friend was equally impressive. Gina translated the bride's Pinterest ideas and limited budget into a stunning outdoor wedding - the bride was in joyful tears because every detail of her wedding day exceeded her wildest dreams. That's what Gina does – she takes the ideas and dreams of the client, and turns them into reality. She handles every challenge and demand with professionalism and promptly, and will keep the client updated on progress and issues. She personally takes on all the fuss and stress of event planning so the client doesn't have to. Work with Gina once, and you'll never look for another event planner!
Let me preface by saying that I'm a first time bride that lives out of state with a 2 year old daughter. I am 150% sure that my wedding day would not have gone as smoothly and frankly, as perfect as it did if it weren't for Kingdom Weddings & Events. This husband and wife team were absolutely wonderful to say the least. They were punctual, organized, and super sweet! Vanessa was my wedding planner, confidant, and she kept my feet on the ground leading up to one of the most important days of my life. THANK YOU Kingdom Weddings & Events!!! We love you!!!
Jessica is absolutely amazing. I can honestly say I couldn't have done it without her and things only went smoothly because she was there to ease things along for my wedding. I remember one issue where the day of event coordinator (she came with the venue and there was no getting around it) was yelling at the DJ while I was getting my hair done and I just l looked at her and she said "I will take care of it". I literally didn't have to worry much, if at all, as she was right there with me every step of the way. I was also finishing college at the time so I already had a lot on my plate and I felt like she was guiding me through the whole process. I would definitely refer to anyone who needs an event planner/designer.
Mary Jean's heart, compassion, professionalism and services are simply unrivaled. As a former wedding planner, she was my number 1 go-to officiant. I'm so happy to hear she has expanded her business to include planning and coordination services. Do not have any hesitation to include Mary Jean in your important event - she is a star!
We hired Kristina as a day-of coordinator for our wedding - and WOW are we so glad that we did. She is awesome, very detail oriented, and bent over backwards to ensure our wedding went off without a hitch!! She contacted us ahead of time in order to ensure she knew exactly what we wanted on our wedding day and how she could best help us out. She did everything from picking up wine, event set-up/take-down, and vendor coordination to ensure that our day went extremely smoothly and as planned. She knew our plan so well that she never even came up to us during the event to ask a question - she just worked behind the scenes to enable us to enjoy every minute of our big day. It was amazing, she's the best and makes wedding day stress-free. Would highly recommend her to anyone as a wedding coordinator/planner and would hire her again in a second! You don't need to look anywhere else!
Excellent wedding planner
Nicole helped me decorate my wedding ceremony and reception, and the results were STUNNING! She was incredibly efficient, fast and so sweet and I loved working with her! She removed the stress from my planning 100% with regards to the decorations and set-up, and allowed me to truly relax and enjoy the big day! I loved working with her, and her increidble creativity, and she worked extremely well with my budget! A DEFINITE recommendation goes out to all those who need help with adding some beauty and pizazz to your wedding!!! I will post photos as soon as I get the photos in from the photographer!
New To Thumbtack
New To Thumbtack
I am assisting in wedding and event planning. I do venues, decor, budgeting, etc. Your wedding is about you! I am just here to make your life easier on your way to happiness!


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1995 Lincoln Mark VIII Performance Harmonic Balancers
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- Professional Products®Powerforce+Plus™ Harmonic BalancerLincoln Mark VIII Powerforce+Plus(TM) 1995, Powerforce+Plus™ Harmonic Balancer by Professional Products®. These dampers are the dimensional duplicate of the O.E. damper used on the 2V engine. If used on a 4V engine, the accessories...Designed to deliver trouble-free, consistent performanceRight for your vehicle and lifestyle$215.36
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Kieslich M, Errazuriz G, Posselt HG, Moeller-Hartmann W, Zanella F, Boehles H.
Departments of Pediatrics, Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, Frankfurt/Main, Germany.
Celiac.com 08/24/2001 - It is well known that celiac disease causes destruction of the villi in the small intestine that results in malabsorption of nutrients in affected individuals. There is solid evidence that additional neurological complications can result, such as epilepsy, possibly associated with occipital calcifications or folate deficiency and cerebellar ataxia. An increase in brain white-matter lesions has been reported in patients with Crohn disease and ulcerative colitis, but until now, not in patients with celiac disease. A recent study published in the August 2, 2001 issue of Pediatrics has now demonstrated a similar increase of these lesions in patients with celiac disease.
The study was carried out by Dr. Kieslich and colleagues of the Departments of Pediatrics, Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, Frankfurt/Main, Germany, on 75 biopsy-proven celiac disease patients who were on a gluten-free diet. Most of the patients in the study were between 2.8 and 24.2 years old, and the mean age was 11.6 years. All of the patients underwent prospectively clinical neurological examinations, laboratory investigations, electroencephalography, computed tomography, and magnetic resonance imaging. According to the study the mean period of gluten exposure was 2.4 years, although it was likely longer as recent studies have shown that many celiacs are asymptomatic for many years before damage occurs that is severe enough to cause obvious symptoms.
The researchers found that ten of the patients had neurological manifestations such as febrile seizures, single generalized seizures, mild ataxia, and muscular hypotonia with retarded motor development, although no folate deficiencies were found. Further, the hippocampal regions appeared normal, and no cerebral calcifications were found, however, the MRI results showed unilateral and bilateral T2-hyperintensive white-matter lesions in 15 patients (20%). According to the research, there does not appear to be a relationship between these lesions and dietary compliance or neurological or electroencephalographic abnormalities.
The researchers conclude that focal white-matter lesions in the brain may represent an extra-intestinal manifestation of celiac disease. They theorize that the lesions may be the result of a decreased blood supply caused by the constriction or obstruction of blood vessels due to inflammation, or caused by the destruction of the nerve fiber due to inflammation. Further, children with white-matter lesions, even if they do not have intestinal symptoms, should be tested for celiac disease. Last, more research needs to be done on people celiac disease of all ages to develop a proper predictive value, and to discover the exact cause of the lesions.


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Even at 40, I STILL hate being an only child
Wistful: While she was an adored only child, Kathryn says she grew up longing for a gaggle of siblings
Often it's the tiny moments in life that catch you by the throat. Just recently, a friend phoned to tell me that she had become an aunt. 'Can you believe it?' she said. 'The baby looks just like my sister, it's so sweet.'
And there it was. Those words 'my sister', something I'll never get to say. And how I wish I could. For in the same way that some people yearn for a baby, as an only child I have long hankered to feel the singular bond that comes with having a sibling.
All my life, I've pictured these mythical sisters and brothers — given them names, imagined their personalities and our relationships, at once exasperated and affectionate, but, most of all, unique. As I get older, I indulge less in idle fantasies, but the emotions behind them remain every bit as profound.
Like many only children, my solitary status wasn't intentional. Mum and Dad hoped to have at least one more baby after I was born in 1972, but it just didn't happen, and back then you largely left things at that. And so I grew up as an adored 'only' child — not spoilt particularly, but entirely secure in being the solitary object of my parents' boundless affections.
That security, of course, is one of
life's greatest gifts, one I've appreciated ever more as I've got older
and seen the toxic legacy of more unstable childhoods.
are reasons why studies show that single children are happier and more
confident — we don't grow up feeling we need to jostle for position for
our parents' love.
Then there's the more prosaic advantages, such as never having to share a bedroom and avoiding hand-me-down clothes.
nature being what it is, however, I've always wanted what I haven't
got. So, despite my contented upbringing, I grew up longing for not one,
but a veritable gaggle of siblings with whom to share it.
At night, lying in bed, I would construct my imaginary family — a mixed bunch of brothers and sisters who had exotic (for back then, anyway) names like 'Chelsea' and 'Elliot' and who brought with them a sheen of glamour that was rather missing from our Seventies Lancashire terrace.
My best friend Lindsey, meanwhile, a twin who came in the middle of four children, had equally vivid fantasies of growing up in a sophisticated, silent household without her sister thrashing around on the top bunk.
But that's the thing: while she loved
coming to my house to enjoy its quiet and peaceful order, I longed for
the noisy rumbustiousness of her childhood home, full of sound and
I felt it particularly acutely on
chilly winter nights, when Lindsey was dispatched home for her tea at
5pm on the dot and a long night indoors alone beckoned (although if
nothing else those evenings certainly taught me self-sufficiency and the
ability to pull off the perfect against-the- wall handstand).
in the Seventies, only children were a rare breed — at my primary
school there was just one other 'only' I remember. Now, however, it is a
very different story.
combination of couples having babies in later life and the soaring
coast of living means that one child is becoming the norm, with
46 per cent of families have just one. If the trend continues, they are
likely to be in the majority in the next ten years — a fact I find
Growing up, my yearning for a
sibling remained — particularly in my teenage years. As battle lines
were drawn over the wearing of make-up (not encouraged) and the
acquisition of boyfriends (encouraged even less), I longed for the older
sister who, in my mind, would have blazed a trail before me, or for the
older brother who would support me in my fights.
Contrary to popular perception, only children are less spoilt than those with siblings, a 2011 survey found
On occasion, I even constructed swathes of imaginary dialogue based on these mythical figures: 'You let Chelsea wear eye-liner', or 'Elliot's got a girlfriend.'
By university, the fantasy sisters had been resolutely dumped in favour of a strapping gang of brothers — this time named after the authors and heroes I had developed a fondness for, like Rochester and Spencer — and who I imagined would descend into the college bar, leaving swooning women and envious men in their path, and boosting my social standing. Some of those feelings passed in my 20s, when I was far too busy worrying about the progress of my career and romances to think much about my family.
Flat-sharing with my two best friends from school strengthened an already close-knit bond to the extent that, in some ways, they felt — and still feel — like the sisters I never had.
As I hit my 30s, though, that yearning for flesh-and-blood siblings returned, prompted in part by seeing the way that previously fractious sibling dynamics had bloomed over the years.
No sibling to play with: Kathryn when she was a baby in the 1970s
Friends who were once consistently irritated by their siblings seemed to develop a new concordat, a bond strengthened by the recognition that friendships can come and go but family tends to stick around.
Then there's confronting the reality of ageing parents (they won't thank me for writing that sentence, but there we go). Mum is 69 now, while dad is 84, and while both defiantly resist the label 'elderly' and are both, God willing, still in decent health, there is no denying they are no longer in the first flush of youth.
I worry endlessly about something happening to them — and how I will deal with it entirely alone. Because the fact is that while I have a loving husband and supportive friends, when it comes to family, as an only child you feel very, well, alone.
trouble knock at the family door there's no sister or brother to dial
and say 'what shall we do?', no blood relation of your own with whom to
share these very particular worries and woes.
Of course, these things are complicated.
I'm exceptionally close to my parents, particularly my mother. Many of my girlfriends have expressed envy at the easy intimacy of our relationship, and I wonder if it would have been the same if brothers and sisters were thrown into the equation — but, obviously, you never get to experience the other side.
I'm also acutely aware that siblings don't come with guarantee certificates: I've known plenty of people fall out catastrophically with theirs, or at the very least feel woefully let down. When it comes to those ageing parents, for instance, the burden of responsibility tends, I note, to sit more heavily on the shoulders of one sibling.
For all that, I'd still like to have known how it felt to share my DNA. I know I am lucky to have grown up loved and secure, and I don't wear that lightly.
But, as Christmas approaches, bringing with it the usual marital debate about where to spend it, with accompanying guilt about leaving my parents on their own, I find once again my thoughts turn wistfully to Chelsea and Elliot.
We'd probably have fallen out by now, but I'd have liked the chance to find out.
Big family: Kathryn says she would have loved to know how it felt to share her DNA
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Excellent, interesting guided tour which made me proud to be a Brummie! Don't fail to suggest it to visitors.Best to take the train as traffic wardens are numerous. Visit numerous good pubs-Rose Villa,Red Lion, Brown Lion and Lord Clifden. Hylton cafe opposite museum is brilliant value for money.
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We have stayed here often when visiting our children @ the University. James, the manager is very helpful and friendly. He remembers us and usually puts us in the same spacious room during each visit. This property has been remodeled in the last 2 years with new linens, too. Small indoor pool. Location is convenient to shopping and restaurants. Within driving distance to campus.
- Free Wifi
- Free Parking


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By lewisg
Suddenly a RunWait command has stop working after 2 years of no errors, issues, or problems. The code uses RunWait to start Plink.exe, a command-line remote connection tool similar to UNIX ssh. I'm using it to ssh to a linux (Centos) machine, run a Perl script, and redirect the output to a file on a PC running the AutoIt script.
$FilePath = "C:\AutoIT\LED" $FilePathPlus = $FilePath & "\plink.exe" $Code1 = RunWait(@ComSpec & " /c " & $FilePathPlus & " -ssh -l root -pw ?????? 10.170.4.163 /usr/local/nagios/etc/led.pl > C:\AutoIT\LED\led.txt ", @SW_SHOW) ConsoleWrite('@@ Debug(' & @ScriptLineNumber & ') : @ComSpec & " /c " & $FilePathPlus & " -ssh -l root -pw ????? 10.170.4.163 /usr/local/nagios/etc/led.pl > C:\AutoIT\LED\led.txt " = ' & @ComSpec & " /c " & $FilePathPlus & " -ssh -l root -pw ?????? 10.170.4.163 /usr/local/nagios/etc/led.pl > C:\AutoIT\LED\led.txt " & @CRLF & '>Error code: ' & @error & @CRLF) ;### Debug Console The ConsoleWrite output when cut-n-pasted into a DOS box produces the expected file so I know it works. I've also tried many variations of the function moving, adding, and changing the " and ' (quote) marks. Also tried it without the @ComSpec macro and other related functions...e.g. ShellExecuteWait , etc.
The PC is a Windows 10 64bit and AutoIT is version 22.214.171.124.
Searching here and Google has not yielded any clues that helped.