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The Broken Earth: The Stone Sky
Linked by Paul Ciano on August 31, 2017
We are the monsters they created, and more, but we will be the sort of monsters we wish to be, in death.
When we say that "the world has ended," remember— it is usually a lie. The planet is just fine.
Can you truly understand what a nation is capable of, child of the Stillness? The entirety of Old Sanze, once it finally stitches itself together from fragments of the hundred "civilizations" that live and die between now and then, will be nothing by comparison. Merely a collection of paranoid city-states and communes agreeing to share, sometimes, for survival's sake. Ah, the Seasons will reduce the world to such miserly dreams.
The Fulcrum is not the first institution to have learned an eternal truth of humankind: No need for guards when you can convince people to collaborate in their own internment.
Ah, my love. An apocalypse is a relative thing, isn't it? When the earth shatters, it is a disaster to the life that depends on it— but nothing much to Father Earth. When a man dies, it should be devastating to a girl who once called him Father, but this becomes as nothing when she has been called monster so many times that she finally embraces the label. When a slave rebels, it is nothing much to the people who read about it later. Just thin words on thinner paper worn finer by the friction of history. But to the people who live through a slave rebellion, both those who take their dominance for granted until it comes for them in the dark, and those who would see the world burn before enduring one moment longer in "their place"—
That is not a metaphor, Essun. Not hyperbole. I did watch the world burn. Say nothing to me of innocent bystanders, unearned suffering, heartless vengeance. When a comm builds atop a fault line, do you blame its walls when they inevitably crush the people inside? No; you blame whoever was stupid enough to think they could defy the laws of nature forever. Well, some worlds are built on a fault line of pain, held up by nightmares. Don't lament when those worlds fall. Rage that they were built doomed in the first place.
Hoa stands over you. It's still a shock to see him like this: a mid-sized adult rather than a small child, veined black marble instead of white flesh. Somehow, though, it's easy to perceive him as the same person— same face shape, same haunting icewhite eyes, same ineffable strangeness, same whiff of lurking whimsy— as the Hoa you've known for the past year. What's changed, that a stone eater no longer seems alien to you? Only superficial things about him. Everything about you.
"There isn't a single evil to point to, a single moment when everything changed," she went on. "Things were bad and then terrible and then better and then bad again, and then they happened again, and again, because no one stopped it. Things can be … adjusted. Lengthen the better, predict and shorten the terrible. Sometimes prevent the terrible by settling for the merely bad. I've given up on trying to stop you people. Just taught my children to remember and learn and survive … until someone finally breaks the cycle for good."
The stabbing is the outcome of an impossible choice he demanded of her: to be either his daughter or an orogene. She refused to commit existential suicide. He refused to suffer an orogene to live. There was no malice in either of them in that final moment, only the grim violence of inevitability.
To one side of this tableau stands Schaffa, Nassun's Guardian, who stares down at what is left of Jija Resistant Jekity in a combination of wonder and cold satisfaction. At Nassun's other side is Steel, her stone eater. It is appropriate to call him that now, hers, because he has come in her hour of need— not to help, never that, but to provide her with something nevertheless. What he offers, and what she has finally realized she needs, is purpose. Not even Schaffa has given her this, but that's because Schaffa loves her unconditionally. She needs that love, too, oh how she needs it, but in this moment when her heart has been most thoroughly broken, when her thoughts are at their least focused, she craves something more … solid.
She will have the solidity that she wants. She will fight for it and kill for it, because she's had to do that again and again and it is habit now, and if she is successful she will die for it. After all, she is her mother's daughter— and only people who think they have a future fear death.
Orogeny is what the difference of us will become over generations of adaptation to a changed world. You are the shallower, more specialized, more natural distillation of our so-unnatural strangeness. Only a few of you, like Alabaster, will ever come close to the power and versatility we hold, but that is because we were constructed as intentionally and artificially as the fragments you call obelisks. We are fragments of the great machine, too— just as much a triumph of genegineering and biomagestry and geomagestry and other disciplines for which the future will have no name. By our existence we glorify the world that made us, like any statue or scepter or other precious object. We do not resent this, for our opinions and experiences have been carefully constructed, too.
We do not understand that what Kelenli has come to give us is a sense of peoplehood. We do not understand why we have been forbidden this self-concept before now … but we will.
And then we will understand that people cannot be possessions. And because we are both and this should not be, a new concept will take shape within us, though we have never heard the word for it because the conductors are forbidden to even mention it in our presence. Revolution.
Oegin and Ynegen, the twins, are the only ones who look at Nassun with anything resembling understanding. They were the first to come outside after Nassun snatched the sapphire out of the sky. While the others mostly saw Schaffa fight Umber, and Steel kill Nida, those two saw what Jija tried to do to Nassun. They understand that Nassun fought back as anyone would have. Everyone, though, remembers that she killed Eitz. Some have since forgiven her for that, as Schaffa predicted— especially shy, scarred Peek, who privately spoke to Nassun of what she did to the grandmother who stabbed her in the face so long ago. Orogene children learn early what it means to regret.
That doesn't mean they don't still fear Nassun, though, and fear lends a clarity that cuts right through childish rationalizations. They are not killers at heart, after all … and Nassun is.
Schaffa regards the children for a long, thoughtful moment. His fingers twitch, perhaps remembering another life and another self who could not have endured the idea of unleashing eight young Misalems upon the world. That version of Schaffa, however, is dead. The twitch is only reflexive.
"Yes," he says. "That is what I want you to do, if you need to hear it said aloud. You have a better chance in a large, thriving comm than you do on your own. So allow me to make a suggestion." Schaffa steps forward and crouches to look Deshati in the eye, reaching out also to grip Shirk's thin shoulder. He says to all of them, with that same gentle intensity that he used before, "Kill only one, initially. Pick someone who tries to harm you— but only one, even if more than one tries. Disable the others, but take your time killing that one person. Make it painful. Make sure your target screams. That's important. If the first one that you kill remains silent … kill another."
They stare back at him. Even Lashar seems nonplussed. Nassun, however, has seen Schaffa kill. He has given up some of who he was, but what remains is still an artist of terror. If he has seen fit to share the secrets of his artistry with them, they're lucky. She hopes they appreciate it.
He goes on. "When the killing is done, make it clear to those present that you acted only in self-defense. Then offer to work in the dead person's place, or to protect the rest from danger— but they'll recognize the ultimatum. They must accept you into the comm." He pauses, then fixes his icewhite gaze on Deshati. "If they refuse, what do you do?"
She swallows. "K-kill them all."
He smiles again, for the first time since leaving Jekity, and cups the back of her head in fond approval.
Unconsciously, Nassun bares her teeth and clenches her fists. "It isn't right, Schaffa. It isn't right that people want me to be bad or strange or evil, that they make me be bad …" She shakes her head, fumbling for words. "I just want to be ordinary! But I'm not and— and everybody, a lot of people, all hate me because I'm not ordinary. You're the only person who doesn't hate me for … for being what I am. And that's not right."
"No, it isn't." Schaffa shifts to sit back against his pack, looking weary. "But you speak as though it's an easy thing to ask people to overcome their fears, little one."
And he does not say it, but suddenly Nassun thinks: Jija couldn't.
Nassun's gorge rises suddenly, sharply enough that she must clap a fist to her mouth for a moment and think hard of ash and how cold her ears are. There's nothing in her stomach except the handful of dates she just ate, but the feeling is awful anyway.
Schaffa, uncharacteristically, does not move to comfort her. He only watches her, expression weary but otherwise unreadable.
"I know they can't do it." Yes. Speaking helps. Her stomach doesn't settle, but she no longer feels on the brink of dry heaves. "I know they— the stills— won't ever stop being afraid. If my father couldn't—" Queasiness. She jerks her thoughts away from the end of that sentence. "They'll just go on being scared forever, and we'll just go on living like this forever, and it isn't right. There should be a— a fix. It isn't right that there's no end to it."
"But do you mean to impose a fix, little one?" Schaffa asks. It's soft. He's guessed already, she realizes. He knows her so much better than she knows herself, and she loves him for it. "Or an end?"
She gets to her feet and starts pacing, tight little circles between his pack and hers. It helps the nausea and the jittery, rising tension beneath her skin that she cannot name. "I don't know how to fix it."
But that is not the whole truth, and Schaffa scents lies the way predators scent blood. His eyes narrow. "If you did know how, would you fix it?"
He kisses her forehead. "Make the end you need, my Nassun."
"I don't want." She has to swallow. "I want you to— to be alive!"
He laughs softly. "Still a child, despite all you've been through." This stings, but his meaning is clear. She cannot have both Schaffa alive and the world's hatred dead. She must choose one ending or the other.
But then, firmly, Schaffa says again: "Make the end you need."
Nassun pulls back so she can look at him. He's smiling again, clear-eyed. "What?"
He squeezes her, very gently. "You're my redemption, Nassun. You are all the children I should have loved and protected, even from myself. And if it will bring you peace …" He kisses her forehead. "Then I shall be your Guardian till the world burns, my little one."
It is a benediction, and a balm. The nausea finally releases its hold on Nassun. In Schaffa's arms, safe and accepted, she sleeps at last, amid dreams of a world glowing and molten and in its own way, at peace.
"You're a thinker," she says. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean.
"We all are," I say. I allow a brief rumble of nuance. We have to be.
"Exactly. You think more than you have to." Apparently a bit of brown near my hairline is especially stubborn. She wipes it off, grimaces, wipes it again, sighs, rinses the cloth and wipes at it again.
I continue searching her face. "Why do you laugh at their fear?"
It's a stupid question. Should've asked it through the earth, not out loud. She stops wiping my face. Remwha glances at me in bland reproach, then goes to the entrance of the alcove. I hear him asking the guard there to please ask a conductor whether we are in danger of sun damage without the protection of the paint. The guard laughs and calls over her companion to relay this question, as if it's ridiculous. During the moment of distraction purchased for us by this exchange, Kelenli then resumes scrubbing me.
"Why not laugh at it?" she says.
"They would like you better if you didn't laugh." I signal nuance: alignment, harmonic enmeshment, compliance, conciliation, mitigation. If she wants to be liked.
"Maybe I don't want to be liked." She shrugs, turning to rinse the cloth again.
"You could be. You're like them."
"Not enough."
"More than me." This is obvious. She is their kind of beautiful, their kind of normal. "If you tried—"
She laughs at me, too. It isn't cruel, I know instinctively. It's pitying. But underneath the laugh, her presence is suddenly as still and pent as pressurized stone in the instant before it becomes something else. Anger again. Not at me, but triggered by my words nevertheless. I always seem to make her angry.
They're afraid because we exist, she says. There's nothing we did to provoke their fear, other than exist. There's nothing we can do to earn their approval, except stop existing— so we can either die like they want, or laugh at their cowardice and go on with our lives.
I think at first that I don't understand everything she just told me. But I do, don't I? There were sixteen of us once; now we are but six. The others questioned and were decommissioned for it. Obeyed without question, and were decommissioned for it. Bargained. Gave up. Helped. Despaired. We have tried everything, done all they asked and more, and yet now there are only six of us left.
That means we're better than the others were, I tell myself, scowling. Smarter, more adaptable, more skilled. This matters, does it not? We are components of the great machine, the pinnacle of Sylanagistine biomagestry. If some of us had to be removed from the machine because of flaws—
Tetlewha was not flawed, Remwha snaps like a slipstrike fault.
I blink and glance at him. He's back in the alcove, waiting over near Bimniwha and Salewha; they've all used the fountain to strip off their own paint while Kelenli worked on me and Gaewha and Dushwha. The guards Remwha distracted are just outside, still chuckling to themselves over what he said to them. He's glaring at me. When I frown, he repeats: Tetlewha was not flawed.
I set my jaw. If Tetlewha was not flawed, then that means he was decommissioned for no reason at all.
Yes. Remwha, who rarely looks pleased on a good day, has now curled his lip in disgust. At me. I'm so shocked by this that I forget to pretend indifference. That is precisely her point. It doesn't matter what we do. The problem is them.
It doesn't matter what we do. The problem is them.
When I am clean, Kelenli cups my face in her hands. "Do you know the word 'legacy'?"
I've heard it and guessed its meaning from context. It's difficult to pull my thoughts back on track after Remwha's angry rejoinder. He and I have never much liked one another, but … I shake my head and focus on what Kelenli has asked me. "A legacy is something obsolete, but which you cannot get rid of entirely. Something no longer wanted, but still needed."
She grimace-smiles, first at me and then at Remwha. She's heard everything he said to me. "That will do. Remember that word today."
Then she gets to her feet. The three of us stare at her. She's not only taller and browner, but she moves more, breathes more. Is more. We worship what she is. We fear what she will make of us.
"Come," she says, and we follow her out into the world.
I frown at Kelenli, who's watching me. "This should not exist," I say. Words only. I don't know how else to articulate what I'm feeling. Shock. Disbelief? Fear, for some reason. The Plutonic Engine is the most advanced creation of geomagestry ever built. That is what the conductors have told us, over and over again for all the years since we were decanted … and yet. This tiny, bizarre engine, sitting half-forgotten in a dusty museum, is more advanced. And it seems to have been built for no purpose other than beauty.
Why does this realization frighten me?
"But it does exist," Kelenli says. She leans back against the railing, looking lazily amused— but through the soft shimmering harmony of the structure on display, I sess her ping on the ambient.
Think, she says without words. She watches me in particular. Her thinker.
I glance around at the others. As I do, I notice Kelenli's guards again. They've taken up positions on either end of the balcony, so that they can see the corridor we came down as well as the display room. They both look bored. Kelenli brought us here. Got the conductors to agree to bringing us here. Means for us to see something in this ancient engine that her guards do not. What?
I step forward, putting my hands on the dead railing, and peer intently at the thing as if that will help. What to conclude? It has the same fundamental structure as other plutonic engines. Only its purpose is different— no, no. That's too simple an assessment. What's different here is … philosophical. Attitudinal. The Plutonic Engine is a tool. This thing? Is … art.
And then I understand. No one of Syl Anagist built this.
I look at Kelenli. I must use words, but the conductors who hear the guards' report should not be able to guess anything from it. "Who?"
She smiles, and my whole body tingles all over with the rush of something I cannot name. I am her thinker, and she is pleased with me, and I have never been happier.
"You," she replies, to my utter confusion.
"Can I ask you a question?"
No. "Yes?"
He bites his lip. "What's going on? It feels like … Nothing that's happening is normal lately. I mean, it's a Season, but even that feels wrong. Guardians not taking roggas to the Fulcrum. Roggas doing things nobody's ever heard of them doing." He chin-points toward the pile of Jija. "Whatever the rust went on up north. Even those things in the sky, the obelisks … It's all … People are talking. Saying maybe the world's not going to go back to normal. Ever."
You're staring at Jija, but you're thinking of Alabaster. Don't know why.
"One person's normal is another person's Shattering." Your face aches from smiling. There is an art to smiling in a way that others will believe, and you're terrible at it. "Would've been nice if we could've all had normal, of course, but not enough people wanted to share. So now we all burn."
He stares at you for a long, vaguely horrified moment. Then he mumbles something and finally goes away, skirting wide around Hoa. Good riddance.
"What have I done?" you ask. "What have I made her?"
Hoa's toes have appeared in your peripheral vision. "Strong," he suggests.
You shake your head. Nassun was that on her own.
You close your eyes again. It's the only thing that should matter, that you've brought three babies into the world and this one, this precious last one, is still breathing. And yet.
I made her me. Earth eat us both, I made her into me.
And maybe that's why Nassun is still alive. But it's also, you realize as you stare at what she's done to Jija, and as you realize you can't even get revenge on him for Uche because your daughter has done that for you … why you are terrified of her.
And there it is— the thing you haven't faced in all this time, the kirkhusa with ash and blood on its muzzle. Jija owed you a debt of pain for your son, but you owe Nassun, in turn. You didn't save her from Jija. You haven't been there when she's needed you, here at the literal end of the world. How dare you presume to protect her? Gray Man and Schaffa; she has found her own, better, protectors. She has found the strength to protect herself.
You are so very proud of her. And you don't dare go anywhere near her, ever again.
Hoa says to your slumped back, "I can't die."
You frown, jarred out of melancholy by this apparent non sequitur. Then you understand: He's saying you won't ever lose him. He will not crumble away like Alabaster. You can't ever be surprised by the pain of Hoa's loss the way you were with Corundum or Innon or Alabaster or Uche, or now Jija. You can't hurt Hoa in any way that matters.
"It's safe to love you," you murmur, in startled realization.
Surprisingly, this eases the knot of silence in your chest. Not much, but … but it helps.
"How do you do it?" you ask. It's hard to imagine. Not being able to die even when you want to, even as everything you know and care about falters and fails. Having to go on, no matter what. No matter how tired you are. "Move forward," Hoa says.
"Move. Forward."
He's in the middle of raising the canteen again when he pauses. Something flows over his face. She's learned to read this look of his in particular, despite the fact that it's such a rare one. Sometimes he's forgotten things he wishes he could remember, but right now, he is remembering what he wishes he could forget.
Nassun frowns. "What's genocide?" He smiles again, but it is sad. "If every orogene is hunted down and slain, and if the neck of every orogene infant born thereafter is wrung, and if every one like me who carries the trait is killed or effectively sterilized, and if even the notion that orogenes are human is denied … that would be genocide. Killing a people, down to the very idea of them as a people."
His arms tighten for an instant, with a hint of his old strength, and it is the most beautiful feeling in the world. She knows in this moment that he will never falter, never not be there when she needs him, never devolve into a mere fallible human being. And she loves him more than life for his strength.
She leads us through the house. A den of stunning comfort: every surface soft and sittable, even the floor. What strikes me is that nothing is white. The walls are green and in some places painted a deep, rich burgundy. In the next room, the beds are covered in blue and gold fabric in contrasting textures. Nothing is hard and nothing is bare and I have never thought before that the chamber I live in is a prison cell, but now for the first time, I do.
How did it begin? You must understand that fear is at the root of such things. Niespeople looked different, behaved differently, were different— but every group is different from others. Differences alone are never enough to cause problems. Syl Anagist's assimilation of the world had been over for a century before I was ever made; all cities were Syl Anagist. All languages had become Sylanagistine. But there are none so frightened, or so strange in their fear, as conquerors. They conjure phantoms endlessly, terrified that their victims will someday do back what was done to them— even if, in truth, their victims couldn't care less about such pettiness and have moved on. Conquerors live in dread of the day when they are shown to be, not superior, but simply lucky.
If the Niess were merely human, the world built on their inhumanity would fall apart.
So … they made us.
We, the carefully engineered and denatured remnants of the Niess, have sessapinae far more complex than those of ordinary people. Kelenli was made first, but she wasn't different enough. Remember, we must be not just tools, but myths. Thus we later creations have been given exaggerated Niess features— broad faces, small mouths, skin nearly devoid of color, hair that laughs at fine combs, and we're all so short. They've stripped our limbic systems of neurochemicals and our lives of experience and language and knowledge. And only now, when we have been made over in the image of their own fear, are they satisfied. They tell themselves that in us, they've captured the quintessence and power of who the Niess really were, and they congratulate themselves on having made their old enemies useful at last.
But we are not the Niess. We aren't even the glorious symbols of intellectual achievement that I believed we were. Syl Anagist is built on delusions, and we are the product of lies. They have no idea what we really are.
It's up to us, then, to determine our own fate and future.
"You see yourself as one of these … truth-tellers?" I ask.
"Lorist. The last Niess lorist, if I have the right to claim such a thing." Her smile abruptly fades, and for the first time I realize what a wealth of weariness and hard lines and sorrow her smiles cover. "Lorists were warriors, storytellers, nobility. They told their truths in books and song and through their art engines. I just … talk. But I feel like I've earned the right to claim some part of their mantle." Not all fighters use knives, after all.
How can we prepare for the future if we won't acknowledge the past?
You're half-asleep, because of the sex. It's an anticlimactic thing now that it's finally happened. What you feel for Lerna will never be intense, or guilt-free. You'll always feel too old for him. But, well. He asked you to show him the truncated breast and you did, thinking that would mark the end of his interest in you. The sandy patch is crusty and rough amid the smoother brown of your torso— like a scab, though the wrong color and texture. His hands were gentle as he examined the spot and pronounced it sound enough to need no further bandaging. You told him that it didn't hurt. You didn't say that you were afraid you couldn't feel anything anymore. That you were changing, hardening in more ways than one, becoming nothing but the weapon everyone keeps trying to make of you. You didn't say, Maybe you're better off with unrequited love.
But even though you didn't say any of these things, after the examination he looked at you and replied, "You're still beautiful." You apparently needed to hear that a lot more than you realized. And now here you are.
The vehimal's inner skin gives off no heat, though she knows they are already at a level underground where human flesh should burn up in an instant. When she touches the image on the forward view, it ripples ever so slightly around her finger, like waves in water. Putting her whole hand on a roil of brown-red color, she cannot help smiling. Just a few feet away, on the other side of the vehimal's skin, is the burning earth. She's touching the burning earth, thinly removed. She puts her other hand up, presses her cheek against the smooth plates. Here in this strange deadciv contraption, she is part of the earth, perhaps more so than any orogene before her has ever been. It is her, it is in her, she is in it.
When Nassun glances back over her shoulder at Schaffa, he's smiling, despite the lines of pain around his eyes. It's different from his usual smile. "What?" she asks. "The Leadership families of Yumenes believed that orogenes once ruled the world," he says. "That their duty was to keep your kind from ever regaining that much power. That you would be monstrous rulers of the world, doing back to ordinary folk what had been done to you, if you ever got the chance. I don't think they were right about any of it— and yet." He gestures, as she stands there illuminated by the fire of the earth. "Look at you, little one. If you are the monster they imagined you to be … you are also glorious."
Nassun loves him so much.
And oh. Does Nassun not understand this? Her hands tighten in Schaffa's shirt, trembling as her hatred wavers. Can she not empathize?
For the world has taken so much from her. She had a brother once. And a father, and a mother whom she also understands but wishes she did not. And a home, and dreams. The people of the Stillness have long since robbed her of childhood and any hope of a real future, and because of this she is so angry that she cannot think beyond THIS MUST STOP and I WILL STOP IT—
—so does she not resonate with the Evil Earth's wrath, herself?
She does.
Earth eat her, she does.
I am sitting near Conductor Gallat. I notice how the other conductors' disdain actually increases his tension, making anger radiate off his skin like the residual heat of sunlight from a rock, long after night has fallen. There have always been odd dynamics to the conductors' relationships; we've puzzled them out as best we could, while not really understanding. Now, however, thanks to Kelenli's explanation, I remember that Gallat has undesirable ancestry. We were made this way, but he was simply born with pale skin and icewhite eyes— traits common among the Niess. He isn't Niess; the Niess are gone. There are other races, Sylanagistine races, with pale skin. The eyes suggest, however, that somewhere in his family's history— distant, or he would not have been permitted schooling and medical care and his prestigious current position— someone made children with a Niesperson. Or not; the trait could be a random mutation or happenstance of pigment expression. Apparently no one thinks it is, though.
This is why, though Gallat works harder and spends more hours at the compound than anyone, and is in charge, the other conductors treat him as if he is less than what he is. If he did not pass on the favor in his dealings with us, I would pity him. As it is, I am afraid of him. I always have been afraid of him. But for Kelenli, I decide to be brave.
"Why are you angry with her?" I ask. My voice is soft, and hard to hear over the humming metabolic cycle of the vehimal. Few of the other conductors notice my comment. None of them care. I have timed the asking well.
Gallat starts, then stares at me as if he has never seen me before. "What?"
"Kelenli." I turn my eyes to meet his, although we have learned over time that the conductors do not like this. They find eye contact challenging. But they also dismiss us more easily when we do not look at them, and I don't want to be dismissed in this moment. I want him to feel this conversation, even if his weak, primitive sessapinae cannot tell him that my jealousy and resentment have raised the temperature of the city's water table by two degrees.
He glares at me. I gaze impassively back. I sense tension in the network. The others, who of course have noticed what the conductors ignore, are suddenly afraid for me … but I am almost distracted from their concern by the difference I suddenly perceive in us. Gallat is right: We are changing, complexifying, our ambient influence strengthening, as a result of the things Kelenli has shown us. Is this an improvement? I'm not certain yet. For now, we are confused where before, we were mostly unified. Remwha and Gaewha are angry at me for taking this risk without seeking consensus first— and this recklessness, I suppose, is my own symptom of change. Bimniwha and Salewha are, irrationally, angry at Kelenli for the strange way she is affecting me. Dushwha is done with all of us and just wants to go home. Beneath her anger, Gaewha is afraid for me but she also pities me, because I think she understands that my recklessness is a symptom of something else. I have decided that I am in love, but love is a painful hotspot roil beneath the surface of me in a place where once there was stability, and I do not like it. Once, after all, I believed I was the finest tool ever created by a great civilization. Now, I have learned that I am a mistake cobbled together by paranoid thieves who were terrified of their own mediocrity. I don't know how to feel, except reckless.
None of them are angry at Gallat for being too dangerous to have a simple conversation with, though. There's something very wrong with that.
Later, when we process all this, I will tell the others, She wants to be a person.
She wants the impossible, Dushwha will say. Gallat thinks it better to own her himself, rather than allow Syl Anagist to do the same. But for her to be a person, she must stop being … ownable. By anyone.
Then Syl Anagist must stop being Syl Anagist, Gaewha will add sadly.
Yes. They will all be right, too, my fellow tuners … but that does not mean Kelenli's desire to be free is wrong. Or that something is impossible just because it is very, very hard.
He clasps your hand lightly. It's been fascinating to realize that he never initiates contact between you. He waits for you to offer, and then he meets your gestures with as much or as little intensity as you've brought to the effort. Respecting your boundaries, which are sharp-edged and hair-triggered. You never knew he was so observant, all these years— but then, you should've guessed. He figured out you were an orogene just by watching you, years ago. Innon would've liked him, you decide.
You look up and then, for only maybe the second or third time, you think you understand him. He knows you're pregnant. Maybe he knew it before you did, though what that means to him, you cannot guess. He knows what underlies your thoughts about Alabaster, too, and he's saying … that you aren't alone. That you don't have nothing. You have Hoa, and Ykka and Tonkee and maybe Hjarka, friends, who know you in all your rogga monstrosity and accept you despite it. And you have Lerna— quietly demanding, relentless Lerna, who does not give up and does not tolerate your excuses and does not pretend that love precludes pain.
Steel's face, which has been tilted up toward the Moon even as his eyes watch her, now slowly pivots to face her. It's always unnerving to see him move slowly. "Do you know what it feels like to live forever?"
Nassun blinks, thrown. She's been expecting a fight. "What?" The moonlight has transformed Steel into a thing of starkest shadows, white and ink against the dimness of the garden. "I asked," he says, and his voice is almost pleasant, "if you know what it feels like to live forever. Like me. Like your Schaffa. Do you have any inkling as to how old he is? Do you care?"
"I—" About to say that she does, Nassun falters. No. This is not a thing she has ever considered. "I— I don't—"
I would estimate," Steel continues, "that Guardians typically last three or four thousand years. Can you imagine that length of time? Think of the past two years. Your life since the beginning of the Season. Imagine another year. You can do that, can't you? Every day feels like a year here in Corepoint, or so your kind tell me. Now put all three years together, and imagine them times one thousand." The emphasis he puts on this is sharp, precisely enunciated. In spite of herself, Nassun jumps.
But also in spite of herself … she thinks. She feels old, Nassun, at the world-weary age of not-quite-eleven. So much has happened since the day she came home to find her little brother dead on the floor. She is a different person now, hardly Nassun at all; sometimes she is surprised to realize Nassun is still her name. How much more different will she be in three years? Ten? Twenty?
Steel pauses until he sees some change in her expression— some evidence, perhaps, that she is listening to him. Then he says, "I have reason to believe, however, that your Schaffa is much, much older than most Guardians. He isn't quite first-generation; those have all long since died. Couldn't take it. He's one of the very early ones, though, still. The languages, you see; that's how you can always tell. They never quite lose those, even after they've forgotten the names they were born with."
Nassun remembers how Schaffa knew the language of the earth-traversing vehicle. It is strange to think of Schaffa having been born back when that tongue was still spoken. It would make him … she can't even imagine. Old Sanze is supposed to be seven Seasons old, eight if one counts the present Season. Almost three thousand years. The Moon's cycle of return and retreat is much older than that, and Schaffa remembers it, so … yes. He's very, very old. She frowns.
"It's rare to find one of them who can really go the distance," Steel continues. His tone is casual, conversational; he could be talking about Nassun's old neighbors back in Jekity. "The corestone hurts them so much, you see. They get tired, and then they get sloppy, and then the Earth begins to contaminate them, eating away at their will. They don't usually last long once that starts. The Earth uses them, or their fellow Guardians use them, until they outlive their usefulness and one side or the other kills them. It's a testament to your Schaffa's strength that he lasted so much longer. Or a testament to something else, maybe. What kills the rest, you see, is losing the things that ordinary people need to be happy. Imagine what that's like, Nassun. Watching everyone you know and care about die. Watching your home die, and having to find a new one— again, and again, and again. Imagine never daring to get close to another person. Never having friends, because you'll outlive them. Are you lonely, little Nassun?"
She has forgotten her anger. "Yes," she admits, before she can think not to.
"Imagine being lonely forever." There's a very slight smile on his lips, she sees. It's been there the whole while. "Imagine living here in Corepoint forever, with no one to talk to but me— when I bother to respond. What do you think that will feel like, Nassun?"
"Terrible," she says. Quietly now.
"Yes. So here is my theory: I believe your Schaffa survived by loving his charges. You, and others like you, soothed his loneliness. He truly does love you; never doubt that about him." Nassun swallows back a dull ache. "But he also needs you. You keep him happy. You keep him human, where otherwise time would have long since transformed him into something else."
Then Steel moves again. It's inhuman because of its steadiness, Nassun finally realizes. People are quick to do big movements and then slower with fine adjustment. Steel does everything at the same pace. Watching him move is like watching a statue melt. But then he stands with arms outstretched as if to say, Take a look at me.
"I am forty thousand years old," Steel says. "Give or take a few millennia."
Nassun stares at him. The words are like the gibberish that the vehimal spoke— almost comprehensible, but not really. Not real.
What does that feel like, though?
"You're going to die when you open the Gate," Steel says, after giving Nassun a moment to absorb what he's said. "Or if not then, sometime after. A few decades, a few minutes, it's all the same. And whatever you do, Schaffa will lose you. He'll lose the one thing that has kept him human throughout the Earth's efforts to devour his will. He'll find no one new to love, either— not here. And he won't be able to return to the Stillness unless he's willing to risk the Deep Earth route again. So whether he heals somehow, or you change him into one of my kind, he will have no choice but to go on, alone, endlessly yearning for what he will never again have." Slowly, Steel's arms lower to his sides. "You have no idea what that's like."
And then, suddenly, shockingly, he is right in front of Nassun. No blurring, no warning, just flick and he is there, bent at the waist to put his face right in front of hers, so close that she feels the wind of the air he's displaced and smells the whiff of loam and she can even see that the irises of his eyes are striated in layers of gray.
"BUT I DO," he shouts.
There are stages to the process of being betrayed by your society. One is jolted from a place of complacency by the discovery of difference, by hypocrisy, by inexplicable or incongruous ill treatment. What follows is a time of confusion— unlearning what one thought to be the truth. Immersing oneself in the new truth. And then a decision must be made.
Some accept their fate. Swallow their pride, forget the real truth, embrace the falsehood for all they're worth— because, they decide, they cannot be worth much. If a whole society has dedicated itself to their subjugation, after all, then surely they deserve it? Even if they don't, fighting back is too painful, too impossible. At least this way there is peace, of a sort. Fleetingly.
The alternative is to demand the impossible. It isn't right, they whisper, weep, shout; what has been done to them is not right. They are not inferior. They do not deserve it. And so it is the society that must change. There can be peace this way, too, but not before conflict.
"The garden," I repeat, at last. This will be my grand adventure, my escape. I consider laughing, but the habit of appearing emotionless keeps me from doing so. I don't really want to go anywhere, to be honest. I just want to feel like I have some control over my life, if only for a few moments. "I want to see the garden for five minutes. That's all."
Stahnyn shifts from foot to foot, visibly miserable. "I could lose my position for this, especially if any of the senior conductors see. I could be imprisoned."
"Perhaps they will give you a nice window overlooking a garden," I suggest. She winces.
Slowly, though, she unbends. Ducks her head, pretends reluctant capitulation, says something back. It isn't real. The earth reverberates with her anger and fear and unwillingness. Still, some of the stiffness goes out of Gallat's back. He smiles, gestures more broadly. Comes back to her, takes her by the arms, speaks to her gently. I marvel that she has disarmed his anger so effectively. It's as if he doesn't see the way her eyes drift away while he's talking, or how she does not reciprocate when he pulls her closer. She smiles at something he says, but even from fifty feet away I can see that it is a performance. Surely he can see it, too? But I am also beginning to understand that people believe what they want to believe, not what is actually there to be seen and touched and sessed.
And then, several nights after we return from Kelenli's tuning mission, the ember catches fire in all of us.
It is the first time that all of us have come together since the trip. We entwine our presences in a layer of cold coal, which is perhaps fitting as Remwha sends a hiss through all of us like sand grinding amid cracks. It's the sound/ feel/ sess of the sinklines, the briar patch. It's also an echo of the static emptiness in our network where Tetlewha— and Entiwha, and Arwha, and all the others— once existed.
This is what awaits us when we have given them Geoarcanity, he says.
Gaewha replies, Yes.
He hisses again. I have never sessed him so angry. He has spent the days since our trip getting angrier and angrier. But then, so have the rest of us— and now it's time for us to demand the impossible. We should give them nothing, he declares, and then I feel his resolve sharpen, turn vicious. No. We should give back what they have taken.
Put enough lives into a storage matrix, and they retain a collective will, of sorts. They remember horror and atrocity, with whatever is left of them— their souls, if you like.
So the onyx yields to me now because, it senses at last, I too have known pain. My eyes have been opened to my own exploitation and degradation. I am afraid, of course, and angry, and hurt, but the onyx does not scorn these feelings within me. It seeks something else, however, something more, and finally finds what it seeks nestled in a little burning knot behind my heart: determination. I have committed myself to making, of all this wrongness, something right.
That's what the onyx wants. Justice.
…this is what the Sylanagistines truly made us for: to affirm a philosophy. Life is sacred in Syl Anagist— as it should be, for the city burns life as the fuel for its glory. The Niess were not the first people chewed up in its maw, just the latest and cruelest extermination of many. But for a society built on exploitation, there is no greater threat than having no one left to oppress.
We are such small, hard-to-grasp creatures, otherwise. Such insignificant vermin, apart from our unfortunate tendency to sometimes make ourselves dangerously significant.
As big as the world is, Nassun is beginning to realize it's also really small. The same stories, cycling around and around. The same endings, again and again. The same mistakes eternally repeated.
"Some things are too broken to be fixed, Schaffa." Inexplicably, she thinks of Jija. The ache of this silences her for a moment. "I … I can't make anything better. But I can at least make sure the bad things stop."
It's dawn when you decide to change the world. You're still asleep in the bedroll that Lerna has brought up to the roof of the yellow-X building. You and he spent the night under the water tower, listening to the ever-present rumble of the Rifting and the snap of occasional lightning strikes. Probably should've had sex there one more time, but you didn't think about it and he didn't suggest, so oh well. That's gotten you into enough trouble, anyway. Had no business relying solely on middle age and starvation for birth control.
He watches as you stand and stretch, and it's a thing you'll never fully understand or be comfortable with— the admiration in his gaze. He makes you feel like a better person than you are. And this is what makes you regret, again, endlessly, that you cannot stay to see his child born. Lerna's steady, relentless goodness is a thing that should be preserved in the world, somehow. Alas.
You haven't earned his admiration. But you intend to.
Nassun has heard from Schaffa of what he was like, before Meov. She knows, intellectually, that the Schaffa you knew and the Schaffa she loves are wholly different people. She's seen a Fulcrum, and the ways in which it warped its inmates. She remembers how you used to go stiff, just the way you are now, at even a glimpse of the color burgundy— and finally, here at the end of the world, she understands why. She knows you better now than ever before in her life.
And yet. To her, Schaffa is the man who protected her from raiders— and from her father. He is the man who soothed her when she was afraid, tucked her into bed at night. She has seen him fight his own brutal nature, and the Earth itself, in order to be the parent she needs. He has helped her learn to love herself for what she is.
Her mother? You. Have done none of these things.
And in that pent moment, as you fight past the memory of Innon falling to pieces and the burning ache of broken bones in a hand you no longer possess, with Never say no to me ringing in your head, she intuits the thing that you have, until now, denied:
That it is hopeless. That there can be no relationship, no trust, between you and her, because the two of you are what the Stillness and the Season have made you. That Alabaster was right, and some things really are too broken to fix.
It listens at your touch, far away above the ashscape of the Stillness. You fall into it, diving desperately into the dark, to make your case. Please, you beg.
It considers the request. This is not in words or sensation. You simply know its consideration. It examines you in turn— your fear, your anger, your determination to put things right.
Ah— this last has resonance. You know yourself examined again, more closely and with skepticism, since your last request was for something so frivolous. (Merely wiping out a city? You of all people did not need the Gate for that.) What the onyx finds within you, however, is something different this time: Fear for kin. Fear of failure. The fear that accompanies all necessary change. And underneath it all, a driving need to make the world better.
Somewhere far away, a billion dying things shiver as the onyx utters a low, earthshaking blast of sound, and comes online.
Her brow furrows. You look up at her, and it strikes you. Your little girl. So big, here beneath the onyx and the Moon. So powerful. So beautiful. And you cannot help it: You burst into tears at the sight of her. You laugh, though one of your lungs has gone to stone and it's only a soft wheeze instead. So rusting amazing, your little girl. You are proud to lose to her strength.
Still there physically, a brown sandstone lump frozen on the lower steps, with only the barest suggestion of a smile on half-formed lips. Your tears are still there, glistening upon stone. She stares at these.
She stares at these and sucks in a long hollow breath because suddenly there is nothing, nothing inside her, she has killed her father and she has killed her mother and Schaffa is dying and there is nothing left, nothing, the world just takes and takes and takes from her and leaves nothing—
But she cannot stop staring at your drying tears.
Because the world took and took and took from you, too, after all. She knows this. And yet, for some reason that she does not think she'll ever understand … even as you died, you were reaching for the Moon.
And for her.
The Stone Sky by N. K. Jemisin


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On Wednesday, May 25th, we will be joined by Jordan Winchester from Cavalier Distributing and Tommy Quitter from Wine Trends, to host an event we are calling "Wine and Beer, Better Together".
We devote a great deal of attention to food and wine pairings, but this event adds a new dimension by adding great craft beers. The aim of the event is to help both wine and beer enthusiasts to understand how both drinks can be similarly paired, and how they can work together on the same table.
Wild Mussels
with blood orange, "Lifted" Aleppo cream, and grilled sourdough
Coriander Rubbed Halibut
with scallion salt, Cracklin' Savie saffron broth, and haricot verts
Crispy Skin Duck
with pit ham gaufrette, moody blue cheese, and Crafted Meadery Pollinator gastrique
Maple Cured Pork Tenderloin
with wild rice and "razzberry" Vietti Castiglione Barolo confiture
Madtree Lift
Fat Head "Head Hunter"
IPA (West Coast style)
Crafted Meadery Pollinator
Dry hopped spiced blackberry mead
Jackie O's Razz Wheat
Raspberry wheat beer
Gundlach Bundschu Gewurztraminer
Lake Chalice Vineyards "Cracklin' Savie"
Flower's Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir
Vietti Castiglione Barolo
You will get 4 courses of great food from Chef Nathan, set alongside 8 tastings, 4 of wine, and 4 of beer. Tickets are $60 per person excluding tax and gratuity.

subset: commoncrawl


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Are you?
I believe that some specialty retailers are going to have an extraordinary holiday this year. Some will have a good holiday; others fall short. Some will fall so far short they may not survive their poor performance.
I'm sure those retailers who fall short will blame the economy, discounters, and the Internet.
Let's turn that excuse around. Do you think the specialty retailers who have a good holiday season are going to say they were successful because of the economy? Of course not. Will they say they beat the discounters and the Internet? I doubt it.
Retailers who do well this holiday will say they made it happen. "They" meaning the owner/manager and his/her entire staff made it happen.
Sure, some retailers might tell you they were blessed or lucky to do well in the 2009 holiday, but make no mistake - when we look back in January 2010 at the just-concluded holiday season it will be clear that they made it happen.
They were the difference. Or should I say they will be the difference?
As we stand at the starting line of the "official" start to the holiday, will you be a difference maker?
It doesn't matter what your position is since it will take each and every staff member to create a successful holiday. It's going to take a strong manager/owner, assistant, permanent employees, and seasonal staff. Everyone.
How? That part is easy. Maximize EVERY single customer opportunity. Deliver an extraordinary experience that results in an extraordinary sale. Focus and drive will result in the performance necessary to be successful this holiday.
A lot of retailers disagree with my premise that people in the store can and will make the difference between a good and bad holiday. Then again, these are the same people who believe their holiday is almost predetermined by the economy, the discounters and the Internet.
So let me ask again, will you be a difference maker this year? The only one who will establish that is you.
To our US readers: Happy Thanksgiving to you, your family, and your entire staff.


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You probably know by now how much I love to Travel. So it will come as no surprise to you that I have opted to use my scheduled leave for Christmas to explore a new country and this year the destination is India.
I'm actually a little nervous about this trip due to the fact I have spent little time in that part of the world and the horror stories I have heard from other travellers about the violent illness, the smells and the traumatising train rides. These sorts of things don't actually bother me too much, I think I am more nervous about the bugs to be honest.
The plan is to fly from Melbourne to Delhi via Sydney on the 20th December where I will meet my first two travel companions. From there we will head down to Agra to spend a day and night visiting the Taj Mahal. Then it's onto Goa where we will be reunited with four other friends from back in the days of London. After a week of Christmas festivities on the beach we catch an overnight train down to Kerala for a 6 day safari around the area. Then it's off to Mumbai to catch a flight back home to Melbourne.
I'm mostly excited about experiencing a different culture and catching up with friends (some of whom I haven't seen for over a year). However, I am still nervous about a few elements of India and wondered if anyone may be able to provide advice on the following:
1.Will an overnight train on New Year's Day resemble hell on earth?
I have read some horror stories about people being shoved into carriages with no air conditioning, little own space and been kept up all night for fear of being robbed. Is this the case or have I just heard of someone's one off horrible experience?
2. How will I cope with my fear of bugs?
I live in Australia and there is certainly no shortage of creepy crawlies here but just last night I was kept up well past my bedtime due to the mosquitoes buzzing about my room. If I find it difficult here will I be able to tolerate the bugs in India?
3. Even If I am extra careful will I get sick?
I have had three vaccinations and collected all the medication I need for the trip. Regardless of this will I still get ill like the rest of the people I know who have travelled to India? I would hate to travel all that way to spend hours vomiting in an Indian bathroom. At the same time I would hate this fear of falling ill to prevent me from sampling new dishes.
If you have been to India please feel free to give me some pointers…
I would be eternally grateful


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38 Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house.
39 And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching.
40 But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me."
41 But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things,
42 but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her."
The emphasis last week was on the seriousness behind our discipleship. Because God has gone to great lengths to snatch us from the clutches of sin and death, we too are to engage in a faith walk that takes seriously the ministry in front of us. The work that God has done is a reconciling work. Therefore, as Paul says, we have a ministry of reconciliation, too.
God draws us to Himself, then He employs us by virtue of our salvation to draw others to Him. But how do we do that? Well, we do as Jesus does and we ADDRESS THE MESS around us and show the world the presence of God within it.
Our text today tells us of a pair of sisters, Mary and Martha, who welcome Jesus into their home. One sister, Martha, busies herself with serving Jesus and we can assume anyone else who was with him, most likely the disciples. But the other sister, Mary, goes and sits at Jesus' feet and listens to His teaching.
Martha can't handle that Mary is sitting down with Jesus instead of helping her. She asks Jesus to tell Mary to join her but Jesus says Mary made a better choice than Martha. Why?
You may have heard the passage interpreted that Martha was the type of person who enjoyed the active life and Mary was the type that enjoyed the contemplative life. But this just isn't the case. Scholars and historians paint a much different picture. Martha was upset with Mary because Mary crossed a line. The original audience of the gospels would have picked up on the same issue. The issue: Mary had broken the social, societal norms of how men and women behave in the household. Anglican Bishop and theologian, N. T. Wright, says this:
For a woman to settle down comfortably among the men was bordering on the scandalous. Who did she think she was? Only a shameless woman would behave in such a way. She should go back into the women's quarters where she belonged. This wasn't principally a matter of superiority and inferiority, though no doubt it was often perceived and articulated like that. It was a matter of what was thought of as the appropriate division between the two halves of humanity.
In the same way, to sit at the feet of the teacher was a decidedly male role. 'Sitting at someone's feet' doesn't mean (as it might sound to us) a devoted, dog-like adoring posture, as though the teacher were a rock star or sports idol… To sit at someone's feet meant, quite simply, to be their student. And to sit at the feet of the rabbi was what you did if you wanted to be a rabbi yourself. There is no thought here of learning for learning's sake. Mary has quietly taken her place as a would-be teacher and preacher of the kingdom of God. Jesus affirms her right to do so."
Why is all this important? Because most likely what Mary is listening to is how Jesus is addressing the mess. You see, the larger context of this passage is Jesus has turned His ministry toward Jerusalem. All the teaching, all the preaching, all the signs and wonders, have led to this moment when He will now work His way to the very place where He will give His life in order to win back ours.
This story of Mary and Martha falls right after Jesus has sent out the 72 disciples who preached, worked miracles, and cast out demons. Can you imagine what Jesus is teaching those who are listening, and Mary gets to be one of them! She's hearing about how the kingdom of God is moving across the face of the earth, addressing the mess and cleaning up the brokenness they all witness everyday. This is the hope of things to come and Mary wants to be a part of it. The best part is, Jesus wants Mary to be a part of it, too.
God is calling us to so much more. He is asking us to let His grace in so that it can make us bold. God gives us the courage to speak into the lives of others, calling out their hurts and fears and inviting them to let Jesus in. Like Mary, Jesus wants those around you to cross the borders of what is acceptable and unacceptable in order to find the life-changing gospel. Who is it that you need to speak to today? Is it a friend? A family member? A co-worker? A neighbor of some sort?
What word do you need to speak into the life of another to show them the gospel? What mess do you need to address? Is it your mess? Is it another's mess? The courage is there. The healing is there. Like the 72 that Jesus sent out—the ones that Mary may have heard about when she listened to Jesus teach—there is healing and accountability that we can offer this world. This mess is not meant to get out of hand. God has come to speak to it, to give it attention. God is addressing the mess.
There are things holding some of you back today. Messes that have gone unconfessed, unaddressed. There are fights, addictions, habits, laziness, negligence, distrust, mistrust, lies and secrets—and they all are obstacles to God's grace. Some of us have gone far too long without giving the issues in our lives attention. We have let the mess determine our joy and happiness. We've let the mess order us around, keep us down, make us miserable, and we've become disenchanted and unengaged.
And so the question remains: When will you address the mess? Will you wait? Will you let it eat you up, knock you down, or turn you away from God? Or will it be today? Will today be the day that you let God in, let the Spirit move in, or give the gift of Jesus to someone who has been desperately reaching out in the most imperfect ways? Help them! Answer them!
There is a mess to address. Now is the time to go to God. Now is the time to pray for victory, for release, for His hand to enter in. Now is the time to address the mess. Let us pray.


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Posted on Dec 10, 2014
Identity theft is a problem that has been around for years, but as the times and technology change, so does the game. Technology has now made it cheaper and easier for thieves to steal a person's personal information, allowing them to work comfortably from home while they wipe clear your bank accounts and charge to the limits on your credit cards. For a number of reasons, older people tend to be the most attractive targets for identity thieves. Compared to younger individuals, seniors tend to have better credit scores, which translates to higher limits and likely multiple cards and accounts to take advantage of. They also aren't usually as technologically attuned, so they would be less likely to check their bank statements online regularly (if at all), meaning the thieves have all the more time to drain the accounts without being noticed.
Senior Helpers of Moraga offers a few simple steps to keep you and your senior's identity more secure:
For more information about keeping your identity out of the hands of others, visit this website. To talk to someone in the East Bay about scheduling home visits for your senior in Walnut Creek etc., call Senior Helpers of Moraga at (925)268-8327.


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So this week LFB says: write a commentary about your best summer vacation.
Best summer vacation.
I am here to tell you, I haven't had a summer vacation since high school. So I'm sitting here, trying to think about my best summer ever (vacation or not), and I'm remembering the time I went camping with my church group when I was a kid and then camped in the back yard when I got back because I liked it so much, or the time this year when we went to Florida, or last year when the summer seemed to stretch from April to September and we went on No N's boat practically every day.
Those were good times, but I mean, I already blogged about Florida, and who wants to hear about me camping in my back yard and frying a pound of hamburger over a campfire?
I think instead I will tell you about my first real vacation ever, which was when I went with my grandparents, cousins, aunt, uncle, sister, and my dad and his girlfriend to Hawaii. My first time (that I could remember) on a plane. We stayed in this chintzy hotel but, hey, it was Hawaii and it was beautiful.
The best (or worst, depending on your point of view) part of it was the glass-bottom boat ride out to a nearby island for an afternoon of snorkeling. I had imagined the glass bottom stretching from stem to stern and all across the bottom of the boat but disappointingly, it turned out to be a small three by three square cut into the bottom of the boat where the water was so dark and murky that we couldn't see anything. It was still gorgeous. I mentioned it was Hawaii, right?
So about this time in my life, I'm starting to notice the members of the opposite sex, and I had targeted a much older man (I was twelve or so, he must have been about seventeen) to be my cruise-time crush. I am sure he was just being polite to a skinny, gangly kid with calf eyes, but I was convinced we were really hitting it off.
We (I) chatted the whole way out to the snorkeling island, where the ship anchored and we all snorkeled around feeding the fish. I remember being underwater passing out peas from my netting bag, when one of the women on board dived off the boat. Being underwater, I had a unique view of her hitting the water and her bikini top coming clean off. For the record, I can still blush underwater.
So we snorkel for a while, then when it's time to head back we all troop back on board the boat and get dressed. The boat folks cook us up some barbecue, and I once again corner my crush while we're stuffing our faces full of barbecued hamburgers.
About halfway back to shore, my dad's slighty ditzy girlfriend wanders over, wondering if I've seen my dad lately. Now, let me take a time out to describe my dad for you:
Now, this picture is about five years old, but eighteen years ago he didn't look much different. You can't really see it but his hair is about halfway down his back. I believe that at the time we went to Hawaii, he actually had a perm. Oh, and he liked to wear Speedos. Bright, electric blue Speedos. Which, incidentally, he'd happened to wear snorkeling. In case you were wondering.
So back to the story. Dad's girlfriend, we'll call her Becky, was wandering around looking for Dad, and I was way too interested in talking to my crush (who may or may not have been looking distinctly harried by this time, I may have chosen to block that out) and it transpires that no one can find him.
Our captain gets on the phone or ship to ship walkie talkie thing with some of the other boat captains that had taken their ships to the same place we were, and it turns out that my dad had gotten on the wrong boat when it was time to leave.
So because the boat he was on was heading further down the coast than we were, both our ships turned back to meet at the island where we'd spent the afternoon snorkeling. Dad swam from one boat to the other, and I swear to you I was never so embarrassed as when my dad clambered back on board the ship, wringing out his permed, gloriously butt-rock-ish hair, grinning from ear to ear and exclaiming to all of us over how he had gotten on the wrong boat (at the top of his lungs, of course). Clad only in his skimpy, electric blue Speedos amongst a crowd of dry, fed, and clothed passengers. Passengers who were looking at me in amusement. My crush included.
I think I spent the rest of the trip belowdecks.
But still, it was fun. Hawaii, right?


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Video: Indian Idol 4 stars Rajdeep & Tarsha Live In Washington DC
Image via Wikipedia
Rajdeep and Torsha performed live at the 2010 Durga Puja event organized by Sanskriti Bengali association of Washington DC Metro area. Sanskriti is one of the oldest Bengali associations in the United States.
- You can watch live Indian TV Channels (Hindi, Bangla and Regional) Online on your PC or TV via Broadband Internet service streaming 24x7 straight from India - CLICK HERE FOR A FREE TRIAL.
Indian Idol is an adaptation of the Pop Idol format. It started airing in India with the first season in 2004-2005 and followed that with second (2005–2006), third (2007) and fourth (2008–2009) seasons. In February 2010, Sony Entertainment Television announced the launch of the Fifth season.
The Fifth season of Indian Idol started airing on Sony TV from April 26, 2010 and concluded on August 15, 2010, when Sreeram Chandra, participant from Hyderabad, India was named the Indian Idol 5. In addition to a recording contract with Sony BMG, the winner of Indian Idol 5 was awarded a one year contract with Sony Entertainment Television worth Indian Rupee 5,000,000, a Suzuki GS-150R motorbike, a Tata Winger Platinum car and a chance to be a playback singer in a forthcoming movie of Yash Raj Films, said a press release issued by Sony Entertainment Television.One of the Top 5 Contestents will also be given the opportunity to become a RJ in Radio Mirchi 98.3 FM.
The new series sees two new judges - Bollywood playback singer Sunidhi Chauhan and composer and singer Salim Merchant. The third judge is Anu Malik, who has been a judge on the show since its launch in 2004.


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Are you trying to figure out how to deal with stress at work? Then trust me, you're not alone! Thousands of Americans are affected by work related stress on a daily basis, and a constant barrage of this stress could cause severe instability in your life. Yes of course, many people like to say that "it's...Read more
Resume Dilemma: Job Termination and Your Resume
Your employer just let you go. You need to find another job, but how should you handle your termination on your resume? The days when you signed on with a company and stayed with it until retirement are gone. In today's climate, employers are much more understanding when they see a less-than-perfect work chronology. Follow these...Read more
How to Follow Up on Your Job Application
You've invested a lot of time in your job search – researching job openings, identifying companies, perfecting your resume, and sharpening your interview skills. Now, you're ready to take the first big step. You've found a perfect role just opened at your dream company. Meticulously, you complete the online application, attach your cover letter and resume and send everything off! Now what? You should proactively...Read more
6 Ways to Re-Focus in an Open Office Environment
Whether you believe that open floor plans are a "gigantic experiment in willful delusion" or not, the fact remains: you probably work in one. As more than 70 percent of the offices in this country TEAR DOWN THOSE (cubicle) WALLS, we are left to pick up the pieces. And while there are plenty of articles talking about how to be...Read more
6 Ways To Be More Persuasive
A few weeks ago, Kelly brought up the importance of asking for what you want. While she totally inspired us to step up and speak our minds, she also got us wondering: Are there any tricks to effectively winning over your audience to ensure that in addition to asking for what you want, you actually get it? I dusted off my old college...Read more
How To Be a Pro at Traveling for Work, From Four Experts
March 8 is International Women's Day, so we're obviously all about that. What better way to celebrate it than by discussing how we can better plan our own travels the world over?That's why we asked some of our mentors for their best advice on how to plan a work trip. They're all women who...
5 Things Not to Say When Negotiating Your Salary
When you're asked that dreaded question about your current salary during an interview and what you'd like to earn, it's important to be prepared so you don't underbid yourself. Have an idea for what you'd like to earn, but keep in mind that your salary is negotiable. In general, the initial offer is a starting point for...Read more
7 Struggles Every Extrovert Understands
In our hyper-social culture, which tends to favor outgoing personalities (not to mention nonstop connectivity and networking), there's an unfortunate stigma that surrounds introverts; it's generally perceived as less advantageous to be one. But as it turns out, extroverts (myself included) face an entirely different set of social struggles and judgments:Read more
1. You're apparently not allowed to...
Why You're Not Getting Promoted & How To Fix It
It doesn't matter whether you're an entry-level employee or a seasoned, senior staff member — we all want to make a strong impression in the workplace. After all, we'll never receive that promotion if our contributions aren't getting noticed! Here are six simple methods you can use to highlight your achievements while maintaining pursuit of that...Read more


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I will tell you what I told her: that I was fully prepared to hate the book, but I really loved it. I have heard Margaret speak on the inaccuracies in Essex Cholmondley's The Story of Charlotte Mason and debunk the claim that Mason was the only child of only children by exposing that she was actually the 13th (illegitimate) child of Joshua Mason and a woman almost 40 years younger who was probably a servant in the house. I have also been at the Armitt with her as she was conducting her research and seen that same sheepish grin when she thought she had gotten a rise out of someone, and I have been entertained by watching Margaret and John Thorley argue over lunch, able to leave the table on just as friendly terms as when they sat down. That is one of the things I like best about Margaret--she really loves pushing the envelope in open dialogue, she accepts criticism without taking it personally, and she is quick to acknowledge when a fair counterpoint has been made. I was able to secure my half-hour with Margaret, and our conversation was delightful.
What I expected when my book arrived was a sensationalized tabloid meant to shock and disillusion Mason followers. I sat down with a pen in my hand, ready to argue in the margins, and began to read. The first chapter contains an overview of the personality of Mason, painting the picture of someone who surrounded herself with loyal disciples (a few absurdly loyal, e.g. Elsie Kitching, who requested to be buried at Mason's feet with a flat, unmarked stone to give people a place to stand as they viewed Mason's grave), and who vigilantly guarded the story of her past so as not to lose her standing in the prudish Victorian social hierarchy. Margaret questioned Mason's motives in not wanting a biography written about her simply because it was the work that mattered and not her name, but I find this to be consistent with Mason's ethos. Apparently, Elsie Kitching began a biography after Mason's death, but it was never finished. Of course, Essex Cholmondley took up the torch later, writing what the discerning reader knows to be a shrine to Mason. For a long time, no one was sure what Kitching and Cholmondley had found in their research, because many of Mason's letters (which she had kept all her life) were destroyed, probably by Cholmondley herself. I have seen evidence of this in the archives, as even parts of letters were cut away. In my conversation with Margaret, she said that was the thing she could not forgive, and, as a researcher myself, I tend to agree.
If you have listened to Margaret speak on Mason's "hidden heritage" before, there is not much to surprise you in the first chapter. However, by chapter 2, I found myself transported into the fascinating Quaker culture of the day, with its emphasis on education. You can hear subtle echoes of Quaker beliefs in Mason's volumes. I enjoyed learning about growing flax and making linen. Margaret's extensive research in both Ireland (where Charlotte was born) and England helped her fill in many gaps in the archives. For example, we know that five of Charlotte's half-brothers and sisters were disowned by the Quaker community for sins such as drunkenness, debt, pregnancy out of wedlock, and being married before a priest (for which Joshua himself would also be disowned). Joshua did manage to work his way up from a trades person to a gentleman before meeting Charlotte's mother, Margaret Shaw. When he and his son left to try their luck in Australia, Margaret found out she was pregnant. Joshua returned home as soon as he could to marry her, though it seems they did not live together for very long. By the time Charlotte was 16, both of her parents were dead.
Imagine living in Victorian England as an illegitimate female orphan whose parents had separated before they died. Today, that child would likely have a counselor to help her work through such trauma. Mason did not. It makes me like her all the more that she managed to pull herself up by her bootstraps to not only make something of herself, but to start a revolution in education.
Margaret continues the biography by describing Mason's experiences as a pupil teacher on scholarship (something looked down upon by those in the upper echelons), which was an extremely stressful job with long hours. It did not take long before Mason began to show signs of burnout, anxiety, and depression. These would become almost constant issues for the rest of her life. They manifested themselves as physical illness--headaches, digestive problems, the inability to attend to anything requiring sustained mental effort, and a desperate need for solitude. While Margaret seems to insinuate that Mason used these "illnesses" to get out of things she did not want to do, I disagree. I suspect the child suffered from what we call today Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, though I am not a mental health professional. This, I think, made her question her own abilities; it made her feel very vulnerable and insecure, and I don't think she ever fully got over it. Of course, medicine was not then what it is now, and so she was diagnosed with some obscure heart problem that required that she rest and not over-exert herself. Margaret mentions that "Obscure troubling symptoms would periodically dictate complete rest between bouts of frenetic activity" (p. 137) until she finally learned to abide by a humane life rhythm as she got older.
She did eventually earn her teaching certificate, which boosted her seemingly fragile confidence. During her years at Worthing and then at Chichester, she was searching. She detested the government school schemes of competition, grades, and payment by results, but what else was there? I loved watching Mason's philosophy evolve from a germ of an idea to a fully fledged teacher education program, curriculum, and practicing school through this book. I had not realized that her ideas were plagued with criticism for being too "vague" and that it took almost to the end of her life before it was articulated clearly.
The next part of the book is all about Mason climbing the social ladder by winning respect and support from Ladies and keeping her background hidden. Somehow, this sounds a bit devious and does not sit right with me, but I suppose it may be true, as these people had the power to make her message heard. However, Mason was not a lady of leisure; she had to work in order to support herself. It was through her lectures to teachers that her vision began to truly take shape. She had studied Pestalozzi, Froebel, Rousseau, Locke, and classical figures along with Ruskin, Arnold, and Wordsworth. Each of these, of course, influenced her philosophy. How could they not? But while Margaret seems to believe that this negates the claim that Mason was a pioneer with an original philosophy of education, I disagree. She rejected just as much as she took from each of these. But the biggest thing I think Margaret missed is the overall framework for Mason's philosophy: The Trinity itself. That is the glue that holds the whole thing together. Whatever ideas she took from others had to fit squarely inside this framework, making this, in my opinion, a truly original work.
We follow Mason in her move to Ambleside and through the inception of the PNEU. As with any organization, there were disagreements and broken relationships as it grew and refined its vision and mission. Were they classical, or were they progressive, or were they something else entirely? This must have been difficult for an introverted person who hated conflict, but Mason persevered. She learned to lean on others according to their gifting and to work according to her own. Henrietta Franklin was a high-class socialite who could go toe-to-toe with anyone, and Mason let her. Elsie Kitching was a nurturing figure who guarded Mason from social situations that were likely to be taxing, along with much of the minutiae of administration. This left Mason free to write, and as she wrote her ideas became more clear even to herself. She also enjoyed guiding the pupil teachers as they learned her methods.
What I think Margaret did brilliantly in her book was to let the reader know when she was writing from facts found in artifacts and when she was using her thorough knowledge of Victorian society and her imagination to fill in the numerous gaps. In these instances, her speculations are at least plausible. Although there were a few spots with which I took issue (such as the conspicuously unexplained statement that Mason had "Sapphic tendencies" on p. 262), by the end of this book I did feel as though I knew Mason at a deeper level. Where Cholmondley made her somewhat ethereal, Coombs succeeded in making her fully human. That is something I think Mason herself would appreciate. All in all, this book is a tremendous contribution to the Mason community, and I recommend it highly.


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Regulators close small Chicago bank
Regulators late last week shut down a small bank in Chicago, marking the fifth failure of a federally insured bank 2015.
Edgebrook Bank was closed by the Illinois Department of Financial & Professional Regulation. The bank had $90 million in assets and $90 million in deposits as of March 31. The failure is likely to cost the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp. $16.8 million.
According to the FDIC, 18 banks failed in 2014, down from 24 the year before, and far below the 157 banks that went under in 2010 in the wake of the financial crisis.


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'Iron Man 3′ Trailer Screencaps in HD!
Have you seen the new 'Iron Man 3′ trailer? Yes, we can all agree it's pretty damn awesome. And what better way to relive the 'Iron Man 3' trailer and catch all the exciting action that zipped by than with some HD screenshots! Well rejoice because we have a ton of HD 'Iron Man 3′ trailer screenshots below for your viewing pleasure.
We'll have much more on the 'Iron Man 3′ trailer today (including a full breakdown) but right now we've added a bunch of HD 'Iron Man 3′ trailer screenshots. Want to get a closer look at all those Iron Men armors? Take a look at them all below (and then check out our handy dandy guide to all these new Iron Man armors, their names, powers and more).
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Happy New Year everyone! How was everyone's Christmas?? After taking a week off for Christmas to just relax, and take my mind (mostly) off blogging, I'm coming back refreshed, and ready to take on the New Year. I'm writing this post still in my hometown of Indiana. I've been here for over a week, taking a much needed break to just be lazy, and spend time with family. As I've said, the month of December has been the busiest for me in terms of my blog and new projects I've been working on, and even though that's so exciting, Christmas break came at JUST the right time. Can I get an amen??
Moving on and looking forward to the new year – December marked 6 months since my blog launched, and now that I'm moving in to month 7, I have sooo many goals I'm setting out to accomplish in 2018. I'm an OCD freak, and literally write down EVERYTHING in list form. So, I thought it only appropriate that I make a list below of everything I want to improve on, accomplish and reflect on in the new year. I don't like to call them resolutions, because that's sooo cliche and basic, but rather, my list of life "to-do's" in 2018. If anything, this is just a personal list that I can come back to throughout the year to hold myself accountable. Read below, and let me know if you guys have any similar to-do's. What are YOUR goals for this year??
- Bump my fitness and nutrition routines up a notch – I'll start with THE most cliche "resolution", but for me, this has never been something I decide to do at the start of the year then fall off from. I've always been really into fitness and eating healthy. I guess it's from all those years of gymnastics and cheerleading that caused me to maintain that level of physical activity to this day. Call me crazy, but I love to work out – I don't think it's cool to joke about how lazy you are, and how you don't care about what goes in to your body. I mean, this is YOUR body, and God only gave you one. So you better treat it right. (Ok, I'm off my soap box) My favorite types of work outs are yoga classes (I'm a regular at CorePower Yoga), SoulCycle classes, or occasionally I'll go to the gym and do a half hour on either the elliptical or water rower, followed by a half hour of abs and stretching. Along with fitness, I try to maintain a low carb, low sugar diet, except on weekends. Because hey, you gotta live a little, am I right?? I also try to eat gluten free whenever the option is available, but I'm not as strict about this as some. In conclusion, I want to refocus my attention on my fitness and nutrition routine starting this month, especially after Christmas break, where I literally ate like crap for the entire week and didn't care one bit. Now it's back to the stuff that doesn't just taste good, but makes me feel good as well.
- Volunteer – This is definitely a to-do that I need to make a priority this year. I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't blessed with a servant's heart like so many amazing people out there. I've never made volunteering a priority, and it's not even something that I ever thought about doing before. But now that I've found an amazing church in Austin, there are so many opportunities that have presented themselves, and now I just need to sign up and show up. I'll keep you guys posted on this one.
- Focus on New Brands, Music and Bohemian Style – I want to refocus my attention on three important areas of my blog going into 2018. The first, having to do with expanding the scope of brands I blog about. I feel like I wear and write about the same brands often, so I want to start introducing myself and my readers to new brands. The second being music. Music is such an important part of my life, and I feel like that hasn't translated to my blog yet – so expect to see more music posts in 2018. And the third is developing a stricter aesthetic with what I wear. The bohemian/hippie style is my favorite, and I want to be more conscious of making sure that this style is at the forefront of the blog.
- Grow Closer to the Lord – It wasn't until about a year ago that I got back on track with the Lord. I started going to church again and joined a Bible study with an amazing group of women, who helped me find myself. I want to continue and grow even closer to Jesus this year. I've already signed up for a new Bible study that's starting this month, so I'm excited to dive into that, with a new group of Godly women.
PS… my crop top and clutch are from Western Darlin, and I've linked similar looks below. Hope everyone's start to the new year has been amazing so far!
Wearing: Western Darlin Tee | Urban Outfitters Jeans | asos Heels | Vintage Belt (similar) | Western Darlin Clutch | Urban Outfitters Sunglasses |
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Photos by Courtney Pittman


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|Graphic Design:
Manuel "el puno" Renneiss
IT & Development:
Dietmar Eder
Andreas Elijas
Sabine Pichler
Roman Dabrovski
Daniel Tod
Winni Ransmayr
Animation and Visuals:
Philipp Magyard
David Razzi
Gerald Worscha
Gerald Worscha
Daniel Bertold
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Mike Lehner
Frederic Bayersburg
Peter Zalko
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DIVERSE stands for delivering versatile music without specified boundaries. We are a team of musicians, vocalists and dj's who all have our own individual taste and longtime experience in the musical genres that we love. Our focus is on bringing music to our audience, that is not defined by a marketing machinery, sales figures, youtube clicks or mass media presence. Diverse is about true music for true listeners!
If you have any questions about DIVERSE or general requests, please dont hesitate to write us an email at: email@example.com. If you would like to send us music, just make sure you send us a link via email not a file.
Thank you for your support.
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It's a damn shame we have this immediate ticking off in the mind about how people sound. On the other hand, how many people really want to be operated upon by a surgeon who talks broad cockney?
Author: Eileen Aitkins (1934)
Profession: British Stage Screen Actor
Wherever the relevance of speech is at stake, matters become political by definition, for speech is what makes man a political being.
Author: Hannah Arendt (1906-1975)
Profession: German-born American Political Philosopher
Speech of yourself ought to be seldom and well chosen.
Author: Francis Bacon (1561-1626)
Profession: British Philosopher, Essayist, Statesman
Language is legislation, speech is its code. We do not see the power which is in speech because we forget that all speech is a classification, and that all classifications are oppressive.
Author: Roland Barthes (1915-1980)
Profession: French Semiologist
It's better to keep your mouth shut and give the impression that you're stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.
Author: Rami Belson
Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man. [Colossians 4:6]
Author: Bible
Profession: Sacred Scriptures of Christian
The stroke of the whip maketh marks in the flesh: but the stroke of the tongue breaketh the bones. Many have fallen by the edge of the sword: but not so many as have fallen by the tongue. [Ecclesiasticus 28:17 --18]
Author: Bible
Profession: Sacred Scriptures of Christian
Better pointed bullets than pointed speeches.
Author: Otto Von Bismarck (1815-1898)
Profession: Prussian Statesman, Prime Minister
The basic rule of human nature is that powerful people speak slowly and subservient people quickly --because if they don't speak fast nobody will listen to them.
Author: Michael Caine (1933)
Profession: British-born American Actor, Acting teacher
From my earliest days I have enjoyed an attractive impediment in my speech. I have never permitted the use of the word ''stammer.'' I can't say it myself.
Author: Patrick Campbell (1913-1980)
Profession: Irish Humorist
Speech is human, silence is divine, yet also brutish and dead: therefore we must learn both arts.
Author: Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881)
Profession: Scottish Philosopher, Author
Speech is the gift of all, but the thought of few.
Author: Cato The Elder
Profession: Roman Statesman, Orator
Speech and silence. We feel safer with a madman who talks than with one who cannot open his mouth.
Author: E. M. Cioran (1911)
Profession: Rumanian-born French Philosopher
They that are loudest in their threats are the weakest in the execution of them. It is probable that he who is killed by lightning hears no noise; but the thunder-clap which follows, and which most alarms the ignorant, is the surest proof of their safety.
Author: Charles Caleb Colton (1780-1832)
Profession: British Sportsman Writer
The only happy talkers are dandies who extract pleasure from the very perishability of their material and who would not be able to tolerate the isolation of all other forms of composition; for most good talkers, when they have run down, are miserable; they know that they have betrayed themselves, that they have taken material which should have a life of its own, to dispense it in noises upon the air.
Author: Cyril Connolly (1903-1974)
Profession: British Critic


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Controversy over CRPF's killing of three in Shopian
Controversy in the Valley ahead of politically sensitive Zubin Mehta concert. Shopian residents say the people killed were shot 'unprovoked. Paramilitary claims it has recovered weapons from the three.india Updated: Sep 07, 2013 22:35 IST
Three persons were killed in Shopian area of south Kashmir on Saturday, with CRPF claiming they were militants who attacked a camp and the local residents maintaining the deceased were stunt bikers shot dead in unprovoked firing.
The deaths have occurred hours ahead of the Zubin Mehta concert in capital Srinagar, about 42 km from Shopian, and a parallel concert being organised by the civil society groups in the capital city. Hundreds of dignitaries including foreigners are present in Srinagar for the concert.
Both the concerts are happening amid a strike called by separatist groups, who believe the Zubin Mehta concert is aimed at painting a rosy picture of the situation in Kashmir.
Inspector general of police, CRPF, Nalin Prabat, said the militants attacked a security post of the CRPF camp with automatic weapons and tried to run away from the spot on a motorcycle.
"The fired at the bunker of CRPF Battalion 14 in Shopian, but the alert jawans retialiated killing all of them," he said. Nalin said that some arms and ammunition has been recovered from the dead militants.
However, sources in Jammu and Kashmir Police, while confirming the deaths, said they were ascertaining the identity of the dead people and were awaiting details of the incident.
Local residents in Shopian, however, allege the dead were stunt bikers who were killed in unprovoked firing by the CRPF jawans. Protests have erupted in the area over the killings.
First Published: Sep 07, 2013 14:07 IST


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"My headshot makes me look like a rockstar! I get compliments on it all the time."
"My headshot makes me look like a rockstar! I get compliments on it all the time."
"My headshot makes me look like a rockstar! I get compliments on it all the time."
A headshot, or any portrait for that matter, tells a very different story when subtle changes are made. A tilt of the chin, the placement of hands, a look in the eyes, and of course lighting all make a huge difference. First impressions matter in business, and a headshot is often your first impression. What message do you want to convey in that first couple seconds?
I have over 10 years of experience helping clients achieve their goals in this area. After graduating from NYU with a degree in studio art and photography, I started my career in Manhattan photographing corporate and non-profit events and portraits. When I was first getting started, I also worked with some very talented commercial and editorial photographers in New York and this is where I honed my craft in lighting, posing, and editing. I now offer these same services in the Raleigh-Durham area where I provide in-studio, on-location, and environmental headshots to clients within the Triangle: Raleigh, Cary, Apex, Durham, Chapel Hill, and beyond.
I believe that retouching should have a "wow factor" but still be subtle. Very slight enhancements help avoid unnecessary distractions that can take away from an otherwise good first impression. However, too much or poorly performed retouching can be worse than none at all.
Headshot Pricing
Studio Session: $125
Mini Location Session (outside or in-office environment): $125
Location Session (outside or in-office environment): $195


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Report: ATG 78th Anniversary Festival in Lisle, IL - USAby Kevin Friedrich
|The 78th annual Accordionists & Teachers Guild, International (ATG) Festival was held from July 25 - 28 in Lisle (Chicago), Illinois. Featuring competitions, concerts, workshops, a Gala Banquet, Exhibits and social functions, the well attended event showcased a diverse array of musical genres and events.
Featured guest artists included Matthias Matzke (Germany), Leonie Kratz (vocalist, Germany), Cory Pesaturo, Mike Alongi, Stas Venglevski who performed solo and in duo with Joan Cochran Sommers, Donna Dee and Dennis Ray and Petar Maric (Serbia). In addition to the performances, workshops were presented by Joan Cochran Sommers, Cory Pesaturo, Mattias Matzke, Mike Alongi, Helmi Harrington, Murl Allen Sanders, Nick Ballarini and Gordon Kohl.
The ATG Festival featured several groups formed specifically for the festival including the Mixed Ensemble directed by Murl Allen Sanders, The Original Music Ensemble directed by Joan C. Sommers, The President's Quintet and the ATG Festival Orchestra under the direction of Joan Cochran Sommers which received a standing ovation for their performance of works by Smith, Halvorsen, Bernstein, Foster & Sager and Ellington.
The ATG officially launched its new updated website created by ATG 1st Vice President Kenn Baert. Using state of the art technology including phone responsiveness, the site contains information about the ATG, a members only area and information on upcoming festivals such as the 79th Annual Festival to be held in Denver, CO from July 23-27, 2019 and the ATG 80th Anniversary celebration to be held in Los Angeles in August, 2020.
For more information about the ATG and upcoming events, please visit www.atgaccordions.com.


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Home Brewing supplies
Pointers To Prepare One In Buying Home Brewing Supplies
With over a 15 years of experience, helping businesses to grow.
If you are a beer lover, there would be nothing better than adopting the art of brewing beer from your home because it is an inexpensive hobby that can see you save money. If you are ready to start making your beer, know the supplies needed and how much you have to make per session depending on your clients' needs. The ingredients used are the determining factor on how the final product is going to be that is why you have to know how to go about the shopping process.Learn more here
about Growlerwerks
Have A List of What You Need
You Want to have an idea of what you need by the time one is walking into a supplier's store and by having a list it makes it faster for one to shop but, only buy the items you need.
Purchase The Ingredients In Large Numbers
If one is looking forward to saving money, buying products in bigger quantities is the way to go because there is a discount price, however, this type of purchase need the best planning. Knowing the next recipes will also ensure one does not buy plenty of those things that expire pretty fast since you have to make suite they are used before the expiration day.
Be Flexible
One should not be afraid of making a substitute of an expensive ingredient with a cheaper one as long as that will assist in staying within your limits.
Ask For Help
Do not buy a product not unless one knows when and how to use it; therefore, if you walk into a store, take time to inquire about certain products and how they are used to know if they fit in your recipe. Look for a beer kit and read through to see why you might be missing out and also understand the art of home brewing better.
Purchase Looking At The Long-Term Goal
As one buys their brewing items, long into the future, for instance, purchasing a five-gallon pot instead of 3 because your demand will keep going high. Think of the future and how much money one would have saved if you settled for a bigger pot instead of a smaller one knowing that your demand will keep raiding and one has to stay prepared every time.get more information
Purchase Dry Yeast
Dried yeast works to your advantage because it is not only cheap but one can store it for a long time without it expiring.
Purchase Fresh Items
Beer made from fresh ingredients tastes better than one could ever imagine; therefore, check for yourself to ensure everything is alright if one is looking forward to having people asking for more. If one is purchasing online, search for those stores that indicate the freshness of the ingredients in their products and confirm after these supplies have been shipped to you.
Look for several homebrews group on social media and join because they will teach you where to get good deals which will be a great way of getting quality products and at a good price.
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The importance of our Moon Signs – do we share similar Values?
This program was recorded June 17, 2015 – I hope you enjoy it and appreciate any feedback.
Cosmic Know-How will next be heard live on June 24, 2015 – 2:30 EST (11:30 am PST and 1:30 pm CST).
Each program will be archived here within 1-2 days after the live broadcast.
Please contact me with any questions you may have.


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In order to upgrade your account, all you need to do is go to your Billing Information page, and click the button labeled "Awesome-I want to choose a premium plan!" This will take you to our Plans page where you'll be able to choose either a monthly or annual subscription.
Once you provide your payment information, and the subscription is confirmed, your account will be automatically upgraded to the plan of your choosing.
Last Edited: 23 months ago