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Romantic Times
Murder with Peacocks (Meg Langslow Series #1)by Donna Andrews
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When Meg Langslow is roped into being a bridesmaid for the nuptials of her mother, her brother's fiancee, and her own best friend, she is apprehensive. Getting the brides to choose their outfits and those of their bridesmaids (and not change their minds three days later), trying to capture the principals long enough to work out details, and even finding peacocks to… See more details below
When Meg Langslow is roped into being a bridesmaid for the nuptials of her mother, her brother's fiancee, and her own best friend, she is apprehensive. Getting the brides to choose their outfits and those of their bridesmaids (and not change their minds three days later), trying to capture the principals long enough to work out details, and even finding peacocks to strut around the garden during the ceremony - these are things Meg can handle. She can brush off the unfortunate oaf who is smitten with her, and take philosophically her disappointment when she learns that the only eligible man in her small Virginia town (and a delightful hunk he is) is of questionable sexual preference. But even Meg is taken aback when the unpleasant former sister-in-law of Meg's soon-to-be stepfather disappears and is later found dead.
Editorial Reviews
Romantic Times
"Andrews's debut provides plenty of laughs...hilarity and comic panache." --Publishers Weekly
"Loquacious dialogue, persistent humor and interrupted romance..A fun, breezy read."
--Library Journal
Product Details
- 9781574903881
- Publisher:
- Beeler, Thomas T. Publisher
- Publication date:
- 02/28/2002
- Series:
- Meg Langslow Series, #1
- Edition description:
- Large Print
- Product dimensions:
- 6.12(w) x 9.25(h) x 1.00(d)
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
Tuesday, May 24
I HAD BECOME SO USED TO HYSTERICAL DAWN PHONE CALLS THAT I only muttered one half hearted oath before answering.
"Peacocks," a voice said.
"I beg your pardon, you must have the wrong number," I mumbled. I opened one eye to peer at the clock: it was 6:00 A.M.
"Oh, don't be silly, Meg," the voice continued. Ah, I recognized it now. Samantha, my brother, Rob's, fiancee. "I just called to tell you that we need some peacocks."
"What for?"
"For the wedding, of course." Of course. As far as Samantha was concerned, the entire universe revolved around her upcoming wedding, and as maid of honor, I was expected to share her obsession.
"I see," I said, although actually I didn't. I suppressed a shudder at the thought of peacocks, roasted with the feathers still on, gracing the buffet table. Surely that wasn't what she had in mind, was it? "What are we going to do with them at the wedding?"
"We're not going to do anything with them" Samantha said, impatiently. "They'll just be there, adding grace and elegance to the occasion. Don't you remember the weekend before last when we all had dinner with your father? And he was saying what a pity it was that nothing much would be blooming in the yard in August, so there wouldn't be much color? Well, I just saw a photo in a magazine that had peacocks in it, and they were just about the most darling things you ever saw ..."
I let her rattle on while I fumbled over the contents of my bedside table, found my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe, flipped to the appropriate page, and wrote "Peacocks" in the clear, firm printing I use when I am not in a very good mood.
"Were you thinking of buying or renting them?" I asked, interrupting Samantha's oration on the charms of peacocks.
"Well--rent if we can. I'm sure Father would be perfectly happy to buy them if necessary, but I'm not sure what we would do with them in the long run." I noted "Rent/buy if necessary" after "Peacocks."
"Right. Peacocks. I'll see what I can turn up."
"Wonderful. Oh, Meg, you're just so wonderful at all this!"
I let her gush for a few more minutes. I wondered, not for the first time, if I should feel sorry for Rob or if he was actually looking forward to listening to her for the rest of his life. And did Rob, who shared my penchant for late hours, realize how much of a morning person Samantha was? Eventually, I managed to cut short her monologue and sign off. I was awake; I might as well get to work.
Muttering "Peacocks!" under my breath, I stumbled through a quick shower, grabbed some coffee, and went into my studio. I flung open all the windows and gazed fondly at my unlit forge and my ironworking tools. My spirits rose.
For about ten seconds. Then the phone rang again.
"What do you think of blue, dear?" my mother asked.
"Good morning, Mother. What do you mean, blue?"
"The color blue, dear."
"The color blue," I repeated, unenlightened. I am not at my best before noon.
"Yes, dear," Mother said, with a touch of impatience.
"What do I think of it?" I asked, baffled. "I think it's a lovely color. The majority of Americans name blue when asked their favorite color. In Asian cultures--"
"For the living room, dear."
"Oh. You're getting something blue for the living room?"
"I'm redoing it, dear. For the wedding, remember? In blue. Or green. But I was really leaning to blue. I was wondering what you thought."
What I thought? Truthfully? I thought my mother's idea of redoing the living room for the wedding had been a temporary aberration arising from too much sherry after dinner at an uncle's house. And incidentally, the wedding in question was not Rob's and Samantha's but her own. After the world's most amiable divorce and five years of so-called single life during which my father happily continued to do all her yard work and run errands for her, my mother had decided to marry a recently widowed neighbor. And I had also agreed to be Mother's maid of honor. Which, knowing my mother, meant I had more or less agreed to do every lick of work associated with the occasion. Under her exacting supervision, of course.
"What sort of blue?" I asked, buying time. The living room was done entirely in earth tones. Redoing it in blue would involve new drapes, new upholstery, new carpet, new everything. Oh, well, Dad could afford it, I suppose. Only Dad wouldn't be paying, I reminded myself. What's-his-name would. Mother's fiance. Jake. I had no idea how well or badly off Jake was. Well, presumably Mother did.
"I hadn't decided, dear. I thought you might have some ideas."
"Oh. I tell you what," I said, improvising. "I'll ask Eileen. She's the one with the real eye for color. I'll ask her, and we'll get some color swatches and we'll talk about it when I come down."
"That will be splendid, Meg dear. Well, I'll let you get back to your work now. See you in a few days."
I added "Blue" to my list of things to do. I actually managed to put down my coffee and pick up my hammer before the phone rang a third time.
"Oh, Meg, he's impossible. This is just not going to work."
The voice belonged to my best friend and business partner, Eileen. She with the eye for colors. The he in question was Steven, since New Year's Eve her fiance, at least during the intervals between premarital spats. At the risk of repeating myself, I should add that I was, of course, also Eileen's maid of honor.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"He doesn't want to include the Native American herbal purification ceremony in the wedding."
"Well," I said, after a pause, "perhaps he feels a little self-conscious about it. Since neither of you is actually Native American."
"That's silly. It's a lovely tradition and makes such an important statement about our commitment to the environment."
I sighed.
"I'll talk to him," I said. "Just one thing ... Eileen, what kind of herbs are we talking about here? I mean, we're not talking anything illegal, are we?"
"Oh, Meg." Eileen laughed. "Really! I have to go, my clay's ready." She hung up, still laughing merrily. I added "Call Steven re herbs" to my list.
I looked around the studio. My tools were there, ready and waiting for me to dive into the ironwork that is both my passion and my livelihood. I knew I really ought to get some work done today. In a few days, I would be back in my hometown for what I was sure would be a summer from hell. But I was already having a hard time concentrating on work. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel and head down to Yorktown.
The phone rang again. I glared at it, willing it to shut up. It ignored me and kept on ringing. I sighed, and picked it up.
Eileen again.
"Oh, Meg, before you go down to Yorktown, could you--"
"I won't have time to do anything else before I go down to Yorktown; I'm going down there tomorrow."
"Wonderful! Why don't you stop by on your way? We have some things to tell you."
On my way. Yorktown, where my parents and Eileen's father lived and where all the weddings were taking place, was three hours south of Washington, on the coast. Steven's farm, where Eileen was now living, was three hours west, in the mountains. I was opening my mouth to ask if she had any idea how inconvenient stopping by was when I suddenly realized: if I went to Steven and Eileen's, I could force them to make decisions, extract lists and signatures. I would have them in my clutches. This could be useful.
"I'll be there for supper tomorrow."
I spent the day putting my life on hold and turning over my studio to the struggling sculptor who'd sublet it for the summer. I went to bed feeling virtuous. I intended to spend the next several days really getting things done for the weddings.
Wednesday, May 25
I WAS HOPING TO GET OUT OF TOWN BY NOON, BUT BY THE TIME I packed everything, fielded another half-dozen phone calls from each of the brides, and ran all the resulting last-minute errands, it was well into the evening rush hour. Needless to say I was late arriving at Steven and Eileen's. Eileen, bless her heart, didn't seem to mind. In fact she didn't even seem to notice.
"Guess who's here," Eileen said as she met me at the door wearing a dress of purple tie-dyed velvet, splattered here and there with flour. "Barry!"
"Really," I said, with considerably less enthusiasm. Ever since December, when I'd broken up with my boyfriend, Jeffrey, various friends and relatives had been trying to set me up with their idea of eligible men. Steven and Eileen's candidate was Steven's younger brother, Barry. Barry had taken to the idea immediately. I had not.
"The minute we told him you were coming, he came right up," Eileen burbled. "Isn't that sweet?"
"I really wish you hadn't done that."
"Why, Meg?" Eileen said, wide-eyed.
"Eileen, we've been over this half a dozen times already. You and Steven may think Barry and I are made for each other. I don't."
"He's crazy about you."
"So what? I don't happen to like him."
"I don't see why not," Eileen said. "He's so sensitive. And such a deep thinker, too."
"I'll have to take your word for it. I've never heard him put two consecutive sentences together."
"And so attractive," Eileen went on, while attempting, in vain, to tidy her flyaway mane and succeeding only in covering it with flour marks.
"Attractive? He's an overgrown ox," I said. I could see Eileen bristle. Oops. Not surprisingly, Barry bore a strong fraternal resemblance to Steven. "All right, he's not as attractive as Steven, but he's okay if you like his type." The hulking Neanderthal type. "But he just doesn't appeal to me."
"But he's so sensitive ... and such a wonderful craftsman," Eileen protested. "Why, whenever he and Steven have any really delicate carving work to do on a piece of furniture, Barry's always the one who does it. Steven says he has such wonderfully clever hands."
"I don't care how clever those oversized paws are with wood," I said. "I don't want them anywhere near me."
"Oh, Meg, you'll change your mind when you get to know him better."
"What gives you the right to assume I want to get to know him better?" I said, hotly. To empty air. Eileen was skipping down the hall to the kitchen.
"Meg's here? she trilled. I followed her, fuming inwardly. Calm down, I told myself. She means well, she's your best friend, you love her dearly, and as soon as this damned wedding is over you'll probably even like her again.
Steven and Barry were sitting around the kitchen table talking. At least Steven was. Barry was sitting with his chin in his hand, nodding at whatever Steven was saying. Situation normal. Steven came over and hugged me. Barry, fortunately, didn't try, but his face lit up in a way that made me feel both guilty and depressed.
"Sit down, dinner's almost ready," Steven said. "Meg's come to stay for a few days," he added, as if Barry didn't already know.
"Only tonight, I'm afraid," I said. "Mother's having some sort of party this weekend and I promised I'd come down in time to help her get ready."
A chorus of protests from Steven and Eileen met this announcement, and Barry looked heartbroken.
"Oh, you can't possibly!" Eileen said.
"But we have such a wonderful time planned for you," Steven protested. "You've got to stay."
Even Barry nodded with what in him passed for enthusiasm.
I drained my glass and took another close look at him. No, not even Eileen and Steven's foul-tasting and incredibly potent cider could begin to make Barry look appealing. I didn't share Eileen's besotted view of Steven's charms. Steven was tall, handsome in a rather beefy way, and had a mellow, laid-back personality that perfectly complemented Eileen's ditzy one. But while Steven was definitely not my type, I had to admit that in making him, his parents had done the best they could with the material at hand. And then, flushed with overconfidence, they'd gone and produced Barry. Why couldn't they have left poor Steven an only child? Barry came close to having the same rough-hewn features that made Steven ruggedly handsome (according to Eileen), but everything was just a little coarser and rather haphazardly assembled. And besides, the human head is supposed to be connected to the human body with at least a rudimentary neck.
The rest of the evening, like every other stage of Eileen and Steven's campaign to set me up with Barry, resembled a French farce. I was outnumbered, since the three of them conspired to find ways of throwing me and Barry alone together. But I'd learned that I could neutralize Barry as long as I kept talking. By nine-thirty, I was more than a little hoarse, and found myself explaining to an unnaturally appreciative Barry the reason for the price difference between real engraved invitations and invitations with thermal raised printing.
So much for my quiet interlude in the country.
I did find a few minutes alone with Steven to talk about Eileen's latest addition to the wedding agenda.
"About this Native American herbal purification ceremony," I began.
"I hate to say this, because normally Eileen has such wonderfully creative ideas," Steven said, "but I just think it's a little too much."
"So do I," I said. "Completely ridiculous. You'd be laughing stocks. Guests would be rolling in the aisles. You'd probably make `News of the Weird'."
"Exactly. So you'll talk her out of it?"
"No, I think you should tell her you agree."
"Just tell her it's cool with you. I'll tell her I'm researching it. She'll change her mind long before the wedding."
"Do you really think so?"
"Trust me," I said. "I've known Eileen all her life. I guarantee you, by mid-June the Native American herbal purification ceremony will be history." At least I had every intention of ensuring it was.
Steven seemed satisfied. Eileen was overjoyed to hear he'd come around. And I would keep my fingers crossed that whatever new idea she came up with by mid-June was a little less off the wall. Please, I thought, let her become militantly traditional, just for a few months.
To everyone's disappointment, I went to bed at ten o'clock so I could get an early start on the next day's drive. No, I couldn't stay longer; I didn't want Mother to make herself ill getting ready for Sunday's family picnic. No, Mother's health was fine, but she wasn't getting any younger, and she had a lot on her hands this summer. I overdid it a bit; Barry was so touched by my daughterly devotion that he tried to volunteer to come down and help us with the party preparations and was only discouraged with the greatest of difficulty.
It could have been my imagination--or the influence of one too many glasses of cider--but as I was wishing everyone goodnight, I thought I saw something like a snarl cross harry's usually placid face. Perhaps he was beginning to realize that pursuing me was futile, I thought. And resenting it. Ah, well; even a surly, resentful Barry would be more interesting than his customary bovine self.
Thursday, May 26
WHAT A RELIEF IT WAS THE NEXT MORNING TO GET UP WITH THE chickens (the few who had survived Steven and Eileen's care) and hit the road at 7:00 a.m. By the time I was actually wide awake, I'd put a good hundred miles of winding mountain roads between me and Barry.
Well before noon I found myself driving down the long, tree-shaded driveway to my parents' house. Well, Mother's house, anyway; Dad had moved out. Although I could see him up in a ladder pruning an ornamental cherry tree. I made a mental note to compliment him on the gardens, which were looking superb, and to hint that the house needed painting before all the relatives came for the weddings. On second thought, maybe I should just arrange to hire someone; painting three stories of rambling Victorian house with gingerbread trim was not something a sixty-six-year-old should be doing, though Dad would try if I mentioned it.
Mother was on the porch, her slender frame draped elegantly over the chaise lounge. She was dressed, as usual, as if expecting distinguished visitors, with not a single expensively natural-looking blond hair out of place. I suppressed the usual envious sigh. I'm the same height, and not at all bad-looking in my own fashion, but I'm not slender, I'm not a blonde, and nobody's ever mistaken me for elegant.
Mother wasn't even surprised to see me arrive several days early.
"Hello, dear," she said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. "There's lemonade in the refrigerator. Why don't you help your sister with lunch? We'll all be able to eat that much sooner."
From the relief on Pam's face when I showed up in the kitchen to help, I suspected she was regretting her decision to pack off her husband Mal and the four oldest kids for a summer with Mal's parents in Australia. I could have warned her that the two youngest, Eric and Natalie, weren't much defense against Mother's tendency to enlist anyone within range as unpaid labor. But she'd known Mother eight years longer than I had; if she hadn't learned by now, there wasn't much I could do.
Dad was the only one who seemed surprised by my early arrival. He came in just as we were sitting down to lunch and took his usual place. Jake, the fiance, was not here. No one else seemed to find this odd, so I said nothing.
"Meg!" he cried, jumping up to give me a bear hug as soon as he noticed it was me taking the chair beside him. "I thought you weren't coming down till Saturday! You' re supposed to be resting at Steven and Eileen's farm! What happened?"
"It wasn't restful. Barry was there."
"Barry who?" my sister, Pam, asked.
"Steven's brother. The one they keep pushing at me."
"The dim one?" Dad asked.
"Is he nice?" Mother asked.
"Not particularly." I'd explained to her several times before, in excruciating detail, exactly how much I disliked Barry, but since she obviously paid no attention I'd given up trying.
"I can't see how any brother of Steven's wouldn't be nice," Mother said.
"Well, he'll be down for the wedding, so you can see for yourself. For that matter, he'll probably be down for Eileen's family's barbecue on Memorial Day."
"You could call and tell him to come down for our picnic," Mother suggested.
"Mother, I don't want him here for our picnic. I don't like him."
"I suppose it would be awkward, with Jeffrey here," Mother said.
"Jeffrey's not--oh, I give up," I muttered. I'd also failed to convince Mother, who liked my ex-boyfriend for his vapid good looks, that Jeffrey was out of the picture. Dad patted my shoulder.
"I know your mother really appreciates your coming down," he said. "There's such a lot to do."
"Yes, Meg," Mother said, her face lighting with the sudden realization that at least for the moment she had me solely in her clutches, free from the competing influences of Samantha and Eileen.
We spent the rest of lunch discussing wedding details, followed by an afternoon of debating redecorating plans and a supper split between these two equally fascinating topics. I ate both meals with my left hand while scribbling several pages of notes in the notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe. Dad made intermittent attempts to talk them into giving me tomorrow off, and was ignored. After lengthy discussion, Mother, Pam, and I all agreed that a visit to the local dressmaker was the first order of business. I was about halfway through the job of nagging three brides, three flower girls, and fourteen bridesmaids into visiting the dressmaker and had even talked to her on the phone several times, but hadn't actually made it to the shop myself.
"Well, that's settled," Mother said, as Pam and I began clearing the dishes. "Tomorrow morning you'll go down to Mrs. Waterston's shop and make sure everything is going well."
"Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea!" Dad said, with great enthusiasm. "You'll like that!"
I stared at him, amazed at this sudden about-face. Such enthusiasm from Dad meant that he was up to something, but I couldn't imagine what. He was wearing what he probably thought of as a Machiavellian expression, but since Dad is short, bald, and pudgy, he looked more like a mischievous elf. Ah, well. Perhaps he had decided getting me a day off was a lost cause and was putting a cheerful face on the inevitable. Or perhaps Dad approved of Mrs. Waterston. Perhaps she shared one of his obsessions--bird-watching, or gardening, or reading too many mysteries. Since she'd only come to town the previous September, Mrs. Waterston was one of the few people in the county I hadn't known all my life. That alone made me look forward to meeting her. Yes, a visit to the dress shop was definitely in order.
Friday, May 27
SO, BRIGHT AND EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, I DROVE INTO YORKTOWN proper to visit the dressmaker.
Mother told me the dress shop was two doors down from the house where her uncle Stanley Hollingworth lived. I've never yet known her to give anyone a set of directions without at least one reference to a landmark that hasn't existed for years. It wasn't until the third time I'd examined every building in the block that I realized she must have meant not the house where he currently lived but the one he'd grown up in, three quarters of a century ago.
Sure enough, two doors down from the old Hollingworth house was a small cottage painted in Easter egg pastels, including a tasteful pink and baby blue colonial-style sign in front reading Be-Stitched--Dressmakers. I walked down a cobblestone path between a low border of immaculately pruned shrubs, opened a glossy sky blue door, and walked in to the tinkling of a small, old-fashioned bell. The whole thing was almost too cute for words. And since I positively loathe cute, I walked in prepared to dislike the proprietor intensely.
And found myself face-to-face with one of the most gorgeous men I'd ever seen in my life. He looked up from the book he was reading, brushed an unruly lock of dark hair out of his deep blue eyes, and smiled.
"Yes?" he said. I stood there looking at him for a couple of embarrassing seconds before pulling myself together. More or less.
"I'm here about a wedding. Where's Mrs. Waterston?" I asked, and then realized how rude that sounded.
"In traction," he said. "Down in Florida. I'm her son, Michael; I'm filling in while her broken bones mend."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope she's better soon."
"Not nearly as much as I hope it," he said gloomily. He had a wonderful, resonant voice. Perhaps he was a musician. I'm a sucker for musicians.
"How can I help you?" he asked.
"I'm Meg Langslow. I'm supposed to come here to be measured for a bridesmaid's dress."
"A bridesmaid's dress," he said, suddenly looking very cheerful. "Wonderful! For whose wedding?" He stood up and turned round to pull out the top drawer of a file cabinet on the back wall, giving me a chance to discreetly eye his wonderfully, long, lean form. I decided I was looking forward to bringing Eileen in here so I could point out to her that this, not the beefy Barry, was my idea of what a hunk should look like. And I peeked at the book he was reading--Shakespeare. Not only gorgeous, but literate, too.
"Samantha Brewster, Eileen Donleavy, or Margaret Hollingworth Langslow. Take your pick."
His hand froze over the files and he looked up warily.
"You're not sure which? Are you, perhaps, comparison shopping to see who has the least objectionable gowns before committing yourself?."
"No, I'm stuck with all three of them. Langslow is my mother, Brewster is marrying my brother, and Donleavy is my best friend. I know it sounds odd, but this is a very small town."
"Actually, after two weeks here, very little strikes me as odd," he said. "And you're right; this is a very small town. I'm surprised I haven't run into you before."
"I don't live here anymore. I've come home for the summer, though, to help with all the weddings. I assume one set of measurements will do for all three; the first and last ones are only two weeks apart."
"Should do," he said. "What a summer you're in for. Here we are. Brewster ... Langslow ... and I'll start a file for Donleavy."
"Start a file? She's the first one up; you mean she hasn't even been here yet?"
"Not since I took over, and if your friend had been in before Mom left for Florida I'm sure she would have started a file."
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and began counting silently. I had gotten to three when he asked, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I said. "Eileen always advises me to count to ten when I lose my temper. I generally still feel like throttling her when I'm finished, though."
I opened my eyes.
"She was supposed to have come in with one of her other bridesmaids months ago to pick out dresses so your mother could order them in our sizes. I mean, that's what she told me she'd done. The measurements were just supposed to be for the fine-tuning, or whatever you call it. Which I thought would be happening this week. She lied to me!"
Calm down, Meg, I told myself. Do not lose your temper at Eileen, especially in front of this very nice and extremely gorgeous man. Who was not, I had already noticed, wearing a wedding ring. I made a mental note to interrogate Mother about him; no doubt she and the aunts on the Hollingworth side of the family already knew not only his entire life history but also several generations of his family tree.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's just that I'm the one who's trying to pull this all together, and she's the one who's unintentionally sabotaging everything."
"We'll manage something," he said, with a smile. "I don't recognize the name--what does she look like?"
"She's about five-ten, frizzy blondish hair down to her waist, a little on the plump side. Kind of looks like she just got in from California, or maybe Woodstock. The original."
He chuckled and walked over to a curtained doorway in the back of the shop and called out something in a rapid, musical tongue. A little wizened Asian grandmother, well under five feet tall, popped out and they chattered at each other for a few moments.
"She was in and looked at all the books several months ago, but didn't decide on anything," he reported finally. "Took down several stock numbers but hasn't called back."
"I'll have her in here Monday. Oh--Monday's Memorial Day. Tuesday, then. She'll be in town by then. You are open Tuesday?"
He nodded. "That would be great. Why don't we have Mrs. Tranh measure you now for the other weddings."
"Fine," I said, my mind still focused on Eileen's iniquities. "And just what did Mother and Samantha decide on? At least I hope they've both decided on something. They told me they had, but perhaps I shouldn't have trusted them, either."
"Oh, yes, they did. Several months ago. Your mother said she wanted to surprise you and your sister, and we weren't on any account to show you what it was until she had the chance," he said, a little nervously.
"That's Mother for you. I won't ask you to betray a confidence; I won't even ask you if she picked something ghastly. As long as it's underway."
"Oh, definitely," he said. "And it's not ghastly at all, if you ask me."
"And Samantha?" I asked. "She's underway, too?"
"Yes. She hasn't told you anything about what she picked?"
"No, she and the blond bim--the other bridesmaids all got together and decided two months ago. I knew I should have come down for it. How bad is it? Should I be sitting down?"
He pulled a picture out of the file and held it up.
"You've got to be kidding," I said. He shook his head.
"No, and neither is she, apparently."
"Oh ... my ... God!"
The pictures looked like publicity stills from Gone with the Wind. Enormous hooped skirts. Plunging, off-the-shoulder necklines. Multiple layers of petticoats. Elaborate hairstyles involving many fussy-looking ringlets. And tiny, tiny waists.
"I'll let Mrs. Tranh take you back to the dressing room for measuring," he said. Damn him, he was fighting back a grin. "The corsets, particularly, require a lot of rather intimate details."
"Corsets? In July? Eileen's off the hook. I'm killing Samantha first," I said. Much to his amusement.
Mrs. Tranh, it turned out, was the tiny, gray-haired Asian woman. Vietnamese, I think. Neither she nor any of the other seamstresses would admit to speaking any English. However, she had no difficulty communicating with sign language and firm taps and tugs exactly how I should stand or turn so she and the flock could measure me. There were only five of them, I think, but the dressing room--formerly the kitchen of the tiny cottage--was so small, and they darted so rapidly about the room and up and down the stairs--to the sewing rooms, I supposed--that they seemed like dozens. They were all so short that I felt like a great, clumsy giantess. And knowing that they had previously measured Samantha and my sylphlike fellow bridesmaids, I had to sternly suppress my paranoia. I was sure their soft chattering conversation consisted mainly of unfavorable comments about my more normally female form.
I amused myself by letting my imagination run rampant about their boss, who was hovering attentively outside the curtain, occasionally exchanging rapid and unintelligible remarks with them. I would definitely have to interrogate Mother about him. But discreetly. If she and the rest of the family deduced that I was interested in him, half of them would probably disapprove and make clumsy and embarrassing attempts to interfere. The other half would rejoice and indulge in even clumsier and more embarrassing attempts to throw us together. Matchmaking was a competitive sport in Yorktown, and my family's enthusiasm for it was one of the reasons I had chosen to relocate several hours away.
I would have been tempted to hang about and talk to Michael the Gorgeous, but I knew I should be getting back to keep up with my schedule for addressing the envelopes for Eileen's invitations. Besides, another neighbor had arrived with the twin six-year-old nieces who were going to be flowergirls in her daughter's wedding, and she obviously expected Michael's full attention. I consoled myself with the thought that I would have plenty of future opportunities to see him. As maid of honor, my presence at all future fittings of any member of the three wedding parties could be taken for granted. It would be very considerate to find out when their least busy times were, so I could schedule fittings that wouldn't be interrupted by other customers. Why, choosing Eileen's gown alone would probably occupy several mornings or afternoons next week. I magnanimously forgave Eileen for having lied to me.
I was in very good spirits when I arrived back at the house. I found Mother lounging elegantly on the living room sofa with a box of chocolates and the latest issue of Bride magazine.
I hate it when they read the bridal magazines. Every issue is good for at least a dozen new items on my to-do list.
"Well, I went down to the dress shop today, had my measurements taken, and found out that Eileen has not decided on her dresses yet," I announced, throwing myself into a nearby armchair.
"You really ought not to have let her wait this long, dear," Mother said. "She could have a very hard time getting anything on such short notice."
"I didn't let her wait this long, Mother. I nagged her to go in and order something; I sent her down here to do it under the threat that I'd pick something myself if she didn't, and two days later she came back and told me she'd ordered something. She lied to me!"
"She's under a great deal of strain, dear. Be tactful with her. Mrs. Waterston will manage somehow." Bingo! My opening to pry without seeming to.
"By the way, Mother, you told me to ask for Mrs. Waterston, but apparently she's in Florida, recuperating from a broken leg."
"Oh, yes, dear, didn't I mention that?" Mother said. "Her son has come down to run the shop while she's gone."
"Yes, I met him."
"Such a nice boy. I understand he teaches theater at a college somewhere up your way," Mother said, as she poked through the chocolates to see if perhaps there were any left that she liked. "Such a pity, really."
"What's a pity?"
"That he's ... well, you know. Like that."
"Like what, Mother?" I asked, but had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer. Mother, mistress of pregnant pauses and vague euphemisms, had come just about as close as she ever would to telling me that drop-dead-gorgeous Michael was gay.
"I feel so sorry for his mother sometimes," Mother went on, inspecting a chocolate critically. "She's told several people that she's in no hurry for Michael to settle down because she was a child bride and doesn't want to be a young grandmother. She puts on a brave front. But of course since he came down everyone knows exactly how unlikely it is that she'll ever be a grandmother, especially since he's an only child." She nibbled a corner of the chocolate and made a delicate face. "Here, darling, you finish this one; I don't like coconut."
"Neither do I, Mother."
"Oh? Then we'll save it for Eric," she said, putting the candy carefully back in one corner of the box.
"Feed the grandkids the spitbacks?" I snapped. "That's efficient, Mother."
She looked at me in surprise.
"Are you all right, dear? Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down for a bit; you've been so busy and perhaps the heat is making you just a little out of sorts. So hard to believe it's still May."
Feeling guilty for taking my disappointment out on her, I pleaded a small headache and fled up to my room. Actually I was depressed and wanted to mope by myself. Like Cinderella's golden carriage turning back into a pumpkin, all those impending trips to Be-Stitched to be fitted now turned from golden opportunities back into drab chores. I was already on the verge of tears when the sight of the huge stack of Eileen's envelopes on my dresser sent me over the edge. How symbolic of my summer. Me doing an endless series of chores while other people found happiness.
Obviously I was overreacting to the situation, but damn! My antennae were usually better than this. How could I be so mistaken? Perhaps it was wishful thinking. In the five months since breaking up with Jeffrey, I hadn't really met anyone else interesting. Not that I had much time for meeting people, between wedding arrangements and the extra time I'd been spending at the forge to build up enough inventory so I could take the summer off. The few dates I'd had were with men pushed at me by matchmaking friends, and most of them had been awful. I had pretty much resigned myself to putting my own social life on hold until this summer's weddings were out of the way. Obviously my hormones were objecting to this idea by reacting violently to the first attractive male in sight, without stopping to consider whether he was a suitable target. Or was it possible that Mother could, for once, be wrong?
That hope was dashed rather thoroughly when the Brewsters joined our family for a welcome-home-Meg dinner.
"Imagine," I heard Mother say to Mrs. Brewster, "when Meg went in today to be measured, she found Eileen had not ordered her dresses after all. And she told Meg she had done it months ago."
"I should have demanded an affidavit." I shrugged. "Well, we're behind the eight ball, but I'm going to drag her down to Be-Stitched the minute she gets here and force her to make a decision."
"So, you've been down to Be-Stitched already," Samantha said. "What did you think of Michael What-a-Waste?"
"Samantha, really," her mother said, but by her tone I could tell she was rather proud of her daughter's wit.
"What-a-Waste?" Mr. Brewster said, as if he had no idea what she was implying.
"Or the last of the Waterstons, if you like," Samantha said. "I mean, you did notice that he's not exactly much of an addition to the town's list of eligible bachelors."
"He seems very nice," I said, noncommittally. I didn't want to get into an argument with Samantha, but didn't see how I could avoid it if she kept on this way. I glanced at Mother. Surely this violated her ironclad rule against discussing sex, politics, or religion at the table? Surely these days one should add genteel bigotry to the list of forbidden topics?
"I do so like what you've done with your hair," Mother remarked to Mrs. Brewster.
"Oh, he's positively charming," Samantha said, relentlessly, "at least if you happen to be a fag hag."
"That's a perfectly hateful thing to say," I began, and then jumped as Mother kicked me under the table.
"Now, Meg," Mother said. As if I were the one at fault.
"He's a very charming conversationalist," Mrs. Brewster said. "Very chivalrous."
"Well, that's a dead giveaway, isn't it," Samantha said. "I mean, how many straight men do you know who have decent manners and can talk about anything other than football and beer?"
Your fiance and your future father-in-law, for starters, I felt like saying, but Mother was glaring daggers at me, so I counted to three and then said, as calmly as I could, "You all seem to know rather a lot about the private life of someone who's only been here, what, a couple of weeks?"
"Well, it's a proven fact. I mean, several of the bridesmaids who were in being measured have tried to get him interested. I mean, honestly, if they're running around half-naked and practically flinging themselves in his lap and the guy doesn't show a spark of interest, what do you think that means?"
"He has excessively good taste?" I suggested. "Or--" Mother tapped me again with her foot. Samantha gave me a withering look.
"Oh, sure," she said. "He flat-out told them not to bother 'cause he wasn't interested. Besides, he hangs out with those two old aunties who run the antique store and the decorating shop."
"Now, now, Samantha. That's enough. Little pitchers have big ears," Mother chided, indicating eight-year-old Eric. Eric was too busy stuffing his pockets with tidbits to feed his pet duck to pay any attention to our boring grown-up conversation. "I think it's very sweet of them to make Michael feel more at home."
"And so convenient that they've convinced Michael and his mother to do curtains and slipcovers and such," Mrs. Brewster said. "They've had an awful time finding local help who meet their standards."
"Yes," Mother 'said. "I'm not sure I'd have dared to go ahead with redecorating the living room without Michael's help. Not the deviled eggs, Eric."
"But Duck likes deviled eggs!" Eric protested.
"You may take a deviled egg to Duck, then," Mother conceded. "But don't put it in your pocket."
Eric took this as permission to leave the table and trotted out to the backyard with the deviled egg.
"Then you're going ahead with redecorating, too?" Mrs. Brewster said.
"Yes, the living room, and possibly the dining room," Mother said. "Michael will be out tomorrow to take measurements."
"The dining room, too?" Jake said, plaintively. No one seemed to hear him.
"We're having the living room and the library done," Mrs. Brewster said. Mr. Brewster sighed gently. "I haven't decided about the dining room yet, although I suppose I should very soon. Perhaps I should have Michael take measurements tomorrow, too."
"If he has time," Mother said. "He will be doing quite a lot of measuring here."
"I'll call to make sure he has time," Mrs. Brewster said. "And no snide remarks when he comes young lady," she said, turning to Samantha.
"Of course; not a word," Samantha said. "What kind of an idiot do you think I am? I mean, you know how vindictive and temperamental they can be; I'm not about to do anything to make him mess up my gown."
Mother kicked me before I could open my mouth. My shins would be black and blue by morning.
What a narrow-minded, prejudiced--no, don't say the word, I told myself. The whole conversation left a bad taste in my mouth. I felt guilty about not having stepped in to defend Michael. On the other hand, if Mother hadn't shushed me, I'd probably have lost my temper and said something that I'd need to apologize for. I had a bad feeling that Samantha and I would end up having a knock-down-drag-out argument about narrow-mindedness before the end of the summer; I'd just try to avoid doing it in front of Mother. Or Rob. I had no idea what he saw in Samantha, but he was madly in love with her, so I'd have to learn to live with her.
In the meantime I vowed to be extremely friendly and hospitable to Michael. To make up for the various indignities and embarrassments he had probably already suffered at the hands of my small-minded relatives and neighbors.
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Turbulence (Manido Falls, Porcupine Mountain), photo by Jiqing Fan
The Waterfall Record's entry for Manido Falls says:
Manido Falls did not impress me at first, at least not as much as the downstream Manabezho Falls. After seeing the pictures I had taken, though, I discovered what an amazingly beautiful waterfall Manido Falls is. Its beauty comes from its complexity. The waterfall itself is not very tall at all. It is wide, though. As the Presque Isle River tumbles down toward Lake Superior, it comes to this set of rocks that create a beautifully cascading waterfall. I think what makes me like Manido Falls so much is that the water has taken such an interesting course here, erosion taking its effect in an oddly unique way.
Add to it that the just as spectacular Manabezho Falls is only hundreds of yards away, and Lake Superior not much more distant, this makes for one of the most beautiful waterfall stretches in the Upper Peninsula.
Visit #2: When my father and I visited Mandido Falls in late September 2010, the falls looked completely different due to the significant amounts of rainfall in the weeks previous.
Read on for directions and some photos.
View Jiqing Fan's photo bigger and see more in his Houghton & UP MI slideshow.
More black & white photography and (many) more Michigan waterfalls on Michigan in Pictures!
Polling for Parks: Porcupine Mountain Wilderness State Park
March 24, 2015
Sunset over Lake of the Clouds, Porcupine Mountains, photo by John McCormick
USA Today is polling their readers to see what they think the 10 best state parks in the nation are. The entry page for the Porcupine Mountain Wilderness State Park says:
The Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, or the "Porkies" as its known to frequent visitors, encompasses 60,000 acres of lakes, rivers and virgin forest. The park offers camping on the shores of Lake Superior, 90 miles of hiking trails, kayak rentals, mountain biking and, in the winter, access to the Porcupine Mountains Ski Area.
Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park – Mich. is currently ranked #2 of 20.
You can click here to vote if you're so inclined.
John took this evening shot in October 2014 near the east end off the Lake of the Clouds. View it bigger on Flickr, see more staggering photos in his Autumn in Michigan slideshow, and definitely follow him on Facebook at Michigan Nut Photography.
You can click to visit the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park website and get all kinds of Porcupine Mountains rivers, falls and views on Michigan in Pictures.
Overlooked Falls in Porcupine Mountains State Park
June 17, 2013
fallen tree [Overlooked Falls 2478 2481], photo by Frank Kaelin (aka Fir Dawg)
GoWaterfalling's page on Minor Waterfalls has this to say about Overlooked Falls in Porcupine Mountains State Park:
Overlooked Falls is a small falls on the Little Carp River. The scenic falls consists of two drops, each about 5′ in height. This is the most easily accessed of the falls on the Little Carp River, big or small. It is only a few hundred feet from the parking area. The trailhead to the falls is at the end of Little Carp River road. This is also the trailhead to Greenstone Falls, which is about 1/2 mile away. The trail also leads to the much larger Trappers Falls, which is three miles away.
Check this out bigger and see more in Frank's Mainly Water slideshow.
Many (many) more Michigan waterfalls on Michigan in Pictures!
Mirror Lake in the Porcupine Mountains
September 25, 2009
Mirror Lake, photo by deciBelle.
Be sure to check this fall photo from Mirror Lake bigger or in Leslie's Landscape set (slideshow).
There's a nice writeup on the North Mirror Lake Trail on Mike & Aimee's Favorite Hikes in the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park. You can get maps for all the trails on trails.com and get more photos and info on Michigan's largest state park from Michigan in Pictures.
Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park
August 6, 2009
Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, photo by kmaz.
Be sure to check this out bigger or in Konrad's Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park set (slideshow).
I'm thinking this waterfall might be Manabezho Falls. For more on this amazing state park, check out Porcupine Mounties on Michigan in Pictures, this cool article from Summit Post on visiting and enjoying the Porkies and the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park site.
More of the same (and much more of the different) in the Michigan Waterfalls group on Flickr!
Mist Woods and Porcupine Mountains terrain
November 29, 2007
Mist Woods, photo by Kim Nixon
Kim says that this photo was taken on the way up the Summit Peak Path in the Porcupine Mountains on October 6th, 2007. She has more photos from (and writing about) the UP on her blog, The Dailies.
SuperiorTrails.com says that the view from Summit Peak is the most "don't miss" attraction in the park. On their Porcupine Mountains Hiking Trails page, Exploring the North writes:
This trail provides an opportunity to visit Summit Peak at 1,958 feet, the highest point in the park. A 40-ft. observation tower provides an outstanding view of the park as well as the surrounding area . Wisconsin, Minnesota, the Apostle Islands, and Copper Peak are a few of the sights that can be seen on a clear day. A viewing deck on the way up to the summit provides a panorama of the Little Carp River valley and ranks as one of the best views of the park.
Our Absolute Michigan Map of Michigan at Google Maps got a cool upgrade earlier this week with the addition of a new "Terrain" feature, and I thought the Porkies (which probably offer Michigan's most wild & rugged terrain) would be a perfect place to put the map through its paces – click this link to check it out and let me know what you think!
You can get a detailed trail map at the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park page from the DNR.
Manabezho Falls in the Porcupine Mountains State Park
September 22, 2007
Manabezho Falls, long exposure, photo by DA2Brian.
GoWaterfalling's page on Manebezho Falls says:
The Manabezho Falls are part of the Presque Isle River's spectacular final dash to Lake Superior. The entire 1 mile stretch is very beautiful, with lots of bare rock and rapids. It is easily accessible from the Presque Isle entrance off of CR-519 on the western end of the park…
Manido Falls are just short distance upstream. Nawadaha Falls is a bit farther upstream. Downstream of Manabezho the river plunges into a narrow gorge. The "falls" there have no name, but they are quite interesting.
The falls are located in the Porcupine Mountains State Park and you can see more photos of Manabehzho Falls on Flickr (slideshow) and also check out the Porcupine Mountains group!
I'm pretty sure that "Manabehzo" is Manabozho, the Ojibwa/Algonquin trickster and messenger of the Great Spirit. For more about this colorful figure, check out Manabozho, the Mischief-maker by Rick Walton.
Lake of the Clouds in the Porcupine Mountains State Park
June 29, 2007
Lake of the Clouds by Night, photo by SpringChick.
Spring Chick writes: Lake of the Clouds at dusk. I love the mirrored, mystic look to the lake in this photo. I also found it interesting that the sky colored in the east. I could visit this place every day and never tire of it. Porcupine Mountains, MI.
This photo is part of her Porcupine Mountains set (best as a slideshow) and yes, it makes an amazing background for your computer.
Lake of the Clouds is in the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park, which was established in 1945 and is Michigan's largest state park. The "Porkies" are located 15 miles west of Ontonagon in the western Upper Peninsula, and the 60,000 acre park features virgin timber, secluded lakes, and miles of wild rivers and streams. If you it that link above you can get trail maps (they allow mountain biking too) and backcountry camping information.
The Wikipedia Porcupine Mountains entry says that the Porcupine Mountains were so named by the native Ojibwa people because their silhouette had the shape of a porcupine. Also see Exploring the North's Porkies page, this cool Ski the Porkies site and a map to the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park.
lake of the clouds, porcupine mountains
October 11, 2006
lake of the clouds, again, photo by Apparat-chik.
Sometimes I have to search and search and other times it's just there. This photo is part of a set that wins "Best Title for October 2006" called If this isn't "Deliverance," then it must be Michigan UP. According to his bio, Mike is a brilliant yet reclusive volcanologist residing on my private game reserve on the Kamchatka Penninsula .. or something like that.
The DNR has information about hiking & camping in the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park (aka the Porkies). You can find more about the area at the Porcupine Mountains Ontonagon Area Convention and Visitors Bureau. In its Porcupine Mountains entry, Wikipedia says that they were named by the native Ojibwa people, supposedly because their silhouette had the shape of a porcupine and that "the most striking geological feature of the Porcupine Mountains is the long basalt and conglomerate escarpment parallel to the Lake Superior shore and overlooking Lake of the Clouds, a continuation of the same copper-bearing bedrock found farther northeast on the Keweenaw Peninsula."
The park was formed in 1945 to protect the last large stand of old-growth forest remaining in Michigan. The park has an excellent network of backcountry trails for hiking, backpacking and cross-country skiing, rustic trailside cabins, campgrounds, swimming and boating areas. The North Country Trail runs through the park.
You have to be happy that this photo is part of the Michigan in Pictures Michigan Fall Wallpaper series!
When in Doubt, Jump off a Cliff
January 10, 2015
When in Doubt, Jump off a Cliff, photo by shaleewanders
Through the magic of Twitter, I came across the website Shalee Wanders the other day. Created by Shalee Blackmer, it's a really engaging site she created to inspire people (especially young people) to get out and enjoy traveling on a budget.
The post that drew me in was her Michigan Bucket List, a compilation with some photos of a lot of very fun things to do from to hiking the Porcupine Mountains to exploring the Detroit Packard Plant. Even better, there's 250+ comments from people with more ideas for getting the most out of Michigan.
View Shalee's photo from last summer near Marquette bigger and see more on her Instagram.
PS: I do feel that I need to point out that last summer Lake Superior was ice cold, making this leap especially impressive!

subset: commoncrawl


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Cross King @ Kings Cross
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Travel Blogs from Sydney
Day 1 - Off we go!
... in the SkyTeam business lounge having breakfast. Nice! The flight is delayed because of late departure from Guangzhou due to bad weather.
9:30AM (Sydney) - A little duty-free shopping while waiting, picked up a cool pair of Ray-Bans. Wow, some of these sunnies are over 500 bucks! Who pays that much for sunglasses? Departure boards still say 10:05 boarding, but the incoming plane hasn't even arrived yet.
10:30AM (Sydney) ...
Leaving Sydney
... we finally woke up. We walked down to the water, had breakfast looking out on the quay, stocked up on some wine for the voyage and then came aboard early at 1:00 pm.
I think it took 20 minutes in total, a record for us in boarding ships, we had lunch out on deck, our bags were delivered quickly and we had everything stowed by 3:00 pm. We had time to wander and find the important parts of the ship...like the gym and the laundromat on our floor (laundry ...
My Chronicles of Sydney
... to creep up made us oblivious to the fact that we missed our bus stop which was embarrassingly the second stop on the route. The thought of getting off the bus with all our bags and finding the next bus was too much for us to handle, so instead we rode the bus around the city for 58 minutes until we reached the next station that would take us to the subway. Logical? Not entirely. But we made it and that's all that matters. When we got to the hostel we met up with ...
Last day in Austrailia :(
... the airport for 12 hours to catch a 12 hour flight to Kuala Lumpur where we wait for an hour to then get on another flight to Bangkok for another hour and we are still smiling....just!!!
We started to get comfy when we were told we had to move to a smaller area of the airport where they actually closed the shutter and there was so many people in here sleeping and chatting it was weird but I genuinely felt I was in a homeless shelter, still we ...


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Ike Davis talks approach and knowing his role
Ike Davis has struck out just 12.5 percent of his plate appearances this season, compared to 23.9 percent career average.
Davis said he is no longer trying to hit a home run on every pitch. Instead, he only looks for pitches in the zone that he can square up on.
"I'm trying to use my hands better and see the ball longer," he explained to MetsBlog's Robert Brender this past weekend in Los Angeles. "I wanted to cut down on my strike outs and square up some more balls, and so far I've done it. I'm trying to be more relaxed, not so tense, free and easy, and not chasing stuff."
Davis is batting .211 with a .375 OBP, one home run and three RBI in 24 plate appearances this season.


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|No such thing as a small change
Re: Object-Orienting A Procedural Scriptby FamousLongAgo (Friar)
|on Dec 08, 2002 at 20:32 UTC ( #218393=note: print w/ replies, xml )
|Need Help??
If it's a small script, could you post the code? This might help avoid our falling off into the Land of Excessive Generality, and maybe demistify object-oriented programming for you a bit ( as opposed to an abstract discussion ).
In Section Seekers of Perl Wisdom


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Artemare Vacanze
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Travel Blogs from Syracuse
To the beach
... a nice and open square (who wants to eat in an open square in the middle of the sun at 35 degrees ?
We strolled through the village and then went to the beach.
Beaching seems to be a life style for most Sicilians, after some extensive searching we found a nice spot, where there were not too many weeds in the sea and installed ourselves amongst the locals.
The sea was beautiful, the water was warm - really warm- beach was sandy and you could walk for ...
Discovering the area
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Today we woke up early to get to Syracuse which is on the Eastern side of the Island. We left our little house early to end up in the middle of a traffic jam close to Syracuse. Despite the traffic we reached a parking spot close to the archeological park an dropped the car there. Temperature was rising already substantially. Although our parking was a good one, it was on the ...
Further trips from Noto to baroque cities
Baroque day
Monday, July 27, 2015
As we are just past the middle of our trip and staying in this place for 4 nights, the plan was to clean out the dirty cloths and do a day of washing. White things went well and things were done in a minimum of time and given the weather dry in a few hours. Colored wash was a different story, all went into the machine, but the machine would never go to the end of ...
Ragusa and further to Noto
Sunday, July 26, 2015.
Typing the blog on the right day, but not sure when we can publish as there is a problem with the internet here in our new home.
Indeed, from Agrigento we moved to the South-Eastern part of the Island in a place close to Noto. This area is famous for it baroc cities. There is Ragusa and Modica, two famous baroc cities that are both containing an 'old' part and a 'new' part. The story is ...
Honouring the Greeks?
... watch and listen to the singing group. We assumed the group
must have been some choir group because they were singing in parts and were being conducted by one of the group.
The Roman Theatre in the Park has been left entirely alone and, therefore, much more interesting with a feeling that you are viewing history.
One thing I found very strange and completely inappropriate in the Park were modern 'sculptures'. One such sculpture was ...


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Report: Former IDF chief of staff Gantz can run for prime minister
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Four justice ministers duke it out over role of A-G
Analysis: Report card on 50 years of German-Israel relations
Low-calorie bread Catch-22
Out and About : Top 10 Things To Do
Oo la la!
Jajo redux
Oman cancels Israeli windsurfers' visas
Appreciation: The loss of a renaissance man
Sinai says: Mac TA's Bender braces for added attention in next step en route to NBA
Natcho confirmed out for crucial clashes
Netanyahu: Now is the time for unity government, not announcements of building in settlements
Bennett calls for Israelis to 'eliminate the enemy'
Fourth terror attack of day: Assailant stabs IDF soldier in Afula
Report: Twenty-year-old dies in clash with police in east Jerusalem
Abbas to Israeli government: Stay away from our Islamic and Christian holy sites
Jewish MP in Iran decries 'destruction of mosques in the Muslim World'
Hebrew education – in Harlem
Report: Russian Jewish leader endorses aid to Assad
Germans give Hitler actor a warm welcome
Jewish journalist jailed in Austria over restitution squabble
Khamenei bans Iran from negotiations with US
Sources: US enforcement of Iran arms embargo slipped during nuclear talks
US measure for Iran victims to get paid before sanctions waived inspired by Shurat Hadin
Analysis: The best reason for Iran deal? The West will learn where to drop bombs
ISIS vs. al-Qaida: Zawahiri says Baghdadi is not the leader of the Muslim world
'ISIS militants blow up ancient Arch of Triumph in Palmyra'
WATCH: Russian warplanes bomb ISIS targets in Syria
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Report: Russian cruise missiles aimed at Syria accidentally land in Iran
US hopes to change Iran through its youth, Khamenei says
Watch: Russian warships launch 26 rockets on ISIS in Syria
Nasrallah: Netanyahu confused, the West Bank is on the brink of an intifada
Offbeat odor
How to cope with holiday's excess calories and winter's illnesses
Health scan: Israeli physicians slowly warming to medical marijuana
Global space community to reach for the stars
Still too soon to determine production potential of Golan Heights oil
Ness Ziona residents threaten to sue Rehovot for raw sewage flow
Burgeoning alternative fuel firms in Israel grow fivefold in less than three years
IN PICTURES: 1,500 eagles pass over Israel on migration route
Israeli parking app, coming to a university near you
Tech talk: Battle Hacks are back
Facebook pegs Israeli satellite to provide African Internet
Israel to host first international 'Under 30' Forbes Summit
Moody's keeps Israel rating stable
United Airlines to launch non-stop Tel Aviv-San Francisco route
Israel might be heading for the moon
Grapevine: Mission Accomplished
This week in 60 seconds: Terror hits Israel
Grapevine: Labor of love
A faintly Jewish echo
Love, heartbreak, and a brooch – circa 1994
My Word: Succot and the ghosts of intifadas past
Into The Fray: What now?
Looking up to Heaven
Column One: Abbas must be stopped
Parting Shot: Crossing the threshold
Who is a hero?
The diplomacy profession
Coexistence in a cone
2016 Budget: Not just numbers
The good doctor's advice
Courage, rabbis, courage!
Fresh cooking tips from France
Meandering along the Rhine River, soaking up the rich Jewish heritage
Food does grow on trees
A treasure trove of historical posters
Is your dog Jewish?
Ironic Mother Earth
Neighborhood Watch: Regenerating Safed
Cancer Chronicles: Side effects
Feeling uneasy at the moment?
Lonely vigil
מִשִירֵי רָחֵל: זֶמֶר נוּגֶה
אֲנַחְנוּ הַיִשְׂרְאֵלִים
אֲנִי בְּחוֹפֶש, תִסְתַדְרוּ לְבַד
Living in a shoebox
Building health in Rwanda
'The Sabbath is on Saturday not Sunday'
Born to dance
Towards a safer and more responsible Internet
Beyond the Barbed Wire Encampment
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Inauguration of the Masonic Forest Square in Jerusalem
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Remembering the Victims of 9/11
600 Holocaust Survivors Enjoy Touring with KKL-JNF
greenXchange at EXPO Milano
First Tree after Shmita Year Planted by Bavarian Agriculture Minister
Prime Minister of Lithuania Plants Tree in Jerusalem
KKL-JNF International Expo Mission to Milan
An Ecological Festival at the Shafir Winter Pond
KKL-JNF Global Landscapes Seminar at Expo 2015
New Bio-filters Purify Surface Runoff Water for Reuse
Future Tour Guides Discover the Negev with KKL-JNF
Got Water Problems?
$100 Million JNF Boruchin Israel Education Advocacy Center Opens
JNF Canada Pays Tribute to the Honourable John Baird
From Sunny Israel to Cold Canada
Renewable Energies for the Future in the Arava
LDA Conference: Science and Technology for Forests
The Negev Conference on Agricultural Research and Development
Arava Open Day: Food Security for Israel and the Entire World
Melinda and Chelsea: The Inspiring Story of Aliyah Across the Ages
An Olah Reports From Nepal
How One Oleh is Helping to Transform the Way People Drink Water
From Think Tank to Environmental Consultant
Why People Love Volunteering in Israel
How Natalie Edwards Built a Successful Career in Israel's Startup Industry
5 Tips to Land a Job in Israel
Starting Your Own Business in Israel: Real Life Examples
Where Are They Now? The Olim of the July 2014 Charter Flight
36 Hours in Southern Israel
Food Shopping In Israel
How Women Can Have it All in Israel
Why Retirees are Thriving in Israel
Thanks to Aliyah video
6 Frequently Asked Questions about Israeli Healthcare
Starting Over in Israel
Spotted on Social: Moshe Somers' Activity List
Sam Eisenberg: From Nativ to Aliyah
WATCH: Why Olim #LiveLoveIsrael
5 Ways that Olim Kick Back
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"WATCH: Highlights of 232 Olim Landing on the August 2015 Charter Flight"
Make yourself at home… in Israel
10.08.2015 | 25 Tishri, 5776
Palestinians throw Molotov cocktail at IDF checkpoint in Hebron
Islamic Jihad official: There will be a cease-fire, even without an agreement
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Soldiers given religious motivational speeches during Operation Protective Edge
Report: Intelligence between US, Israel strong despite political tensions
Spain embargoes arms sales to Israel
By April, IDF knew Hamas was preparing for 'summer war'
IAI refutes claim that Iron Dome makers were hacked
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Iron Dome system intercepts rocket over Eilat
08/29/2013 04:52
Hezbollah leader Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah 370.
(photo credit:REUTERS)
The lines between Hezbollah and the Syrian regime are so blurred that Israel
will hold Damascus responsible if Hezbollah bombards Israel in the coming days,
Israeli officials indicated on Wednesday.Israel has made it very clear
over the past two days that while it is not involved in the Syrian civil war, it
will respond fiercely if Syrian President Bashar Assad decides to respond to an
expected Western attack by firing missiles at Israel.This raises another
question, however: What if the missiles were fired from Hezbollah in Lebanon,
and not by Assad's regime in Damascus."They cannot play the game that
Hezbollah is somehow an independent actor," one official said. "We have seen
over the last few months that Hezbollah is coordinated very closely with the
Assad regime, and it is the Iranians that have orchestrated that close
cooperation."Crisis in Syria - full JPost.com coverageIf Israel is attacked by Hezbollah, the official made
clear, "we will respond forcefully, and we won't hold by artificial
differentiations."Thousands of Hezbollah men are reportedly fighting
alongside Assad's troops in Syria."Hezbollah works hand-in-glove with the
Assad regime," the official said. "They are fully coordinated with the Syrian
regime and with the Iranians, and they cannot pretend to be acting in a vacuum.
They cannot pretend that they are not part of an alliance. And they cannot claim
that others in the alliance are not responsible."Israel responded to
four rockets fired from southern Lebanon last week by targeting terrorists bases
there. The official explained that Hezbollah was not held to be responsible for
that attack
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