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As well as Denise's shop there were lots of textiles items around the house, cakes (real and textile), our own "bits and pieces" shop and a swap area - people could bring something and take something else home. Of course, like always, I was so busy talking I didn't get around to taking many photos, but I hope those that are here give a flavour of the day.
Thanks must go to all the members who came or contributed, and non-members who came/helped out today (especially Julie's friend Jo who seemed to have her hands in the washing up bowl for a lot of time), Julie's husband, who not only makes a really good ginger cake but (dressed as a baker) drew the raffle and generally made himself very useful, Denise for bringing her shop, but especially to Julie.
Here's to the next one!


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Effective Field Theory for Supercooled Liquids [PDF]Sho Yaida
Starting from a microscopic model of liquids, we construct an effective theory of the overlap field for the doubly-replicated system through coarse-graining. We then establish a recipe to extract a relaxation time and two characteristic length scales of a supercooled liquid from this effective field theory. Appealing to the Ginzburg-Landau-Wilson paradigm near the putative Kauzmann critical point, we conclude that the scalings of these quantities are concealed in models belonging to the Ising universality class.View original: http://arxiv.org/abs/1212.0857

subset: commoncrawl


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Font Awesome icon usage statistics
Font Awesome information of KOZECHO.ORG in detail
- 6 types of Font Awesome iconic font are used and found 24 times in total.
- KOZECHO.ORG used 4.0 Font Awesome classes per each class in average.
- Font Awesome usage statistics of KOZECHO.ORG are based on first landing page and within top 1M websites only. Click the font icon to see all websites using it.
- KOZECHO.ORG includes "http://www.kozecho.org/wp-content/themes/sociallyviral/css/font-awesome.min.css?ver=4.2.2" to use Font Awesome and information from CSS is like below.
/*! * Font Awesome 4.1.0 by @davegandy - http://fontawesome.io - @fontawesome * License - http://fontawesome.io/license (Font: SIL OFL 1.1, CSS: MIT License) */


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Freebooter Miniatures have added their Freebooter's Fate game to their online store for general ordering.
From their announcement:
We said we'd do it and now we have. Freebooter's Fate has been made generally available. Either go to our website or pester your friendly local games shop about it.
We shall also shortly be re-opening our forum so you can let us know what you think, discuss the game with others, point out loopholes and generally contribute to the further development of the game. We're looking forward to hearing from you.
So, go on, get the game, grab a mate and have a go. You'll love it.


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03:52:49 PM Apr 3rd 2012
Looking For Article- Alas, I forget the video games name, but it has a long article here. It's a Nation building Browser game that's supposed to have a Huge Fanbase. Oddly enough, one of the few things I remember about it is that Fleets of ships are supposed to have a limited Movement.
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ingushetiya.ru 24.11.2007 14:51
In the region of the town bus terminal near the "Ingoil" petrol station where the protesters have moved to, fighting has broken out. OMON and police officers, along with representatives of other law enforcement agencies, have entered the thick of the protest, attempting to disperse it and arrest the participants in the action.
Eye witnesses report that one of the police officers, provisionally identified as an officer of the mobile unit of the Ministry of Internal Affairs for the Russian Federation, has shot one of the protesters point blank.


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One thought on "Global Chinese Chart Red Carpet: Luhan & Chen"
I'm always рroud of these tաelve excellent boys.
Performing аll points in thiѕ kind of a thigh occasions ѡill
haνe to be hard and tiring but thаnk you foг enduring wеll and makung mе love all οf ƴou additional and ɑ lot more.
Juѕt have a ѵery good relaxation аnd ѡill not get sick.
You кnoѡ yoս often bе EXOstans inspiration~ EXO аre jjang!
EXO saranghae ❤


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Overall, this book can be summed up with one word: stupid.
But this is Christopher Moore, so I knew going into it that it would be stupid. This man is a genius of stupidity, if that makes any sense. He takes some really odd characters and basically makes their lives even more insane than they already were. I was pleased to see some of the characters from two of his previous books I've read, The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove & Lamb, were included in this book.
The setting is in Pine Cove, California, one of those trendy, artsy towns that you end up visiting and thinking it would be neat to live there. And then you leave. Basically there is a murder, a confused angel, and zombies. Yeah, it's pretty stupid.
My only beef with the book is when the R-word comes up in reference to the angel. In many ways I think Christopher Moore did a fairly decent job dealing with the word, but I just hate hearing or reading it at all. I know it's out there, I know it's used by a lot of people, but I hate it and I don't see the need for it.Other than that, I overall recommend this book if you want to read something really stupid and silly. If you want to read something that's silly but profound, I recommend Lamb.


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Here are some deals from Cristy Rice's Bri Bri Boutique. I love the housewives' personal styles and Cristy always looks great.
I think that this shop carries really cute and fun items at affordable price points.
If I ever visit Miami, I am definitely going there for a shopping spree!
The Cheap Girl's picks:
Leopard dress $48 SALE $24 – view here
Floral Cotton Romper $50 SALE $25 – view here
Asymmetrical Beaded Maxi Dress $90 SALE $45 – view here


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Monday Reads: Next on my list
Sisters Red by Jackson Pearce
I am super excited for this next read. I have had this on my shelf for a while but am only getting to it now. I love fairy tale retellings!
Synopsis: For Scarlett and Rosie March, the world is not what it seems. Werewolves, called Fenris, live among them in the form of good-looking men who prey on pretty young girls. When a Fenris attacked the March girls, it killed their grandmother and left them emotionally and, for Scarlett, physically scarred. Since then, they have taken action and revenge. With the help of a friend, Silas, the girls are on a mission—to destroy as many Fenris as they can. This goal becomes more complicated when they try to unravel the mystery behind the pack and prevent the next "Potential" from transforming fully into a soulless, evil monster.
Labels: Books, Monday Reads, YA


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Event Theme: Process to Progress
Event Details: at 12 p.m. walkers will meet at the preferred starting points:
-State Street and Walnut Street
-Central Street and Main Street
-Congress Street and Main Street
At 12:30 p.m. we will begin our march towards the steps of City Hall.
At 1 p.m. we will begin our rally with speakers and music at City Hall.
Presenters/Performers/Leaders Include:
-Michelle Brooks-Thompson
-Sirena Gamble
-Chichi Capella
-Zaida Govan
-Jynai McDonald
-Kindalay Cummings-Akers
-Crystal Copeland
-Kateri Walsh
-Linda O'Connel
-Karen Hansmann
-Tahira Amatul Wadud
-Ayanna Crawford
-Gina "Billie Gean" Belvin
-Sabrina Cancel
Unite with love, resist with love
Our liberation is bound in each other's.
We honor the legacy of the movements before us.


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Celery pesto Recipe
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License
Ingredients70 gr green fresh celery leafs
30 gr finnely ground almonds
20 gr pine nuts
salt (to taste)
olive or corn oil
How to make Celery pesto
Place celery in a colander and wash well under a cold water. Put everything without the oil in the food processor and turn on high spead to reduce everything into almost purea. With the engine still on, start to add oil until it reaches the consistency of the original basil pesto. Transfer into a 330 gr sterilized jar. Keep in the refrigerator.
This pesto is great with the pasta, potatoes roasted in the oven and as a filling for chicken rolls. You can spread crostoni too with this pesto. It goes well with everything.


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Allen West: President Obama Provoking Unrest In CharlotteAllen West believes the President should do more to calm the unrest in Charlotte following the shooting of Keith Lamont Scott.
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WWE's 5 Biggest Surprises At SummerSlamWWE pushed the new era forward at SummerSlam with enough unpredictable endings to keep fans guessing. Check out the 5 biggest surprises.


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Ioan Gruffudd backs the Burberry workers
Both the Sunday Times and BBC News online have the story that Ioan Gruffudd has written the chief executive of Burberry asking her to consider an alternative course of action to closing the Treorchy factory. See the Keep Burberry British site for details.
I will write more tomorrow, when I publish the letter I have had from Ioan.


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can't get enough of fishing? We know how that can feel. Now that everything is going digital, fishing has also gotten digital (that's comforting). While checking for these digital versions of fishing we were stunned at the number of virtual angling games that have such high-quality.
We are sure you are dying to know what they are. So here goes the Top Ten list, this is in no particular order. But they are rated the best.
Ridiculous Fishing – A Tale of Redemption
This video game by Vlambeer is one of the unchallenged gaming sensations of the present. It is designed for both iOS and Android.
Ridiculous fishing is about the fisherman Billy who fishes in pursuit of fame. The game takes you through three different phases. The first phase where you sink your hook into the murky water and avoid any fish. The second phase is when you pull the hook up with the fish and tilt your device to catch multiple fish on your way up. Then the third phase is where the fish are catapulted out of the water into the air and you have to tap the screen to shoot the fish to gain money.
Big Sport Fishing
Developed by Rocket mind, this fishing game is one to look out for. The 3D visuals of Sport fishing will enthrall you. This stunning game with amazing 3D effects is available only on Android. When you are reeling in a huge fish and you move your phone, the view changes making it feel like you are actually there.
You can see the fish swimming and jumping among the waves. Once you spot a big fish all you need to do is flick your wrist to cast. Then you can fight and reel the fish and even click pictures of your catch for later viewing and also share the picture with friends.
Ninja Fishing
Ninja Fishing is a game developed by Gamenaut for both Android and iOS. Ninja Fishing lets you fish the ninja way with the katana. Otoro, the ninja has amazing fishing skills though no fighting skills.
You have to cast your hook deep into the ocean and reel in as many fish as possible. Once these fish reach the surface, you can slice them up with the katana that is activated by your touch. As you slice down the fish you will gain gold.
Flick Fishing
Flick sport fishing is much closer to the real sport fishing. Developed by Freevere.Inc, brings forth living environments that are fully animated.
You can cast the line with a flick of your wrist and use the 9 types of bait depending on your fish. You can choose from 7 locations. All this makes Flick Fishing an undisputed fishing simulation. You can compete against your friends with network and can boast about your catches using the "Brag" feature.
Fishing Kings
Gameloft has come up with Fishing Kings, which takes to fishing on a serious note. You can get into an intense and deeply engaging game of fishing where you can cast your line using the best rods and lures.
Choose from an array of fishing spots and fish species. With the underwater camera feature you can get into the heart of the action. With a wide range of fishing gear to choose from you can target the species you want and take pleasure in the most realistic fishing experience.
Super Dynamite Fishing
Handygames has developed the Super Dynamite Fishing game that is sheer fun to play. Unlike the regular fishing equipment of the rod,reel and hooks you can take hold of the most dangerous weapons including the dynamite to catch or rather destroy the fish.
With a crazy storyline and crazier characters Super Dynamite Fishing is sure to blow your minds away. You can choose from a big arsenal and hunt around in luxurious ships to blast off the fish and make some money. This fast paced arcade will definitely latch on to your nerves.
i Fishing
Created by Rocking Pocket Games, i Fishing has been designed in such a manner that it simulates real time fishing. Written by an avid fisherman, this game allows you to drive your boat freely around the river and fish structures. The fishing locations you choose, the lures and the depths to which you sink the lure and the reeling speed will all make a difference to the fish you catch. Thus i Fishing gives you a close to near fishing experience away from the water.
Fishing Superstars
Fishing Superstars is much closer to the real fishing as your device (phone) reacts to any movement that you make and thus replicates a real time fishing experience. With exotic fishing spots to choose from you can catch fish the hundreds of species available. You can also customise your avatar by picking your most preferred fishing gear.
Gamevil's Fishing Superstars also allows you to compete with your friends in a friendly competition.
Gone Fishing – Trophy Catch
This game brings to you very picturesque fishing locations from around the world. You can catch from a variety of 80 fish species using multiple rods and lures. All of this gives you a more closer feel of real fishing and awakens the fisherman in you.
The social features of the Gone Fishing – Trophy Catch will allow you to share the details and pictures of your catch with friends.
Line Mass Fishing
Line corporation brings you the Mass Line Fishing Game. If you are a fishing enthusiast and you aren't getting time to go on fishing trips then Line Mass Fishing will let you enjoy that aspect at your home or on your way to work. Induced with various quests, the game keeps you gripped in its spell. You can cast and reel your line like in real fishing and fish up to 200 different species.
You can compete with other fishermen and your friends for the biggest fish and exhibit your trophies.
Home »Unlabelled » Top 10 Fishing Games
Top 10 Fishing Games
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
at 4:55 AM


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Fighting the fight of debt...trying to work a farm alone...a deep desire to be self sufficient but don't know how to overcome myself
It would be if I could figure out how to get the battery to charge; it might have a bad battery. It works plugged in to the wall but not unplugged.
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Oh, I had perhaps the best standup set of my life on Monday night at our weekly show over at Comix. Good things are happening, people. More this afternoon...
Monday, March 02, 2009
Snow Day
Posted by Dave at 11:06 AM
In case you haven't heard, we are in the midst of the biggest snowstorm of the season here in NYC. I have prepared accordingly, by purchasing dog food (for Emma) and coffee (for me) earlier today. Now I am hunkering down, watching The View, and wearing my most comfortable sweatpants. I will keep you abreast of the situation as it unfolds.
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Get your health tips to stay healthy because health is the most valuable asset you can have.
Thursday, 20 April 2017
Meningitis: Death toll rises to 745
Nigeria: According to the statement released by the Nigeria Centre for Disease Control, 745 deaths have resulted from the outbreak of meningitis so far. Nigeria is one of 26 countries in Sub-Saharan Africa where large meningitis epidemics tend to occur. Outbreaks tend to peak in the dry season due to low humidity and dusty conditions and end when the rainy season arrives. The NCDC in a statement, pointed that the cases of the fatal disease is on the increase in the Northern part of the country, however the Northern Traditional Leaders Committee on Primary Health Care convened a meeting of governors and traditional leaders from all northern Nigerian states with federal government and development partners in efforts to end the outbreak. The National Primary Health Care Development Agency (NPHCDA) coordinated mass vaccination for 2-29-year-olds in Katsina and Zamfara, where the outbreak started. According to the incident manager of the NCDC's emergency operations centre, There has been rapid response from team members and other government agencies. "We are grateful to all Rapid Response Team members, including government agency and partner staff who have remained at their different field posts, through the Easter period working on this outbreak response and control," he said. NCDC chief executive officer Dr. Chikwe Ihekweazu added that the NCDC will continue to engage proactively through all the channels of communication online and offline. "We will also continue to work with our health reporters and journalists across the country to ensure easy reporting of facts. We need all hands on deck," he said Source: allAfrica news
Posted by Ugochukwu Epelle at 02:49:00
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You were told repeatedly that your participation on Facebook was no longer optional (but mandatory) and now you have proof.
Bing announced an expansion of its partnership with Facebook yesterday and it's a doozy. Bing will be enhancing its search results with Facebook Likes. When you search for information on Bing, with "Liked Results†you will now see which of your Facebook friends liked that same result listing.
Bing will also be enhancing its index with Facebook profile search. By pulling in your Facebook friends, Bing is essentially narrow down your list to those included in your own social graph. Bing is even enabling users to take action and add the friend directly or send them a message.
Before the Web's privacy advocates double-over with worry, Bing's "Liked Results†surface content that is specifically designated as "public†and linked to a person's Facebook friends. According to Bing, "This is the same information someone could access by viewing their Facebook network directly, except it adds relevancy by being presented alongside "traditional†Bing search results.†Users will also be notified when the feature goes live and have an opportunity to disable the functionality if they so choose.
The features will start rolling out this week with full features expected over the next few weeks – it will initially only be available in the U.S.


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Decima lost her train of thought when the door burst open, dashing a naked servant against the wall. Blood trickled from his nose as he slowly sank down to the floor. A second servant nearby eyed him with concern, but she made no move to help. If he was weak, he would die.
Through the open doors raced Cardinal Severus Tyrannus. He dropped quickly to a knee, barely touching his fist to his forehead or his knee to the ground before springing to his feet with an open mouth.
"Does this boy irk you so much, Severus?"
Severus turned beet red and snapped his jaw shut, clearly rethinking whatever it was he was going to say. Before he could regroup, the Lord Tenth rose and turned to face him. Under that relentless gaze, the red drained from Severus' face.
From her vantage point Decima could see but a profile of the church's intimidating patriarch, with his angular nose and pointed jaw. His head was covered with a fuzz of close-cropped grey hair, neatly and practically trimmed. Anything less would be inefficient; anything more a waste of Apollyon's time. He had a long face with pronounced, nearly concave temples that seemed to pulse with blood whenever he fixed his dark brown, nearly black eyes upon you. Although approaching seventy years of age, his skin had not begun to wrinkle so much as stretch across his bony features, like protruding sinews on a hungry animal. And why not? Eating was as much a waste of time as grooming – requirements of his mortal body that he tolerated moreso than indulged. Indeed, with his unfailing diet of boiled potatoes and dry bread, the Lord Tenth was utterly, without doubt, the most humorless person Decima had ever met.
Having overcome the obvious slight of addressing him without his title, Severus found his tongue and explained his grievance, "This, this… ANT has declared himself a Cardinal!"
"In Nameless."
"I am Sheppard to peoples from Dragon Isle to Le Marke – some of the most populous regions of the entire world! That includes Copo Deus Bay and the smugglers hold where this ant has established his base of operations!"
Standing there with his hands clasped behind his back and drawn up straight as a board, the Lord Tenth seemed much taller than he really was. "Tell me, Severus, do you know of a man named Ezra Cardon? Because he has stolen some of your sheep."
Decima couldn't help but flinch at the Tenth's continued refusal to address Severus by his title. In this conversation it seemed that which was not said was spoken loudest of all.
Severus' response was positively dripping with ambivalence, "Master, I am well aware who leads the Order of Storms, and he rules a tiny island, no bigger than the city of Le Marke. It is a weak religion for a weak god. I have chosen to focus my efforts on bigger prizes; my followers on Dragon Isle alone are countless."
"Apollyon's followers. And Nameless is small, but populous."
"It is not my place to convert every fisherman, pirate, and salt wife on some remote island. We have friars for that kind of work, I am a cardinal!"
"Are you?"
Decima swallowed hard as she watched the two men staring each other down – Severus, with eyes that seemed to be on fire, and the Tenth, with eyes that seemed to be made of stone.
"It seems there is one who would dispute your claim. Crush him." With that peremptory dismissal, the Lord Tenth turned around and sat back down in his chair facing Decima. "In the meantime, I have sent funds to this An'Drow, to bolster his effort in Nameless. From what Cesnael tells me, it goes well. He has built a small city. Use this asset. You are dismissed."
Severus remained for a few moments, trembling. Decima thought he might actually strike out at the Lord Tenth, who for his part did not even seem to notice that Severus still stood there. Then, without a word, Severus Tyrannus turned and skulked out of the room. However, before he could get to the door, the Tenth called to him, "Severus, one more thing."
"Yes, 'master'?" The mocking tone didn't seem to faze the Tenth.
"Ants are very strong."
Severus didn't need to hear any more to know the conversation was over, so he departed as fast as grace would allow and the Tenth's gaze turned back to Decima, "Now, Cardinal Decima, where were we? What is it that brings you all the way from Sol Povos to see me?"
Decima turned the small, dissolvable pill over in her hand, thoughtfully eyeing the unadorned glass of water that had been unattended these last few minutes. This had been an interesting visit – a very interesting visit. She had never been to Nameless. Slipping the pill back up her sleeve into its secret pouch, she answered her superior, "Just a simple pilgrimage, my Lord. To visit the ancient church, study in its archives, and partake in your sagely wisdom."
By: Mike, 02/18/13


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I love to go to the public park and sit by the lake.
Somehow there's such a nice relaxing quality to the beauty there.
Don't you agree? I love nature. (Grin)
Earn extra money by submitting your images to ShutterStock! http://submit.shutterstock.com/?ref=3490
Copyright Image. Starve my Lawyer! If you like the image or gallery, VOTE!


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My number was 47. Number 47 for a Tattoo at Hard Core Ink located at 517 Front Street in Catasauqua. A couple weeks ago I saw in the Catty Press that Hard Core Ink was doing a Benefit for Peaceable Kingdom and Last Chance Ranch today, July 1 and that they would have dozens of animal inspired tattoos available. I mentioned it to Parke, but I don't think he believed that I really wanted one.
Parke got his tattoo at Hard Core Ink last year, and he was happy with it, so why not. What else is there to do on a sweltering hot Sunday in July. So I headed down around 2 ish, there was a 3 hour wait, but I could go home and they would call. Johnny did my tattoo which is a heart inside of a paw.
This was not my first tattoo, I have another tattoo which was done at the request of one of my bff's Tammy who got tired of seeing my underwear every time I bent over in choir in the pew in front of her, so I got a tramp stamp of the moon and 7 stars.
Johnny did a great job on the paw print and everyone at Hard Core Ink were very nice and friendly. I would recommend them to anyone. It didn't hurt that much, but heck after experiencing labor pains, what really hurts?
Since most of my pets have been either rescue pets from the shelters or homeless I feel a special place in my heart for places like Peaceable Kingdom. Our illusive cat, simply called Attic Cat, came from FURR, unfortunately she has to be the most skittish cat I have ever seen. She lives on the third floor in my craft/spare bedroom/sewing room. There is a bed, a sofa and a rocker. Her and Tipper, our other cat spend alot of time up there even though they have the run of the house. I only see Attic Cat on her way to the litter box or to eat. We had tried to no avail to get her to come to us. Occasionally she will get close, but you can't move, or twitch because she is off in a flash. I've seen her walk all over Parke though, when he has been napping in his recliner. Parke thinks she is trying to suck his soul, but I don't think so.
Tipper, Attic Cat and Digger are our fur babies right now, and I love them all. A big thanks to the places that take care of the unwanted animals, special thanks to the people that adopt them and a big special thanks to Hard Core Ink and other business that support the cause; and that's ....another day in Catasauqua.


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While my four year old is wanting twirliness, my nine year old is wanting to look more grown up. She is starting to act more grown up too. I'm really proud of her.
I wanted to sew something for her birthday waaayyyy back in September. Almost two months after her birthday, her dress is finally finished. Life got crazy with craft fairs and I don't know what all else so it got put aside for awhile, but it is finally finished.
I think Lotus is my very favorite line of hers, although the new Lark line is gorgeous too.
I bought it quite a long time ago with no particular purpose in mind. I just knew I loved it and wanted to have some on hand. Kinda toyed with the thought of making something for me, but it looks perfect on my daughter so I'm glad I hung on to it for just the right thing.
When her Daddy saw her in her new dress, I'm pretty sure he got tears in his eyes. I think that means we succeeded in getting her to look more grown up.


text: Anybody know the size of the o-ring used on the inlet side pipe connection of the IC? Mine is leaking like a sieve...time for a nice viton replacement oring to go in there. Oh, and I discovered the big reason why my car was getting slower and slower at Watkins Glen...nice, big, 3/4" tear at the top of the hose. Between the two, that explains why Chris's car(with the same ECU mod) felt about 3x faster... Brett -- ---- "They that give up essential liberty to obtain temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." - Ben Franklin http://www.users.cloud9.net/~brett/ http://www.apple.com/switch/


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Friday, March 4, 2011
Sale-a-Bration Card
I absolutely love this Sale-a-bration set. Too bad it will never make it into the catalogue....which is a good reason to earn it for free!!!!!
I've used it exclusively on this card to meet the challenge over at SUO Challenges this week which was to use a SAB set. I've also incorporated the Color Throwdown Colors for this week which were Not Quite Navy, Pink Pirouette and Baja Breeze.
I SERIOUSLY plan on getting some stuff created in the stamp room this weekend.....I just can't let myself get distracted with other things!!!!
Hope your weekend is well planned....thanks for stopping by! Joan
Stamp Set - Bliss (SAB)
Paper - Whisper White, Pink Pirouette, Not Quite Navy, Elegant Soiree DSP, Blueberry Crisp DSP
Ink - Not Quite Navy
Other - Oval Punch, Oval Scallop Punch, Scallop Trim Border Punch, Basic Pearls, Sponge Dauber, Dimensionals
You can earn FREE Sale-a-bration products three different ways.....
1) Spend $60.00 - For every $60 order, you can select one FREE Sale-A-Bration product of your choice! Order Online through my Website
2) Host a Workshop Host a workshop of at least $395 and earn one FREE Sale-a-bration product of your choice in addition to all the other hostess benefits. Contact me at firstname.lastname@example.com to book your workshop
3)Join Stampin'Up! Sign up as a demonstrator or hobbiest during Sale-a-bration and get 15% off your Starter Kit - Plus a bonus bundle filled with over $60.00 in FREE product. Sign Up Today
4 comments:
- Marlene said...
Another gorgeous creation...love the simplicity of this. The blues are beautiful...and I, of course, adore butterflies, so I'm liking this card a lot.
- March 5, 2011 at 6:04 PM
- LeAnne said...
This IS a pretty SAB set---and you worked it beautifully with the CTD colors! Thanks so much for playing with us at the CTD!
- March 6, 2011 at 11:48 AM
- Jen Timko said...
This is perfectly lovely! So glad you joined us at SUO Challenges!
- March 6, 2011 at 6:13 PM
- Deb Hoekstra said...
Lovely card and colors. Thanks for joining in at SUO Challenges.
- March 6, 2011 at 6:51 PM
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Retail: $32.00 @ Ulta
Description: With its sexy neutrals and captivating brights, this fun four-shadow palette can roll with yo from the office, right into your next hot date. Smoldering brown, Darkhorse shadowm was previously featured in the much sought after Naked Palette, and the coppery Suspect triumphed in the Book of Shadows. Verve is a pale, oyster shimmer that also makes a great highlighter! Woodstock, a hot pink, best-seller, is as a perfect at the beach as it is at a bar. This tantalizing collection makes a great gift, and also comes with a Lip Junkie Lipgloss and a 24/7 Glide-On Eye Pencil, Urban Decay's #1 selling (and award-winning!) liner. The slim pink and gold foil case, adorned with photos of Urban Decay's Rollergirl, is easy to tote around and features a magnetic closure, so that the contents don't wind up in your purse. Take it everywhere you go!
Swatches of 4 e/s:
Darkhorse, Suspect, Verve, Woodstock
*click to enlarge*
Darkhorse, Suspect, Verve, Woodstock
*click to enlarge*
Swatches of 4 e/s:
Woodstock, Verve, Suspect, Darkhorse
*click to enlarge*
Woodstock, Verve, Suspect, Darkhorse
*click to enlarge*
Swatches of Whiskey Eyeliner & Lip Junkie Lipgloss
*click to enlarge*
- Highly Pigmented
- Great Price
- Mirror Included
- Very Convenient
- Great packaging
- Easy to apply
- Long lasting
- I dont have any.
My overall thought:
I absolutely adore this palette. Each and every color is sooooo pigmented, that I believe it was worth every penny spent. The 24/7 eyeliner and Lip Junkie Lipgloss adds flavor to the kit, and I love it. It's easy to travel with because of mirror that on the flap of cover.. I would recommend this palette kit to anyone who is looking for a palette that contains highly pigmented eyeshadows.
What do you think about this palette? Do you think it's worth the money?


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- Name
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- About Me
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- My Favorite Names
No favorite names yet.
- My Recent Blog Comments
I met a mother of three girls at the pool today--Kaydynn, Madisynn and Brooklynn. Lyn and its variants are definitely popular, so is the yn ending. I wonder how many other names out there have the "updated" yn end?2
I personally know young boys named Brigham, Gibson, Pierson, and Nixon (which surprised me, because of the political connection. I wasn't born yet, but it's still the first thing I think of when I hear Nixon!) Nixon is like Ivan for me--hits all the right style notes, but has a negative historical connotation that ruins the "baby" potential.
Anyway, I also know sisters named Remington and Brixton, which I think could fit on this list. Can you tell I'm from the hyper trendy baby name West?3
Thank you so much! Your suggestions have all been great and helpful to get our discussion going again. Part of the problem might be that I know Georgie, and am having a hard time "assigning" a name to a baby I don't know yet. But with all these great comments, we'll pick a great name for her and get to know her (soon!).4
I went to high school with a male Remington. Lately there have been several baby girl Remington's popping up in my area, including my cousin's new baby. So far, she mostly gets called Remi. And yes, her dad is a hunter.6
Congratulations on baby #3!
Here are my ideas:
Samuel, Levi, Luke, David, Julian, Leo/Leon
My husband and I lived in an international community overseas as well. Some of these suggestions come from boys in our community, some I thought of that fit your criteria. Hugo was popular there, and I prefer it to Hugh, but it doesn't feel particularly American to me.
Good luck!7
I think your're right- when I read Georgiana, Louisa and Katherine, I didn't spot that Katherine was "different" until you pointed it out in the next line. I like that.
My husband especially liked the suggestions of Theodora and Josephine, and Frances is one I've thrown around quite a bit, so I'm amazed with how spot on you were with distiguishing out style tastes! We call Georgiana Georgie most of the time, so I would worry a little about having a Jo, two traditionally boy nicknames for sisters. Just because I would probably feel I had to keep that up with any future girls.
All in all, your comments were spot on and so helpful.8
Love Rafferty and Nora! Maybe my problem is that I just like too many...9
Also, I was surprised at the strong connection to Brigham Young in everyone's mind! Especially because my husband's biggest hang up with Zipporah is that we aren't Jewish.10
We agree Violette, I think Phillipa and Hugo are my favorite as well! Just, is Phillipa too...out there? But I especially love the nickname Pippa.
My husband and I both stopped and said, hmm, Edmund. I like it a lot, and like that it has connections to literature(The Chronicles of Narnia, The Count of Monte Cristo), like Georgiana(found in Pride and Prejudice and Great Expectations).11
I can't even explain how wonderful all these responses were! They opened up some good conversation and brainstorming for us. I love the idea of the fun/eclectic mix of names, but alas, that was the grouping my husband liked the least. Such great suggestions and a great, fresh look for us. Thank you!!12
Beautiful! Congratulations!


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Friday, October 30, 2009
Some photos from the past week or so
Hua Na Dam.
A rice field in Rasi Salai I worked for a day.
The family I worked and stayed with in Rasi Salai. A family that gathers rice together, eats together .
Laos. We got to go there for a couple of hours, this was pretty neat.
This is a pretty random and incomplete post, I guess I just wanted to get a couple photos up.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Unit 2: Rural and Urban Trends
Anyway, I was initially sent with 5 other students to the Parnsawan Slum community. All the communities we visited have been working with various NGO's and Networks to attain land leases. The communities of squatters are all set up on previously unused and neglected stretches of land near train tracks. The SRT (State Railroad Authority of Thailand) owns the land they have been living on for, some of the communities are as old as 60 years. Recently (past 15 years or so) the SRT has been threatening to evict these communities because in an effort to increase their revenues want to sell/rent these pieces of land to private business. The State Railroad hasn't been doing so well in Thailand and they desperately need to make more money or risk closure. As a result many people were displaced and once squatters became homeless. Organizations such as NGO-CORD and CODI as well as the Khon Kaen Slum Network and 4 Regions Slum Networks have been working with these communities in an effort to get them land leases so that they wont be kicked out of their homes. The communities we visited were in various stages of this process. In addition to achieving leases the NGOs also assist these communities by providing them with money for infrastructure, bt 20,000 per home for reconstruction. Also when a home receives a lease they are alotted a permit number which allows them access to electricity and clean water for much cheaper. If the community is "illegitimate" they have to pay for temporary meters which are more expencsive.
The community I stayed with is quite successful, they have a 30 year lease on their land that they have to renew every 3 years. A road through their small community, access to clean water, irrigation, meters for electricty, and even a small community center. The ideal success story. Yet the threat of eviction still looms over their head, their lease is only for 30 years, half the age of the community, and there is no promise or guarantee they will be allowed to renew it after that time. It is still SRT land and they can do whatever they want. Other communities are not as successful as Parnsawan.
The other students went to Robmuang, they are not as far along in the process as Parnsawan but they are working diligently to catch up. Certain people there have fears, their lease is only for 3 years, so they are hesitant to use the bt 20,000 on their homes if it is just to be torn down. There are many other communities that have been struggling for a long time and the NGOs and Networks are doing their best to aid, but it is an uphill fight. I was impressed however by the sense of pride the communities have, they are by no means wealthy or living in comfort ( at least by western standards) yet they are all happy and grateful for everything they have. I found my communities inspiring but I know that there are just as many unsuccesful communities that are not quite as lucky ( I always have to fin the negative).
We said goodbye to our "slum" community, I say "slum" because we joked that ours was like The Ritz-Carlton of slums, quite cushy - I slept on a bed, and my neighbors had a western toilet complete with toilet paper (luxurious). Then we met up with the other small group and went to the landfill. We heard from the previous group that the landfill was "intense". But that word doesn't fully prepare you for the grotesqueries we were about to endure. We didn't live ON the landfill perse, about 20 meters away to be precise, close enough that it's stench was easily carried on a soft breeze.
Here is about where the Unit got a bit nasty. We worked on the landfill with the community digging with hooked tools for recyclables: bottles, cans, bags, cardboard, whatever was worth some money. We donned heavy rubber boots, long pants, and many of us (myself included) wrapped scarves, kerchiefs, or t-shirts over our mouths and noses to better cope with the smell. For some the fetor combined with the intense heat and heavy work was overwhelming, a few vomited, some immediately gave up and went back to the houses. Most managed to hang on and work but for all it was a bitter struggle. Id like to say that this has to be one of the hardest most brutal jobs out there. I used to pride myself and boast that I could handle just about any hard laboring job there was; I have toughed it out working as a logger, clearing trail for the forest service and fighting forest fires. All of those jobs were intensely physical but I could do them again. I sincerely doubt I could do this again, nor do I have any desire to. I barely lasted a day but these people do this all day, everyday, and many have been doing it since they were children.
There are nearly endless health and safety related violations and issues. The water which they drink, cook, and wash with they get from a well behind one of the houses. It has leachate from the landfill in it. It was tested for arsenic (which it has a low level of), but thats the only chemical it was tested for. They have requested for more tests but there has been some sort of delay for the past 2 years (great). There is a nearby incinerator for some of the more hazardous wastes, as a result the air is heavily polluted and many of the children develop respiratory problems.
Just being on the landfill itself poses a myriad of safety concerns. The children frequently play there or help their parents scavenge. The adults wear thick boots but the children often run about in sandals, no one wears gloves or proper masks. The boots are good but not the best, many have sliced their feet deep on broken glass that went right through the rubber. Also there is the threat of medical waste, the hospital has to dispose of their waste properly, but many smaller clinics dont have the same restrictions. Their used needles end up in the landfill, one of the older community members stepped on one once and it went through his boot and into his foot. The potential for the transmission of diseases is omnipresent as well as the threat of serious injury, a child was crushed to death a few years ago by a dump truck that couldn't stop in time as she dashed in front of it.
The community has to search harder now for the recyclables, they are harder and harder to find, this is because of the economic crisis. Because of the crisis there are more street scavengers competing for the valuables. Most are snatched before they make it to the landfill. The landfill workers have to spend more time digging on the landfill to make ends meet. Despite all these hardships they dont want it any other way. Threats have been made to close the landfill for years now, the community claims that they will follow the garbage wherever, it is their livelihood and many know no other trades.
Just seeing the landfill, working in it, smelling it, was extremely disconcerting. I have read about landfills and seen them on TV and in documentary but you can never fully fathom what it is until you are in it. It is a towering monstrosity of stink and filth and disease and disgustingness, and it is entirely manmade. While wandering these dunes of waste I came to ponder humanity and how we are truly living in an unsustainable society. Miles of trash how could we possibly go on like this? How can we consider the production of this amount of trash okay? Its because we have stigmatized it, and rationalized it and MADE it okay to not care where it goes. We dont have to deal with our waste. We produce it and place it in a bin and put on the curb and then on tuesday its gone. Out of sight, out of mind - we never have to see that yogurt carton again. It was that realization that hit me the hardest, that I had helped create this, that I was just as much a part of the problem as anyone else. And no one is intentionally creating this, its just how things are. Undoubtedly I was rooting through some of my own refuse, I have been in Thailand long enough now. Its odd that I have more a relationship with my garbage in Thailand than I do in the states. I have no idea where my garbage goes at home, I take it to the dump on saturday, and they take care of it.
But what is the answer? How can we create less trash? There is no formal recycling in Thailand, and if there all of a sudden were to be recycling then all these scavengers would be jobless, it would be removing their livelihood. Do I worry about environmental impacts or human rights violoations? What is the proper course of action?
There is none, I hate that. As an idealist I have to have something to do, something to work towards, a goal an ideal. But some problems are just that: problems. And theres not a whole lot you can do but maybe alleviate some of the symptoms; give these people better boots, clean their water....keep making garbage? I feel very powerless right now, and I hate to leave off on such a note especially because there were many positives to this unit I could elaborate on. But for now I have a bunch of assignments to attend to.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Nagas With Attitude
I just returned today from an adventure to Tamui, a very small town in Northeastern Thailand on the mighty Mekong River. The reason for this venture was to partake in the annual festival that takes place to celebrate the end of Buddhist lent and also in hopes to see the legendary Naga spew fireballs from underneath the muddy waters of the Mekong. Every year at this festival the Naga, a five headed serpent that at one time protected the Buddha from being rained on, consumes the enemies of Buddhism and shoots these fireballs into the night sky. Thais flock from miles upon miles away to witness this event. They all drink Lau Kau (white rice whiskey), feast, set off fireworks, and light an assortment of things on fire to celebrate this illustrious occasion. The amount of things set on fire is truly a spectacle to behold; Thais love to set things ablaze and this desire is nurtured at a young age as supported by the many Thai children I witnessed running through the streets throwing firecrackers and shooting roman candles at eachother. I suppose these fireworks are meant to coax the Naga to perform his legendary fireshow.
When I found out what we were doing I was a little skeptical, only because I had not heard the stories. If there were fire breathing water serpents anywhere in the world I felt I would have heard about them by now, I adore such legends and still firmly believe that Bigfoot should be placed upon the endangered species list (its only a matter of time before somebody catches one and then before we know it every Joe Shit-head is gonna want a stuffed bigfoot above their mantle). But the plot thickened and I heard stories and read articles and watched bits of a documentary on the issue. There have been countless eyewitness accounts, photos and footage (just like Bigfoot, Nessie, and UFOs), nearly every town on the Mekong reports the same occurences of fireballs shooting from the water on or around the 5th of October. I thought that it was just some event at first, just some contraption under the water that was set off every year. But that would imply that the fireballs would happen every year and in the same spot, which is not the case. Sometimes it happens, sometimes not, sometimes in Tamui, sometimes in Nong Khai. The randomness of the event piqued my curiosity.
I was expecting Tamui to be a rather large town, the sort of town that might be able to afford to place a fire launching contraption under the waters of a swiftly moving river. However, it was quite small and extremely rustic. I saw Laos across the river: green, mountainous, quiet; the long winding drive down narrow dirt roads for several hours had me suspecting something, but this confirmed my suspicions: we were in the middle of nowhere. Who would bother to put a fire cannon out here?
We arrived late in the evening but the event was not until the followingnight. I woke the next morning aching to see the Naga, it was unbearable. But it was time to play the waiting game. The fine folks of Tamui and the couple thousand other people who suddenly showed up on their doorstep are quite adept at this. They have found that the best way to wait for a Naga is to promptly begin drinking.
The program arranged homestays for us at the village. My friends Morgan and Brodie and I were staying with an older couple and their family. Our Paw fed us Lau Kau with our breakfast as a pig was slaughtered and butchered next to the elevated platform we were eating on and now getting drunk on. Its really quite amazing what you can get used to, I had never witnessed a pig hacked to bits while forcing rice whiskey down my gullet and eating fried bamboo shoots before. It seems a little odd on paper but at the time I don't recall having any problem with it. Even when my Paw thrust another glass of Lau Kau into my hands with his own blood soaked mitt. I remember rationalizing that the high alcohol content would probably kill any bacteria or traces of trychinosis as I drained the blood smeared glass.
Im not a good drinker, I dont have the stamina. Usually I prefer to have a couple of drinks and avoid attention, hangovers are just not worth it to me. But when the situation calls for it who am I to go against the grain? Because I was in a new culture and waiting to see a Dragon I decided to make this one of those occasions - by noon I was wasted and passed out in the middle of some weird Thai drinking game. When I came to several hours later the sun was going down, I was in a strange house, covered in beer bottle caps and had an epic 5-star (when someone slaps your bare back very hard with an open hand, it leaves the outline of 5 fingers, thus "5 star") on my back that Im sure was not the work of Thai hands. I paid it no nevermind and began to wander about the small town. Every corner I turned more booze was offered but I was in no mood for strong drink. I went to the banks of the river, "where is this Naga?" I moaned quite roughly in english and began to bay a few english profanities. Something that is nice is that Thai people dont understand english, so you can swear and cuss and not worry about anything. Unless a few sensitive english speaking classmates happen to be close by and inform you that "even though they don't understand, it doesn't make it right". I didn't argue because they did have a point. Instead I mumbled "shit" one more time (just audibly) and padded dejectedly back to my house.
The smells of Isaan cooking greeted me as I entered the grass-thatch Chateau. My friends saw me and innocently inquired as to the state of my back. I smiled, they did get me good, and I would be lying if I said I didnt find 5-stars amusing. I tucked into the sticky rice and fried pork and veggie stir fry and didn't come up for air, Isaan food is too good.
With bloated bellies we made our way to the riverbanks and onto a large platform built in the trees overlooking the river. We had a phenomenal view of all the goings-on. Gigantic shimmering bamboo fireboats, smaller fireboats, fire propelled hot air balloons, professional strength fireworks displays, all sorts of creative things, all hand made, all painstakingly crafted and all soaked in oil and set ablaze. I settled in with my friends and host families, watched the show and waited patiently for the Naga. I was offered more beer "nah I dont wanna pass out again and miss the Naga"; I began getting bit by bugs and considered walking back to get my repellent but I didnt want to risk missing the Naga, "Hey Tommy lets go down to the river and set a boat on fire with this guy" ---"Cant, you have to walk away from the river to do that.....Naga". I was NOT going to miss this Naga. As it got later and passed the announced Naga time of 930 a few skeptics began to antagonize the true believers: "I told you guys, 'Nagas' dont exist". I shot them sour looks and explained that firebreathing watersnakes keep their own schedules.
An hour later and well past the announced Naga time I was pissed. "Where is this Naga?" I shouted to no one. People had begun to give up and my spirit was very nearly broken as well. I hung on because I could see P'Joy over my shoulder. P'Joy (our bus driver, native of Isaan, and master of all things badass - like making crossbows and knowing everything about the forest - he had witnessed the Naga on many occasions) he was holding strong, resolute in his posture and staring fixedly at the water, he knew it was just a matter of time. I sat and waited and from time to time would glance back to make sure he was still there. I turned back at one point and noticed he was gone, he didnt come back. No Naga this year, I knew it was time to call it quits. I sweared in english, wandered back to my house and fell to my bed like I had just been dumped. In a way my heart was broken.
For many this trip just affirmed what they already knew, that Nagas dont exist. I however am still hopeful - I guess deep down I think that I will somehow be able to tame these ferocious yet noble beasts and then perhaps...I dont know... hang out with it. I don't know if I will ever have the opportunity to hang out with a Naga or even be able to see it shoot fireballs. You might be interested to know that although the Naga did not show up in Tamui this year, fireballs were witnessed in Nong Khai. Just a little food for thought....


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So, I'll be traveling to our Ouray home this weekend. I am looking forward to being in that little town with a "big" community.
This has been a time of rest for me. No work outside the home. I have enjoyed the lower stress level. I know my body is trying to heal itself. Today, I told myself that it was ok to receive the rest. Leave the care and keeping of the home(s) to God. Thank you Lord.


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Below is a comprehensive view of the latest government policies related to the residential property market. These policies are often referred to as the 'Property Market Cooling Measures'.
Source : SRX
A Brief Summary of Cooling Measures
1. Additional Buyer's Stamp Duty (ABSD)
|ABSD Rate on Primary
Home Purchase
|ABSD Rate on Secondary
Home Purchase
|ABSD Rate on Tertiary &
Subsequent Purchase
|Singapore Citizens
|0% –> 7%
|3% –> 10%
|Permanent Residents
|0% –> 5%
|3% –> 10%
|3% –> 10%
|Foreigners1 and non-individuals
|10% –> 15%
|10% –> 15%
|10% –> 15%
Note:1.Citizens of the USA, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Norway, Iceland will be treated the same as Singapore Citizens due to FTA agreement.
2. Sellers' Stamp Duty (SSD)
|Residential Property Sold In
|Year 1
|Year 2
|Year 3
|Year 4
|SSD Rate since Feb 2010
|Same as basic
Buyer Stamp Duty
|SSD Rate since Aug 2010
|Same as basic
Buyer Stamp Duty
|2/3 of basic
Buyer Stamp Duty
|1/3 of basic
Buyer Stamp Duty
|SSD Rate since Jan 2011
3. Loan-to-Value (LTV) Ratio
Source: SRX / StreetSine
Policy Details
|Effective Date
|Major Cooling Measures that Affect Residential Property Market
|27 August, 2013
|1. Singapore Permanent Resident Households need to wait three years from the date of obtaining SPR status, before they can buy a resale HDB flat.
|2. Maximum tenure for HDB housing loans is reduced from 30 years to 25 years. The Mortgage Servicing Ratio (MSR) limit is reduced from 35% to 30% of the borrower's gross monthly income.
|3. Maximum tenure of new housing loans and re-financing facilities granted by financial institutions for the purchase of HDB flats (including DBSS flats) is reduced from 35 years to 30 years. News loans with tenure exceeding 25 years and up to 30 years will be subject to tighter LTV limits.
|29 June, 2013
|1. TDSR: Financial institutions are required to consider borrowers' other outgoing debt obligations when granting property loans. His total monthly repayments of his debt obligations should not exceed 60 per cent of his gross monthly income.
|2. In particular, MAS requires:
-borrowers named on a property loan to be the mortgagors of the residential property for which the loan is taken;
-"guarantors" who are standing guarantee for borrowers otherwise assessed by the financial institutions at the point of application for the housing loan not to meet the TDSR threshold for a property loan to be brought in as co-borrowers; and
-in the case of joint borrowers, that financial institutions use the income-weighted average age of borrowers when applying the rules on loan tenure.
|12 January, 2013
|1. ABSD: Citizens pay 7/10% on second/third purchase (from 0/3%); Permanent Residents (PR) pay 5/10% for first/second purchase (from 0/3%); foreigners and non-individuals now pay 15%.
|2. LTV for second/third loan now 50/40% from 60%; non-individuals' LTV now 20% (from 40%).
|3. Mortgage Servicing Ratio (MSR) for HDB loans now capped at 35% of gross monthly income (from 40%); MSR for loans from financial institutions capped at 30%.
|4. PRs no longer allowed to rent out entire HDB flat.
|6 October, 2012
|1. Mortgage tenures capped at a maximum of 35 years.
|2. For loans longer than 30 years or for loans that extend beyond retirement age of 65 years: LTV lowered to 60% for first mortgage and to 40% for second and subsequent mortgages.
|3. LTV for non-individuals lowered to 40%.
|8 December, 2011
|1. ABSD introduced for further cooling measures:
– Foreigners and non-individuals pay 10%, PRs buying second and subsequent property pay 3%, Singaporeans buying third and subsequent property pay 3%.
|2. Developers purchasing more than four residential units and following through on intention to develop residential properties for sale would be waived ABSD
– To qualify, developers have to produce proof of development and sale within five years.
|14 January, 2011
|1. Holding period for imposition of SSD increased to four years from three.
|2. SSD rates raised to 16%, 12%, 8% and 4% of consideration.
|3. LTV lowered to 60% from 70% for second property.
|4. LTV for non-individual residential purchasers capped at 50%.
|30 August, 2010
|1. Holding period for imposition of SSD increased to three years from one.
|2. Minimum cash payments raised to 10% from 5% for buyers with one or more outstanding housing loans.
|3. LTV lowered to 70% from 80% for second properties.
|20 February, 2010
|1. Introduction of SSD for residential property and land sold within one year of purchase.
|2. LTV lowered to 80% from 90% on all housing loans except HDB loans.
|14 September, 2009
|1. Interest absorption scheme (deferment of instalments until TOP) and interest-only housing loans (interest payment only until TOP) were scrapped for all private properties.
Related articles
- 4 Residential site launched by URA & HDB (paulngproperty.wordpress.com)


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DJ Caff s gonna work you out to Michael Jackson, Queen, David Bowie, Billy Joel, Lionel Richie, Culture Club, Wham!, Run DMC and Madonna!
If it was acceptable in the 80's then we're into it. Whether you lived through it, were born during, or are just nostalgic for a time you never knew, join us for a night of 80's celebration!


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How does an abused wife leave her husband? It is difficult, especially if she has children. Sometimes she does a rehearsal for the real event. I did this before I fled from California to New Zealand with my two children. Read and wonder. Has something like this happened to you or someone you know? (from my new book, "Fire and Ice")
Thirty-eight Steps
"Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to Heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me."
Psalm 139:7-10
One thing the doctors gave me through cancer and nerve damage from the chemotherapy–was medicine. They were eager to write prescriptions for pain, anxiety, and sleeplessness. Fifteen years of domestic abuse pushed me further into these drugs. When they became less effective and the doctors would not prescribe stronger ones, I would use the family credit cards and buy more on the Internet–without a prescription. They came easily enough from places like Canada and India, in dubious packaging with strange names. I hid this contraband in the linen closet of our lovely mountain home and waited all the long, stress-filled days for the chance to swallow them secretly at night (as if no one knew).
It was a family custom for Edd and me to put Jessica and Jonathan, our beautiful children whom I homeschooled, to bed each evening. We would sit on the children's twin beds in their shared bedroom, in the glow of the green moon nightlight. By Jonathan's bed, Hebrew letters–penned with his own hand–were caught in black ink behind glass, framed upon the wall.
"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, body, and soul," they read.
Beside them, the painting of an angel blazed in white against the dark background of a boy's bedroom. The heavenly being, with arching wings, stood tall above the sleeping boy who was covered to his chin with blankets. The angel held a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. Its silver blade reflected fire above the small, smooth face of the sleeping child.
The inscription below the painting read in English cursive letters:
"I will both lie down in peace and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety."
How can I feel safe with Edd? I wondered, staring at the man who tormented us.
Jessica was too old, really, for this nightly ritual. Her eyes stayed open during prayers. She seemed too big for the four-posted bed, its wood carved in French-style curves and painted white and yellow. Above the headboard hung a Renoir painting of a girl in a striped red and blue dress, playing with a hoop and ball. Her hair fell about her shoulders in auburn curls, like Jessica's.
I followed Jessica's gaze toward the window where Penny the parrot perched sleepily in his wooden cage. Yellow curtains looped above the cage like veils. Beside them, the dresser rose, dotted with childhood's fleeting objects: a doll dressed in an old-fashioned gown, sitting at a table spread with tiny rose-print teacups and plastic strawberries in a bowl; a stack of baseball cards beside a Boston Red Sox's cap; a clear acrylic globe painted with glow-in-the-dark stars.
Jessica's eyes swept toward the closet with its posters of kittens and the solar system, then to the father who sat on her bed.
How can I pray with him? I asked myself again, watching the man I called husband bowing his head, eyes closed, hands clasped benignly in his lap, as he prayed for his two children.
"Lord, thank you for the day," he said, his voice deep and baritone. "Please bless our sleep, all we do tomorrow, and keep us safe."
Safe? I repeated in my mind. I had taken my nighttime pills early, and already my mind was melting into a mist of forgetfulness. Pain slipped from me as did my sensibility. My muscles relaxed, my jaw dropped slightly, and if I spoke, Edd and the children would hear a slur within the sloppy words.
I had prayed so long for God to rescue me. I was looking for permission to leave my husband, permission that would not be handed to me like a plane ticket. I found it easier to swallow several pills than to even think about the situation: to lie down on my spacefoam mattress and sink into a dreamless sleep. What I didn't realize was that help lay just outside my door, and I needed a clear head to guide my hand toward that door handle.
One night, I sat at my polished mahogany desk in front of the moonlit window. On the other side of glass, wind blew evergreen boughs like dancers. The forest around the house lit up, trees casting shadows upon the pine-needled ground. Music filled the air, inside the room and out–the music of wind, my joyful heart, and the words in my mind like clear notes of an aria.
My long fingers swept across the white keys of my laptop like a pianist in a concert. With each touch of a fingertip, the melody rose toward crescendo, in words like windowsill and elbow. I was writing an epic story like an opera. I mastered arts of setting, character, and costume, each detail chosen from millions of possible words. They appeared one black letter at a time on a white screen against a glowing blue background. I loved that color of blue, the color of the distant sky and shallow water.
Selah, clothed in glittering armor, faced the dungeonwraith at last. Her right hand held a torch high against the darkness of deep stone and dim halls. Her left hand lifted a silver shield that blazed with reflective light. Her sword hung ready at her side.
"I am not afraid," she spoke to the black, faceless form of her enemy. Its shadow shrunk before the light and stepped back toward the wall.
"I banish you in The Maker's Name!"
Selah placed the torch in a metal bracket and unsheathed her sword. Its crystalline blade blazed brighter than fire, sunlight through ice, cutting through the frigid darkness. The dungeonwraith crouched like an animal before it.
I did not hear Edd walk through the open doorway behind me, so focused was I on my newest book.
"I told you not to go on the Internet," he said. "I saw the red light on the phone upstairs."
My fingers paused mid-stanza, and all the music waited in interlude. Selah still held her sword, turning her face toward me for directions.
I swung my chair around and saw Edd standing against the white wall. He was six feet tall and nearly 300 pounds, his reddish beard laced with gray like steel, his blue eyes glowering like a wolf's. Without another sound he took three steps toward me, grabbed the computer from the desk, held it high in the air, and smashed it against the wall.
One. Two. Three times the plastic and metal container that held all my lovely words hit the white wall.
All the music stopped. Selah disappeared. I screamed and jumped up from the chair to try and stop him, knowing it was too late. I could only stand there and stare at the white computer on the floor, its metal twisted into an acute angle, its keyboard a thin rubber skin hanging loosely from metal components, its once-bright monitor black and cracked in jagged glass from edge to edge.
Jessica and Jonathan, awakened from childhood's dreams, appeared in the doorway.
"Mom, are you alright?" Jonathan asked. "I thought you were being . . ." He saw the broken computer, stepped toward me, and gave me a child's hug.
When he pulled away, he looked up, his dark blue irises around wide pupils, his elvish eyebrows and high cheeks beautiful beneath his curly golden hair. Jessica, three years older and quieter, stepped toward the telephone to call for help, but her father's stare stopped her. Auburn locks fell on the shoulders of her rose-patterned nightgown, and her lighter blue eyes seemed feverishly vivid against her white skin, lips, and the pink birthmark on her left cheek, shaped like a baby's hand. She put down the phone receiver, walked toward me, and stood silently there.
"I'm OK," I said, my voice too calm.
"I told her not to go on the Internet so late," Edd stated, as if smashing a computer was the usual punishment for such a violation.
"I just checked my email," I replied, the words sounding hollow. "I didn't even realize I was still connected, as I was writing Selah." In reality, I thought Edd had fallen asleep on the upstairs sofa and would not see the light on the telephone.
"You JUST. You JUST do everything I tell you not to."
Edd took a step toward me, and Jonathan bravely stood between us, small and thin in his plaid pajamas. He didn't say a word, but Edd stopped.
"Go back to bed," the man commanded. He was not an alcoholic. He became drunk only on rage. His eyes, beneath thick brows, swept over me like a final blow, and he turned and left the room. I held the children who ran into my arms. I would put them back to bed, talk to them, pray with them, try to assure them it was safe to sleep. But before I left my bedroom for theirs, I bent down to touch the three marks upon the wall.
I kneeled above the broken computer but did not touch it.
All those lost words, all those beautiful words . . .
"At least he did not throw you against the wall," Jonathan whispered.
Oh, but he did, I almost said.
"It's like when Jo's angry sister burned all the pages of her story in the novel Little Women," Jessica observed (a true homeschooler). "And the ashes blackened her hands."
She picked up the laptop and handed it to me. The metal cut my finger, and one red drop lingered on the "S" key.
Three a.m. and the house full of screaming. Again. It had been two years since Edd smashed my computer at midnight. Why had I not left him? Because I could see no clear way out, was still waiting for permission, and it was easier to take some pills and go to bed . . . And, worst of all, part of me felt like I deserved such punishment.
I sat on the very edge of the tapestry sofa, staring at the rose pattern. Fuschia petals wove together with mint leaves and taupe stems. Beautiful. I brushed my hand across the thick, woven material, then clasped my other hand again in my lap, assuming the position–prepared to flee. All I had to do was stand and run for the stairs and the door . . .
"Are you listening?" he yelled, lunging toward me, his hand raised.
He wants to hit me again, I whispered in my mind, as if the words could become a wall against his rage. His anger was more than just sound in air; it was a malevolent spirit I could not understand, and worse than him actually striking me was the threat of it.
How could I NOT hear you? I wanted to shout–but only meekly replied,
"Do you understand?" he pursued, lowering his hand a little.
That question I could not answer. I could never really understand why he had to yell at me. Was it some great fault of mine? Was I not selfless enough, dedicated enough? I had never been unfaithful to him. I cooked, I cleaned the house, I shopped for all we needed, I homeschooled the children, taking them to figure skating lessons, music class, drama productions, and science expeditions. Yet there were the pills . . .
And he knew I could not love a cruel man.
My eyes widened, the blue irises nearly swallowed up by black. Had he heard that last thought?
"You DO NOT understand, bitch," he spat, his face reddening deeper shades with each syllable.
The anger in his words rose with the volume, and I felt their power as if he had punched me in the chest with his fist (as he had done once, just over my right breast, the same spot where I found cancer . . .).
He hadn't hit me in three years. Yet, somehow, those blows, whether hard or mere jolts, had been easier to bear than the anger like something solid in the air I could cut with a sword (and I had a Sting sword from The Lord of the Rings, and while writing Selah I would practice with it). A physical attack was so dramatic that, afterward, a kind of relief would wash over me, as if I had paid the price expected and could breathe again. But the loud words, like the gunshot that killed my father, would not stop. They pierced my thoughts, ever echoing.
I stood, trembling. My face turned toward the closed door just eight steps below the living room. The red carpet spread like flames around me, and I wanted to run over its hot color to the brown wooden steps, the cool touch of a metal door handle, the cold air of winter–a snow-bound mountain night beneath the stars and moonlight, fir trees to hide in, freedom . . .
"Don't turn away from me. I'm talking to you!" he continued with the tenacity of a pit bull, sinking his teeth into my heart and ripping it with each sway of his strong head back and forth.
"You have been 'talking' to me for five hours," I said, my voice calm and steady. "I don't even know what I've done wrong or what you want, except for me to sacrifice myself and all my needs for you."
He stepped back, surprised that I dared to reply, shocked by my honesty.
"I have been pointing out to you what you lack as a supportive wife," he stated, his voice suddenly steady, too, and of a normal volume–as if yelling at one's wife for five hours straight, until three in the morning, was as natural a husbandly act as passing salt at the dinner table.
I could predict what would follow. He would grow loud again, like a Nazi-trained torturer. Then I would promise something like getting up with him at 6:00 in the morning to make his breakfast before the children woke up for homeschool. He would follow with forgiveness, tender words, and the offer of caresses . . .
And then, in the next week or ten days, the cycle would begin again, a wheel like a windmill, ever at the mercy of an inevitable gale.
Why can't humans break the wheels of their own doom? I wondered. Even those who call themselves Christians . . .
My eyes wandered to the painting of Mary holding baby Jesus, above the huge wood mantel and stones of the fireplace. Mary looked so peaceful as she kissed the divine infant's face.
Then I looked at the face of my husband.
Where is my peace? I asked myself–and God–whom I knew was watching this.
The answer to a prayer I had whispered for fifteen years came to me suddenly, like the last embers glowing in the hearth that whipped into flame as I watched.
I am not sleeping, God spoke in the flame. You do not have to live with this. This is not how I intended marriage.
I blushed from the top of my forehead to my toes.
"Enough!" I screamed. For the first time, I yelled back. "I've had enough of your yelling, your violence, your anger." I ran toward the stairs and saw the children sitting on the lower steps, to the lower level, in the dark. Again. Tears glistened on Jonathan's face, caught in the green moon nightlight that illumined the staircase for those who sought their way in darkness. Jessica sat behind him, her face hidden in her lap.
I stood between them and the upper landing by the exit. Then I flung open the heavy wooden door and stepped toward the outside staircase. It rose a dizzy height from the walkway, framed by silver fir trees. Cold mountain air splashed over my hot face like water, filling my lungs for one long breath before I screamed to the night,
"I . . . can't . . . take . . . this . . . anymore!"
The words echoed in the forest silence, against tree trunks, rocks, and hills. They beat upon the neighbor's house. But no lights came on, and no one appeared in the doorway. I reached for my purse and keys that always waited ready by the door. I lifted my arm toward my children and pleaded,
"Come with me!"
Jonathan jumped up and took my hand. Jessica hesitated, looked toward her father, and said, "But who will stay with Daddy?" Perhaps I should have grabbed her and pulled her with us, for she had always been connected to the father she resembled in face, figure, and character. But I could not force her then. I stepped out with Jonathan onto the wooden platform and hurried down all thirty-eight steps.
Three-fifteen in the morning is cold on a mountain winter night. All I had was my purse, my Subaru station wagon, and my frightened son Jonathan. I drove around aimlessly for awhile, watching the headlights hit the tall snow berms and the white-laden branches of trees. I stopped at the church and parked in the dark, empty lot.
The church perched on top of the mountain. I took Jonathan's hand and walked across the cleared path to the edge of the slope, where the large wooden cross rose silently against the view.
The nearly full moon lit up the mountain range from our feet to the farthest summit above Desert's Edge. Stars spread in millions of white dots forming ancient patterns of animals and heroes. They touched the mountain peaks and the horizon, countless paths open to us, countless possibilities.
All the ridges, slopes, and crevasses of the mountain were made more stark by snow and shadow, with only a little mist that floated in between. I stepped forward, and the snow crunched beneath my sheepskin boot. I bent down and scooped up a handful, white in the moonlight. I sifted the ice crystals with my fingers, so cold against my bare skin that they burned like fire.
Fire and ice, I thought, are not so very different.
I wiped the snow away and sighed. What to do now?
"See, there is Keller's Peak," I pointed toward a distant summit, my voice feeling free. "On top of it is the forest fire lookout we climbed to with your sister. Remember how steep the steps were, and how I had to walk up just behind you? And the view! Remember the room all plated with glass, the mountains' forests stretching in all directions beneath us, and the telescope viewer they let us peer through?"
Jonathan looked up at me and said, in a small, tired, little-boy voice,
"I'm cold, Mom. And I miss Jessica."
His breath, like mine, formed a mist illumined by the moonlight.
"I know," I replied, my sudden elation and momentary freedom turned to tears. They rushed unbidden down my cold cheeks, and I wiped them with the arm of the coat I had grabbed on my way out the door.
"Where can we go?" Jonathan asked.
"I . . . don't . . . know," I replied, wishing I had a father, mother, or brother now. I could not imagine driving down the mountain this late, not knowing where to go for refuge and without Jessica.
"How about Pastor's house?" I suggested.
Jonathan nodded, his elvish face so full of trust that it hurt to look at it, tipped up toward me in the moonlight. His oval eyes under lashes glowed in the reflected light, so bright I could glimpse their color blue–like the submerged sides of icebergs, something rarely seen. Curls dangled on his forehead, and he pushed one away with a small, ungloved hand. His other hand reached out for mine.
I would always remember that touch, especially when I could hold him only in my dreams.
"Yes, let's go to Pastor's house," he agreed, always wise for his age. It was a Plan, and we needed one.
And so, at 3:33 a.m., we slid down the icy road to Pastor Tom's house. We never would have made it without all-wheel drive. When at last we pulled into the recently shoveled, narrow driveway, I sat there with the engine and heater running.
"I'm going to knock on his door," I told Jonathan.
"I'm coming," he said.
"You sure you don't want to wait here where it is warm?" I asked.
The boy stared up at me, every bit as Irish/English stubborn as I was.
"OK. Come on."
He followed me out of the car, still clinging to my hand. We crunched our way up the snow-dusted deck to the front door and rang the bell.
No one came.
I rang the bell again. I knocked. I waited. I knocked harder.
"Well, it's almost four in the morning," I observed. "Maybe they are asleep and do not hear us."
But that seemed odd. Did they see who was at the door and decide not to answer it? Several times I had gone to the church to ask for help with Edd's abuses. No one had believed me, though my only witnesses to what happened behind closed doors, Jessica and Jonathan, had testified on my behalf. Edd made a lot of money as a full-time English professor, and he donated tithes to the church. He was also a worship music leader, and I was a crazy poet, homeschool mom, who took too much prescription medicine . . .
My head pounded, and the back of my neck hurt. The soles of my feet, my toes, and my fingertips started tingling. How long had it been since I had a Viacodin?
"Nooo," I moaned. "I've got to stop taking all of those."
Jonathan looked up at me, questions in his eyes. I had not realized I spoke my thoughts aloud. I put my hand on his head, felt the soft curls beneath my fingers, and remembered how I kept tiny cuttings in plastic bags, safe in my jewelry box, since he was born.
I rang the bell one last time. I could hear it echo in the house behind the broad wooden door shut tight. Jonathan shivered beside me, and a chill ran like an electric shock into my uncovered head.
I thought about Edd falling asleep on the upstairs sofa after he put Jessica back to bed. I thought about the dark steps leading down to the lower level where my pain, anxiety, and sleep medicine waited in the closet by my bedroom. I thought of the green moon nightlight above the desk, my new laptop light dimming and brightening like a breathing cat asleep, the spacefoam mattress, deep pillows, and fleece blanket. I thought about being numb again, lulled to a dreamless sleep for hours uninterrupted. Perhaps, I could continue to bear the abuse, to somehow cope . . .
I thought of how I would have to climb each of those broad, wooden, beige-painted thirty-eight steps to the heavy, stained brown double front door with its beveled glass windows enclosed by metal like the portals of a castle's gates.
Those doors I had a key for. They would open to me easily. But what about the doors I had stood upon the frozen precipice to see, the mountains spread out in snow and moonlight?
Don't go back, my heart warned. But the Pastor's door remained unopened, his windows unlit. The terrible cold weighed me down. Pain shot through my body like fire.
I turned and walked back to the warm car, pulling Jonathan after me.
"Is anybody out there?" I yelled a few weeks later, at snow-laden trees and empty houses. "Any neighbor who would help us shovel snow?"
No one answered. Jessica and I continued to shovel snow on our own. After awhile, the man from next door walked outside to stare at us and the snow shovels in our wet, gloved hands. Then he turned around and walked back into his warm house. He didn't say a word.
"Mom, we'll never get this car shoveled out of the driveway before the store closes," Jessica pointed out the obvious as light began to dim in the shadow of tall evergreens. She threw her orange shovel to the side of the semi-shoveled driveway, stood dripping with sweat and the flurry of new snow, and looked into my eyes. Her pale face, framed by auburn waves of curly hair, seemed silent, still, resolved. The pink birthmark on her left cheek was hardly visible. Her eyes flashed darker than usual, like the sky above treetops before night drives away the blue.
I expected her to speak, to ask The Question–the one I had heard for months, but she said nothing. And that Nothing held within itself years of abuse from a man I called Husband, and she called Father. Not "Daddy" anymore, just "Father."
Behind her stood the three-story, half a million-dollar, wood and glass house framed by hundred-feet-high silver fir trees–a castle, a tower, a Beautiful Prison.
I held my blue shovel by its bent and padded handle–halfway between the three-foot-high berm and the grey sky. The dirty black Subaru station wagon waited behind me in silence, the doors unlocked, the gas tank full, the steering panel ready for a key.
"Say it," I said to Jessica–my Jesse who had changed from a happy toddler with pigtails that bounced when she ran–to this tall, silent teenager with pale skin and flaming blue eyes.
She stood there as the sudden flurry ceased and sunset cast rays upon the virgin snow. She stood like an angel, a Guardian who leads children safely home. She raised one arm and pointed at something behind the car, her red vest covered with white, her brown eyelashes with crystals.
I did not have to turn around to see the Door open in the air, the Door to a new Life, a new dimension. I did not have to open my palm to feel the Key Jesse had just given me, a key more ornate than the silver one I pinned to capes for dress-up–or the large brass one upon my dresser, which I said would open my English castle's door.
I had not been to England for fifteen years. I had changed England to another country, New Zealand, much like it but more lovely and uncrowded–in another Hemisphere across a different Sea.
My thoughts turned back to where we stood, in the snow, our feet cold in their boots. Jessica continued looking at me as if waiting for directions. Still holding the shovel between sky and snow, I felt a sudden piercing like a sword thrust through me, followed by the stillness before death or birth.
"I will say the Question," I spoke softly as to a frightened child (was it Jess or me?). "And this time I will answer it."
All the strength and weakness that had kept me in an abusive marriage snapped inside me, like a pine sapling under a blizzard's burden. I knew I could not step again–meekly, like a slave or sheep–into that house. Nor could I lead my children in there after me.
"When are you going to draw the line and leave Dad?" I yelled at myself that Question Jess had asked me for months. "I am so tired of seeing him hurt you and us!"
I raised the shovel above my head and plunged it into the snow blanket's graceful, untouched surface that glinted like a million crystals in the last light of afternoon.
I pulled the shovel out to reveal a perfect line of white with aquamarine edges. I set the shovel down, walked to the Subaru, opened the front door, pulled out my digital camera, took a photo, and announced,
"Jessica, there is your Line."
Her face enlivened with opposite emotions.
"Are you kidding?" she asked, stepping toward the line in the snow. "Why now? Are you sure? Don't do it just for me!"
For the first time we could remember, Edd was down in the valley, staying in his office so as "not to deal with the snow." Jonathan, almost eleven, was playing up the road at a friend's house. We had Air New Zealand tickets stamped with "June," for our fourth summer/winter there. We could change them to April, ask friends to help us pack, get a ride to the airport, and fly across 10,500 kilometers of ocean to islands near Antarctica, where the Silver Fern grows, and children and wives are better protected from abuse (or so I hoped).
We had no American family to turn to, no inherited house for retreating. The land across the sea seemed not just the place of our dreams but a real Door we could enter, a keyhole into which we could turn a key.
The Southern Alps, with their year-round glaciers and aquamarine lakes, could hide us . . .
Jessica and I looked at each other, and two smiles bubbled up from somewhere long covered over by tears.
"See, there's the Door," I gestured behind me. "And you have just handed me the Key."
"And you have just cut a Line in the Snow," she said as we embraced each other.
With help from Tara, Jessica's best friend–and Tara's parents–we packed and left that night. Never wanting to return, we stowed all our Treasures:
–my collection of small silver spoons from countries all over the world, each with its own seal and design
–letters from my Great-Grandmother Julia in England and her sister, Great, Great Aunt Kate in India, handwritten on parchment
–photo albums of Julia in England, riding her bike at the turn of the Twentieth Century, Worcester cathedral above her in shades of black and gray–and Kate, perched on a white horse in India, palm fronds behind her . . . and my Irish grandfather at the coal mines, and my educated university professor grandparents in the cozy study of their Carolina mansion . . . and all the early photos of my childhood, the only ones of my dark-haired father, my blonde mother looking wistful, my lost brother, my own children when they were young (before I stored digital images on my computer)
–my Renaissance costumes in heavy velvet material and lace, Sting sword with Elvish letters on the blade, an eagle-feathered silver Gondor helmet with matching shield, an archery set with Jessica's real Indian fringed leather quiver for the arrows
–my family ancestry book with carefully labeled branches of family trees, birth certificates, notes I could never remember
–all the cards, presents, drawings, treasures my children ever gave me
–all the American history dolls with costumes, baseball cards, baby clothes, and toys from the children's bedroom
— and so much more I cannot type for sorrow
All into brown boxes to send by boat to New Zealand.
Had I not been taking prescription medication, I might have paused a moment in my frenzy and asked if this was really the best plan. Why fly all the way to New Zealand? Why not drive down the hill to a woman's shelter?
Hadn't my mother taught me that you cannot outrun your problems, cannot escape yourself?
My children obediently followed my lead and stuffed their Treasures into boxes. They packed their suitcases with warm clothes, for it would be autumn there. And I did not pause to ask these questions.
After hours of preparing, we got in the black Subaru station wagon and followed Tara's white, overloaded truck (Jonathan wanted to ride with them). In our packed car, Jessica and I watched the nearly full moon shine over cedar trees covered in snow crystals, and the fields of smooth snow without a single footprint. The very air glowed with light, and we giggled like prisoners set free.
The forest, the mountains–the whole wide world–lay open and unexplored before us, and we could step into it all if we chose. But I picked New Zealand, twelve-and-a-half hours' flight across the Pacific, in the Southern Hemisphere where the Southern Cross hangs in the sky and the Milky Way looks so close, as if we were in a spaceship exploring it, or as if we could hold up our thumbs and hitch a ride through the Galaxy. New Zealand, where the green hills, dotted with sheep, stretch toward rivers one can drink from, and the buzzy bees hum through flowers, and the Kea parrot calls across the snowy mountain rocks, and the Tui birds sing out their names from Kauri trees:
"Tu-ii, Tu-ii!" at midnight.
We spent two nights at Tara's house, waiting for our flight from Los Angeles to Christchurch. I slept on the sofa. The children slept upstairs in Tara's room. Edd didn't spend much effort looking for us. He probably didn't believe that I, like a caged bird free, could fly with our children across the Sea.
On the way to the airport, he called my cell phone. We, in a limousine, answered the ring and told him we wanted to go. Even Jonathan said so, the boy who remembered all too well the yelling and violence that had permeated his life.
Jonathan would later tell me,
"The screaming in my mind did not stop until we reached New Zealand. And I dreamed of Dad sitting in a chair yelling at the rest of us who sat in chairs in a square around him."
But, after he hung up the cell phone, he looked at me with his blue Frodo eyes and curly honey hair and said,
"I hope you're right about this, Mom. I'm trusting you."
I should have paused and asked myself how well thought-out my plan was. But I let the limo continue its journey to the airport, our suitcases and boxes all packed, the Air New Zealand tickets and passports in my purse. Jessica was silent.
We passed through the security machines and then spent time in the shops at the International Terminal. I exchanged money from American to New Zealand and bought some chocolate for the flight. When the call over the loud speaker came to board our plane, we walked down the gray enclosed ramp with other passengers, some with Kiwi accents and all bobbing happily along. Jonathan held his big, plush wolf pillow under his arm and reached for my hand.
We found our seats, three together by the windows. I sat in the aisle seat and immediately took some medicine to help me relax and enjoy the long flight with its several meals and full-length films. Jonathan played with a computer game, and Jessica just sat there, silent. What was she thinking?
It was lovely being surrounded by Kiwi accents again, eating Kiwi food like lamb and roasted potatoes. I even had a glass of free wine. We flew into the night, the endless night, across the vast Pacific. After our second movie, I lay my head back on the padded seat, closed my eyes, and listened to the hum of engines.
I fell asleep but did not dream. Better I had stayed awake and watched and soberly considered this flight I took with my two trusting children.
This is why I went to New Zealand. Read my chapter about my life in New Zealand in my post "Fire and Ice" my book, New Zealand Chapter: https://lonnalisawilliams.wordpress.com/2012/07/02/fire-and-ice-my-book-new-zealand-chapter-6/
Read the whole story here:


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It's 10 am and so far I've cleaned up two piles of puke in the hallway and one in Sophie's room, on the carpet, courtesy of Gammie, and I just now cleaned up a gigantic pile of puke in the sunroom from Crony Bob. Best part of all? Chris just finished mopping the floors, of course.
Mark my words, when these animals are all dead and the kids have all moved out, I'm building a brand-new house in which grandchildren and animals will not be allowed to set foot. Perhaps I'll build a deck around it for them to stand on when they visit me.
Or perhaps I'll just wave at them through the locked screen door.


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Unless you believe in psychics, prognosticators, and political analysts, you know that no one can accurately predict the future. This may be why some of the vintage print ads make us laugh and cringe all at the same time.
When creating an advertising, marketing, or promotional campaign for your business, consider the direction in which society is headed. You can avert some cringe-worthy moments in years to come as a result of your campaigns if you use common sense to guide many of your decisions.
There's nothing wrong with being edgy or avant-garde with your approach. Just be aware that it could come back to haunt you at some point. You'll either need a thick skin and the ability to laugh at things, or you'll need the ability to ignore the comments that could wind up making your long forgotten campaigns social media fodder that goes viral.
At one point in history, Iver Johnson Revolvers (the original business ran from 1871 through to 1993, with only the name being resold in 2006 to new owners) wanted buyers to know that their guns were so safe that children in bed could handle them without fear that an accidental discharge could happen. Their ad made sure consumers knew that their guns were not only safe, but reliable in that they promised to shoot straight and kill.
For these two reasons, the implication was that every home should have a truly safe albeit deadly Iver Johnson revolver.
The next print ad was for Gillette, a name that's still well-known on the market to this day. The company was founded by Chicago raised Fond du Lac (WI) businessman, King Camp Gillette (5 January 1855 – 9 July 1932).
While the safety razor had been in existence long before King Camp Gillette got a hold of it, he invented one of the best-selling versions. It should be noted that Gillette came up with his idea while working as a salesman for the man who invested cork-lined bottle caps. His employer told him that the key to success was to "invent something people use and throw away."
While working on the concept of creating a thin safety razor, he found himself writing and publishing a book about a socialistic world based on universal cooperation (Star Trek long before the series was ruminating in Gene Roddenberry's mind) where all people would share equally in prosperity.
In 1903 he finally came up with the idea of substituting a thin double-edged steel blade between two plates, and holding it all together in a T-handle. When the blade dulled, it could be removed and replaced instead of sharpened. He sold the T-handles at a loss, and made his profits on the sale of blades, and wound up a millionaire in the process.
He was so convinced of the safety of his razor — even where infants were concerned — that this print ad was placed in magazines across the country.
If you've ever suffered from a toothache, you know how much suffering that can cause, and so did Lloyd's Manufacturing as the 20th century began.
At the time, cocaine was the new anaesthetic that was being used throughout Europe and North America, not just by surgeons, but by doctors and dentists as well. Cocaine toothache drops were advertised as being an instantaneous cure for toothaches, and there's little surprise there as to the reason why that might have been.
Charles E. Lloyd and his partner, S. Dexter Pilsbury, saw opportunity knocking and they answered the door. Once the door was answered, they put word out about their solution for curing toothaches from which everyone in the family could benefit.
Even the pharmaceutical firm Parke-Davis trumpeted the fact that cocaine "makes the coward brave, the silent eloquent." It was touted as a miracle drug and knowing what we do today about cocaine, is it any wonder it was so effective?
Charles E. Lloyd and Dexter Pilsbury were the first to truly exploit the benefits of cocaine. Together they jumped all over the potential of cocaine in the marketplace, and the U.S. Patent Office's registry of labels proves that.
No one knows for certain how Lloyd and Pilsbury wound up business partners, but it's thought that between Pilsbury's inherited fortune (which was sizeable) and Lloyd's employment as a clerk at a local pharmacy, coupled with the fact that they were close in age and lived a block apart, circumstances threw them together in a financially beneficial relationship.
This is a minute sampling of the many print ads that are inappropriate in today's terms, however, back in the day, they were perfectly acceptable.
Take a look at your own advertising, marketing, and promotional campaigns. What are the chances that they'll be just as inappropriate years from now as these from days gone by happen to be in this era?
Will you be able to prevent this from happening to your business in the distant future? Probably not. However,it's always a good idea to consider what direction society is headed in before settling on the details of your latest campaign.
Elyse Bruce