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This Month's Highlights:
(China): Led Street Light, Flood Light, Canopy Light, High Bay Light, Industrial Lighting, Outdoor Lighting
Floor Furnishing And Wall Furnishing In Cotton
Posted at: Offers to Sell and Export | Posted on: Fri 20 Jun, 2008 12:35 pm |
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As manufacturer of Floor furnishings Products in Cotton and coir based in the Coir City, Alleppey Kerala,
India specializing in Manufacturing & supplying all kinds of Floor Coverings,with a wide range of qualities in our factory, we can meet customers with any type of demand for floor coverings.
With a wide range of Floor Furnishing products in Cotton, Coir, Jute and Grass, we can supply different qualities of Floor furnishing products including Geo Textiles. We have a team of skilled and technically trained experts and under whose dedicated strict supervision the process of manufacturing is being done right from the selection of the materials to the finished products.
If your are interested, welcome to our website :
Our products are eco friendly and it is available in a wide range of designs and colours. We are providing best and honest services to our customers with timely execution of orders.
Kindly advice your requirements.
Expecting your co-operation
Our chat Ids:
MSN: metaclassics
SKYPE: metaclassics
YAHOO: metagripmats
Company Contact:
Contact Name: M T Mohanan
Company Name: Meta Classics Fibres
Tel: 00914782583894, 00919447457558
Fax: 00914782583894
Street Address: Varanam P.O,
Puthanangadi Cherthala, Alleppey
District, Kerala State, India
Member name: Mcfibres
Member Since: 18 January 2008
Total Leads:
18 Mcfibres Import Export Business Leads
Business focus: Coir floor Textile, Rubber Floor Coverings Especially Doormats, Geotextiles
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Texas vs. Ole Miss: Live Scores, Analysis and ResultsSeptember 15, 2012
Spruce Derden-US PRESSWIRE
Final: Texas 66, Ole Miss 31
We have gone final in Oxford, and the Longhorns and Rebels found some answers and opened up more questions after testing their respective teams in a Big 12-SEC showdown.
Texas powered by Ole Miss with a balanced attack that had the Longhorns rush for nearly 360 yards.
Keep it here for some quick postgame thoughts from yours truly.

subset: commoncrawl


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We are getting to the official end of winter, so it's my last opportunity for a while to talk about the Alaska, an icy cold and crisp Martini alternative.
2 1/4 oz London dry gin | 3/4 oz yellow Chartreuse | dash each Fee Brothers and Regan's orange bitters | stir on ice | strain into chilled cocktail glass | lemon twist garnish
I had my first Alaska a few months ago at Bankers' Hill where Christian Siglin (formerly of Craft & Commerce) has been heading the bar since last year. I was aware of the drink after reading about it in the Savoy Cocktail book, but did not have a bottle of yellow chartreuse at home to play with at the time. The waitress cautioned me strongly when I placed my order ("it's a GIN martini that you should only order if you really like GIN. Really it's just GIN with just a touch of chartreuse and bitters "- like it was a bad thing!). I lied a little and said that I was a (home) bartender so she would let me order it.
Alaska cocktail (right) at Bankers' Hill
Anyway, I really like this cocktail. It is excellent alternative to a Martini when you want to taste the subtleties of a very nice gin. Green chartreuse would probably not work very well in this cocktail because it would overpower everything. The yellow chartreuse which is milder in flavor and lower proof is a much better fit.
The gin I used is a London dry distilled in the middle of London by Sipsmith. It has the typical profile of a London dry with strong juniper and citrus notes. It also has some coriander in the finish with a hint of sweetness. Even though this gin has a strong juniper flavor, it remains retrained and harmonious. It's also great in a Gin Fix.
I am not sure of the origin of the Alaska cocktail, and the Savoy Cocktail book is not especially helpful:
So far as can be ascertained this delectable potion is NOT the staple diet of the Esquimaux. It was probably first thought of in South Carolina – hence its name.
The cocktail itself highlights the gin while the chartreuse adds an herbal element. It's spirit-forward and elegant. Like a Martini and in keeping with its name, it is best served icy cold.


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For those who are already using the progeny of this discovery, apologies, but for those of the current continuum who are unaware of this device, I shall elucidate.
Researchers at the UK's Reading University have developed a model, based upon a lexicon of 200 words, which tracks how word usage changes over time, and when words diverge. According to Prof. Mark Pagel, "You type in a date in the past or in the future and it will give you a list of words that would have changed going back in time or will change going into the future. From that list you can derive a phrasebook of words you could use if you tried to show up and talk to, for example, William the Conqueror."
The algorithm also predicts which words are likely to become extinct in the future, negating the old problem, encountered by Time Travellers whose passion is the future, of sounding decades, even centuries, out of date when in conversation with contemporaneous denizens of, say, the year 2303AD.
More (immensely greater) detail may be found here; Prof. Pagel's research here; and more layman information here.


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Tuesday, November 5, 2013
All the things I did at Starkwhite
Richard Maloy's All the things I did opens at Starkwhite tonight.
Image: from Richard Maloy's student archive, re-presented at Starkwhite in All the things I did. Maloy's project was developed with support from Creative New Zealand.
Posted by Starkwhite at 5:00 AM
Labels: Richard Maloy


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Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Achievement of City Govt Karachi
The International Organization for Standardization (ISO) Geneva has granted ISO certification 9001to City Government Karachi for providing best services to its citizens. The certificate was handed to Nazim Karachi Mustafa Kamal by ISO's Consultant in Pakistan Arshad Hashmi, on behalf of President ISO Hocken Marbi, at a ceremony held at a local hotel.
Mustafa Kamal was praised by the Supreme Court of Pakistan for his efforts to make Karachi a mega city and to carry out relief operations.
"I see bright future for Karachi because all the problems would be solved, InshAllah. Instead of providing temporary solutions that lasts for short period of time, we are concentrating on permanent ones. New development activities are commencing in the city and we are going to build up Karachi of future". Syed Mustafa Kamal City Nazim Karachi.
Posted by Muttahida Loyals at 1:06 PM
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- Worldwide Rank #233,488,222
- Follower/Following Ratio 0.07
- Daily New Followers 0
みいたりん Twitter Stats
@0106_misaki - Tracking みいたりん Twitter profile since September 19, 2014
みいたりん's story
みいたりん, also known as @0106_misaki has a novice's presence on Twitter and is ranked by us in the 20% percentile for account strength. Active on Twitter since March 2013, みいたりん made it to having a respectable 1 Twitter followers and to being ranked 233,488,222 for number of followers among all Twitter users.
The plot thickens when considering みいたりん's follower-to-following ratio, which is 0.07. Which is not surprising given this account's audience size.
From a tweeting perspective, @0106_misaki is a casual user, with an average of 0 tweet(s) per day in the past 30 days. That's pretty consistent with a total of 451 since @0106_misaki joined Twitter.
This account is tracked by us Only September 2014. As of June 22 2018 we track 289706707 Twitter accounts, so feel free to search for other accounts you're interested in and reveal their Twitter story!
みいたりん Tweets
@0106_misaki has posted 0 tweets in the last 6 days, which translates to an average of 0 tweets per day.
みいたりん Twitter Followers
@0106_misaki has 1 followers on Twitter.
This account is #233,488,222 in the worldwide rank of the most popular Twitter users.
みいたりん Following on Twitter
@0106_misaki is following 15 Twitter accounts.
Last month this account stopped following 49 users.
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@0106_misaki will hit 1 followers in the next 3 months, and 1 in one year.
You are on みいたりん's Twitter stats page
We track these Twitter stats since September 19, 2014 . You can see how many followers みいたりん lost or gained and what the prediction is for tomorrow or the next 15 days, together with all kinds of other stats like rank compared to all Twitter users, tweets etc.
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Thursday, December 24, 2015
Merry Christmas Eve!
It is Christmas eve in the morning!
I am here with my tree lights on and my coffee has a touch of Bailey's in it just has it has had every Christmas eve morning for numerous years. The girls are still asleep and the cats are curled asleep, Marble on the arm of the sofa to my left and Magic behind my head on the back of sofa. Robert Downey Jr is playing "River" one of my Christmas tunes, a sad and haunting song that reminds me that others aren't quite so fortunate.
I'm thinking particularly of Kent's Uncle Alvin Gale who is in the hospital in St. John's. We'll miss visiting them this Christmas as well as his cousin Brian and family who'll be with his dad in St. John's. Christmas is an arbitrary day chosen to celebrate joy and peace but so many in this world have neither. The best we can do is give where we can, help however we're able to help bring better days for everyone. Not every Christmas is a happy one. In 1998 my father was celebrating his last one while very ill and he passed two short weeks later.
Everybody is on a journey and while we mark a day as special, time has no markers or labels and the calendar we flip is irrelevant to its passing. As we go along on our journey we often, especially in sad times, seek the meaning and purpose. As far as I can tell the only purpose to life which is fragile and cruel at times is to be as happy as possible in any given moment and to share that joy with others and often all you need to give is a smile or a word of encouragement. Joy and laughter are contagious and if you feel it, it will spread.
My heart is with the troubled but not troubled this year. My soul is with the joyless while filled with joy and my love surrounds the lonely because I've got so much to spare. I'm missing my girls in Ontario and my grandchildren. Hope they find lots of happiness in their Christmas presents tomorrow sent with love from Newfoundland. I wish you all peace and joy. Merry Christmas Eve 2015!
Posted by Carolyn Chaffey at 8:05 AM No comments: Links to this post
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Corners-A long short story.
It's a habit of mine, when the weather is fine, to walk out to the lighthouse. I'm afraid of heights. I get a squeamish feeling in my belly whenever I go there. Yet, I do. I walk along the rail and look out at the ocean. That is all I plan until I'm compelled to do more. And I'm always compelled to do more. I have to see the Bell and I cannot see it from there. So I walk a little further. My feet crunch and meld into the turf and my breath is quick from the activity and the anticipation.
There is a high, narrow Island just off the main island that is a spectacular geological formation. I have never learned if Bell Island is named for that strange landmark that looks like a bell. A few trees dot the top and then a rocky little area resembles a bell with a clapper. I have asked locals. Nobody knows for sure and many say they didn't even notice it there and are surprised by what I show them in the picture I have from my first visit. But it's a Bell and I think that can't be coincidence.
After a few moments of looking at the mysterious bell, I am then drawn to see the swell and foam of the water at the base of that statuesque Island and inch closer.
The fear is physical. It is irrational. It screams "don't do it". But I'm drawn by a force in me stronger than fear. Curiosity. I have never walked close to that cliff with anyone. It's not because I'm alone all the time though I am. It's because I've never been comfortable enough with another person to have them beside me as I near the edge.
It never ever subsides, this phobia. I face my fear frequently but it never goes away. It just settles down and curls up for a nap, kind of like a cat, relaxed and comfortable but ready to hiss and scratch in an instant. I have learned learn to live with it instead of from it. Maybe it's because I'm a cat person.
I smile at my whimsy and then, when the time is perfect, I do perch at the edge, the dangerous part where I had no intention of sitting. I am accompanied only by my notebook, a pen, my Blackberry and the ever present fear. It is from that spot I do my best writing. And it is from another, similar spot in my psyche that I do my best living.
He is home. The brisk wind blows at me forcing me to pull my windbreaker a little closer. I tamp down my enemies of which expectation is the worse. I used to expect it to be fun. I always worked hard to make his visits home happy. I expected him to do the same. But after years, a decade to be exact, of not a single time having them met by him, I let them go.
From the time when I had our first baby and it never crossed his mind to give me flowers or any symbol of respect for becoming the mother of his child I started to let them go. Each time he got up from the table and didn't say thank you for the meal I prepared. Every time instead of a positive comment, I got a "joke" that made fun.
I can take a joke, I can put myself down, but each whip of the tongue by a partner, if not tempered by appreciation and compliment at some point is a knife blade. Not one that penetrates, sharp and quick like a switch blade, more like a dull butter knife scraped across the skin in the same spot time after time after time. If you complain about each time, you have nothing to really complain about. But if you add up a decade of such rakes across the skin you know it's been cut deep and left scarring. He hasn't done anything wrong as a life partner really. He's just never done anything at all. Except scrape my heart with a butter knife for ten years.
"Mommy!" Autumn's blond hair curls around her head like a halo. She is four and she is bonnie. That's the word I always think of when asked to describe her. She bops when she walks. She skips to me, a one legged kind of skip because she hasn't learned the two legged kind.
I reach out my arms and she jumps. Light like fluff, I smell her indoor smell and her shampoo. Dad had given her a bath she informs me. Sis is reading and she missed me. I missed her too. I didn't tell her that I needed to miss her because I'm burnt out from being the only parent for, well, ever. An annoyed voice from the garage tells me the dog escaped. If the blond child's one-word description is bonnie, the dad's one-word descriptor is annoyed. I don't answer. I inhale my child's essence and walk up the steps.
The serene one smiles from behind her book and I love her like candies and cake and all things sweet right then. Yes. She is serene. They have real names, Autumn, Summer and he is Tyler. That's my family. I could have called the babies Bonnie and Serene I suppose but I'm lucky their dad went for the whimsical names I did give them. He wanted Chloe or Zoe or something equally awful and trendy. I won that battle at least. It was the one time I actually insisted and got exactly what I wanted. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention to that. This was before of course. Perhaps, if I had taken notice, been a little more that kind of woman instead of the kind of woman I really am, he'd pay attention. I simply can't bring myself to force people to be who they aren't.
I don't do corners. Once my father in law complained that they had to let a cleaning lady go because she never did the corners. She just cleaned the middle of the room. I thought that was sort of petty. Maybe she didn't have time. They had liked her. She was trustworthy, she folded well and ironed and she dusted. But she didn't do corners so she was fired.
That's me, I think as I flick the mop around the legs of the table. I think a lot during housework. It's boring and mindless and I hate it but I do my best brain writing while doing them. I do prefer the pen writing and often, in the middle of a chore I'll stop mid job and run and type for an hour so I don't lose the inspiration. Is it any wonder I don't get the house clean?
Nope, I don't do corners either. Maybe if I was paid to do it I would. It's not that I don't like a shiny clean house, it's just that I never have time. I do it half-assed between things I like doing. Some might call that lazy. I call it being happy.
My hair is tickling my face and I scratch it back quickly and continue with the mopping. It's the best I can do. I have been at the Centre and I have written some poetry and updated the blog. I have walked for exercise. The kids are splashing in a long overdue bath and making noise in our only bathroom and my mind drifts to the latest escapade of Diane, the character in my book. I'm running scenarios through my mind, trying to figure out if she would do this or that.
Damn, the time! I leave the mop in the bucket, against the wall, and run to the bathroom looking at my wrist. There is steam behind the face of the watch. Another one wrecked. Oh well.
"Quick kids, get out". They agree. For a promise of cartoons.
I dry them off, then see that their hair still has some soap and I plop them back, run the shower quick over their heads and lift them out again. They go from the room, wrapped in Justin Bieber towels to the television down the hall and with a sigh I hook the shower on its handle and strip my clothes off.
The water sooths and irritates all at once because I don't have time to bask in it. I like to bask. I grab my intuition razor and do some quick shaving as the conditioner detangles my hair. I won't have time to dry and straighten it before Tyler gets here. Oh well, Tyler says he prefers it natural. I sigh. I like it straight so it's not really a compliment.
I hear the door open and slip and skid in my rush to get out. He's back and I'm not ready as usual. My heart quickens in anticipation. I realize that I missed him. I never realize that any more until he gets home. I get a towel around myself and figure after ten days he should be more excited to see me in a towel than have the house perfect.
He's giggling with the girls a bit then I hear him admonish them for the wet footprints on the floor. The kids stop giggling and Bonnie starts crying. Already he's annoyed. I paste a smile and run my usual interference.
"It's my fault, I needed to shower and didn't get them dry. I'm just finishing the floors anyway." I step around the corner and he looks at me, glancing with a grimace at the bucket of water.
Then removes himself from the girls and gives me a quick kiss that I try to keep going but he pulls back and grabs the mop from the bucket and begins to clean the floor. I shake it off. I go to my little girls and quick kiss them and say let's all go get dressed and ready together. Their smiles melt me and we go have some fun and leave him alone as he prefers. Jammies are on before the dinner I have made to welcome daddy home.
Dinner gets no comment good or bad. He cleans it up and then goes into the office to work on some paper work. I get the kids upstairs and into bed. Their hair is still wet so I braid it, ignoring the icky texture of the wet hair in my hands. Instead I revel in the smell of them, clean and new from the bath.
He will read the story and settle them as he always does when he's home. I let him know they're in bed and I go to the basement.
My world is online. Sometimes I wonder how I would have survived without it. Isolated on this island for the last 5 years, nobody really to relate to though I had a few friends in the town, it saved me from complete and utter despair many times. Now I also had an iPod, and an iPad to play with. My writing forums, my parenting forums and my Face Book friends spent more time with me than my life partner.
"Hi." The little window pops open to the right of 3 other little windows that are open.
"How do I get a copy of this book you wrote?"
The little tingle of excitement is new. I like it and my fingers pop the cursor in the box and reply instantly.
"Hi, I have some here and I can send you one if you like? I'll sign it."
"Really? That easy?
"That easy. Is it for you or a gift." He has a wife, there is a picture of them together in his profile picture.
"For me."
"You like poetry ?J"
"I like your poetry. I read it on your blog sometimes. J"
"Thank you J. You'll have to send me your address."
"How much is the book? How do I pay?"
The conversation moves to the details and I write the address on the envelope and place it with the others. A signed book will be in there to mail before morning. An email funds transfer is on its way to my bank account.
But I don't say goodbye. He's very good looking, for one and for two, well, I don't know. He's somebody to talk to. Somebody new. Somebody male.
"I was sorry to hear about George. Shocked actually, I hadn't even heard that he was sick. He was very good friends with my brother when we were younger."
"It was hard. Six years ago now. Feels like yesterday. I miss him. We were very close."
"You're younger? How many years?"
"Three. He was my big brother."
"That's why we don't do know each other that well. But I knew George. He pretty much lived at the house in the summer, with my brother."
"What's your brother's name? "
And so the small talk continues. I'm curious about him. He's equally curious about me.
My manuscript lies minimized in the corner as we get to know each other and then he tells me he has five sons including twins. I tease him that he's a "boy makin' machine" and he "lol's" at that.
I'm disappointed when he says good night but his wife has called him to bed and he has to go. I see the little indicator shut off and know he's gone and that's when I realize I haven't spoken to any of the others since we had started our conversation. I pop them open and apologize to them all, one by one, and tell them I was selling books. It's the truth.
I wind up the conversations and shut the manuscript. Tyler has been home for hours and we've barely spoken. He is still in the office when I come upstairs, his light dim, he works in the dark. Spreadsheets cover the screen and I tell him I'm going to bed. He says he'll be up in a minute.
The cool sheets lay on my skin and I wait. My mind drifts to the conversation I've just had with the guy and his profile photo is behind my eyelids as I close my eyes to end the day, still alone.
I don't do corners. That is the second time to today that this thought crosses my mind. It's really not just about cleaning the floors. It's a commentary on my life. I never my get to the edges, never get to be thorough. I never complete anything but just sort of scrub around the middle of things.
Tyler is always sick. Wait. That's not exactly it. Tyler is "sicker than thou". If I am tired, he is exhausted. If I have a cold he's dying with something. If I have a back ache, he's riddled with arthritic aches and pains. I'm resentful too perhaps.
Sicker than Thou is a strange thing. I think he thinks he's relating but what he's really doing is invalidating my illness. Luckily I don't get ill often.
I once got my friend in the room and put him on speaker phone and started the conversation to prove what I meant.
Tyler: Hi, how are you?
Me: I think I'm getting a cold actually.
Tyler: I've had a bad headache since I got up. I can barely drive.
Me: My back is sore too
Tyler: My back has been the worse it's been since I had the surgery, all this week. I have to start doing my stretches.
Me: I have cramps too.
Tyler: I had to go crap three times yesterday. I can't think of anything I ate but I had something going on. I only had to go once this morning so far but it's still early.
Me: I think I'm getting a sty. (I'm making this up)
Tyler: What's that?
Me: A little bump on the eyelid
Tyler: My allergies have me going nuts. I could scratch my eyes out."
By this time my friend is rolling on the floor laughing and trying not to be heard. I'm ready to pee my pants from having proven my point so I say a quick "I love you." And hang up.
I think Bonnie's first day of school was when I started moving from us to me. When we were plural I preferred it. But after years of not feeling all that coupled I started just kind of becoming who I am. I know I started cooking for me right after the second baby started kindergarten. For years I had made the meals Tyler preferred when he was home. My nature was to take care of him. To make for him all that he desired.
But six solid years of parenting alone is enough. I had breastfed each for three and a half years and tandem nursed them for a while even. I made my parenting a full time career. I have researched and I have learned and I have grown. I have loved every bit and I am not resentful of it. But I am quite willing to take the time that I am given to do what I need to do for me.
If I ask Tyler if he liked his meal he'll reply "good enough to make a bit of shit out of". That was not even funny once. To save him the embarrassment of me telling him not to say that I stopped asking if he liked his food.
The thing is, he is a good man. He does for his family. He provides Tyler works in the oil fields in Alberta. He is intelligent, liberal in his thoughts and open in his mind. He's wasted out west and we both know it. He is not a bad person. He is, as I've said before, annoyed. He is also very sensitive. He cries at the end of Extreme Makeover Home Edition every single time. He just doesn't care about me. That's what it feels like anyway.
It was also about this time that I started writing. I started creating work that was good enough to submit. I became published. I made little money but I loved it and I was building towards something. So with that came less time to keep the house in its preferred pristine condition. I managed somehow, to make it presentable before he came home but that was easy as he came home once every few weeks. The writing kept me sane and with my youngest now in full time kindergarten, I wrote every day, even when Tyler was home.
I put me first in food first. Then eventually I started bit by bit to put me first in everything. My writing came before my house cleaning. My volunteer work came before the gardening. My children came before all of those things but only in a healthy way. I was never born to be a martyr and somehow, my Bonnie and Serene, they love me better for it.
Tyler didn't really notice my absence. He did notice the messy house. If he noticed the food he didn't mention it. He's too good for that. He's quietly resentful, fighting is beneath him so we never fight. I wish we did. I'd murder baby sheep for some make up sex.
"Saw Manny in town." Tyler was starting conversation?
"Aww..I miss him. How did he look? Family ok?" I sighed a nostalgic sigh.
Manny grew up with us and had been one of my best friends. He had been a loner, spending his time with telescopes and teachers and was teased a lot as a kid. I'd been in University with him and he'd found his crowd there, the science geeks but had married a local girl, a pretty blond who has five years younger than us and controlled his every move. Well that's how it seemed, since he didn't say more than hi, if that, when he saw me now. She was always there and swiveled him away from his old crowd. His family no longer lived on the island so he never came back anyway except to visit her family sometimes.
"He's great. Looks like he's doing well, working at some big government job. No kids. Lots of money, nice car. He's not a nerd anymore." Tyler chuckled and I smiled.
Yeah, Manny had been a nerd. Skinny, awkward, smart and different, he had been teased mercilessly by the boys, including Tyler. I had been his friend however, and loved to hang with him. Perhaps because I was a nerd too and he was the only boy my parents knew I was safe with. Manny just didn't appeal to the girls.
"That's good, I knew he'd do well. Wish we could get together with them sometime, have dinner or something." But I knew it would never happen. Not because of Cindy and her separating him from his teenage friends, but because of Tyler and his reluctance to set any time aside for anything but work. We have no couple friends. My brother is single and Tyler is an only child.
I sneezed then. My allergies acting up due to my bad habit of petting our dog that I'm allergic to.
"I was sneezing last week." There is no God Bless or gesundheit. "I had a day where I swore I was getting a cold. Headache, sneezing. Nothing came of it but I'll probably get one soon. My immune system is probably down."
"I'm not getting a cold, I petted the dog. My ovaries are aching though." And I wait.
"I'm chafed, right at the groin area. Bought some Gold Bond but it's not helping. Some bad."
I cover my mouth and fake a cough to cover my laugh. Then I veer and start walking before the eruption. It starts after six strides and doesn't stop until I'm a hysterical mess, tears from my eyes. Cannot wait to tell my friend about.
It seems the fog will never lift, either in the city or in my heart. I miss my children. I miss having a man. I miss being part of a couple. Yet somehow not enough to entice me into thinking I've made a mistake. It is grey and damp and I step into the lane where the breeze can't find me. I hesitate in front of the door under the little canopy.
I have two choices, sit in my little apartment and be alone with the loneliness or go and be with people and escape for a while. I prefer the second. I refuse to wallow. I push the heavy door and step into the Duke.
It's familiar now. And I am there at the right time. There are tables. I move towards a small one at the back and remove my jacket and scarf and get ready to slide in when I hear my name.
I turn and the man is right there upon me. It takes me a moment.
His sullen is broken by a smile. This is Manny. Sullen but then he smiles and the contrast is like the sun breaking through the fog at the edge of the ocean. More magnificent because it's unexpected and once told him he needed to smile more. He had smiled at that.
He feels warm in my embrace and his hands come around my back and I remember that perhaps this is the first time I've hugged him as a man. It feels different and I pull back. It's been a long time. Perhaps I don't know him anymore.
"Wow, you've changed." and this is a compliment and he smiles again and knows it.
"You have too." And he doesn't appear disappointed by the changes but who knows. I'm much older, I've had kids, put on weight. I'm confused as to why I care about that. This is Manny, one of my best friends and that's all irrelevant to him.
"Do you have a moment to chat?"
He looks sort of thoughtful, as though he's trying to decide something and then another smile.
"I have a lot of moments. In town for a conference tomorrow, just grabbing a bite to eat." He has decided.
"You don't live here?"
"No we moved to Bay Robert's a few years ago. I work all over so I can live anywhere and Cindy wanted to be near her father."
We order Fish and Chips and a pint of Guinness each. It is good to chat. His blue eyes flash with intelligence as we catch up. We are still friends. We are still comfortable. We are interested in each other and I remember now why we were such good friends. The things we talk about are not what interested all of the other people in our circle. We were different from them. I assimilated. He didn't. But we were alike otherwise. I touch his hand once. A familiar gesture.
A second Guinness loosens me up.
"Cindy doesn't let you see much of the old crowd uh?" It's always bothered me that she controlled him so much.
"What? Nah, we see Mack a lot. And Stan and Sue often come by."
"Really? Well guess it's me then. I've invited for you both to come to dinner with Tyler and me. Both of you several times and she always says she will but it never happens."
"Yeah? She never told me." He avoids my eyes.
"Really? I have stopped inviting her. She actually seems annoyed when I do. I just thought it would be nice if all four of us could be friends. Too late now with Tyler and I splitting. Probably shouldn't have brought it up." I shouldn't have.
"It's…complicated." Manny looks at the beer and then looks at me..then the door as though he wonders if it would be rude to run.
"Complicated? What? How complicated could dinner be?" It's not like Manny to be dramatic.
"I can't talk about it here, but it's not that she controls me so much as she just doesn't want me to see you." He again glances at the door.
"Are you expecting somebody?" I glance at the door.
"No," he chuckles, "I 'm afraid I'll get caught I guess."
"Caught? Doing what?" Isn't he even allowed at a bar?
"If somebody we know tells Cindy we have been here together, then there'll be trouble. I'll get in trouble." He reaches out and takes my hand and I look at his face. He's telling me something and I'm dying to know what it is. I'm not letting him go without knowing.
"Then come to my apartment. We'll talk, nobody will know and you can tell me what the hell it is you seem to want to tell me and relax about it instead of watching the door for spies all night."
"That might get me in more trouble if she found out." But he laughs and nods in agreement.
"Well, yeah but there is less chance. We'll have a glass of wine and you'll spill. Let's go."
My curiosity is piqued and I'm taking him back to my place. We had a very close friendship and I want to know what this "thing" is that is keeping us from being friends.
He calls the waiter over and pays for both our dinners. I protest and he insists. Outside we are greeted by the smell of cigarette smoke lingering and the fog of the St John's night wrapped around us. It's a ten minute stroll and we chat about people we know and people who have died and remember the time we built a camp in the woods behind his house. But I'm dying to know what's complicated.
I unlock the apartment door and the Fizz greets me. I throw off my coat and tell him to do the same. Then I walk into the kitchen and pour two glasses of red wine from the bottle I opened last night.
The living room lights are still low when I hand him the glass. He takes a sip.
"Now, you're gonna have to tell me why Cindy doesn't like me." I smile then. "Doesn't everybody love me?" I joke and he doesn't smile.
Sullen Manny is back for a moment and he takes the wine glass from my hand. He puts both on the table and reaches out with his right hand. I am protesting him taking the wine and I'm in his arms.
"This is why." He breathes into my lips just before they touch mine and the shock of the situation melts under the sensuality of it. He wants me. He not only wants me, he has wanted me for a very long time. He is desperate and nervous and pulls away but I'm not letting him get away with that. I reach my hand up and hold him right where he is. And that is his undoing. It is mine as well.
We don't make it to the bedroom. We are urgent. He has been waiting a life time for me. I have waited a lifetime for this. This loving from a man who wants me. He wants me. He wants me. It's a drum beat in my brain. He wants me. Rat at tat tat the tom tom beats this message in my skull and I match its rhythm with my body. I have only ever wanted to be wanted.
He is hot in me, hot on me, hot beside me. His skin is smooth and rough in all the right places. He is large and he satisfies me in every way. I am lost in it. In this time, this place, this man. I love him, I have always loved him but this surprises me, excites me, this different love that you have for a man only because he loves you.
He makes love as though this is his only chance. And I make love back as though this my one chance not to disappoint. The cat disappears. The apartment disappears. The world disappears. I disappear. But this man. This beautiful man. He is present and real and tangible and he never disappears.
"I'm sorry." His apology is weak. He is not sullen now. He is sad.
"Sorry? I'm not."
"No. That was really unexpected. But sorry? Not remotely." I wait. He will explain now. But now I know. I listen anyway.
"Cindy and I were friends. We were close friends. Kind of like you and I were friends. And I told her then. I told her that I loved you. That I had been in love with you forever. I also told her there was nothing between us other than friendship. She was ok with that while we were just friends. Then she developed feelings for me. And I cared for her. She is also very pretty and I was flattered. I never even had a girlfriend until Cindy. She was my first. And then she couldn't deal with our friendship. I tried to tell her that you weren't interested in me but that just made her worse. She said that if you were, then I'd be gone to you. So I stayed away for her sake. She would never have allowed us to be friends, she was too insecure."
"Insecure? It seems she was right?" I get up and take the wine. I don't dress. I hadn't suspected. I had suspected some attraction, it seems men always are attracted but I hadn't even seen Manny as a man then.
"Yeah, guess so." Sullen came back then.
"Don't do that?" He is feeling guilty now and I can't take that.
"What?" He has grabbed his pants.
"Don't put on your pants. Leave them off. If we're gonna ruin this friendship with sex I want the full measure."
He pulls his pants back off. And he smiles. I remember then that when we were kids I used to do all sorts of things to make Manny smile. It was like a challenge to me. I think I honed my wit on him and I fall back into that easily. Yeah. I would do anything to see him smile.
"We have one night. We've already done the damage. Let's enjoy what we have ok? I'm here, you're here. We have wine and music..wait..where is the music? We need music. I know exactly which song to play!"
I flick through the iPod as he drains his glass. I tell him to go refill and he drains the bottle. I find the song.
"Babe, I love you so, and I, I want you to know, that I, I'm gonna miss your love, the minute you walk out that door" KC and the Sunshine band drifts through.
"Ha!" his laugh is music and he moves to me, pulling me close in an embrace. We sway together to it, its meaning so much more poignant now.
"I meant every word of this song at grad." He says. He sings along to me as he did so many years before. We had always danced the last dance together. This had always been the last dance.
"I didn't know." But I mean every word of it now and I breathe it back to this man who has always wanted me.
"Please don't go, please don't."
The next morning, in spite of all of KC and the Sunshine Band's begging, he goes. He has a conference and a wife. Our friendship isn't salvageable. We know this. We also know that we will always wish that wasn't the case but he's too good to leave his wife and I'm too good to make him. So a foggy morning moistens our farewell kiss and I watch him walk down the hill to his hotel. We haven't exchanged numbers, we haven't made promises. We have simply spent a long overdue night together.
I wait on the step. The cup cools from the brisk air and I look towards the east at the sudden brightness. The fog is moving, rolling and I wait for it. I sip the coffee. And watch the sky dance and quiver and change and then just as I'm about to give up it happens.
The sun breaks through the fog and an amber light graces the day like a ray of hope. Like a smile on a sullen mans face, it was always there, it just needs the fog to move for it to be seen.
I want to be the sunshine. I want to be the one who makes people happy, who makes people smile. Perhaps I'll practice with my kids. No that's too easy. I have a better idea.
I pick up the phone and call Tyler. He answers and tells me he will get the kids.
"No, I want to talk to you".
"You do? What about?" he sounds wary.
"I think we should try again."
"You do?" There is a long silence.
"Not for the kids, not for the family, but for me and you. I won't move back, I can't yet, but perhaps we can try a different way. See each other, see if there is something there to save."
"Ok." He says and I hear the smile in his voice. I also hear tears but they're not sad ones.
I have done it once. I have made the sun break through the clouds and if I can do it once I can do it again. I then ask to speak to the kids but he comes back on the phone after.
"Do you mean it?" He asks quickly. He knows me well enough to know I don't play games with him.
"Yes I mean it. Catch the ferry here and we'll start talking. Find someone to watch the kids."
And again I hear the smile and he hasn't spoken a word. I smile back.
I look across the floor after I hang up and the large window allows the first sun in weeks through. I notice where I had quickly run the dust mop over the aging hardwood floors in the little apartment at some point between chapters of the book I wrote these past few days. There is however, a layer of dust at the periphery of the room, around the edges while the center is shiny. I glance at the mop and reach for the handle then pull my hand back and head instead towards the shower.
I have to get ready for Tyler so the corners will have to wait.
Posted by Carolyn Chaffey at 9:44 AM No comments: Links to this post
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Best Laid Plans and New Projects!
|The Written Word; Always part of my life!
Please feel free to follow that blog or to simply continue following this as I'll be updating here also.
Posted by Carolyn Chaffey at 12:05 PM No comments: Links to this post
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Go Deep!
Quick, with both hands, pull your mind out of the gutter. Not that kind of "go deep" silly. Though that's not a bad idea either!
I was just having a discussion with a friend of mine and we touched on the topic of depth. Most of you are familiar by what is meant when someone uses the term "deep" to describe someone else. I thought I'd talk about my own understanding of the term. Not sure it's the standard definition but it is how I see it and you know, that's just the way I roll.
For me, it's someone who allows themselves to think in original thought, to come up with ideas on their own and from their own wealth of experience and knowledge rather than regurgitating the ideas of others. These people aren't necessary well educated, particularly well read, they aren't always scholars or experts, and generally they don't follow accepted dogma in anything even if they understand it. What they have that sets them apart is an outlook on life that reaches deep within their soul and they are brave enough to share their ideas without fear of being laughed at, ridiculed, or worse, thought to be wrong! They also have large, open minds, are willing to learn and accept anything as possible.
Will Smith said (paraphrasing)"....don't be realistic. Is it realistic to think that you can weld together tonnes of metal and then expect it to lift of the ground and fly? No but thankfully the Wright brothers were not realistic. Is it realistic to enter a room, hit a switch and have lights come on? No but thankfully Thomas Edison was unrealistic." Will Smith is deep.
So let me be unrealistic for a moment myself. All people are deep or have the potential to be. I believe this to be true. I have encountered people who have opened themselves up to me in ways that I think have surprised even them and they shine, like a brilliant beacon in the sea of humanity. Their depth of understanding and their commentary on life have knocked my socks off and made me delight in the new outlook I've gained from them. Some of them are even adults!
For the adults...often...after the initial excitement at their self discovery, they lose it. Frequently they slip back into old habits, old ways, old patterns, that have suited their needs and driven their lives for so long it feels comfortable, like a pair of slippers they slip on or their favourite pair of Levi's that consoles them in some way.
They choose the same type of person they've always chosen as a mate because it's familiar, they choose the same kind of work because it's what they know and they live the same lifestyle they've always lived even if it isn't the healthiest and then, when things go wrong and the same things happen that have always happened they suffer the same sense of loss and confusion they've always felt. And then they wonder why.
The reason is, that in order to maintain and attain a certain depth you have to go deep within yourself. Often you have to face your flaws, your weaknesses, and your past transgressions. You have to face yourself and forgive yourself and remove all of the guilt you've ever felt for the way you've treated others, brave the demons that were left behind when others treated you wrong and get to a place where you know yourself so well that what you have been doing not only doesn't feel comfortable anymore, but it's possibly even foreign to you.
This exploration usually scares the hell out of people and many suck their head back into their shells like scared turtles and slug along being exactly as they were, denying even the possibility of a different way.
But the ones who decide that it's worth the risk shine. They begin to think in new ways and expand their experiences. They get to know that they are an amazing human with a spirit that is meant to sparkle like a brilliant gemstone. They are no longer afraid of the things they were once afraid of. And people notice and some of them work hard against the change. It takes a lot of strength to become who you are.
Perhaps you are so sensitive to the pain of others that you you lie to them to protect them from the pain you might cause with the truth. Maybe you are a person that is so insensitive to others that you hurt them frequently because you aren't empathetic to their feelings. Find out which you are, because many of us fall into one or the other of these categories. From there you can grow. From that point you can work on being authentic and from there you find your depth.
Then with that depth of knowing, you learn that it is your own heart you must cherish and not break first and foremost. The key to that is that the truth is the way to protect it in every instant. You take the repercussions that come being yourself. You begin to pattern your behaviour in a different way, one that relieves you of shame, guilt or regret because you know you did what was right.
Remember...it is impossible for a heart well-loved by its owner to ever be broken.
So depth isn't just about being "deep" but also about getting into the middle of your darkest fears and facing them. It's listening to a special song over and over until it no longer makes you cry. It's about being willing to be sad for just long enough and being brave only after you've been sad and reached the bottom and have climbed back up.
Depth of thought comes from exploring completely your depth of feeling. It comes from admitting your mistakes but it also comes from only admitting your mistakes and leaving ownership of other peoples hearts with them, because you are, ultimately, only responsible for your own. This means perhaps you will hurt people in your life. But you will hurt them less if you came from the deepest, best part of you.
Explore your depths. Share them. Be who you are for real and you will find that all the love you ever wanted will come to you. And all the love that isn't true will fade away and leave you free.
You may feel more comfortable in the shallows but you will not learn to dive there. You'll never see the beauty of the coral reef if you never explore the depths and only ever float on your back.
So dive into yourself! Get into your depths. Once you get past the shock of it, it's worth the jump!
Posted by Carolyn Chaffey at 8:00 AM No comments: Links to this post
Labels: Deep
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Pathetic in Print
Let me start this by saying that I am am an unapologetic feminist. I am also the mother of four daughters. I have maneuvered through the obstacle course that is placed before women in this life and turned over a few rocks and logs and uncovered a few slugs in my days just as the author above has.
I too have felt an aversion to the signs and symptoms of a culture that bombards girls with messages that tell them they need to look, speak, act, behave and be different than they may well be intrinsically. (I'm also aware that the culture does this to boys) I'm painfully aware of the so-called "princess culture" propagated by media and film(Disney in particular) that says(I'm simplifying) that girls need rescuing by boys and I've felt complete disgust at pageantry and beauty contests that seem to value girls based entirely upon their appearance. I've been careful to create counter messages in my home to balance the ones that state girls are less than or greater than based upon the make up product they use or the jean size they wear.
It's a tough job and a tiresome battle. But I do it. Because I have girls. Because I've been a girl.
Somehow though, in all my years of battling the patriarchy, the culture, the stereotypes and all the garbage that I've seen that creates the imbalance between the two most common genders, I have managed not to project the distaste I have for all of the things that seem to work against me as the feminist mother of girls, into a distaste for little girls, not even those that don't look like mine. Heck I haven't propelled it into a distaste for little boys either nor the men they eventually become, at least not in a general sense. There are certain specific men I don't care for but it's based upon actual knowledge of their character, or lack thereof, not something as frivolous as their appearance.
I've managed also to avoid the pitfall of judging parents, particularly mothers(because let's face it mothers' parenting is judged far more harshly than fathers') because I've been mothering for nearly 25 years and realize that parenting evolves over time. My feminism evolved over time as well and with my youngest being nine and the vast number of cultural changes happening in these current times it may evolve further.
I also, as a writer myself, try not to judge other writers. Writing skills evolve over time as well. That said I do have a fair to middling understanding of writing and I'm a decent communicator.
So it's out of my comfort zone to address all of this in a blog post but I feel that the above needs addressing, particularly since the message I'm getting from the editorial and defenders of this piece is that it is satire.
I have read satire. The Onion is satire. The Currant is satire. Ray Guy was satire.
Because I'm very busy and this isn't a professional piece I'm going to post a definition of satire from Wikipedia.
- Satire is a genre of literature, and sometimes graphic and performing arts, in which vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming an individual, ideology, corporation, government or society itself, into improvement.
My understanding is that the definition above is about shaming an individual, ideology, corporation or society itself into improvement.
Now I have no problem with any of that. I've been known to use this sort of technique on an occasion or two myself. I can be scathing and brutal in fact. And I must admit, I enjoy it.
The problem that I have with the above piece from the Northeast Avalon Times is that the shaming is placed upon weak instead of the powerful.The individuals in this case are children. Politicians and businessmen are adults who get paid and are in the public eye. They are adults, seasoned and jaded. And I am guessing that even they have moments of hurt from some of the slings and arrows of a well placed piece of satire.
The target of satire should never be someone who is already without power. Quite the opposite. A good satirist uses their abilities to benefit the innocent, is a defender of the underdog and takes aim at those in power. They use their skills to knock down the ivory tower dweller, to point out the flaws in society as created by the corporations, the politicians, the government or the media or any organization that has influence to try to redirect them through humour and exaggeration to show the foolishness of their points of view.
That is why Robin McGrath's article misses the mark. The target is children and they are the innocent. If you're going to get all up in arms about the "princess culture" you don't pick on the princesses. You pick on those who propagate the culture-mainly the corporations and fashion industry in this instance but the broader culture who still acts like girls need rescuing. I wager however that most princesses have many more dimensions to their character than a tiara and glitter might show.
In this article the focus is on the children-even if it wasn't meant to be--and it's not pleasant. The writer admits to her absolute disdain for little girls of a particular type. Once that happened the rest fell by the wayside.
The target of this article isn't Disney or society or the government. It is very specifically little blond girls which is an odd thing because I've not noticed that the princess culture is made of specifically of the fair haired. Even Disney has a balance in the hair colour department with Jasmine and Pocahontas for example representing the dark haired contingent.
Any point she is trying to make gets completely lost in her own emotional venting. This venting takes on three main aspects.
First of all there is her strange and worrisome aversion to blond haired girls. It is apparently a visceral aversion akin to the feeling of discovering bugs under rocks (a place I would contend the author spends considerable time.)
Second to that there is a judgement of the parents of these same children. Parents who are doing what parents do. Making their children happy.
Third, and the most disturbing part of the whole thing, she makes it abundantly clear that the only reason for her disgust of these children is their appearance. In fact she's OK with her own daughter because she doesn't look like these specific children that she sees as thinking they are privileged and superior.
In a culture that bombards girls with the message that their appearance is their most valuable trait this woman judges an entire group based solely upon this trait and justifies it by saying that these are the privileged so it's OK. And yet somehow contends that she's a defender of girls?
The writer states emphatically that she's never acted upon these feelings.
I counter that she has. Through her words in the article and her admission of an absolute disdain for little blond girls, she has acted upon her thoughts. Writing is a verb. An action word.
Some of the adults reading her article may have little blond girls of their own but most certainly some of the adults reading it WERE little blond girls themselves and most of us still have a lot of the child we were inside of us. Some even wear, gasp, pink.
Perhaps these revelations are cathartic to the author and she obviously is aware of how bizarre they are when she wonders if there are people out there who have an aversion to children who look like her daughter and hints at discomfort at that thought.
I wager there aren't many and if there are I hope they have the wisdom to reveal these rather deeply disturbing thoughts to their therapist and keep it off the written page until they've fully dealt with their issues.
It is her contention that the only girls of value are those who mimic Madame Curie or some other elevated(by her judgment) woman yet I can't say for certain that Madame Curie didn't adore pink and I wonder if she can. I suppose Marie couldn't have been blond as a child? That would totally mess up the fantasy. I do know she wore dresses and on occasion attended balls. So any child who holds her up as a role model is totally allowed to wear a ball gown. Just sayin'.
The writer approves of a certain "type" of little girl. The kind that fits neatly into her idea of what a girl should be. She approves for girls who their role models should be and chooses the type of woman they should become. It's a controlling sort of mindset. It's ironically the sort of thinking that pretty much created the princess culture.
It takes another kind of mindset to dismantle princess culture. It takes the kind of thinking that says that little girls should be valued for who they are not what they look like. That a princess dress and a construction hat are all equal choices for little girls and boys.
Feminism is about equality. Feminism is about choice. But feminism is about being valued for what makes a girl a girl also.
My contention is that it is impossible to appreciate the feminist without appreciating the femininity in a woman or girl. Yes our culture pushes pink as the girl colour and blue as the boy colour. For most people who understand and are bothered by this, it does not turn into a diatribe of disgust for the girls but rather strikes at the more appropriate target, the culture.
Her arrow missed that target.
To the editors who defend this. She has the right to write it. You have the right to print it.
And I have the right to aim my arrow in your direction-where it squarely belongs.
Posted by Carolyn Chaffey at 11:04 AM 1 comment: Links to this post
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February 25, 2011
Friday, February 25, 4:00pm
6 comments:
Man good to hear. We remember the days with our son in rehab there. They were great at the hospital. We will continue to lift you guys up in prayer. Can't wait to hear how God continues to move with your family. God has used your family toshow a wonderful example how God canuse every situation for His Glory.
The Gates Family
- February 25, 2011 at 4:29 PM
- wendypoovey said...
Each day we get excited to read you blog, we can't wait to hear even the smallest improvements for Garren. We look forward to hear how God is working in your lives as well as others. We continue to pray for Garren every day. By the way, Brayden really looks forward to meeting Garren one day. We look forward to hearing from you on Sunday! The Pooveys
- February 25, 2011 at 5:46 PM
We are so happy to hear the progress, yes it is slow, but movement forward and should be celebrated. Thank you for sharing, we look forward to all your posts so that we can stay informed and know how to pray. You continue to inspire and amaze us with your teachings, we love them. You do have such a gift, thank you for sharing it with us. Continuing to pray for you all and will not let up. Looking forward to Sunday. Jeff and Jenn
- February 25, 2011 at 6:59 PM
I can hear a little "lilt" of ease in your message tonight...how encouraging to see progress no matter how slow it may seem...we are in no hurry...God's timing is the best....and, when the progress seems possibly more slow in any days ahead, remember, please, that God has a plan, and it will be good...we love you...get some sleep, God is on duty...love & prayers, Sandy & Russ
- February 25, 2011 at 7:56 PM
Thank you for posting something almost every day, it is a good reminder to pray for Garren. Our ladies prayer group prays for you all every Friday, but the daily posts from you remind us to pray each day and to also leave a note of encouragement. God is a great Comforter, there is no One like Him, He lifts up those who are bowed down. Donna Lochridge
- February 25, 2011 at 9:48 PM
Such great news. Reeading everyday is just a reminder on how great God truly is. Every little step and every day is just as important as the others. We continue praying for your family.
Cindy Romaine
- February 26, 2011 at 5:47 PM


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Sunday, December 11, 2011
A Tree Story
Today the Christmas tree is going up. Its branches haven't come to a restful position yet as it has been tied up tightly for who knows how long, but with help it will soon be ready for lights and ornaments. Christmas is a time of remembering, and each year when the new tree is still bare, I remember an event from when I was about nine or ten. Mother, Daddy and I had brought our tree home from the Christmas tree lot and were placing it in its stand in the living room when Mother spotted a folded piece of paper hanging from one of the middle branches. She opened it and read the crudely printed words, "Will you please send me a shirt." That simple plea tugged at our hearts, and we wanted right away to send something warm and flannel to the cold young boy or man we imagined had written them. We wondered where he lived and what the circumstances were of his life, and we wished we could help. Every year since, I have scanned my tree for such a note, though I never found another, and thought of that guy who was outside in the hard winter cutting trees that would bring Christmas joy into people's home. I hope he warmed up and had a good life.
1 comment:
- Brenda Christmas said...
That's so sad, like a message in a bottle. You want to help but have no idea where the message originated!
- December 20, 2011 at 3:23 PM
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Old Grizzly Bear Male
This very old grizzly bear had a snaggle tooth, most likely the result of a fight that busted his jaw. I've witnessed at least two other old male grizzlies with clear signs of injury to their jaws that resulted in a tooth sticking outside of their mouths. You can also see considerable scarring around this bear's neck.
Despite his age, this grizzly bear was fishing vigorously for salmon at the mouth of a river.
One Response to "Old Grizzly Bear Male"
Don't think I've ever seen a protruding tooth like that. Great pic.


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Happy 4th of July! My chickens are free now, more so than they've been in awhile. Finally captured the hungry raccoon that's been stalking and killing several of them this past month.
After living in a wilderness area for more than three years, this has been my first all-out war with predators. Thought I was living a charmed chicken-keepers life. Before moving my chickens in I armed the chicken yard with Nite Guard lights. Apparently, they did their job, as until recently I didn't lose any of my birds.
Well, there was one rooster who was snatched by an owl, but I solved that immediately by putting a couple of the lights on top of fence posts . . . duh, no more problems. Still miss the rooster.
Raccoons look cute, endearing, and so innocent, as you likely know if you have chickens, but they are smart, capable, and patient at getting what they want. I love all animals, but I was almost ready to shoot this particular one. Instead, I bought one of those HAVAHART traps, set it, then waited. And waited, and then, you know . . . waited . . . some more.
Finally, yesterday morning I went outside, and there he was . . . peering intently through the wire enclosure at me. If I hadn't seen the evidence with my own eyes, probably would have freed him immediately. Turns out, the little bandit was more attracted to dry cat food than the canned tuna I'd been using to entice him into the trap. Glad I keep my cat inside!
As soon as my chores were done, I put him in the back of my pickup and went for a long drive, past the wilderness parks, over multiple bridges, down narrow winding logging roads, and well into the dense forest. Every once in awhile, I'd glance back at him. He seemed to be playing hide'n'seek, covering one eye and peeking playfully out at me.
Eventually,I stopped, brought the trap to the ground and quickly lifted its door while backing away at almost the same instant (hey, it was my first time - was a little afraid he'd attack me). He was gone in a flash. By now, he's no doubt happily exploring his new habitat . . . forty miles away from my chickens.
Wow! What a great weight off my shoulders! And my chickens can get back to their normal routine.
If you're having problems with raccoons, first of all, you have both my sympathy and empathy. I have learned that the traps do work, so I can recommend them, but I'd understand if you prefer the more immediate method of assassination (all the experts point to just the two solutions). And, certainly, shooting the little rascal would have been a lot less expensive and time consuming.
I'm curious about how you have -or would have- handled the situation. Do you think I behaved like a coward, an extremist animal rights activist (please, no!), or did I do the right thing?
Did I mention that I enjoyed the ride, anyway? Guess that means it wasn't entirely a waste of time.


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Friday, March 11, 2011
What the Johnny Ho?
What the Johnny Ho, Johnny Hey? What is this used for? I thought they stayed on on their own, and I didn't think you were supposed to repair them? I gotta get out more!
Posted by Mr. Matt at 6:29 AM
3 comments:
- superdave524 said...
Yeah, I tried that once. Took a week to get the thing off!
- March 11, 2011 at 8:16 AM
Man, and we say if it lasts more than 4 hours you're supposed to call somebody, but a week? Wow! If it happens again, call me!
-Joselyn Elders
(former US Sergeon General)
- March 11, 2011 at 9:08 AM
- superdave524 said...
Funny stuff!
- March 14, 2011 at 5:19 AM
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Yesterday was an interesting day for our family.
We were invited to a birthday churrasco (bar-b-que) for one of our best friends.
Yesterday Sergio celebrated his 53 birthday. His birthday was actually on Tuesday but we had the party yesterday.
Anyway, Sergio was, literally, one of the first people we met here.
We moved here in June of 2002 and we met him in the same month or in the first few days of July.
He is a real estate agent. When we moved here he had his own company. He helped us find our first place to live. It was an apartment and it was close to his office. We moved in towards the end of July. About a year and a half later he then negotiated the deal on the second place we lived. It was a house and he got no commission from the rental agreement. We then had a fight with him about accepting money from us as a "thank you" for his hard work. We only felt it was right to help him since he helped us. We wanted to give him a commission that he didn't get from the actual deal. The fight came from his not wanting to accept it because he wanted to help his friends and friends don't charge for friendship. That's the way he is in everything he does. Friends are more important than money.
Sergio quickly became more than our real estate agent. He and his family became our great friends.
He has two sons that are Garrett and Carys' age.
Our families have vacationed together at the beach. Our families have taken a few trips together to the mountains.
He's also my running buddy. He was with me every step of the way when I tried (and failed) to complete my first marathon in 2005. When I ran he ran. When I had to walk he stopped and walked with me. He called my wife when I had to stop and couldn't take another step. He told her where to pick up my tired, defeated body. He got me some water, asked if I was okay and then proceeded to finish the marathon. Because of going so slow with me he, literally, was the last person to finish the race. He arrived with an ambulance following him with sirens blaring signifying the last runner of the race. The streets lined up with fans cheering him on. If it were me, my stupid pride would have wanted to explain why I was last. He never said a word about it being because he was helping me. Never. He just smiled and waved to everyone and soaked in the moment. That's Sergio. He has taught me that the important thing is to finish the race and to run with joy.
Sergio and his family have been regular Bible study partners with us.
I've been blessed to study with Sergio one on one and literally see the "light bulb moment" when he realized that He doesn't have to be "good enough" to be accepted by Christ. That Christ can forgive everything in his past. Just days after having this moment I was blessed to be asked by Sergio to be a part of his demonstration of his new faith through baptism.
Sergio has a deep bond with my parents. Especially my dad. I can't spend 2 minutes with him without him asking about my parents.
I consider him to be one of my best Brasilian friends.
It's always fun to be with Sergio. He has an infectious laugh. Everyone enjoys being around him and I would swear that he knows everybody in POA. Whenever we are out together he always runs into someone he knows. Always.
Last night was a great celebration of his life. We had a great time, as usual, with his family and friends.
A few hours before we left for the birthday party Benay got a phone call. It was the mother of one of Carys' friends from her old school. As I listened to Benay talk I immediately knew someone had died.
She hung up and told me our friend Lourdes had died.
We first met Duncan and Lourdes in 2002.
Our three year old daughters, at that time, (Carys and Andréa) went to the same school together. They immediately became good friends.
Duncan and Lourdes were very helpful to us as we adjusted to living in Brasil.
Duncan had lived in the United States and it was always very helpful to us, initially, to have someone who could speak and understand English as we struggled with the difficulty of learning the Portuguese language.
They were one of the first families we invited to our house for supper in our new apartment.
Lourdes was always smiling. She was always happy. I know people aren't "always" happy but I never saw her without a smile. Even when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
As she fought the cancer she was smiling, she was encouraging.
I can remember her coming to Benay's baby shower for Giovanni. Benay wanted to talk with her about how she was doing. She never wanted to talk about her problems or her suffering because she didn't want to discourage other people. She would always smile and say she was doing fine.
Carys and Andréa went to the same school together from 2002 through the 2009 school year. Last year Carys started a new school so we didn't get to see Duncan and Lourdes on a daily basis like we were used to.
Benay went to visit her last year and took her a book (Max Lucado). A couple of months ago Benay tried to get in touch with her but wasn't able to. That was the last time we tried to get in touch with her or her family.
Until yesterday.
In Brasil we don't embalm a body so the burial is within 24 hours.
Lourdes died yesterday morning and the funeral, like I mentioned, was last night.
Benay, Carys and I went to be with the family.
Duncan seemed to be, like I would be at that moment, in a daze. With terminal cancer you know the end is coming and, I imagine, you can prepare for it the best you can but, honestly, how can you ever prepare to live your life without your spouse?
I watched him as I thought about what that might feel like to have just lost Benay. He held up okay until he hugged Benay. As she whispered in his ear he began to cry.
As we left Benay and I talked about the will of God.
It's a strange thing at times (to us humans) and not always possible to understand.
Lourdes also has two kids. A girl and a boy. The girl, as I mentioned, is Carys' age. The boy, Rafael, is Garrett's age and they had class together one year. He also has cerebral palsy and has many developmental problems. When we saw him last night he gave us hugs and then he gave us nuggies on our head.
As we left the funeral we talked about how blessed we are. We have 6 healthy kids. Benay and I are healthy and we just left the funeral of a woman our age who died after fighting cancer for many years. She leaves a husband and two kids, one of which has special needs.
It's times like that when we realize just how blessed we are and how the things that worry us at times are really not big things at all.
We left the funeral and went back to Sergio's birthday party.
When he saw me he came up to me and put an arm around me and asked how I was doing. I said fine and just kind of shrugged my shoulders. He told me "É pesada......É pesada." Which means, in this case, "Going to a funeral is a heavy thing." February 5 will be the one year anniversary of his father's death. He gave me a hug and encouraged me.
We then had a birthday cake and Sergio shared with everyone how blessed he was to have such a good family, good friends and such a good, blessed life. He shared how this was his first birthday without his dad.
As we were driving home after the party I spent some time reflecting on our time here. Who God has brought into our lives and who He has taken. This wasn't the first funeral we've gone to since we've been here and it probably won't be the last.
I thought about how this celebration and this funeral happened on the same day. How yesterday involved two families that helped us so much when we first moved here. How our kids became good friends. How we've shared meals together and how they, personally, shared the day together.
One celebrating and the other suffering.
Life and death on the same day. Sergio and Duncan's life will be forever intertwined. This day will always bring back memories to both of them until the day they die.
We feel blessed and thank God for these two families.
Please pray for Sergio as he continues to be a light for Jesus to his family, friends and to this city.
And please pray for Duncan and his kids as they begin to try to live life without their mom, wife, best friend. I can't imagine what life would be like without my girlfriend. Only God can strengthen Duncan in this moment.
I believe they both will feel encouragement through your prayers.


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This is adorable !! I can see this in a little girls room , and functional in a kitchen.or office.
Pair clipboards with leftover-die-cut shapes for easy to do low cost art.
Give the clipboards a makeover with a coat of paint(choose paint designed for metal ) Mount die cuts, available in crafts and scrap booking stores onto plain card stock and stitch embellishments with embroidery floss.


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"From a young girl facing a life-threatening crisis at Lunar Camp to a crew of elderly women graced with the power of Greek gods, you'll find an engaging and diverse range of science fiction and fantasy stories by women, about women."
Mary Robinette Kowal
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Jean Rabe
Tanya Spackman
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Gail Z. Martin
Jean Marie Ward
Print Cover art by Tietjen Alvarez, eBook Cover art by Kelli Neier, Interior art by Autumn Frederickson and Betsy Waddell.
This book is available here as e-book, and on Amazon as a paperback. The e-book and paperback have different covers.


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Hold down Control (PC) or Command (Mac) key + mouseclick to select more than one option
Posted by Gossip Junkie on 2007-10-09
We're from Seattle, so we know good coffee. This place is the real deal! Best coffee we've been able to locate in the city, bar none. The neighborhood old-school Brooklyn-Italian grandpas congregate there after about 9:30a to dish out the dish in heavy
Posted by Coffee Lover on 2007-02-13
If you like coffee this is the place. It is a mom and pop shop that specializes in great coffee with cute Brooklyn names. It is for real coffee drinkers only! Those other commercial coffee shops do not compare.


text: download play pause There is an issue with the player. Show Topics Open Letter to Bitcoin Miners :: The Bitcoin Civil War :: Autonomous Electric Vehicles to Crush Car Ownership? :: Puerto Rico and Statehood :: National Language :: DC License Plates :: HOSTS - Ian, Mark Previous EpisodeDownload EpisodeAdd New CommentNext Episode


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Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Black Cab Sessions
Black Cab Sessions: One Song. One Take. One Cab.
Some great indie acoustic performances to check out
I can't get enough of the Sunset Rubdown session, they will be playing at the Spanish Moon on Friday, Sept. 26
check the video out here, they have other great indie bands preforming as well
Posted by Hunter at Wednesday, August 20, 2008
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Mae looks so pretty! I love her hairstyle!ReplyDelete
Thanks! And I think I will be doing a tutorial on it soon!Delete
Yes, I love Mia's hair. : )
And I love dancing around in the rain like that.
She has good taste.
Mae says thanks. ;)Delete
Super cute pictures! Mae looks adorable and so does her hair.:)
Wow! These are gorgeous Leah! I love the little drops of water in her hair and her hairstyle is sooo cute! Mae looks so cute in that coat! :)
Aw thank you Kaitlyn!Delete
Hi there! Thanks for commenting! I really appreciate it. :)
Just please make sure too keep in mind not to do these things:
Please no cussing, using the Lords name in vain, or being rude to anyone.
Comments that contain these things will be deleted.


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Could not subscribe, try again laterInvalid Email A woman arrested in Manchester by counter-terrorism police investigating the Westminster attack will face no further action. Two people, who live in the same West Didsbury address, were arrested last Friday in the wake of the London terror attack. They were later released pending further enquiries. But in a statement released today, the Metropolitan Police said the 32-year-old woman would face no further action. The woman, who has not been identified, was arrested in a public place in Manchester last Friday on suspicion of preparation of terrorist acts. The Met said in a statement: She was released with no further action on Thursday. Westminster attacker Khalid Masood (Photo: PA) Read More Manchester tourist watched in horror as London attacker drove into pedestrians in front of her A man in his 30s who arrested in West Didsbury in connection with the terror attack on Parliament was released without charge last Saturday. No further action will be taken against him, the Met confirmed. Meanwhile, a 30-year-old man, who was arrested last Sunday at an address in Birmingham on suspicion of preparation of terrorist acts remains in custody. The Met said a warrant for further detention was granted at Westminster magistrates court. Read More Wife of Westminster terrorist Khalid Masood fled to Oldham to escape her 'violent, controlling psychopathic' husband Ten others who were previously arrested in connection with the investigation have now all been released with no further action.
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