text:
One of the great stories of old New England, perhaps not so familiar to many, is the story of Col James Swan of Boston. This story has long captured my interest. I hope you will find these events as fascinating as I do.
James Swan was from Scotland. He arrived in Boston in the mid 1760s. In business he succeeded. He married Hepzibah Clarke of Boston who came from wealth. They had four children; a son and three daughters. One daughter, Christiana, called Kitty, will be highlighted later in this post.
|Hepzibah Clarke, Gilbert Stuart, 1808
Before long Swan was one of the Sons of Liberty, friend of Paul Revere, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington and every important figure from that time. He was also acquainted with LaFayette. As a financier he was successful at least for a time.
Swan's portrait was painted by Gilbert Stuart and Hebzibah's portrait was also painted by Gilbert Stuart several years later. Both are now at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. (MFA)
In 1787 at a time when his business in Boston was not doing so well he went to France. His wife and children accompanied him and they were there at the time of the French Revolution and the tragic end of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI.
|Sketch of the house on Tremont Street
In the 1790s they returned to Boston where they built a house on a hill in Dorchester The new neoclassical house has been thought to have been designed by Charles Bullfinch but I am not sure this has been authenticated although it seems likely. Sadly, the Swan house is no longer standing.
|The Swan summer house in Dorchester
Swan returned to France around 1798 without his family and was able to obtain royal furniture to furnish the new house back home.
In 1808 after a dispute over a small sum of money that Swan denied owing he was thrown into jail, a debtor's prison. He could have paid up but chose not to. With money a prisoner could live quite comfortably in jail and that is where Swan was content to stay. And stay he did! He remained in jail for an incredible 22 years. Upon his release in 1830 he remained in France briefly but died shortly in 1831 without ever returning to Boston.
|James Swan, Jr.
During these years, in his absence, Hepzibah built a new house at 20 Chestnut Street on Beacon Hill and then built three row houses across the street also on Chestnut Street, numbers 13, 15, and 17 for each of their three daughters.
The Swan's only son married Caroline Knox, a daughter of Gen. Henry Knox and moved to Thomaston, Maine to live at Montpelier, the Knox estate.
|13,15,and 17 Chesnut St., Beacon Hill, Boston
|Montpelier, home of Gen. Henry Knox, Caroline Knox and James Swan, Jr
Of interest to us here on Cape Ann is Swan's daughter, beautiful Christiana Keadie Swan, known as Kitty.
In Gloucester in the 18th and 19th centuries one of the most prominent families was the Sargent family. Winthrop Sargent was a wealthy merchant. His son, Winthrop became the first governor of the Mississippi territory and built his estate, Gloucester Place, in Natchez, still standing today.
Another son, Fitz William was the grandfather of of John Singer Sargent and other notable descendants.
Winthrop Sargent's daughter, Judith, married merchant, John Stevens, and they built the elegant Georgian mansion that is now the Sargent House Museum in Gloucester.
After the
death of Stevens Judith married Rev. John Murray, who was invited to Gloucester
by Judith's father, Winthrop, where he founded the first Universalist Church in
America with the backing of the Sargent family.
|Sargent House Museum, Gloucester, MA
Another Sargent daughter, Esther married John Stevens Ellery and they likewise built a great Georgian house just down the street from Judith's on the corner now occupied by the YMCA. (More about that house in a future post).
Toward the end of the 18th century both the Ellerys and the Murrays relocated to Boston where they lived in style on Franklin Place, a crescent designed by Charles Bulfinch.
|Franklin Place,
Charles Bulfinch
Another Gloucester Sargent family, Daniel Sargent and his wife, Mary Turner Sargent, also relocated to Boston. Daniel was a younger brother to Winthrop, Sr. and an uncle to Judith and Esther. His young wife, Mary, became a close confidante of Judith. Their house was on what is now Main Street in Gloucester and stood somewhere near Walgreens and the police station.
|Mary Turner Sargent by Copley, mother-in-law of Kitty Swan Sargent
In Boston Daniel and Mary's son, John Turner Sargent, married the lovely Kitty Swan. One of John Sargent and Kitty Swan Sargent's sons was Rev. John Turner Sargent, Jr. a Universalist minister and an abolitionist.
Hepzibah Swan died in 1825 and her possessions including the treasures from France were passed down to her heirs.
Meanwhile, back in Gloucester, Judith Sargent Murray's house became a duplex and eventually fell on hard times. Major museums tried to buy the beautiful architectural elements from the house such as the elegant staircase. Fortunately this never happened. The house was restored and objects belonging to various Sargents and other occupants of the house, were contributed to form the collection housed in the new museum. The fine assembled collection of heirlooms came from the Sargent, Hough and Gilman families in general whether or not the owner had actually lived in the house.
Among the items at the museum contributed by a descendant of Kitty and John Turner Sargent was an elegant French bergere (an upholstered chair)and a pair of beautiful French andirons for the parlor fireplace. These two items came with the straightforward provenance direct from the Swans through Kitty and John Turner Sargent to their son, Rev. John Turner Sargent.
and finally to the donor, Franklin Havens Sargent, grandson of Kitty Swan Sargent and John Turner Sargent. These were royal pieces straight from the court
of Marie Antoinette sent to Boston by James Swan.
The gilded French begere was somewhat controversial as some doubted its authenticity or simply found the chair especially out of
place with the fine pieces of American furniture with which the house was
furnished. The chair was marked Sene,
the name of a well documented cabinet maker known to have made royal furniture. ( Jean-Baptiste-Claude-Sene, French, 1787)
Clearly the elegant chair was different from the other
American pieces furnishing the rooms of this beautiful house but I see the
situation this way.
|Rev. John Turner Sargent, Jr.
|Franklin Havens Sargent, heir to the French chair and
andirons, given to the 'Sargent House.
|Restored Sene bergere at MFA, mate to the one
belonging to the Sargent House Museum in
Gloucester, MA
There have been times when all things French were admired and it was a sign of refinement, culture and good taste to have French items in one's home. Following the French Revolution Thomas Jefferson was in France and sent quantities of French furniture and accessories back home to adorn the rooms of Monticello.
Susan Stein, in "The Worlds of Thomas Jefferson at Monticello", writes about Jefferson "Shopping for a Lifetime" in France. He bought furniture, kitchen utensils, candlesticks, teapots, tablecloths, fabric and many other items. When he arrived back in America he would eventually have 86 packing crates shipped to him from Paris."
Susan Stein, in "The Worlds of Thomas Jefferson at Monticello", writes about Jefferson "Shopping for a Lifetime" in France. He bought furniture, kitchen utensils, candlesticks, teapots, tablecloths, fabric and many other items. When he arrived back in America he would eventually have 86 packing crates shipped to him from Paris."
Closer to home, John Adams obtained a suite of royal furniture which he too sent back home.
Judith Sargent Murray whose first cousin had married Kitty Swan was a very cultured lady and a social climber. During her marriage to John Murray and while living in Boston she and Murray visited with John and Abigail Adams. Judith must have seen and admired this evidence of taste, refinement and wealth as expressed by the French furniture in the Adams' possession. Do you think for one minute that Judith would not have coveted the same for her house? My personal opinion is that I think Judith would have been green with envy!
|French furniture in the parlor of John Adams
To settle any questions about the provenance of the disputed chair an authority on the subject from the MFA was summoned to Gloucester to authenticate the chair. The result; not only was the chair authentic but was a part of a larger suite owned by the MFA. In fact, the chair at the Sargent House had at one time even been on loan to the MFA and displayed with the other pieces of the suite. At that time it had been reupholstered by Atwill Furniture, a company in Lynn, MA noted for restorations and reproductions.
Although the chair was authenticated, the choice of fabric used to upholster the chair was deemed less than appropriate and although it looked very presentable, the chair did need conservation, authentic reupholstering and re-gilding after two hundred years. In 1975 Antiques Magazine featured the story of Col. James Swan written and researched by Eleanor DeLorme who acknowledged the Gloucester chair.
Although the chair was authenticated, the choice of fabric used to upholster the chair was deemed less than appropriate and although it looked very presentable, the chair did need conservation, authentic reupholstering and re-gilding after two hundred years. In 1975 Antiques Magazine featured the story of Col. James Swan written and researched by Eleanor DeLorme who acknowledged the Gloucester chair.
The chair remains at the Sargent House Museum. What a history! What a provenance! How fascinating that right here on Cape Ann we have these physical spoils of the French Revolution and tangible evidence of this wild scene from the world stage right here on a local and personal level.
The entire story with all the available details is way too much for a blog post but worth researching. What is presented here is just the barest of facts, enough I hope to wet your appetite.
M y acquaintance with the chair and the story dates to about 1990. In doing some research for this post I discovered that the ten pieces at the MFA have since been restored after being flown to California for regilding and then flown to France for reupholstering. If chairs could talk....! Here is the fascinating sequel to the story. It is long but worth reading.
January 12, 2003 - The Boston Globe
PARIS - Ten newly restored pieces of the Swan collection of 18th-century French royal furniture were recently unveiled in the Evans wing of the Museum of Fine Arts, making the MFA one of the most important hubs for furniture of this kind in the United States.
Created for the French musketeer Marc-Antoine Thierry de Ville d'Avray in the late 1700s, the set of furniture later crossed the Atlantic, bound for Dorchester on the boat of a swashbuckling opportunist named James Swan.
The restoration - a four-year process that saw the furniture leave Boston on cargo planes bound for the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles for regilding, then to France to be worked on by three expert firms - has been marked by important discoveries about 18th-century French furniture as a whole.
Tracey Albainy, MFA project coordinator and curator in the museum's Art of Europe department, says, "This will be one of the premier collections of 18th-century French furniture in the country. This project ... sets a new standard for upholstery conservation."
The story begins in 1787, when the pieces (a bed, two armchairs, four side chairs, a bergere armchair, a kneeling chair, and a fire screen) were commissioned by Thierry de Ville d'Avray, a musketeer who became the general administrator of the crown furniture for Louis XVI. The Parisian apartment of such an official had to be decorated with the finest furnishings of the day.
Unfortunately for Thierry de Ville d'Avray, he took office just before the French Revolution, and once the monarchy was abolished, he, Louis XVI, and many other members of the French royal court were jailed, put to trial, and sentenced to death.
The cash-strapped new French government then used independent firms to sell or barter royal treasures for food and war supplies from countries such as the United States.
Enter Swan.
Scottish-born and raised in the United States, Swan had his fingers in many pies in America and France. In Massachusetts, he was a Son of Liberty at the Boston Tea Party, a captain who fought at Bunker Hill, and later a member of the Massachusetts Legislature.
After a series of real estate deals gone sour, however, Swan set sail for France and finagled his way into a partnership in the firm of Dallarde, Swan et Compagnie, one of the firms specializing in furnishing supplies to the new French government.
Through his dealings, Swan became a very rich man, and he built a French-style pavilion for his family in Dorchester that became the new home for the furniture set.
When a French business partner filed a small suit against him in 1808, Swan, ever the eccentric, chose to go to a high-class debtor's prison instead of settling the claim. He stayed there for 22 years and died in 1831, just one year after his release.
Swan's furniture was passed down to his descendants, and between 1921 and 1953, the entire set - in various states of repair - came into the possession of the MFA. Pieces were reupholstered with different fabrics and occasionally displayed at the MFA or lent out to other museums.
The idea of regilding, reupholstering, and reuniting all of the pieces started percolating in the early 1970s with the support of Ellen Jaffe. A member of the museum's board of overseers, Jaffe provided much of the financial support for the restoration.
For the gilding work, the MFA chose Cynthia Moyer, a Los Angeles specialist who had worked on gilding French objects for the 1997 opening of the Getty. Moyer took on the 11/2-year project as a private conservator.
The pieces were also worked on by three French firms with 465 years of experience between them: fabric maker Tassinari & Chatel, founded in 1680; trimming specialists Declercq Passementiers, founded in 1818; and upholsterers Jacques Brazet, founded in 1943. The reputation for quality at each firm brings them together again and again on such restoration projects. Their combined client list reads like a who's who in the worlds of museums, chateaus, and monarchs.
Using original fabric samples sent to Paris by the MFA, experts Xavier Bonnet and Remy Brazet, an upholsterer with the firm of Jacques Brazet, made important finds about 18th-century French furniture.
"What we've found changes our understanding of 18th-century techniques," says Brazet.
Looking at original fabric pieces and examining the stitching allowed Brazet and Bonnet to recreate the padding more accurately, rendering, for example, non-traditional rounded corners instead of a sharper corner on the chairs. "You can actually be comfortable in these," jokes Brazet.
Brazet and Bonnet also discovered that the fabric on the chair seats (not just the backs) depicted human figures, something that experts had previously thought was taboo in that day.
Tassinari & Chatel took on the re-creation of a complex woven fabric called lampas for the project. The company is perhaps best known in the United States because of John F. Kennedy's order of fabrics for the Blue Room and the Yellow Room in the White House.
Originally designed in 1785 for Napoleon's gaming room at Fontainebleau, a pale turquoise, cream, and taupe "Cyclops Forger" lampas was re-created by Tassinari & Chatel using more than 27,000 new loom cards - akin to early computer punch cards - to create the patterns for its motifs: forgers, river gods, sea horses, and dogs. The lampas has a density not normally associated with fabric and a textured smoothness like sculpted marble. The daily output when creating this lampas was measured in centimeters, and the entire weaving took about nine months.
Such work-in-centimeters style is also familiar to the firm of Declercq Passementiers, which needed almost a year to create the furniture trim. The company is run by Claude Declercq, his son Jerome, and his daughter Elisa. Their factory is filled with scores of ancient looms whirring away, pulling at racks of loom cards or guided by experts enveloped by the machines.
To find a color match to make rope for the bed fringe, Elisa demonstrates Jerome's maxim: "We buy only thread, then we create." As if blending colors on a palette, she grabs an armful of spools with similar colored threads and tries different combinations to match the lampas color.
By spinning several lengths around her hand, she creates one consistent color. "There's an osmosis between the fibers that creates the colors and makes them come out more supple and stronger," she says.
Most impressive at the factory are the hand looms used to make trim for the chairs. Operators climb into the looms and sit on a saddle seat that leaves them tipped so far forward that their upper bodies are suspended by wide leather straps. Spiderlike, they pass shuttles back and forth between their hands and operate pedals with their feet, constantly changing configurations and adding twists, turns, or different colors to incredibly complex patterns.
They aren't reading from a notebook, however, and there are no loom cards hanging over the machine. When asked where their pattern is, Jerome grins and points to his head.
"To learn the trade," says Elisa, "it takes one year to train, then three to four to really become a good worker, but a lifetime to know it all."
She continues, speaking of the craftspeople involved: "We are the only people left in the world who know how to do this type of work."
The newly restored Swan collection is on display in the MFA's Evans Wing. The furniture is accompanied by a pair of Sevres vases, eight 1770 gilded boiseries panels designed by C. N. Ledoux, and portraits of Swan and his wife, Hepzibah, painted by Gilbert Stuart.


text:
Dialogues With Myself
Eugene England
Chapter 16
Read at the Association for Mormon Letters in Houston, June 1982, and published in Dialogue, Winter 1983.
Edgar to Gloucester in King Lear:
… Men must endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither.
June 1982
[p.191] I grew up in a safe valley. The years five through twelve, when we are most sensuously attached to the landscapeand when, I think, the foundations of identity are firmly laidI lived in gardens and wheatfields. They had been claimed a generation before from desert knolls and sagebrush flats but were now constantly fruitful, watered by canals or sufficient rain for dryland grains and surrounded by low mountains that were protective, inviting, never fearful. We hiked into the mountains for deer and trout to supplement our meat, eaten sparingly from the pigs butchered each fall, or sometimes we rode out to look for horses that had strayed and, once a year, on the Sabbath nearest the 24th of July, with all the Sunday School, we went in cars to have classes out of doors and eat a picnic together and explore those safe canyons of Cherry Creek or Nine Mile that brought us our water.
Even when I found a perfect flint arrowhead and a large flawed spearhead on one of those picnics, I did not imagine the blood. Instead I thought about coming there to live, in a rock cave I had found high in the canyonperhaps with Dee Christiansen, my companion in Saturday-long Tarzan adventures, perhaps with Margene Ware, my first [p.192] serious love (moral and practical details absolutely did not intrude into such fantasies).
I wanted safe and secret places even within that safe valley. And I found or made them. The canal was one. It moved slowly along the east side of the valley, no more than two feet deep except at "The Diversion," where a falls as the canal divided created a spice of danger. Submerged in the rich muddy water with a straw for air or lying on the farm road bridge while it seemed to move backward over the surface flowing just a few feet below, my mind would flow to a safe world inside me.
And there was the vacant lot across from Grandma Hartvigsen's that grew pepper weeds three feet high, dense and fragrant, perfect for making trails and hidden nests. There was the cottonwood, with a large cup where the first branches separated, that stood right at the corner of Grandpa's barn and could be reached from the roof. And the little grove of fruit trees, part of the old homestead out on what we still called the Coffin place, preserved from my father's relentless consolidating of those old 160-acre holdingseach with log cabin and well and outbuildings and treesinto large, uninterrupted fields to fit the economics of the shift from horses to tractors. This grove was not leveled partly because it was watered, along with a lovely line of cottonwoods, by overflow from the town reservoir, built on our northern boundary to hold the stream from Nine Mile. Dad kept Peter Coffin's old house and barn to store machinery in, and we always parked the truck there and ate our lunch in those trees, on that fresh, grassy bank, adding watercress from the little overflow stream and sometimes plums or apples from the neglected grove.
The subtlest bliss from such safe and cozy places came each spring. It was a bliss mostly of the mind because I could only be in such a place occasionally and brieflybut my heart yearned, on early May mornings, when the brisk southern Idaho wind still moved the tops of sagebrush along our fencelines and I could look down as we passed in the truck and see, among the clumps of sage, small patches of last year's dead grasses, with just a scatter of new blades coming through and a few small flowers. I knew those places were warm and fragrant, humming with tentative insect life. When I would sometimes, on a Saturday, walk out to the "ranch" (as we called it, though any livestock that might justify that name were gone), carrying an extra dessert for Dad's lunch or a hoe to work at the potato patch we planted, during the war, [p.193] by a spring in the lower 320, I could sometimes stop and hide for a time under the sagebrush out of the wind. I could crush the small gray-green, velvet leaves from the strangely dead-looking branches until the air was sharp with sage or hold my fingers close until the smell went back into my throat. There would be one or two mild yellow buttercups, with five waxed petals, concavely shaped as if still ready to close quickly around the orange center. And by late May a few wild honeysuckles, the blossoms washed pink and detachable, made to be plucked off delicately and delicately set between the lips so the tube under the blossom could be sucked for the smallest, most delicate taste, deep on the tongue.
But most of all I was drawn to secret places I made, like the huge lilac clump at Dee's grandmother's, where we had cut out the inner branches for our hiding place and could strip to our shorts, creep out and run wild across the lawn and garden, through the barns, and even sneak into her cellar for a can of tuna fish and retreat through branches to lie still as she walked by, calling Dee. Or the place I fashioned at the back of our woodpile where I could be completely hidden and watch crazy old Brother Nelson do his chores, mumbling passages of scripture to himself, and where I hid the revolver a friend, who had stolen it from home, gave me to keep. I would nestle in among the logs and boards, hold the gun in both hands and think about using it to kill deer when I took my mate off to Cherry Creek. One day it was gone.
Our valley began just outside the rim of the Great Basin, at the point we called Red Rock, where the waters of ancient Lake Bonneville had once worn through the Nugget sandstone formation and drained out into what became the Portneuf and Snake Rivers, leaving a mile-wide scar and finally a slough moving slowly through cattailed bottom lands that gave us our name, Marsh Valley. The slough provided poor fishingmostly chubs and suckersbut attracted great flights of geese in the fall that swept up to our stubble fields to feed at night and moved to the north in huge, constantly reforming wedges. I may have sensed from them that our valley was part of something larger, but surely I knew so when my parents suddenly went off forty miles to Pocatello late one night in Grandpa's new hump-backed Mercury, leaving me in Grandma's care, and came back after a week with my baby sister. Or when I sat in Grandpa's lap, playing with his gold watch chain and listening to the strange, emphatic voices emerging from the static of his Philco. Prophets, I was told, at general conference in Salt Lake City. But [p.194] even the Second World War seemed far away, unconnected, intruding only for moments when I rushed outside at a sudden roar one overcast morning to see a strange, double bodied, P-38 fighter plane just passing over our house on its way hedge hopping down the valley toward Pocatello under the low clouds. Or when the oldest Bickmore boy was shot through the chest by a sniper on Okinawa and came home to tell about it in sacrament meeting.
Hamlet to his friend:
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
But come
My father knew of larger things than our valley, and he included me easily. He had left home at seventeen, learned to paint the fine interiors of Union Pacific passenger cars, and lived alone, rising early to read the Book of Mormon and The Discourses of Brigham Young. When he spoke of Nephi and Alma and Moroni or of Joseph and Brigham and Heber, I felt his love for me. When he said Christ had appeared to him in a dream and told him the Book of Mormon was true, I knew it had happened. And as I rode with him to do his share on the Church's welfare farm, or to the store or the wheat elevator or the machinery shop or from neighbor to neighbor, to borrow and return, to ask for help and give, to buy and sell, I saw him doing the truth and felt safe.
One June dawn we drove toward the reservoir farm for a day of weeding the fallow ground. He would drive the tractor. I was old enough to ride the twenty-four-foot rod weeders, jumping off to tromp away stubble as it accumulated around the goosenecks and rods. That morning, as he often did, he stopped the truck and took me to see how the wheat was heading out in that lower 320. We kept our feet between the rows as we walked out on a ridge, I just learning how to imitate his motion of plucking a stalk to examine critically its forming kernels. He asked me to kneel with him, and he spoke, I thought to Christ, about the wheat. He pledged again, as I had heard him at home, to give all the crop, all beyond our bare needs, to build the kingdom, and he claimed protection from drought and hail and wind. I felt, beside and in me, something, a person, it seemed, something more real than the wheat or the ridge or the sun, something warm like the sun but warm inside my head and chest and bones, someone like us but strange, thrilling, fearful but safe.
[p.195] How is it then that sometime in those years I first felt my own deepest, most hopeless, fear, the fear of being itself? It is a fear I have never been able to write about until now nor imagined anyone else knew about or could understand, a fear so fundamental and overwhelming that I feel I must literally shake myself from it when it comes or go mad. And yet I felt it as a child in that safe valley. I've forgotten, perhaps blocked away, the time it first came. Probably it was during one of those long summer evenings when Bert Wilson and I would sleep out on our large, open front lawn and watch the stars come. The stars in that unpolluted sky were warm and close and dense and, as I began to learn from my father, who taught early morning seminary, about the worlds without number God had created and that we had always existed and always would, destined to explore and create forever in that infinite universe, it was exciting, deeply moving at times, to look into those friendly fires that formed patterns in the night and stretched away beyond my comprehension.
But one evening there began to come moments when I could feel moving into my mind, like a physical presence, the conviction that all was quite absurd. It made no sense at all that anything should exist. Something like nausea, but deeper and frightening, would grow in my stomach and chest but also at the core of my spirit, progressing like vertigo until in desperation I must jump up or talk suddenly of trivial things to break the spell and regain balance. And since that time I am always aware that that feeling, that extreme awareness of the better claim of nothingness, lies just beyond the barriers of my busy mind and will intrude when I let it.
Much later, of course, I learned about existential anxiety and the Christian sense of total dependence, of contingency, and I heard about the question Paul Tillich's daughter asked him, "Why is there something and not nothing?" But I believe these are quite different things from what I feel. My own deep fear seems unique, precisely because of those unique Mormon beliefs that have given me my greatest joy and security. It is one thing to wonder, as traditional Christians do, why an absolute, perfectly self-sufficient God would bother to create me and this strange, painful universe out of nothing, to feel the proximate mysteries of this "vale of tears" but also an utter dependence on an ultimate being who can indeed reduce me and the universe to nothingness and thus painlessness againor to feel Albert Camus's desperate bitterness about a universe that has produced beings like us, with our constant [p.196] yearning for meaning and permanence, but which seems to answer with absurdity and annihilation. But my own experience with God and this universe has produced not only dependence but identity. I have felt confirmed in my own separate, necessary, and unquenchable being. I had no beginning, not even in God. And the restored gospel provides the best answersthe most adventuresome and joyfulto the basic questions about how I came to be here and about my present and future possibilities. But there finally is no answer to the question of why and how I exist in my essential being. I just always have, and that is where my mind balks in horror, perhaps at its own limitations. I just cannot imagine how it could come to be that there is existence or essencehow there could be something instead of nothing. And the answer of Joseph Smith, that it did not come to be but simply always was, is marvelousuntil I let the horror intrude.
Joseph Smith to the family of King Follett:
All the minds and spirits that God ever sent
into the world are susceptible of enlargement.
I know a young couple whose two-year-old boy, because of cerebral palsy, is a spastic quadriplegic, apparently blind and deaf. His twin brother is perfectly healthy. As a new high councilman, I gave a sacrament meeting sermon at my assigned ward on the grace of Christ, his unconditional love for sinners. Susan, the mother, came up, grateful for what I'd said and wanting to talk more about how she could cope with her struggles and feelings, her guilt about her son. What neglect had caused the fever in the hospital that produced the palsy? Or, if a genetic "accident" was to blame, why had God allowedor causedit? Why had priesthood blessings that promised recovery not yet been fulfilled? How could she go on holding Allyn almost twenty-four hours a day to keep him from bracing back and choking. How could she be forgiven for her anger at him, striking him, sometimes wanting him dead. I felt she needed most to rest and offered to hold Allyn while she had an undisturbed Sunday School hour with her husband. Then we talked later in the afternoon.
I wasn't much comfort. I could testify about Christ's understanding and unconditional acceptance of her and about the real benefits to her son of gaining a body, however imperfect now, and of feeling her love while he lived, however dimly. But I could not tell Susan I found Allyn's trouble a blessing in disguise or evidence he was an especially righteous spirit who had volunteered for such trouble or that he would [p.197] be compensated in some extra way in the next lifethat is, beyond the marvelous opportunity to grow and be tested in a normal body during the millennium. She listened, wept, disagreed, accepted some things. I offered our family to care for her twins occasionally so she and her husband could get away to rest and to renew their own relationship, which had, she said, suffered.
Recently in her sacrament service, I heard Susan sing "I Walked Today Where Jesus Walked," and more recently I heard her give a spiritual living lesson in Relief Society on apostasy, talking forthrightly about her own struggles with personal apostasy when priesthood blessings seemed to fail and when she felt unacceptable to God and unable to continue to endure. She warned her sisters to constant vigilance. I feel warned of two things: that holding little Allyn while Susan has an hour with her husband is at least as important as my words and that she sings and teaches and bears her testimony more maturely and movingly now and also continues to suffer terribly while she endures.
In an interdisciplinary colloquium for freshmen I teach with four colleagues, I've been learning about genetic problems that produce malformations in children. As the sex cells divide, the complicated process of meiosis, by which the chromosomes are reduced from forty-eight to twenty-four, sometimes produces broken and reattached partstrans-locationsor duplications in some eggs and sperm cells and, of course, missing or partial chromosomes in their divided opposites. Many of these accidents (statistics all nicely predictable) are lethal, resulting after fertilization in miscarriages or stillbirths, but some produce living children. Down's syndrome children are the result of such translocations, but there are also many others, rare but real, hidden away from our usual experience. The frequencies are surprisingone in every 700 births is Down's syndrome (now being called trisomy 21 to clearly identify the problem and the chromosomesa duplication or a segment attachment to chromosome number 21, making it "three-bodied"). Jean de Grouchy's Clinical Atlas of Human Chromosomes, which is amply illustrated with photographs of the victims of chromosomal aberrations, is a kind of chamber of horrors of deformed, doomed children: grotesquely cleft palates in Patau's syndrome (one in 5,000 births), flexion deformities in Edwards' syndrome (one in 8,000). In some texts a refrain comes at the end of each description: "the mean survival time is about 2 1/2 months, 90 percent of all cases dying within a year" of birth, or "mean survival 3 months, 80 percent dying in the first year." Is it a [p.198] relief to know that most such terribly deformed children do not live long? But some do, with retardation, shortened, skewed limbs, impossibly positioned fingers and toes, clubfeet.
The sex chromosomes, X and Y, most commonly cause abnormalities through duplications, though a missing X in females produces Turner's syndrome: tiny body, sterility, low mathematics IQ, webbing on the neck. An extra X in men produces Klinefelter's syndrome: some female body characteristics, sterility, low verbal IQ. Extra X's can occur up to a total of six, producing lower and lower IQ, but perhaps most trying to a believer in moral agency is the single extra Y in men, which produces a tall, powerful body and impulsive behavior that easily becomes anti-social. Victims of this chance occurrence in cell division (one in 1,000 births) have forty times the chance of others to end up in a penitentiary.
One syndrome, designated 5p monosomy (a missing part of chromosome 5), produces some facial and bone deformations and very severe retardation but not high fatality. Its deformation in the larynx produces a distinctive cry, like that of a kitten, which gives the syndrome its more common name, "cri du chat" cry of the cat. What do parents endure when they first hear that cry from their newbornand then as the years go and the cry diminishes and a characteristically wide-eyed, almost jawless face develops in a child who will live long, without language, with an IQ under twenty? If the figure one in 50,000 births is right, there must be over 4,000 sets of such parents in this country, perhaps 80,000 in the world.
A few months ago we read, with surprising calm it seems to me, of the parents in Bloomington, Indiana, who were able to get medical and legal support for a decision not to perform the difficult but feasible surgery needed to save their Down's syndrome child-designated "Infant Doe." Their lawyer called it "treatment to do nothing." Columnist George Will called it homicide. Since the case apparently would not have been filedprobably not allowedif the child had not had Down's syndrome, the logic of the decision suggests that parents have the right to kill through neglectand why not more directly?a child that they decide is a huge trouble. And surely, then, it would seem society must have the right to relieve itself of those who come to us through "wrongful birth," the tortured phrase that has developed in recent litigation aimed at doctors whose advice or decisions leads to safe delivery of severely deformed or retarded babies who could have been aborted. [p.199] So far the courts have been willing only to assess the doctors the costs for care of such "wrongful births"not to establish punitive damages.
I know of a couple whose first baby was born with a gaping cleft lip, the eyes squeezed almost into a cyclops, no muscle tone, and profound retardation. It lived ten days, requiring very expensive care at enormous cost to the parents. A chromosomal check available in recent years revealed the mother to be a carrier of trisomy 13, Patau's syndrome, and the doctors presented the options: no more children except by adoption, amniocentesis in future pregnancies to check the chromosomes of the fetus and abortion in case of abnormality, or having children with a certain percentage of carriers and abnormal births. On the basis of their opposition to birth control and abortion (and thus to amniocentesis that would assume abortion as an option), and with faith in an optimistic priesthood blessing and strengthened by the fasting of their ward and stake, the couple went ahead with another child. It was born with trisomy 13, lived thirty-three days, and put the parents into debt over $100,000.
Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith:
Fear not even unto death; for in
this world your joy is not full,
but in me your joy is full.
A year ago, while we were in England, Charlotte learned that her mother, Josephine Johnson Hawkins, had cancer of the pancreas. There was an exploratory operation. The decision was not for the dangerous surgery or traumatic chemotherapy that had little chance of helping but for a peaceful final few months. When Charlotte came home in July, she found her mother wasted but still hoping. She had had a blessing, she said, that she would recover. Charlotte decided to do what could be done, found a doctor willing to do limited chemotherapy, brought her mother to her own bed (I moved to a cot in my study), and together with her sisters set about making Josephine well. They cooked tempting food to keep up her appetite against the nausea of painkillers, bathed her, and helped her to the bathroom (finally carrying her) to avoid the discomfort of bedpans. Charlotte was determined and the doctor encouraging until one day in late August when he saw that the chemotherapy was just not working and stopped it. Josephine told me she thought she could have the faith to make the promise work, but there was so much pain and she was so tired. Charlotte kept trying, fiercely [p.200] believing in the promise, hoping. Our daughters lay on the bed with Josephine, held her in their arms and talked about canning apricots with her years ago. She died on October 2. The last month she slowly turned a deep golden color from the jaundice.
I have long thought that Josephine Hawkins took too much onto herself, keeping her own hurts inside, interceding for others in potential conflicts, absorbing others' weaknesses, letting any damage be done to her feelings, letting mercy rob justice. The internal stress she invited may well have brought on her cancer and killed her, and I felt for a long time she was foolish. But I decided in that last month that she was right. And she was also right about jokes. She never could get the punchlines straight and always marred a funny story in the telling so that the humor came against herself rather than whoever was the butt of the joke. I used to be condescendingly amused, merely tolerant, but I've decided she felt intuitively that nearly every joke is at someone's expense. She took the expense. I think she was right to do so, whatever the cost.
Since last fall Charlotte hasn't slept well. She wonders about that promise to her mother and about fighting to hold on so long, prolonging the pain, straining her bonds with her sisters. And she takes the children's troubles more onto herself and doesn't tell jokes very well.
Christ describing the last days to his
apostles just before leaving them:
Then shall many be offended, and shall betray
one another, and shall hate one another.
And because iniquity shall abound,
the love of many shall wax cold.
But he that shall endure unto the end,
the same shall be saved.
On 13 May 1981, an attempt was made on the Pope's life at his public audience in St. Peter's Square. I was in the throng, next to his car, just reaching out to touch his hand. My mind formed clearly two partly visual, mostly verbal images: first, John Paul II, a man of God, is shot, hurting terribly, will die; and second, Poland's Solidarity, which this man inspirited, and Lech Walesa, to whom this man conveyed symbolic spiritual power, are finished. When I learned that night on the train away from Rome that the Pope had survived I knew it was a miraclefor him and for Poland. I learned of another miracle in the [p.201] summer when the Polish military leaders, by refusing to use force against fellow Poles, apparently prevented the Communist Party from destroying Solidarity. In the fall I began to wake in the night and think about the coming winter. With Poland's economic problems still unsolved because of the continuing power struggle, I knew that hunger could defeat Solidarity. Food riots could justify internal suppression or external intervention. Another miracle was needed. Those images of the Pope and Walesa returned. I couldn't sleep.
Finally I began to explore. I found that most people felt deep concern and admiration for Solidarity and wanted to help but didn't know how. Agencies like Catholic Relief Services and Polish National Alliance were sending food but not enough and were not doing large-scale publicity that might attract help from non-Catholics and non-Poles. Through Michael Novak, a Catholic lay theologian who had met in Rome with Solidarity leaders, I was able to get in contact, by phone to Warsaw, with Bronislaw Geremek, chief advisor to Solidarity. He said the children were starting to die of dysentery. He asked that we send dried milk, detergents, and technicians to help them build privately controlled small businesses and that we do it soon, by plane. We organized Food for Poland, a non-profit public foundation for tax-free contributions, and had a plane-load of food and arrangements almost ready for a donated flight when martial law was declared December 13.
All flights were grounded. Geremek was one of the first arrested (I saw his name on a list in Time on Christmas day), and from a letter smuggled out later we learned he went on a hunger strike in January and then was punished with an unheated room. Our government cut off its aid and vacillated on private aid like ours. We weren't certain food would get through. Finally it became clear through messages from Poland and successful shipments from Western Europe that the military was not interfering; our State department gave approval and on January 6 we sent our first shipment, by truck, then train and Polish ship to Gdansk. Since then we have sponsored a National Day of Fasting, made five more shipments of food, medicine, clothing, detergents, and sent one of our trustees along with one plane-load to Warsaw to verify firsthand the proper distribution to those most in need. Our national director went a few weeks ago to Gdansk to observe distribution of our largest shipment, which included 90,000 pounds of milk from the LDS Church.
[p.202] We have been responsible for adding perhaps $1 million worth of supplies to the Polish Relief effort. That is pitifully littlethe equivalent of one extra good meal for the three million Polish children, aged, and families of imprisoned Solidarity members who are in greatest need. Our government cut off $800 million in aid just for this year. And I am convinced that perhaps twice that much, invested one year ago in a massive Marshall Plan to Poland, focused on improving farming efficiency and on building small, privately controlled industries and businesses, would have provided enough economic resurgence and enough return to Poland's traditional productivity to enable Solidarity's nonviolent success and a gradual development of basic freedoms. But now the stalemate drags on. Someone tried to kill the Pope again, one year later, this time with a bayonet. Poland is not in the news, and people don't think much now about helping.
During January and February I woke very early each morning, thinking of the mistakes I was making as an English professor trying to raise funds, the missed opportunities, inept public relationsnot enough hard-nosed pushiness, not quick enough tough-minded assessment of how we were being used by others to their own advantage. I thought of the people I met each day, or talked to on the phone, who could give $1 million easily but didn't, or the families who fasted and sent all they could, but only once, or students and faculty who helped a while and then disappeared. And I lay awake thinking of Bronislaw Geremek in his cold cell and of thousands of families with father or mother or both interned or dismissed from jobsand knowing we were failing them. I thought of a film I saw in December made by a French journalist of an interview with Lech Walesa held just a few days before the December 13 crackdown. Walesa sat holding his daughter, with a portrait of John Paul II in the background. He said, "I must remember that even if my dream of a free Poland is achieved, it could be taken away in a day. Disaster can come anytime, as it has in the past. I must be ready for death. I could die at any time and must be prepared while I continue to work."
Recently we've decided we may have to discontinue Food for Poland before long. We've failed to get major corporation or foundation support or the help of a popular entertainment figureboth of which seem necessary to keep up momentum. And I am ready to admit I do not have the giftsor the stomachto make a career of fundraising. I do not lie awake much any more. When I do it's usually to hold [p.203] Charlotte, who sometimes has bad dreams. We get up very early and, as the days begin to shorten, play tennis for half an hour in the cool shadow of Y Mount.
And for the first time in over a year, I've begun occasionally to let the fear of being slip into my mind. Sometimes I look up from a book or the typewriter and the world is only whirling quanta of energy, reflecting all its seductive impressions of color from a palsied and blank universe. If I let it (sometimes I invite it), the horror deepens, because neither that atomized, inertial, spinning chaos nor my strange ability to sense and order and anguish over it have any real reason to exist. I want to take refuge in the mystery that an absolute God made it all out of nothing and will make sense of it or send it back to nothing, but Joseph Smith will not let me. There must be opposition or no existence. Is it more difficult or easier to take my problems to a God who has problems?
Nephi bidding farewell to his people:
If ye shall press forward,
feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure
to the end, behold thus saith the Father:
Ye shall have eternal life.
Postscript: December 1982
In September, at the equinox, I was called to be bishop of a newly formed student ward. I have stewardship over 120 young couples, most already beginning to have children. The first thing the Lord told me, when I began to think and pray about staffing the ward, as clearly as I have ever been told anything, was to call Susan as my Relief Society president: to be in charge of all the women, their religious instruction, their compassionate service, their sisterhood, their training as wives and mothers. It made no sense: Susan was still burdened greatly by her struggles with Allyn, with her husband, with herself. Dale had left school to cope with their enormous financial burdens and was planning to move them to Salt Lake. But the call was clear and they accepted.
Susan immediately visited every family and established the crucial foundation for making a ward community. She has opened herself and her life entirely to her sisters and conducts all her interviews, her meetings, her casual conversations with the same absolute honesty and down-to-earth forthrightness. The womenand their husbandsexperience [p.204] quite directly the struggles, the ups and downs of anguish and hope, the need for help, and the enduring courage through which she lives day by day.
I've tried to be that open and direct as a pastor. I speak for a few minutes in nearly every sacrament meeting, very personally, about the realities of my life with Charlotte, our sorrows, our decisions, our faith, and I teach the family relations class each Sunday for all the newlyweds in the ward. I spend many hours with people in trouble: couples who have hurt each other until they can't speak, lonely husbands, burdened with past sins and present insecurity, women who can't have children and women who are having too many. I talk about the problems Charlotte and I have had, how we have hurt each other and suffered and learned and got help and endured. How the Lord has tried to direct us from place to place across the countrytoward unforeseeable service and learning and away from ambition for luxury and prestige. I call people to the regular positions but also to special assignments: a couple to help take care of Allyn in sacrament meeting, another to work with an alcoholic living in our area separated from his family. I see people changing, marriages beginning to work again, people helping without being called, people making moral decisionsto pay income tax on tips from years back, not to sue someone who has wronged them. I see Susan, now three months pregnant, smiling often.
Reality is too demanding for me to feel very safe any more in the appalling luxury of my moments of utter skepticism. God's tears in Moses, chapter seven, at which the prophet Enoch wondered, tell me that God has not resolved the mystery of being. But he endures in love. He does not ask me to forgo my integrity by ignoring the mystery or he would not have let Enoch see him weep. But he does not excuse me to forgo my integrity by ignoring the reality which daily catches me up in joy and sorrow and shows me, slowly, subtly, its moral patterns of iron delicacy.
Food for Poland has continued. We have been accused of glory-seeking, of being liberals indulging in do-goodism instead of the true religion of doctrinal purity, and by some of being traitors: giving aid to the enemy in time of war. But we are sending, in cooperation with the LDS Welfare program, another large shipment of food and clothing to help the Poles through this winter. Charlotte's father, after a year of trying it alone, will be coming to live with us soon. Our third daughter, who was born with a diaphragmatic hernia and who almost died [p.205] from a resulting intestine block last June while she was on a mission, came home, was operated on, slowly recovered, and is going back into the field in January. Our oldest daughter is in love. I lie awake sometimes now, as the nights begin to shorten, my mind besieged by woe and wonder.
Edgar to his blind father in King Lear:
… Men must endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither.
Ripeness is all. Come on.

subset: commoncrawl


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BlackBerry Messenger is back in Saudi Arabia
August 7, 2010 2 Comments
It seems that RIM and Saudi Arabia have reached an agreement in their BlackBerry ban dispute. RIM will place a server in Saudi Arabia, which will solve SA's security issues.
The ban was supposed to start yesterday (Friday) midnight. The BB service was cutoff from ome people, but not all. My friend in Al-Dammam had her service cut, while my other friend in Jeddah had it on. I didn't have the heart to tell the Damami friend that her luck sucked.
Anyways, alf mabrook for Saudis and elfal to UAE too.
Older posts on the BB ban can be found here and here.


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Fleshlight® Pink Lady Stamina Training Unit
Fleshlight's #1 Selling Product Worldwide!
Practice makes perfect, especially in the bedroom.
The Stamina Training Unit was specifically designed to replicate the intense sensations of intercourse, which can help users increase sexual stamina, improve performance and techniques, and heighten and intensify orgasms.
Designed To:
- Increase sexual stamina
- Improve performance
- Heighten & intensify orgasms
- Specially designed sleeve for male performance enhancement
- Body-safe material built to last
- Exclusive SuperSkin sleeve provides hyper-realistic feel
- Reusable and easy to clean
- Patented design creates intense suction sensation
- Proudly made in the USA
Additional Info
Additional Info
|Special Price


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The styles of improving the texture of face are varied with their count that mostly include Botox, laser, anti aging creams and serums, which work suitable to reduce the presence of aging signs.
Unfortunately, majority of women find it tough to adjust with right quantity and quality product that actually is safe and highly responsive. The aging signs mostly include stubborn fine linings, wrinkles, creases and dark circles that lie after crossing 40s.
In a recent review I observed a newest age defying cream that was termed as "Dermatensif ". The product works actively through its face firming peptide technology that accelerate the collagen production and balance up moisture level of the face.
Besides those repairing procedure it actively blocks up the presence of wrinkles, dark circles and fine linings. However, our readers must be careful while selecting Dermatensif because the above mentioned statement are just personal experience of author and must not be related as final answer.
If formula is used on a consistent basis as directed then it may result out in enhanced radiance and brighten complexion of face, repair up the presence of wrinkles and fine linings, restrict the issues caused with premature aging and free radicals, and restrict visibility of puffiness and dark circles.
However, the statement mentioned above are not evaluated by food and drug administration (FDA), which only means that Dermatensif may not be a safe and responsive stuff. The product must strictly be used only after the consultation of dermatologist and if any irritation arrives immediately discontinue its used.
Dermatensif is not meant to treat, cure or diagnose any skin disease and its final result may vary from person to person depending on their skin type and the way formula is being used. This age defying skin care must not be used by minors who are below 18 years of age, and who are allergic to cosmetics.
Coming to its pricing section, we discovered out that Dermatensif is only sold through 14 day trial subscription at price of $4.56. Afterwards it would charge higher amount to deliver 30 day supply bottle.
Since it is a trial based offer so that would not allow for refund back of money still one may only ask for refund if he or she cancels the order during 14 day trial period. The deal appears to be an expensive one for individuals who have little money and option to spend.
So far we never discovered out any proof or evidence regarding Dermatensif productivity, and its official website is missing all customer reviews and feedbacks. This only proves that product is very new launch to market with no real identity of manufacturer.
Trial based offers have never been a good choice among customer eye and are always rejected worldwide. Dermatensif doesn't even describe about ingredient that are composed during its formulation.
We would only recommend our readers to stay away from this scam trial and better get consulted with dermatologist regarding your aging issues. Aging is inevitable process but aging signs could be altered with some safe methods.


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All rights reserved.
Aloe Vera Juice With Fiber (Orange Flavor)
Aloe Vera juice is extracted from the Aloe plant and has been credited with the ability to support health. It is a stem less or very short-stemmed succulent plant growing to 60–100 cm (24–39 in) tall, spreading by offsets. The leaves are thick and fleshy, green to grey-green, For more than three thousand five hundred years, people have recognized the healing and moisturizing properties of the Aloe Vera plant.
Our juice is
» Made out of full mature fresh ALOE VERA leaves.
» Made from Aloe leaf inner Gel/ Inner Fillet Gel.
» Using DM water for washing the leaves.
» Without artificial Colors.
» No added sugar.
» Packed in Food grade container under hygienic condition.
» Manufactured in fully air-conditioned processing unit, which
» Has Modern State-of-the-art manufacturing facility.
» Measuring cup for proper dose.
Avoid during pregnancy
Since this is natural product may vary in color and consistency. It will not affect the quality of the product.
On click register, You accept Terms and Conditions (click to view)


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Register Interest
If we don't have any current opportunities that are appropriate to your skills or experience please leave your details below and if a position arises that matches your selected criteria then we'll be in touch – be sure to tick the box for job alerts at the end of the form. There is also the option to upload your CV to be added to our Speculative Applicant Database and/or our Volunteers Database. Please note that Volunteering opportunities arise at unpredictable moments and will depend on your availability and interests. Volunteering opportunities are also only available Monday to Friday during office hours.
We also frequently need people with experience in Broadcast or Digital Technology, sometimes at short notice and for limited periods of time. If you are a Developer with experience in the following technologies (LAMP, Zend, Drupal) or are a Freelance Editor, Researcher, Producer or Assistant Producer with Broadcast experience, please upload your CV here. When we have an appropriate vacancy we will check for any suitable candidates in our database and contact you directly.
(Please note - this is an active opt in facility. Every 6 months you'll receive an email to check if you wish to remain registered, including details of how to return and change your alert preferences or, if you wish, remove yourself altogether)
Already registered with us? If so, go to the Profile Management page where you can manage your alert settings, upload a new CV, or unsubscribe completely.
Thank you for your interest in working for Comic Relief.


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Documentation from Letting Agent
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We're using a letting agent on a let-only basis. They've done the referencing and credit checks on prospective tenants and their guarantor. I've requested this documentation be passed to us once the tenants move in but the agency refuse, citing confidentiality. Before I go back and challenge them, I would like to know other landlord's views/experiences. My question to them will be, if the tenant defaults on rent payments how am I supposed to approach the guarantor if I don't have their details?!
02/12/2016 13:38
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Skeena Street utility construction project
Fortis BC crews are working at a section of Skeena Street for utility construction work.
- 0-300 blk Skeena St (from Dundas St to East Hastings St)
Expected duration
- Start: Thursday, June 20, 2013
- End: Friday, July 5, 2013
Hours of work
- Monday through Friday, 7:00am to 5:00pm
- Completed
Impacts to traffic, parking, businesses and residents
Traffic on Skeena Street will not be closed during construction, though traffic delays can be expected.
Street parking may be affected by the presence of work trailers and equipment.
Temporary No Stopping signs will be installed on both sides of Skeena St from the lane north of Dundas St to 500 meters south. Temporary parking restrictions will be removed as soon they no longer needed.
Access to businesses and residents will be maintained.


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Pennsylvania Beauty Supplies & Equipment
> Retail > Beauty Supplies & Equipment > PA
Related directory pages are highlighted below the Pennsylvania retailer listings on this page. Links to beauty product retailer directory pages for adjacent states are provided at the bottom of the page. A Pennsylvania street map link is also included there.
We're sorry! We list no beauty product retailers in this State. But you may be able to find a retailer in a nearby State listed below.
Related Pennsylvania Page(s)
Copyright © 2012- RegionalDirectory.us. All rights reserved.
Pennsylvania Beauty Supplies & Equipment Retailers
Pennsylvania Retailers


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Register Yourself Only
Each rider must complete their own registration unless the rider is a minor (a rider under 18 years), in which case a parent or legal guardian must complete the registration on the minor rider's behalf. Riders who do not register themselves will not be covered by our medical insurance.
Registration Options
At the Event
What's Included for the Registration Fee?
We value your support and are committed to providing you with "The Best Cycling Event" at the lowest possible price, but we will never compromise your safety or the quality of this event to save costs. Here's what you get:
Timing Chips
This high-precision technology allows tracking the exact riding time of each participant from the moment they cross the Official Start Line until they cross the Finish Line. WARNING: If you do not start at 10:00 a.m. from the Official Start Line, your timing chip will not be activated. We will be checking finish times to validate them against the documented first finisher. Cheaters will be eliminated from the results record. Your finish time will be available as soon as you finish the ride. View more.
Your registration includes entering into a raffle of two Bianchi™ bicycles!
Rules: 1. Register your timing chip online before starting the ride. 2. Start the ride from the official start line and make sure you pass through the start arch after 10:00 am so your chip gets activated.
The raffle will take place the day of the ride at the Finish Line Fiesta stage. All the participants who followed the rules will automatically be into the raffle.
Make sure to follow these directions so your chip works properly. Restrictions: Does not apply to courtesies.
What's Extra?
We keep costs separate, so only those that need and want these products and services need to pay for them:
If you would like us to send you event updates, join our list.
Insurance coverage is for participants' medical expenses related to bicycling accidents at and during the event.
The maximum insurance coverage available is 50,000.00 MXN (Mexican Pesos) per person per accident. The deductible for use of the insurance is 500.00 MXN (Mexican Pesos) per person per accident.
TO BE COVERED BY OUR MEDICAL INSURANCE YOU MUST REGISTER YOUR TIMING CHIP ONLINE AT www.timetrack.com.mx/Rosarito BEFORE THE RIDE AND START THE RIDE FROM THE OFFICIAL START LINE WHEN THE EVENT BEGINS.Insurance coverage is for participants of the Rosarito Ensenada 50 Mile Fun Bicycle Ride who have properly registered and paid to participate either through the event or its contracted sales agents. Coverage applies to expenses for medical services provided in Mexico for injuries resulting from accidents that occur on the designated event course and during the specified hours of the event while the participant is: wearing appropriate safety equipment, including an approved bicycle helmet; riding safely; obeying all traffic laws and direction of police and event staff. Coverage expires when the event ends at 4:30 p.m. Pacific. Coverage is limited to registered participants who are ages 8 years to 69 years old and proof of age is required for use of the policy.


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Selena Forrest
Hailing from L.A., Selena Forrest was scouted as and her friends were having alcohol confiscated from them at a beach. After moving to Next management, New York, Forrest quickly became one of the most in demand models of 2016, walking in 28 shows alone for A/W 16 as well as opening for Proenza Schouler, for whom she was the campaign star.
- Selena Forrest creates a process film.
- Selena Forrest presents a live stream.
- Selena Forrest features in a project.


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David Yurman Body Lotion
David Yurman Body Cream
The iconic jeweller David Yurman has his own fragrance! The fragrance is a refined chypre floral for women, composed by perfumer Harry Fremont. Unlike many fragrances that follow a formula of top notes, heart notes and base notes (the pyramid), the scent was designed to interlock, weave and waft without structure, so the scent can be smelled at once. Mandarin, water lily, rose otto, patchouli, fresh green notes of black currant leaf and petals, peony, exotic woods and musk are used in the fragrance. Everything from the jewel like bottle to the choice of a statement-making stopper, which was inspired by his own wedding band, is elegant and refined.


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The Klaww Gang (or KLAWW Gang)[1] was an international group of criminals that produced and distributed illegal spice. After some time, they utilized the stolen Clockwerk Parts of Clockwerk to accelerate spice production and for their own personal schemes. They were eventually defeated by the Cooper Gang.
- Arpeggio (chief inventor and leader; deceased)
- The Contessa (secret member and hypnotist; now a successful real estate broker)
- Neyla (secret member and Arpeggio's protege; deceased)
- Dimitri Lousteau (spice distributor; now a member of the Cooper Gang)
- Jean Bison (spice transporter; frozen)
- Rajan (spice producer; now owns a series of rug outlets in North America)
- Dimitri's nightclub (closed down)
- Rajan's palace (abandoned)
- Spice temple (sabotaged)
- Contessa's rehabilitation prison (abandoned/closed down)
- Contessa's castle (abandoned)
- Nunavut Bay (shipping center abandoned)
- Lumber camp (abandoned/closed down)
- Arpeggio's blimp (destroyed)
The Klaww Gang's apparent plan had been to use illegal spice for profit. While Rajan produced the spice in India and shipped it around the world, Jean Bison utilized his Iron Horses to spread the shipments across the North American continent. The Contessa used her incarceration facility in Prague to hypnotize criminals who consumed the spice into revealing the location of all their stolen loot. Dimitri used his nightclub to assist in having the citizens of Paris purchase it. Once they stole the recovered components of Clockwerk, founder of the Fiendish Five, and adapted the components for their own use via Arpeggio, their spice operation accelerated in profit. Rajan was able to produce ten times the amount of spice than before. The Contessa was able to increase her hypnotic abilities. Jean Bison was able to improve his trains so they could run endlessly day and night. Clockwerk's body allowed Dimitri to begin a counterfeiting operation, with the refined alloy in the tail feather's composition doubling as printing plates.
The actions of the Klaww Gang earned the attention of Sly Cooper, who began hunting down each of them to recover their stolen Clockwerk Parts. However, Arpeggio as part of his own grand design, planned on luring the Cooper Gang to steal the parts from his cohorts, and eventually hoped to steal them all back and keep them in his possession. Rajan would grow the spice as part of the original plan; meanwhile, Arpeggio would assign Jean Bison to convert the Northern lights into energy, store it in a battery, and ship the spice to Paris, where Dimitri would distribute it throughout the city. Hypnotic devices created by the Contessa would be powered with the Northern Light energy to deliver the same hypnotic frequencies as her own devices in Prague (but at a far longer range since the ones in Prague work at close range to specific people). After integrating these methods into his blimp, Arpeggio would fly over Paris and the spice consumed by Paris' citizens would allow the Klaww Gang to enact mass hypnosis, putting them into a violent rage.
It is implied this plan of Arpeggio's was given the rouse as being an extension to the original and was to be used to help increase the purchasing of spice for their operation. In reality, the rage generated by the hypnosis would create a massive hate generator which would empower Arpeggio once he merged himself with a reassembled Clockwerk to become immortal. It is unknown what his plans were once he obtained immortality.
After fully developing the plan and having purchased the Clockwerk Parts from Jean Bison, Arpeggio set his blimp on course to Paris from Canada and began reassembling Clockwerk for the final stage in his concocted vision. Sly Cooper, having infiltrated the blimp, unintentionally locked the Clockwerk pieces together instead of breaking them apart and alerted Arpeggio of this new development. Impressed by Sly's actions, Arpeggio thanked Sly and prepared to merge himself and finally execute his plan. Immediately, Neyla, Arpeggio's protégé, betrayed him and merged herself with Clockwerk's body instead. Dubbing herself "Clock-La," she crushed the helpless Arpeggio in her beak, killing him. With the death of Arpeggio and the later destruction of Clock-La, the Klaww Gang collapsed without any members left active.
After their respective defeats, the surviving members of the Klaww Gang went their own ways.
- Dimitri became a dance teacher on a cruise ship after serving time and later ended up in jail again for an unknown reason as shown early in Sly 3: Honor Among Thieves. He was freed and later recruited to be the diver for the Cooper Vault job after the Cooper Gang helped retrieve his family's scuba gear.
- Rajan started the Karpet King rug dealership franchise in North America.
- The Contessa became the most successful real estate broker in the Greater Milwaukee area. As seen from her customers, it seemed her talents in hypnosis helped with sales.
- Jean Bison began to work for the EPA and ended up frozen yet again on a mission to save baby penguins.
Clockwerk's partsEdit
When the Klaww Gang stole Clockwerk and scattered the parts around the world from the Museum of Natural History in Cairo, Egypt, they divided the parts among the five of them. The parts they took depended on what was most useful to the member.
- Tail feathers: Used by Dimitri, the Clockwerk Tail Feathers were put to use as printing plates for his Paris counterfeiting operation. Because of their metallurgical properties, the Tail Feathers would have never worn out.
- Wings: Taken by Rajan, the Clockwerk Wings weren't put to any practical use. Instead, Rajan had them mounted on a statue in his palace ballroom, where he hoped they would bring him prestige.
- Heart: Another of Rajan's parts, the Clockwerk Heart acted as a powerful pump that allowed Rajan to grow illegal spices at much faster rates than normal. Half the Heart was used in this manner, while the other was attached to the end of Rajan's staff, allowing him to unleash electrical attacks.
- Eyes: Components with powerful entrancing qualities, the Clockwerk Eyes were given to the Contessa, who intended to use them to enhance her own hypnosis machinery.
- Lungs and stomach: Given to Jean Bison to transport illegal spice across North America, the Clockwerk Lungs and the Stomach allowed him to keep his Iron Horse trains running all day and night without stopping.
- Talons: Razor-sharp blades capable of slicing through plates of steel, the Clockwerk Talons were used by Jean Bison in his lumberjacking enterprise.
- Brain: The final Clockwerk part was given to Arpeggio. He didn't use them for anything like the other Klaww Gang members, as his view on the parts was different.
- Hate Chip: Clockwerk's power source, the Hate Chip was what gave Clockwerk his seeming immortality. This is also presumably what caused Neyla to be overcome with hatred after she merged with Clockwerk. Once it was destroyed, the Clockwerk parts faded into nothingness.
Each member of the Klaww Gang employed a number of guards to protect and patrol around their various facilities:
- Dimitri Lousteau
- Rajan
- The Contessa
- Jean Bison
- Neyla
- Arpeggio
- Flashlight toucan
- Toucan
- Robo-Gunners
- Throughout the game, in the safe houses, the player can listen in on radio broadcasts and transmissions from the various Klaww Gang members which reveal parts of the master plan.
- The Klaww Gang shares a number of characteristics with the Fiendish Five: Arpeggio and Clockwerk are both birds who have great mechanical knowledge, seek immortality and are the leaders of their gangs, Jean Bison and Muggshot are both very strong with limited intelligence, The Contessa and Mz. Ruby are both the only women in their groups (not counting Neyla) and are interested in black magic, Rajan and the Panda King both grew up poor and later convinced themselves and others of their "royalty," and Dimitri and Raleigh both have experiences with piracy (Dimitri's grandfather was robbed by pirates and the former later helps the Cooper Gang in a pirate gig, whereas Raleigh experimented with piracy before joining the Fiendish Five).
- The Klaww Gang symbol can be seen on various barrels around each of the episodes.
- All of the bosses that Sly fights have red power meters. These include: Dimitri, Contessa, and Clock-La. Bosses defeated by the other characters have yellow power meters. These include: Rajan, who was defeated by Murray, and Jean Bison, who was defeated by Bentley.
- The Contessa, Neyla and Arpeggio are the only members who the gang did not try to bug in order to listen to their conversations.
- The Contessa, however, was eavesdropped on by using Bentley's sleep darts.
- Neyla and the Contessa are the only members who had more than one boss fight. Including her role as Clock-La, Neyla is fought four times; the Contessa is fought twice.
- The Klaww Gang is the only villainous organization in the series in which there is a member that is never fought. Said member is Arpeggio.
- As Arpeggio is the Klaww Gang's leader, this also means that the Klaww Gang is also the only villainous organization where the leader is not the final boss of the game they appear in.
- ↑ 1.0 1.1 Sly 2: Band of Thieves Official Strategy Guide, pg. 135


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by Frances Corner .
Fashion Says NO to Violence Against Women
Frances Corner Talks #Orangelabelproject
Today is an important day. We are saying No to Violence against Women and marking the 20th anniversary of this vital work led by the UN Trust Fund to End Violence against Women (UN Trust Fund). London College of Fashion, UAL along with SHOWstudio, is proud to be using the Orange Label Project to raise awareness of this issue and we are asking the fashion industry to get behind it.
Fashion Says NO to Violence against Women has called on fashion students from across the world and across all disciplines to produce a piece of work using the colour orange. Today we intend to flood our digital realities with #orangetheworld and #Orangelabelproject. Please join us!
I want our industry to stop today and think about how we portray women. In our advertising, our fashion narratives, our designs and our strategies - and then we can make a powerful difference. One in three women has experienced physical or sexual violence at some point in their lives. That's a staggering number. How often does the fashion industry question its use of the female image - women as victims, hypersexualised or two-dimensional?
As an industry we have a responsibility to educate a generation of strategists, designers, image-makers, and marketers and make explicit that this stereotyping isn't acceptable. Trailblazers like All Walks Beyond the Catwalk who stand for diversity in front of and behind the lens are significant in our collective bid to see an end to this outdated and inappropriate normalising of the female image.
We know that raising awareness makes a difference. Some of the projects that the UN Trust Fund has been involved in are proof of this. UN Trust Fund has worked with Uganda-based organisation Raising Voices on a programme of community activities to challenge power imbalances between men and women. An independent evaluation by the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine found that in communities where the programme was implemented, 76 per cent of women and men believed that physical violence against a partner was not acceptable; the corresponding figure in the control communities was 26 per cent.
When I first met Aldijana Sisic, Chief of the UNTF, at the Women: Inspiration and Enterprise Awards last June, we talked about how London College of Fashion, UAL could support this ongoing campaign using aspects of creativity, identity and fashion. And at LCF we are working with the UN on multiple fronts, helping them to promote wellbeing, equality and safety globally. From innovative responses to the needs of women and children in the Za'atari refugee camp, to building social responsibility and sustainability into our teaching, learning and research. We stand beside the UN and their mission. It's synonymous with our own, what we call our Better Lives agenda.
The first part of the Orange Label project has seen students creating work using the colour orange. This wasn't only for fashion designers, but also stylists, journalists, film-makers, illustrators and make-up artists. And it wasn't just for our students either; as chair of the International Foundation for Fashion and Technology Institutes, I was able to spread the word to its 54 members and make this a truly global project.
We were delighted to have had over 150 entries and many were group collaborations, some as large as 28, coming from all fashion's disciplines and from students at different levels of study. We had entries from across the globe- from Nigeria, Turkey, Singapore, Australia, UK and USA.
What impressed me the most about the student competition was the positivity of the entries. The idea was to celebrate 20 years of the UN Trust Fund, so it wasn't designed to highlight individual stories, or use shock tactics. The students took an ideal and made it come alive, they illustrated a world of equality where their subjects were truly empowered. We heard about their inspirations, their own stories and about how they wanted their work to influence the industry in a positive way.
This is the ethos that we work towards and demonstrates how London College of Fashion, UAL is shaping lives.
Activism is about changing the world, but it is about collective action; a social movement and a coming together of likeminded individuals.
There has never been a time when social movement is needed more than right now. What's more social than social media? Seeing orange when we check our platforms today will mean people are coming together to think about, and speak out about, violence towards women and girls. Please show your support by uploading an image featuring the colour orange and using #orangetheworld and #Orangelabelproject.
If one other person sees your image and finds out more about the project, or if you trigger someone's thought process, it will contribute to a collective awareness of this problem, a care to avoid stereotypes and a concern for the people around us.
It shows, overwhelmingly, what we can do if we stand together.
Professor Frances Corner OBE
Head of London College of Fashion, Pro-Vice Chancellor University of the Arts London
#Orangelabelproject #Orangetheworld #UNTF #16days


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In its infinite wisdom, the Atlanta City Code purports to regulate "vehicle immobilization" in the City of Atlanta and vehicle booting companies. It has requirements regarding signs, booting companies, etc. When I read this I thought, where is the enabling legislation to give this authority to the City of Atlanta? The City Code does not say when a car may be booted on private property, or put another way, what constitutes a violation permitting a boot. I searched the Georgia Code and came up empty. All I could find was OCGA 44-1-13 and the failed attempt to amend it to allow booting on private property. So unless I am missing something (I am by no means an expert in state and municipality jurisdictional relations, but I did pass the Georgia Bar) vehicle operators in the city of Atlanta are being scammed by parking lot owners and the vehicle immobilization business. If anyone reads this and can explain how I am wrong I would be happy to apologize and take down this post. Until then, readers, knock yourselves out fighting City Hall, and raising as much ruckus as you can to fight this. If you do get booted, I recommend paying with a credit card, not cash, and disputing the charge as soon as possible. That is what I did. If you get towed you are probably out of luck but the statute seems incredibly vague as to what and when an actual customer in a shopping center, who was an invitee, becomes a trespasser for leaving the car parked in the lot. I haven't researched the case law on that important point but I invite anyone to look into it and comment.
Recently your faithful blogger had the pleasant experience of parking in a parking lot at a small shopping center with a Starbucks in it, buying coffee, walking outside and around the block to make a private phone call, chatting with a friend, and returning to find a boot on my car and a rude, gleeful worker for the booting company sitting in the car, ready to ambush anyone who so much as stepped foot out of the parking lot for a second to put a clamp on their car. I had walked right by the guy when I went off. He could have easily had the decency to alert me that walking out of the lot was considered grounds for his services but there's no money in that, right? He pointed out a sign that was on the property warning that the lot was for "current customers" only and that cars could get booted. But I didn't walk past it and could not read it unless I went well out of my way to go see what it said. Besides, I WAS a current customer who happened to have to make a call outside the shop. I even wanted a refill darn it. And the lot was not very busy, it might have had 20% of its spaces filled. This man lurking in the lot and booting cars said they had a policy of immediately booting when someone walks off the property. That makes no sense and is patently unreasonable. I can understand that a shopping center owner wants to protect spaces for shoppers that come by, but the lot was almost empty and the fellow was sitting right on sight. At least a tow truck would be visible. Obviously this is a scam to hide in a car with a trunk full of boots and trap unsuspecting actual customers of the shopping center the minute they are out of sight. The man booting the cars was a complete jerk and was incredibly rude to my wife, which in my experience is a really bad idea, and boorish.
Moreover, I can see how this could be a public safety issue actually harming the public, because people who park in parking lots may become intoxicated and leave their cars overnight because they are too impaired to drive, whether they are towed or not (I have gotten complaints about this, people say "they may as well drive drunk and take the risk", not a good idea, of course, but drunk people have a lot of bad ideas, and it is legal to get drunk). It seems like getting booted would be a disincentive to refrain from drinking and driving if you feared that your car would be booted or towed. It is one thing to park illegally, but it is another to be punished for the good deed of not driving and endangering the public. Is the profit of keeping spaces open and keepijng booting services profitable greater than keeping dangerous drivers off the road? Luckily I am a caffeine man these days myself, but I was so enraged at this I thought I might have a heart attack in the parking lot myself (I guess caffeine isn't so great either). Furthermore, these people have cameras on their dashboard as well, and they admit that they tape "video interactions" with their victims. That is a great invasion of privacy we should all be proud of in America.
Finally, the Georgia Home Rule Act delegates specific powers for municipalities to pass laws in certain areas. However, the Georgia Assembly has expressly limited the ability for local governments to regulate in certain areas, and one of the limits is contained in OCGA 36-35-6(b). It says local government shall not have "The power granted in subsections (a) and (b) of Code Section 36-35-3 (the Home Rule authority) shall not include the power to take any action affecting the private or civil law governing private or civil relationships, except as is incident to the exercise of an independent governmental power." So regulating a private car on a private lot is for the state to make the laws, not the cities. And the state has chosen to allow towing under certain circumstance and chose not to allow vehicle immobilization, ie, booting.
The municipalites would probably argue that their police power to provide "safety" is their excuse, but that seems lame in the face of the danger of motivating drunk drivers to drive after hours. And what evidence is there that the public safety warrants the obvious trespasses to private property (a car is private personal property) caused by these scammers? Perhaps on occasion booting might be needed, such as during a festival or a Falcons game, etc. But that should be the exception, not the rule. The property owners should have to petition to get the right to boot, and these scamming boot companies should not have free license to make money by hiding in plain sight booting anything they can get their hands on. If the city actually did its job and regulated the booting companies it licenses it might work but they obviously do not do that. Since I originally posted this I have been inundated with positive comments from irate folks who got scammed by the booters in outrageous incidents. These booting companies are basically like the road "checkpoints" you read about in failed states (Afghanistan comes to mind) where you basically have to pay a bribe to somebody to drive up and down the road. No wonder this city is covered with parking lots instead of parks or public decks maintained by the City.
By the way the address was on Moreland Avenue in Little Five Points and the parking company can be found on the internet with several complaints from folks who feel like they were ripped off. I haven't figured out who the landlord is but I certainly will. If I were Starbucks I would be none too pleased about how their landlord, its property manager, and this parking company treat their customers. I should own stock in the Starbucks company I buy so much of their stuff. Maybe this company has an Atlanta permit but they do not have the amendment to OCGA 44-1-13 effectuated to allow them to boot on private property. State law trumps municipal law. I am actually mulling over the merit of filing a class action lawsuit against these scavenger companies and trying to put them out of business. I wouldn't mind finding out who they work with and adding their private customers to the list of defendants as well. If I am right about the illegality of this private property booting then the class action seems totally certifiable ( a "class" lawsuit has to be ceritified by the judge based on the similarity of all the claims), because all the victims are substantially similar no matter what their story is and the circumstances. Maybe they should have gotten towed but not snowed.
Perhaps I am a little obsessive to get this mad over a $50 boot on my car. But it is that obsession that helps me fight 110 per cent for my clients and to right as many wrongs as possible before I kick the bucket.


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Bella is the new girl in college and Edward is the playboy who has no limits to flirting with any pretty girl he sees. Among all the drama between the two and their friends, does Bella have what it takes to change this heartless player into a loving boyfriend? Or will she just get her heartbroken for the 3rd time in her life? All Human.
7. Unexpected Toy
Rating 0/5 Word Count 1626 Review this Chapter
Wonderful. Screwed things over with Bella yet again. I really need to talk to her. Just talk. No flirting just be myself.
The next day I waited outside her class for her. She walked out, glanced an annoyed expression and continued walking.
"Bella, I understand you're angry but could I talk to you?"
She stopped and slowly turned to face me. "Like a normal conversation or are you just coming to try out some of your new pickup lines on me? Because if that's it Edward I'm not interested", she turned back and continued walking.
I grabbed her arm to stop her.
"What Edward?! You coming to make fun of me and rub it in my face some more how worthless I am and how trashy I was to have a guy sleep with another girl not to mention kick my--"
"Shh", I shushed her covering her mouth with my other hand.
"Please Bella, I'm not coming to mock you and your previous relationship I just want to talk to you"
She forcefully pulled her arm out of my hand and pushed my hand away from her mouth.
"Fine! Talk!", she crossed her arms like a child. Normally I would have found that amusing but I was too upset to laugh.
"Alone?", I asked.
"Is this your way of getting me away so I'll get into bed with you?!", she accused.
Wow, she is really angry with me. I feel horrible. Obviously she doesn't think very highly of me, based on all of these accusations she's thrown my way.
"Bella", I sighed. "Fine, you don't have to talk to me, but just keep in mind I tried to fix this. You weren't cooperative"
"Edward! How do you expect me to want to spend any time with you let alone being by ourselves if all you do is throw accusations at me?!"
"I'm throwing accusations at you?! 'Edward stop trying to get me into bed....Edward don't flirt with me....Edward don't call me worthless'", I imitated her.
She took a deep breath, her eyes filling with unshed tears. She pressed her lips in a hard line shook her head and walked away.
Why can't I say anything right? Because I'm insensitive, obviously.
"Bella, please I'm sorry. If you want me to apologize right here, right now in front of everyone I'll do it. Just please hear me out", I pleaded.
She stopped and turned to me again, wiping tears from her eyes.
"Fine.....fine. We'll go to the lounge. No funny stuff. If you're going to continue to offend me, please tell me now and I'll be prepared so I don't embarrass myself and cry in front of you again. I shouldn't be so damn weak"
I took her hand into my own. "Bella you're not weak. And I promise to be nice...and genuine"
"Alright come on", she pulled her hand away from mine and walked a few feet in front of me to the lounge.
She took off her flip flops and sat cross-legged on the beige sofa with a throw pillow on her lap. I sat beside her and we turned to face each other.
"Alright what do you want to say?", she began.
"Okay", I took in a deep breath. "I'm really sorry, about the whole ex boyfriend thing. I shouldn't have eavesdropped. That was low--"
"Not to mention illegal", she added.
"Yes that too. Honestly...", I stopped looking down. I wasn't comfortable saying the next thought on my mind.
"Honestly?", she pressed.
"Okay well I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone before so please don't make fun of me"
"Make fun of you?", she looked confused. "I wouldn't"
"Alright, well....Bella honestly I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never felt this way about anyone. Every girl I've been out with I've always seen as like a toy when you're a child, you see it and it's a pretty toy and you want it but when you finally get the toy in your possession, it's not as fun a toy as you expected. You get disappointed and are off to look for a new toy. I began to look at girls that way. I've never...encountered a toy that was worth anything more than just something to look at and all the fun was in wanting it and trying to get it rather than when you actually had it. Until I met a toy I call Bella. That toy was anything more than I could have ever expected, it had more interesting things in it's interior than the exterior advertised and I found myself wanting to do nothing but spend time with that toy and get to know everything it is. I have an unbreakable bond with that toy and I don't know what to do. At times I worry that I'm too attached to the toy and I want to break myself away from it, but then I think about how my life would be without that toy there and I just can't walk away from it like the other toys. It's worth way more than just that. I don't know that toy analogy was pretty dumb and childish but I don't know....this is a first for me", I sighed.
She looked either in shock or like she was daydreaming. Either one, I was concerned.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you that. It's not me to open up about my emotions to anyone. I thought you were safe to talk to but I don't want you to be afraid of me. I could understand that, a person you hardly know, is rude to you then tells you a few days later that he thinks he's falling in love with you. I'd be weirded out if I were you", I apologized. It's not like me to be so open about my emotions. Usually I was an emotionless beast who made fun of people when they fell in love.
"No Edward....it's fine. You can trust me I wouldn't tell people or anything. I just want to know that you're not lying, I mean you've gotta understand my point. Things didn't work well in my past so I'm a little paranoid when I get too close to a guy because every guy in my past, has let me down. My ex boyfriend which you know about and....my father and I...don't get along", her eyes filled with tears again.
"Why's that?", I asked concerned.
"Ever since I was a child, my dad hated me. Not sure why. Maybe it was because he didn't love my mom but because I was born he was obligated to stay with her at least til I was of a good age. He would beat my mother and I, and he cheated on my mom ending up getting another woman pregnant. He left us when I was 9. He regretted it eventually, when I was 16, he tried to get involved in my life again. But he already missed 7 important years of my life. I couldn't forgive him, he still tries but I just can't...he was my father and he was horrible to me. I had a sad childhood because of him. In all honesty, my life was the best it could ever be in those 7 years I didn't hear from him. My mom is an amazingly strong woman and I try to be strong like her but I just can't when every guy that's supposed to be a protector to me, a father, a boyfriend, ends up abusing me physically and emotionally. It's hard", I wiped the tear streaming down her face.
I took her face in my hands.
"Bella I would never do that to you. Ever. I could never hurt you intentionally. I may act like the biggest asshole in the world but that's not who I am. Nobody ever opens up to me or bothers to get to know me truly. Every time I'm into a girl, nothing ever like how I feel about you, but they always give in to my every word. They're more interested in my image than me. But you didn't fall for my charm. That's how I knew you were different. Sure you kissed me, amazingly I might add but you were always keeping up with my game if not one step ahead of me even. That's special to me", I admitted.
Wow I have never expressed myself so freely to anyone especially a girlfriend. I've never felt so comfortable with anyone. Not even Alice or Rose and they're like sisters to me.
"If you can prove that you're not playing me. I'd love to give you a chance because honestly, I care about you too. But you have to understand I'm scared to fall in love. I always fall too hard"
"Don't have to worry about falling hard because I'll be there to catch you. No matter what. I won't bruise you Bella. I promise you that. And I'm very good on my word, that's all I've really got going for me", I promised looking directly in her eyes.
"Thank you", she whispered emotionally.
"Do you trust me?", I had to ask.
She took a deep breath. "I haven't got a choice, I'd regret it everyday of my life if I didn't trust my heart and give this a chance. I hope my trust is in the right hands"
"Most definitely is", I hugged her gently.
She looked up into my eyes and slowly leaned it.
For the first time we kissed, gently, yet full of passion. There was no need to make out for the sake of kissing. We kissed and a lot emotion was shared between us both.
I knew Bella was something special.
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- LovetheCullens
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