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I have been here before.
This is my place.
This is our place.
Was our place.
I come here to be alone; to think, to remember.
Although I am alone here, I don't feel alone.
The memories dance in my mind and my heart so profoundly they have presence; have heartbeats of their own.
They are real.
They are with me.
I feel their warmth.
Like the last hour of an August day shining on my closed eyelids.
Hues of red, orange and yellow playing patterns for my closed eyes to see. The patterns twist and tumble, explode and implode as I watch their kaleidoscope dance.
Sometimes, you must close your eyes to see clearly.
I don't cry anymore. I am past that part, I guess. Over the years I have cried for you until there were no more tears. My love for you cried out until there was nothing left but emptiness; hollow, sullen, dry. My dour days flopped one atop the other, like an unused desktop Rolodex. Each blank card falling clumsily atop the one beneath it, before it; colorless and insignificant they go 'round and 'round with no end and no beginning, endlessly.
I look up from my journal at the setting sun. I know I shouldn't look at it, even through the protection of my dark sunglasses, but I can't help it. The bright orange sphere adrift a sea of candy color brings a sad smile to my lips and a slow heavy sigh to my lungs. Everything is as it was, then. The dry grasses under my bare feet, tickling as the warm breeze moves them. Like me, they sense the water's edge as it teases and taunts them, the air smelling of the damp earth, the life they so desire, and yet they can only sway, day after day waiting for the distant rains to quench their thirst, knowing everything they need is so close; so close and yet eternally out of reach.
The lake water is orange and pink and red and purple, reflecting the last hour of heaven's daylight. Birds pepper the sky above me, leaving their daily lakeside encampment for the sanctity of the valley's tall trees. They call to the lonely girl below them as they fly over. Life goes on for the world; even for the birds.
I met him in a corner market on a Sunday afternoon after church had given me nothing to ease my troubled soul. The Pastor's kind words couldn't heal me; nothing new. The idea of you in heaven is supposed to bring me comfort but it doesn't. I am selfish I know, but I can't help it. I need you. We were supposed to grow old together. I need you. We used to lie for hours in the grass that is tickling my toes and dream of our life together, forever. I need you. I need you. God doesn't need you, I do.
He was working behind the counter. His hazel eyes were warm and kind. Not dark and piercing like yours, but nice. His lips were full and smiling. Not your perfect, Cupid's bow lips, but nice. His hair, the color of warm clover honey. Not dark and shining like yours, but nice. He was nice; is nice. But he's not you.
Although I keep him at a distance, he is asking me to marry him. I know that I should, but you are still with me, so I cannot. He knows this but still he asks. Still he waits.
It has been five years since I waited for you that night. Five years since you never came to our secret place. Five years since the night that was to be our night, our first night together. Five years since the accident that took you from me…
They found your car in the water below Eagle's Pass. Do you know that? Were you there to see them pull your car out of the water? Did you watch me as I watched the divers search for your body for hours and then days? Were you there at your mock funeral, as we all stood and cried over an empty casket, saying goodbye to an empty grave? I felt you there…as I feel you here, now.
I still love you with everything I am, and I fear that I always will.
A drop of water falls to the page with a splat, startling me. I watch as the ruffled water edge is drawn into the porous paper in dazed fascination. A glance skyward confirms there are no rain clouds above, my squinted eyes see only wisps of pink cotton candy as the setting sun sets them ablaze. The birds have all disappeared, no doubt snug and warm in their nests by now. No, unbeknownst to me, a tear had wriggled free from an eye long dry. I'm surprised by the realization. It may be because this day marks five long years since Dominic's accident. Maybe because of the argument I had with Jon just before I came here. He doesn't understand why I hang on, why I still come to this place. I don't understand it either, so the arguments always end the same… unresolved.
In my usual way, I tear the page from my journal and fold it, taking care not to rip the fine paper as I run my finger along the wet teardrop. I shimmy out of my clothing, the cooling autumn night caressing my bare skin, then dive off the small embankment into the warm candy colored water. This is my usual routine. To swim out into the middle of this portion of the lake and watch as its dark fingers seize the fine paper, the darkness overtaking the light parchment, pulling my words down…to him.
Tears sting my cheeks, hot and pouring at the realization of my actions. They are so morose. Why can't I let him go?
Because I am lost without him; pathetic, it's true. Because I am hopelessly in love with someone who's been gone for five years. Five long years that feel like an eternity at times, and quick as a blink at others. I can't believe it's been that long. Grief punches me hard in the gut, making me exhale with a cough. Lake water fills my mouth with each pathetic attempt at breath. I'm flailing. Normally at ease in the water, suddenly I feel as though I am unable to tread it. My tears are blinding me and the water, which felt summer warm moments ago, is so frigid it grips my lungs with giant hands, squeezing away any chance of expansion. Wildly I thrash, taking in huge gulps of the earthy tasting water with each faltering gasp for air, with each trembling sob.
Air caresses my wet skin in a swirling mixture of summer warmth and autumn chill. I am lying on the bank, staring upward as the brightest stars begin to shine, the Cheshire Cat moon grinning down upon me, and I am calm; even as the tears continue to stream into my hair and ears in hot rivulets.
"Shhhhhh…." A voice whispers softly. I inhale sharply and close my eyes. This is the music I come here for. To hear his voice as it whispers to me. My heart doubles its pace as butterflies make my core tremble with their frenzied flight. He sounds closer to me tonight than ever before.
"I love you" I whisper to the growing darkness, my eyes squeezed tightly to prevent the disappearance of the illusion I weave.
"I love you too, Sam" the whisper professes softly, "…my dear Sam."
He always called me Sam. I usually hate it when people shorten my name, but never when he did…does. The way he drew out the S; his low throaty voice. Any name would sound sexy as hell on his perfect lips, no matter how short.
I can imagine his breath, hot and moist on my neck, the weight of his body pressing against mine as he lies next to me on the shore. My eyes shut tighter, squeezing so tightly that two black spheres have come forth in my vision, surrounded by flashing white sparks of protest, but still I squeeze them. Squeezing out the reality I no longer want to exist in. Starving for him, I want so badly for him to be real.
The illusion sets my body ablaze, a heart pounding rhythm of aching need for his touch. My nipples are so hard and erect they are almost painful and that familiar tightening in my lower belly that greedily demands attention. My hands slide over my drying skin, skipping and skidding across the varying patches of damp and newly dry flesh, raising goose-bumps as they go. My left hand rubs my aching breasts urgently as my right slips between my legs. I imagine it is Dominic's hands that touch me, caressing my body, that his fingers are the ones sliding and seeking that sensitive nub that hides in delicate pink flesh. I groan at that first shuddering contact, but my imagined lover's hand, cool as the lake-water, slides down my arm like a sigh and rests over the hand between my legs. His fingers weave into mine, grazing my sensitive flesh and I groan again, low in my throat.
"As much as I love to watch you touch yourself," Dominic's voice drifts to me in a husky whisper, "I am not here to watch, tonight."
A moan; was it me? Tighter still I squeeze my eyelids, as cool, soft lips touch mine. How had my mind kept the memory of his perfect lips so lucid? They roam over mine, gentle but urgent. My wanton ears hear his voice whisper my name, my wanton lips feel his words against them; his sweet breath fills me, feeding my desire. A cool tongue teases and presses my lower lip- such an illusion. I think I've finally lost it. I don't care if I have.
"You're shivering."
My head shakes frantically. "Please don't stop… I don't care. Don't make the dream die."
Forlorn laughter puffs against my lips. "Sam, I am not a dream, but like a dream, I am unable to keep your body warm."
The gritty sound of wet rocks and sand rubbing together stirs my bones before my illusion carries me swiftly, soundlessly and effortlessly. I cling to him as tall dry grasses painted pale blue by moonlight claw at my feet. My mind is adrift and dream-like until a door flies open and the cacophony of lakeside insects is dampened by the crackle of dry wood burning. Dim orange light dances, making shadows move on the walls and ceiling. I squeeze my eyes shut again, so afraid my spun blanket illusion will unravel.
With ease he lays me on something soft and fury in front of what I assume is a large hearth, dry warmth drifting over my skin, the popping, crackling sounds of wood burning echoing near.
My eyelids are clamped shut, but I feel him looking down on my body as he stands over me.
"You are so beautiful, Sam. How I've missed you…" His voice sounds choked and strained.
I lie still, my arms at my sides, hands clenched into fists. "I would give anything this world has to offer to be able to open my eyes and look upon your face." I whisper.
"Then open your eyes and see me."
If I was half sane, I would be concerned about my overly real illusion, that I can actually feel him near, feel the warmth of the fire, the soft fur under my naked body. Instead I cling to this dream, this illusion, this crazed hallucination. But how far does my hallucination go? Am I ready to test it by opening my eyes? I am sure that if I do it will all wash away and I will still be lying on the shore of the lake, probably unconscious from near drowning and hypothermia. Or, maybe I did drown tonight, and this is… Heaven.
"Am I dead? Is this Heaven?"
"Open your eyes Sam."
Orange light peeks through my eyelashes. Trapped tears spill down my temples and into my hair. I blink away the ones that remain to cloud my vision and see two bare feet next to me, skin pale and thin, marked with blue veins. I stare at them. They are familiar to me. Reminiscent of teenage days of swimming and hours entangled with my own. Those hot and urgent teenage petting sessions that build and build as restraint is slowly worn away, until one day it goes too far, the passion overriding thoughts of propriety or consequence; or heartbreak.
Only this day, our day of reckless abandon, never came.
My eyes travel upward slowly. Wet, black slacks covering long powerful legs, a shining silver belt buckle, a wet, black dress shirt clings to the sculpted abs beneath… my eyes stop at the exposed collarbones of my illusion. I know this throat well, having traced my fingertips and tongue along every inch of it countless times before. A well sculpted chin and jaw, and, just before a sob lunges from my throat, and my hands fly to cover my face, a set of lips, those perfect, Cupid's Bow lips.
Without sound or movement, cold, wet material and kisses skim my flesh, starting at my navel and moving upward. Hands gently pull my own away from my eyes. Once again, a cool tongue presses into my trembling lower lip, coaxing me to part them. His mouth roams mine, his tongue dancing with my own, so urgent as to take my breath away. My eyes fly open, purely by instinct and completely of their own will to find two, black piercing eyes cutting into them. Inky black hair hangs down and covers his pale forehead and eyelids. My heart jumps in my chest, and he knows, instantly.
"Ssshhhh…" he whispers. "It's okay."
"Oh my God, Dominic" I whisper, my hand coming to rest against his cheek, smooth as the day I lost him. "I can see you… feel you, as if you are really here."
"This truly is Heaven."
Long slender fingers interlace with mine and bring them to his beautiful lips. He kisses them. "I am here."
We stare at each other, his dark eyes reflecting my own, wide and wonder-filled. Orange light flickers on his pale skin and in his dark, expressive eyes.
"Are you a ghost? Or am I dead?"
A grin curls his lip at one corner, exposing a long, white tooth… a what? A fang?
His eyes watch mine intently as my mind attempts to process what my eyes see.
"You are not dead, and I am not a ghost. I am…" His words trailing off as his eyes shift away from mine, to the fire.
I stare at him, so unimaginably thankful to be with him once more, and yet, suddenly a seething anger unlike anything I have experienced before belches forth.
"You have been alive, all this time?"
"You've been here all this time?" My voice sounds shrill and odd, even to me. I slap him, hard across the face, and I am up and running before the action even registers to me. My brain has not even begun to catch up with my delirium, and I trip over my tangled legs and fly forward, only to be caught before I fall. Easily and gracefully he encircles my body with his arms, pinning me to the far wall. My chest is crushed against its hard, cold surface, his wet clothing against my back, both a startling shock to my nude, fire-fevered skin. His strength far surpasses my own, still I flail uselessly like a trapped bird.
"Sam, listen to me." His voice is frantic, his face buried into my neck and hair. "Samantha… fuck, my dear, sweet Samantha. I have been watching you come here year after intolerable year. Each time you do, I know as soon as you are within miles of the lake, I am so attuned to you. I come and watch as you write to me from your journal, as you swim in the lake, as you cry on the shore" "as you touch yourself, thinking of me." He pulls away slightly, allowing me to infinitesimally twist in his direction, but still holding my body captive between his and the wall. From the corner of my eye, his gleaming white fangs, and I am sure that is what they are now, shine in the dancing firelight. "But look at me! I had to stay away, to let you move on, so you could have a life… a normal life!" His voice turned suddenly dark, "So I couldn't hurt you." He lunges from me, so quickly a startled, strangled scream leaps from my throat. He tears down a calendar from the wall and is back against me before I can move, his actions merely a blur. He holds the calendar where my turned face can see it. Each day is marked with large black X's.
"I have marked off the fucking days for 5 years, Sam! 5 years I have stood by, watching you cry over me, watching you…" He throws the calendar to the floor. "I wanted you to have a… normal, life, Sam. A life I can no longer give you!"
My breaths are ragged and my head spins threateningly. "I don't give a fuck about a normal life, Dominic!" Tears begin to stream from my eyes once again, but this time, his soft lips are there to kiss them away. "I don't care what you are." my teeth are clenched hard with fury and passion. "I want you. I need you. I love you."
His physical longing presses into that junction between lower back and divide as his hands snake around my bare hips, sending electric shocks throughout my body. Long tapered fingers skim through coarse hairs before slipping between my legs. We moan in unison as his fingers saw into the delicate flesh between my legs. Two fingers hook into me, slipping easily into my primed core. Together, we tremble as the cool heal of his strong hand begins pressing circles over my burning clit. My knees falter, but he holds me easily with a single hand flat on my belly. Pressing, rubbing, encircling. Always the right pressure. Always the perfect near miss touch. Soon, my body is straining for release, but I start to pull away. I don't want to come like this. I want him, all of him.
"No." He growls into my ear, as if he can read my mind.
"No." I pant, grinding my forehead into the wall. Even as I say it, I know it is futile to try to resist him. "I want you."
"And you will have me. You are mine." Fingers, warmed by my flesh pinch my nipple, hard, and he repeats, "I want you to come for me, Sam. I've been waiting so long to touch you. Give yourself over to me." Another hard pinch on my nipple and I cry out at the wall, the shrillness reflecting back to me instantly. His breath shudders against my neck, spurring my desire, but I need more.
My mind is reeling, trying to sort through what the eyes have seen. My body is ablaze in a way I never thought possible. A carnal need overtakes me, possesses me, sleighs me.
"Bite me!" The words come from my lips as if on their own volition.
I hear him hiss, his body convulses and his fangs, sharp as scalpels jut into my neck. I smell blood, a single line, black in the firelight runs down, dripping from my breast. "Dominic!" I scream, my head falling backward, every nerve in my body near combustion.
"Come for me Sam." He growls from his full mouth.
As if he has sole command of my body, waves of molten pleasure crush me as they build nearly painfully in my core and explode outward, my body completely at his mercy, my cries echoed by a distant howling animal in the darkness.
He turns me to him before the convulsions have ceased their rein. Instantly my hands fly to his shirt, tearing at it as buttons fall to the floor. I need to touch him, to feel his skin beneath my hands.
Bindings gone, I slide my hands across his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms. His damp shirt falls to the floor at our feet. I scarcely notice the wet squelch sound. I stare at him in wonder of his beauty, tracing my fingertips across the tattoo of my name over his heart. "You're forever eighteen…"
He kisses me hard on the mouth, leaving his forehead pressed to mine when he withdraws.
"I'm perfectly legal." He says, his eyes blazing into mine before his mouth, which is twisted into a fang exposing grin in an expression that it so sexy it's scary, is on mine again, his tongue licking the inside of my mouth, lips roaming from my mouth to my neck to my breasts, licking the spilt blood and drawing each nipple in. He sucks on them with such greed that nearly my entire breast disappears into his mouth. I watch in fascination as he moves from one breast to the other and back again.
I am overwhelmed, but his mouth is on mine before a sob can break from my chest. I can taste my blood as he kisses me; intoxicating. My hands dart in desperation to his trousers, pulling and yanking on them hard until they fly open, a metal clasp falling to the hardwood floor. He laughs at me as I yank them down unceremoniously.
"This is not how I used to imagine what it would be like to have you undress me." He hisses, but when I look at his face, his expression is not one of disappointment; much to the contrary. Our eyes remain locked as he steps out of the slacks pooled around his ankles. I'm lost in those dark expressive eyes that I have yearned to see again for so long.
"Sam…" he whispers to me, his eyes climbing into mine as he speaks my name, a cool hand touching mine, guiding it slowly to his body. Wiry hairs tease my fingertips, a stark contrast to the silk that follows. He trembles. My fingers instinctively wrap themselves around his awaiting desire, powerfully erect and waiting for my embrace. His moan calms my apprehension. Cool to the touch but feeling every bit human, my eyes scan his face…chest…navel…to a beautiful pale cock that is quickly warming under my caress. He is thick, long and so erect that the uncircumcised tip bends upward to his navel.
"Your hands feel like fire." He growls through clenched teeth.
"I…" I don't get to finish my apology, for I am laid once again on the bear rug in front of the hearth before I even know I'm being carried. Cool kisses rain across my body, his groans and growls of near hysterical need have me clutching and clawing at his lean, muscular back.
A flash of movement and I am on his lap facing him. His actions are so swift and exact they steal my breath. Startling and exciting. I cry out as his cock nestles into me, warmed by my touch but still much cooler than my over-heated core. His hands are kneading the cheeks of my ass, strength in his fingers that I know will leave bruises, but I don't care. I can't get enough of him. I want more. "More" I cry, biting his chest hard. His hiss is the only warning of the hard stinging spank to my ass that follows. "Yes… more. Please more." I beg him. "Prove you're really here. Prove it to me now."
He snarls, kissing me deeply his tongue, wet and roaming every inch of my mouth as another swift movement positions him atop me, my legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. With his forehead to mine, dark eyes locked with mine, he pushes himself further into me in slow, determined strokes, a press and retreat motion that is both powerful and restrained, his dark eyes rolling back, his long fangs peeking out from beneath his perfect lips, my cry muffled by his mouth as it comes to cover mine.
"Sssaaam……" he groans, withdrawing and thrusting into me again, my hips moving upward to meet him, we moan in unison at the muffled cupping sound that signifies our completed union. I am stretched to accommodate him, beads of perspiration breaking out on my forehead. His beautiful face contorts with building pleasure, building need for release, firelight dancing in his so very dark brown eyes; full of conflict that he tries to push away.
I turn my head to the side, sweeping away my long brown hair, "Drink from me." I whisper. He stares at me, his body thrusting into mine at a fevered pace and still I want more.
"No, Sam."
"Please. Release me from this life of sorrowful longing."
He growls a curse as hands slide beneath my body, one coming to rest between my shoulder blades, the other with fingers buried into the crack of my ass. He plunges into me with long deliberate strokes in a maddening flawlessly rhythmic pattern as his fangs sink into my neck. He squeezes my body against his and moves with me like a snake, squeezing and pressing and grinding and sucking. My moans turn to cries of ecstasy, echoed by those of my love and lover.
Time has no meaning. I am lost and found in the same space and time. As the pleasure ebbs, my body cools and my eyelids become heavy. I drift from the life I knew as he holds me. As my eyes slowly close, I can see it all so clearly and I smile as my mortal bindings slip away into the darkness of my past, to be born again.
© Shannon Blackwater – October 2009


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This radio broadcast was designed to remind those of us who are believers of how we can often times get so busy with other distractions that we forget to give God some of our time. The message covers various, but not all, ways in which we become distracted after deciding to give our lives to God and try to make a difference in our lives. Click on the highlighted title link and enjoy the broadcast. All the best.
Click here: B.U.S.Y. Being Under Satan's Yoke

subset: commoncrawl


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- Home
- Alternative Gothic Style Earrings
- Heartbeat Earrings
Product Description
The Heartbeat earrings were made for all of the music lovers out there. Made of stainless steel, the Heartbeat earrings feature two tiny hearts, which are colored with red epoxy. These chic earrings even come with tiny headphones for a more upbeat look.
Add more rhythm and style to your ensemble by matching these cool earrings with our Heartbeat necklace.
316L Stainless Steel with red epoxy
Pouch included
Size: W: 0.69" H: 0.75"


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It's important to report your harvest
About the end of June, I started receiving emailed photographs of newly born fawns. The fawn drop was on in Area 4, right on schedule and right on time for the deer season that opens in October.
Some of you in the early rut areas will hunt deer this month, and hunter observations during the archery season provide data on fawn production and survival.
Hunters also will fire the first shots at doves, and it is not too hard to tell which birds are young of the year.
Likewise the duck hunters will be shooting teal, and biologists will be examining wings while making bag checks to see determine the adult/juvenile ratio in an effort to gather information about duck production and survival.
Our LDWF turkey biologist, Cody Cedotal, has sent the annual poult survey to hunting clubs and landowners in an effort to gather data about the 2016 turkey hatch. The cameras on our property in East Feliciana Parish have documented a pretty good hatch of turkeys, which we need because the big population of turkeys we had last year disappeared after the flooding rain we had in March.
Hunting seasons and bag limits are set so the harvest does not have an impact on the wildlife population.
For the most part, seasons and bag limits do not change much from year to year.
For a long time now, we have had a six deer limit, which some people complain is too much — but harvest data shows a small percentage of hunters actually harvest six deer. Most hunters are fortunate to kill one deer, and half the hunters put no venison in the freezer.
We have seen a return to doe days in some of the areas in the state in response to a decline in deer numbers in those regions.
Northwest Louisiana continues to lead the state in deer harvest numbers, and the season structure of every day being a doe day remains in effect.
The buck limit was reduced years ago in an effort to increase the state herd's adult buck age structure, and this seems to be working.
The turkey bag limit was reduced from three to two birds, and the 37-day season many hunters enjoyed was reduced to 30 days.
Tagging was initiated in an effort to better document turkey and deer harvests.
Toms born this year will be the jakes next spring, making them legal to kill. Harvest data show that about 25 percent of the annual turkey harvest is jakes. Adult toms are more vulnerable to hunters' calls, with as much as 50 percent of adults birds being harvested in some populations around the state.
Harvest information is very important for wildlife biologists to make sound management decisions, so it is very important that you report your harvest.
Our small-game populations of squirrels and rabbits continue to have long seasons with limits that have not changed in years.
Squirrels produce two crops of young each year, and when the fall season opens the second crop of squirrels is being weaned.
Research work in Louisiana has found rabbits pretty much breed the entire year, with females producing several new bunny crops annually.
While quail numbers continue to be low, the bag limit has remained the same. Again, biologists feel the bag limit can remain unchanged because of the low number of quail hunters pursuing a limited resource, allowing hunters to harvest birds that have a short life span.
Woodcock hunters have probably been the group most impacted with reduced bag limits.
Duck hunters have had long seasons with six-bird limits, and we saw an increase in the woodduck daily bag limit — but it took some hard work from biologists to make this happen.
We are blessed in the Bayou State to have long hunting seasons with plenty of opportunities. Of course, habitat is the key for wildlife numbers to remain good.
With good habitat, wildlife should have good reproduction, and that increases population numbers and allows hunters opportunity to harvest the surplus.
With white-tailed deer, it's usually acceptable to harvest 30 percent of the annual population because the annual increase should match that.
Deer hunters often ask the question how many deer — especially does — should be harvested from their properies. LDWF biologists cam provide clubs or landowners with harvest recommendations because they gather harvest data each season and look at the physical condition and productivity of deer.
The trend these days is to shoot only magazine-cover bucks and keep the doe harvest low so we can have "lots more deer." Because of this, I am seeing herds that are being under-harvested and bucks that are dying of old age because hunters are unable to field-age them.
Last season, I killed a 1½-year-old doe on a tract of land that weighed 65 pounds — about 35 pounds less than the desired weight for a doe in this age class. It was apparent that habitat conditions are unable to maintain this herd in a healthy condition.
Data collection is a must for clubs or landowners really wanting to know what is going on with their deer populations. However, knowledge of what is going on is only good if it is actually applied.
If your deer herd has problems and you do nothing to correct the problem — other than what you do year after year — you should not expect to harvest that magazine-cover buck.


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Hopi Kiva Night Scene Ceremony [SOLD]
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- Category: Paintings
- Origin: Hopi Pueblo, Hopituh Shi-nu-mu
- Medium: opaque watercolor
- Size:
14" x 19" image;
22-1/8" x 27-1/8" framed
- Item # C3906B SOLD
When one visits the Hopi villages to witness a Katsina Dance in the plaza, it is generally the culmination of a 9-day ceremony that has been secretly on-going in the kiva and not open to the public. This is a kiva scene pictured by Raymond Naha (1933-1975). A drummer is beating his drum and a chanter is singing. The young men sitting around are probably initiates. There is a bowl and ladle next to the drummer that probably contains sacred cornmeal or other medicine. The basket on the floor appears to hold smoking pipes and a feather. On the kiva wall is painted a Rainbow Man and a Hopi boy. Other items hang on the wall.
Hopi-Tewa artist Raymond Naha was born in the village of Polacca, which is at the foot of First Mesa, on the Hopi Reservation in Arizona on December 5, 1933. He studied under Fred Kabotie at Oraibi High School. Kabotie recognized Naha's talent and encouraged him to continue his studies. Naha then took correspondence courses and studied at the Phoenix Indian School, which was the end of his formal art education. His progress from then was purely self-motivated.
Dorothy Dunn devoted a paragraph to Naha in her book on her students. She said:
"Raymond Naha is developing resourceful methods in using light and shade to dramatize Hopi ceremonials and dancers. He illuminates scenes in the striking contrasts of a particularly strong palette. Native conventions, however, underlie his painting even though it stands out as daringly different from that of the traditional Hopi school. He received the Indian Arts Fund Award in 1962."
Clara Lee Tanner devoted several pages on Naha in her book referenced below. She refers to his "great natural talent." She states that Hopi and Zuni Katsinas were a favored subject of his and that they serve as fine ethnological studies from the masks to costume, jewelry, paraphernalia carried by the dancer, and body paint. She praised him for accuracy of color depiction and good body proportions.
Naha painted this on black paper and used soft pastel colors for the men's clothing. The colors, although pastel, are almost luminescent. The images are so realistic that one feels part of the group, silently listening to the drum and chanter.
Condition: original condition
Provenance: from the collection of a Santa Fe resident
- Dunn, Dorothy. American Indian Painting of the Southwest and Plains Areas, 1968
- Tanner, Clara Lee. Southwest Indian Painting: A Changing Art, 1957
- Category: Paintings
- Origin: Hopi Pueblo, Hopituh Shi-nu-mu
- Medium: opaque watercolor
- Size:
14" x 19" image;
22-1/8" x 27-1/8" framed
- Item # C3906B SOLD
Click on image to view larger.
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Storm of a Lifetime
It's been a surreal few weeks in Hoboken since Hurricane Sandy hit and while I've been documenting the upheaval in our community, it hasn't been through writing. I decided to start by publishing my thoughts on the night of Monday, October 29 as we waited for the storm.
Hurricanes can put a lot of things into perspective. I feel so calm, like the eye of the storm. All the clutter that's been in my brain seems somehow unimportant. We could get flooding this year, and if we do, it's OK. We'll sort it out. Nothing here is so important as being alive and healthy and having my daughter with me.
We are safe. We are whole. We are warm.
I feel an intense focus and concentration. The Internet has gone out and it is not possible to keep checking things. It would be a good time to do something like have…
View original post 79 more words


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Junior Rifle
If you're interested in assisting with this program, please contact email@example.com
No schedule for 2018.
Junior Rifle has long been a source of great pride for the ECCL. These youngsters have competed in a very demanding program requiring concentration, skill, and perseverance beyond what is normally expected from people of this age.
The ECCL junior small-bore program (typically) begins in early June and ends in mid-August. The program teaches basic gun safety and rifle marksmanship in the standing, sitting, kneeling, and prone positions. The program is taught using the Civilian Marksmanship Program Rimfire Sporter course of fire, and the juniors have several opportunities to compete in matches during the summer. The entire team travels to Camp Perry to compete in the National Rimfire Sporter match in late July.
ECCL junior programs are open to the public and parents are not required to be members of the ECCL to participate
Phone: (419) 499-2400


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The public consultation on outdoor facilities within the park has closed. Information regarding the consultation can be found on the Westbridge Park Consultation page.
The largest park in Stone is set in an interesting canal and riverside location, and offers a wide range of experiences (ST15 8EX).
Open all year round, Westbridge Park is a large, peaceful, wildlife-enriched area with enjoyable riverside walks. Why not make a day of it and bring a picnic? The large expanses of grass make an ideal picnic spot!
- Car Park
- Football Pitch (2 pitches available for hire) - call Tony Dale on 01785 619603 (office hours)
- Stone Leisure Centre (this facility is managed by Freedom Leisure)
- Play Area (additional bye laws apply)
- Junior Multi-play Unit and Seesaw
Park Byelaws
- No Camping or Fires
- No Golf
- No Motor Vehicles
- No Horse Riding
- Please dispose of your litter properly


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I gather they are celica-esque.Originally Posted by dori dori
The wheels are 5x100. Stock tyres are 205/60R15, so I take it the wheels are 7" and +35 offset.
TRD weels for Caldina are 17 x 7.5JJ +30
Something like 17 x 8 would be nice.
Originally Posted by n0ferz
I gather they are celica-esque.Originally Posted by dori dori
The wheels are 5x100. Stock tyres are 205/60R15, so I take it the wheels are 7" and +35 offset.
TRD weels for Caldina are 17 x 7.5JJ +30
Something like 17 x 8 would be nice.
AE90 Silvertop - GONE; 2001 ST215W GT-T Manual - SOLD; EP82 Starlet GT - Sold
Now driving 20V Turbo 1.8 N-S FWD
Hi mate im after a pair of 15x7.5 watanabe 1 piece with an aprox +20 offset if you can find something for the next container i would be a happy man
Past - 3 RA23's 1 TA22 - Hairdresser mobiles
Present - Red 4age KE70 - Sideways shopping trolly
Future - White KE70 - Grandma shopping trolly
what are the widths on your 17" veilsides? (width not listed in the specs)
Originally Posted by Draven
Specs on the Veilsides are unknown until they arrive.
would love a set of the volk style rims grams light but i don't have 4*114.3 pcd i got the old 4*100
Hey Grant,
I might pop by and inspect those 18" supra wheels if no-one puts a deposit on them beforehand. They look great for a spare set of track rims. Would you be ok with me doing a test fit to check clearances?
Hi Greg, a test fit is fine, in fact we recommend it.
Not wanting to sound pushy but you may want to put a deposit on them as a few guys have expressed interest in these already.
Originally Posted by Draven
hey guys, just an update on the wheel shipment, a public holiday in Japan held up the container getting on the boat and leaving so the revised date of the ship hitting Aussie shores is now first week of September.
Delivery to our Ingelburn address and quarantine cleaning will be carried out on site and all wheels will be ready to be looked at / sent out in the second week or September.
Sounds good, Thanks for the update!
hella kkoorlll !
hi i would love to take the 15"x 6.5 15"x7 ssr mesh for $700 aslong as they fit my ta22 are they 114.3 stud patern what happens to the deposite if they dont fit
my mate made my account on toymods thats why the user name is fully sick and i dont think i can change it
Thanks for update, 2 extra weeks of interest on my monies then lol
Sold: RA28zoku - Bosozoku inspired
Weekend: JZX100 Mark II - VIP inspired
New Daily: GX71 Mark II - Bosozoku inspired coming soon...
They are 4x114.3 so that is not an issue. As for offset i can not say as this is up to you to find out.
A deposit will be refunded if the rims are not as originally described by us.
No refund will be given for change of mind or you not being able to pay the balance when the rims arrive.
If you would like me to give you our bank details PM me.
Originally Posted by fully sick


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Rabbits can be found in different color combinations. Their main characteristics are long ears and a bob-tail.
The rabbit, a popular pet - particularly at Easter - can be classified in almost fifty breeds. Rabbits are herbivores and these little furry animals need fresh water regularly. Rabbits can survive low temperatures and can therefore be kept indoors or outside. They have a life expectancy of about ten years. Rabbits are sociable, somewhat jumpy animals that often gnaw through fencing and other objects in their cages. They are adaptive, playful and after some practice, react to their name.
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Mike Landers
Vice President, Franchising
Mike Landers comes to iKidsCode with a diverse leadership background ranging from Higher Education to the Health and Fitness Industry encompassing project management, business operations, and cultural development.
I attended Robert Morris University earning his bachelors in Media Arts and also holds a MS in Organizational Leadership.
My passion lies in leading and empowering others to identify what they are passionate about while pursuing a fulfilling life. Mike thrives in the development of business operations and creating cultures that foster a fun collaborative environment. Prior to joining iKidsCode, I had an operations leader role at a publically traded health club organization.


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Why You Shouldn't Do Your Own Web Design
Designing and building a website is a cinch, right? So why bother paying a designer lots of money to do it for you when you could just spend a few evenings tinkering around with a free template?
Well, for a start, templates are generic and so aren't as flexible as a fully bespoke site. Unless you're a coding expert, you'll need an experienced developer to write it all so your site is as unique as you and your business. That's just one reason – here are nine more that should convince you to hire a designer.
You can't customise a template
Do-it-yourself site builders and templates are basic, not interactive and you can't personalise them very far. You can't add plug-ins or extra content very easily. Even worse is the fact that there are thousands of companies using the same format and you need to stand out from them all if you're going to make any headway.
You don't have enough time
You know that couple of evenings you set aside to build your site? That's just the beginning of the headache. You could waste days on it – time you could be working on your business. Hire a designer to do it in a fraction of the time and for a fraction of the money that you'll end up losing. Just a few hundred dollars could buy you the best web design Perth has to offer – it's not as expensive as you might imagine.
You're not a professional web designer
This will be quite obvious.
You don't really understand SEO
You think you do, but you don't! At least, not enough to make it work for you. It takes an expert to devise and set up the SEO plan for a website and even if you were a whiz, Google doesn't bother much with DIY templates.
Google really doesn't bother with DIY sites
It's true – Google can't verify your website in its Webmaster Tools and its algorithms are something of a mystery even to experts! A professional web designer can connect with and make full use of Google's monitoring tools and tweak your site so it's working at its best.
DIY sites offer inaccurate analytics
DIY sites use older, outmoded scripting tools which often give the wrong site analytics. Business owners need to see regular reports to monitor their bounce rates and to see where traffic is coming from and this data needs to be accurate.
Self-builds aren't mobile
Desktop sites are dying away – everyone's gone mobile, except for DIY templates, which can't adapt to different screens. DIY sites are going to miss out on a lot of traffic and therefore business.
Slow and steady wins the race
You can have a site ready within hours, which seems great, but stop and think. Your website is all about you and your business, so it deserves more time and care; more investment, both in time and money terms. It pays to budget carefully, so think ahead and plan your expenses.
Banner ads
Just no. Free sites plaster "…created by Amateur Webz R Us…" all over the place. It's not great, which is why you need to get the professionals in.
Originally posted 2016-04-30 04:58:09.