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A/N: With this one shot, there has been a slight role reversal. What this means will become apparent as the story progresses. Also, just to let you know, the way it ends is VERY ambiguous, and, before anyone asks for it, there, in all likelihood, WILL NOT be a sequel. I ended it the way I did on purpose. That said, I hope you all enjoy the story. Thanks for reading. :)
Unhealthy Obsessions – A One Shot
The rain had always made her reflective. Perhaps that was why she had always enjoyed living in Southern California; it didn't happen very often, but, as luck would have it, she was back in her hometown for the first time in ten years, and the coastal community was experiencing what many were referring to as the storm of the century. Obviously, something or someone was trying to tell her that coming home had been a grave mistake.
Sitting in the back of the cab she was taking from the airport to where she was staying for the weekend, memories of why she had left in the first place came crashing down upon her with more vengeance than the storm raging outside the thin, tinted windows of the slow moving vehicle, and doubts about her ability to remain detached and professional for the three days it would take to complete her work duties taunted her sanity. Was she a glutton for punishment? Did she enjoy testing herself and her willpower to remain impassive in the face of her past? How was she supposed to stay in the very house she had shared so many special moments with him in without giving in to her destructive urges and wanting to see him again? Why did she feel the need to risk the amazing life she had built for herself all because of one unhealthy obsession she had left behind years before on a night very similar in nature to the one storming around her?
She had waited up for him, cloaked in darkness and shrouded in pain, in the living room of the two bedroom, 'just friends' apartment they shared while at college together. Since they were kids, it had been Ryan and Marissa, Marissa and Ryan, joined together by a bond their families considered unbreakable. She was his rock, the person who held him together, who protected him against the unavoidable grief the world always seemed to offer him, the only person he truly needed to be happy, and he made her laugh, helped her let go of the duties, the commitments, the responsibilities she had taken on for herself and simply be. Never were two people more unlike each other or compatible in the same breath. However, despite the rumors and the whispers that constantly followed them around, they had always been best friends and nothing more.
That didn't mean there weren't deeper feelings though.
At a quarter after three, she heard the front door's locks snap open, alerting her to the fact that he was finally home. His being late wasn't something new. While she enjoyed quiet nights reading in bed or watching television, Ryan enjoyed the party scene around the campus, and, although he was no saint, to reassure her and make her feel somewhat comfortable with his rather loose, misguided lifestyle, he kept his revels limited to cigarettes, alcohol, and pot – never hard drugs. It was just another way she kept him on the right path.
His keys, as were his habit, dropped on the first available flat service, his shoes were kicked off haphazardly, for he knew no matter where they ended up the night before, she would always be able to find them for him the next day, and his beer dampened coat was shrugged off to land unceremoniously in a stinking heap on the hardwood floors before he made his way, maladroitly, to the hall which led to their separate bedrooms, never once noticing her keeping vigilance from an uncomfortable arm chair tucked into an obscure corner of the room.
"Make any more bets tonight?" Her voice was cold and distant; he had done that to her.
"Jesus, Marissa," Ryan exclaimed. Startled, he wobbled in place before propping himself up against the wall. Laughing, he joked, "this feels like the beginnings of a very cheesy slasher movie." Too drunk to notice her angry mood, he simply smiled at her. "What are you still doing up?"
"Answer my question. Did you make any more bets tonight?"
Shrugging sheepishly, he squinted in a useless attempt to focus his eyes upon her. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Can we do this another time, say when the room isn't spinning and I'm not a few minutes shy of passing out?"
"We can't," she announced without any remorse or sympathy for his plight. "I won't be here."
"What do you mean? Of course you'll be here; you live here."
"I'm transferring."
"It's the middle of our last semester," he shouted imperviously. Quickly, his alcohol induced buzz was being replaced with the harshness of reality. "You can't do that."
"There were extenuating circumstances," Marissa continued as if he hadn't objected. "I had to have some favors called in, but it was necessary."
"Well, I…what…where are you going," he sputtered, tripping his way into the living room and collapsing onto the couch, his attention suddenly completely riveted upon his roommate.
"I can't tell you that." Pausing, she rethought her statement. "No, that's wrong. I won't."
"Come on, Marissa, quit saying these things. You're being ridiculous. Of course you're going to tell me where you're going. How else will I get transferred, too?"
"That's simple. You're not going with me."
That made him pause and take notice. "What do you mean? Since the day I met you, we've never been more than a couple of miles from each other. I can't….you have to stay with me. I need you."
Standing up, she scoffed. "I guess you should have thought about that before you made your bet."
"What fucking bet?" His voice was rough, emotional, desperate, and the volume of it seemed to shake the very photos she had displayed of them on the walls. "I don't understand what's going on here, Marissa. Please, help me understand."
"No," she snapped, "you make me understand, because, I've got to tell you, I'm so confused and hurt right now, I can't even see straight."
He instantly became comforting. Standing up and moving across the room, Ryan attempted to take her in his arms, but she roughly shoved him aside, and he had to brace himself against the coffee table to keep from falling flat on his face.
"Do not touch me," she warned, backing up and away from him like a timid, scared child.
"Okay, I won't," he placated her, "but I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Who did this to you, Marissa? Who hurt you?"
"Someone I thought never would," she revealed, the tears she had been fearing all night finally clouding her deep, soulful blue eyes, "someone I thought I could depend on, could trust, someone I thought loved and respected me."
"I didn't know you were seeing someone."
Ignoring him, she continued. "When you first moved to town, when the Cohen's first took you in and adopted you, I was the only kid who saw past the resentment in your eyes and the walls you put up to protect yourself. Even when you tried to push me away at first, I never let you, and, before we knew it, we were practically one person. You told me everything about your past, the poverty, the abuse, the disappointment, and I let you into my heart, telling you all my secrets. You became my best friend, and I never thought…"
Her voice trailed off, and she was forced to take a long, steady, deep breath to calm her sobbing emotions. "It was never awkward between us, even after we became teenagers and left the innocence of childhood behind. We could date other people, and, when it was all said and done, turn to each other for a sympathetic ear or a comforting shoulder. When you started to get yourself into trouble in high school with drugs, I was there to pick you up and get you clean, and, since then, you've always respected me enough to control yourself. When I was almost raped freshman year of college, you found me, you saved me, and you helped me heal. That's when we moved in together. You said it was because you wanted to protect me, to make sure I was never hurt again, and I was just thrilled to spend even more time with my best friend. But that's when things started to get complicated.
"After a while, something I thought impossible happened – the simple friendship I felt for you turned into more; I wanted more, but, instead of letting it become a problem, we dealt with it by talking it through, by promising each other that it wouldn't change anything, and, for a while it worked. I dated other people, tried to forget the deeper feelings I had for you, and you went on your merry way, fucking every skank who was either drunk enough or desperate enough to spread her legs for you, knowing that it would never be more than a one night stand. A part of me felt as if your refusal to be with me was your way of loving me, of showing me that I was special to you, and it helped make the fact that you didn't want more of a relationship with me okay. But I know better now."
"Marissa," Ryan interrupted her long dialogue, "I still don't understand what this has to do with you leaving me?"
In a barely audible whisper, she revealed, "I talked to Seth today."
He blanched, physically took a step back and collapsed onto the couch as if she had hit him, and dropped his head into his hands. "Oh my god."
"He called, completely out of the blue, because he was concerned about me." Yelling again, she pressed, "your brother who has never even considered me a friend was so concerned about me that he put my welfare above your precious sibling bond, and do you know why he was worried?"
Although he mumbled something under his breath, the words were unrecognizable, and his inability to face up to his own behavior infuriated Marissa even further.
"Speak up, Ryan," she demanded, screaming at him. "For once in your fucking, miserable life, stop being a coward, quit hiding behind someone else, and fight your own damn battles. Tell me! Tell me what you just said!"
"I said," he roared, springing up from his seat and swiping his hand across the coffee table in one smooth motion of rage and fear and knocking everything off of it, the sound of breaking glass only serving to intensify the palpable level of tension in the room, "I said the bet – he called about the bet!"
"He did," she acknowledged. "Seth called to tell me that you had made a bet with some friends of yours, that, not only did you share with them the secrets of my past and the details of all my most intimate relationships, but that you also informed every single one of them about the night I was attacked three years ago. And then, to make matters even worse, you bragged about how I was in love with you, how you could use my feelings for you to get me to sleep with you, how I was just another slut you would be able to con your way into bed with."
"Come on, Marissa," he tried to pacify her, "that was just guys in a locker room blowing off steam. We all do it, and it never means anything."
"Then why did you tell Seth about your plans? If you weren't serious, why did you call up your brother last night and boast about how, after all these years, you were finally going to fuck Marissa Cooper?"
"I was drunk," he yelled in explanation, throwing his arms out in a form of obvious gesticulation and dismissing his actions. "I had no idea what I was doing or saying!"
"You know, you've used that excuse one too many times in the past, and, maybe if I was naïve enough to believe you, I'd be able to forgive the bet, but I can't forget what you said, Ryan."
"I don't understand what you mean."
"If you said those things about me, even if you were drunk or simply showing off to your friends, it's obvious that somewhere deep inside of you, you believe them yourself, and that's what I can't get past." Swallowing the lump in her throat, she ran a shaking hand through her disheveled hair and harshly bit down on her quivering lip. "I can't get past the fact that the man who I've held in my arms as he cried could so casually toss aside the bond we built over the years just so he could make himself look good in front of some brainless, egotistical jocks. I can't get past the fact that the man I let bathe and hold me in his arms after I was almost raped could so brutally discuss the most private and personal secrets of my life with a bunch of men who would rather hurt me themselves than help me if I was ever attacked again. And I sure a hell can't get past the fact that the man I love obviously feels so little for me. If it was the booze that made you do and say the things you did, then all I have to say to you is that it's time to grow up, Ryan. Yes, your childhood was terrible, but others have lived through and survived worse than you have, so quit using your past as an excuse and face your future. Someone is not always going to be there to pick up the pieces for you. You've already pushed me away, Seth's just about had it with you, and your parents, if they had any idea how much trouble you've gotten yourself into over the years that I've bailed you out of, they would have written you off long ago. So, grow up, sober up, and get your life in order before there's nothing to fix."
Turning around, she walked quickly into her bedroom where her packed bags were waiting for her. Unfortunately, he wasn't satisfied yet; he still couldn't let her go.
"Wait," he begged, "you don't have to leave. We can sort this out together, you and me against the world like it's always been, like it's supposed to be. We can work us out."
"There is no us anymore, and I'm beginning to wonder if there ever was. Did you think that I would always be here, waiting for you whenever you needed me? Did you think that I would always put my life on hold just to make sure that you were okay? Someday, I would have left anyway. I would have found someone else to love, someone who would love me back the way I deserve, and I would have left you and our friendship behind. I would have gotten married, had children, lived happily ever after, and you, eventually, would have become a distant memory. Just think of me leaving now as pulling the band aid off quickly instead of nursing the pain."
"Can I at least know where you're going? Can we still talk?"
"No," Marissa announced definitively. "This is goodbye. Don't try to find me, don't try to contact me, don't even use your brother and have him attempt to speak to me on your behalf. Stay away from my sister, stay away from my family, and, most importantly, stay the hell away from me, Ryan."
Picking up her suitcases, she passed through the doorway and out into the hall, following the path to the front door she had made so many times in the past, except for this time it would be her last. She was leaving everything behind there in that apartment – her whole life. Her bags only contained the essentials, a few basic items of clothing, her laptop, and her various forms of identification; everything else would remain in the home she had shared for the past three years with the man she had believed to be her best friend. Closing the front door behind her, she made her way towards the elevator, Ryan's pleading voice calling for her to return, to go back to him, but, no matter what, she never would. By sacrificing the man she loved, it was the only way she could save herself.
The taxi had arrived at her destination, but she could do nothing but remain seated, staring out the window, neither coming nor going, neither facing her past or running away from it. Just outside the car's door lived a bevy of memories she was unsure she could face. Not a day went by when she didn't think of him, wonder how he was, worry that her leaving had finally pushed him over the edge and into a dark oblivion of his own demons. Just outside the car's door stood the home of his family and the poolhouse they had practically shared growing up. Just outside the car's door remained the spirits of her past that had never stopped haunting her.
"Miss," the cab driver interrupted her thoughts, "this is the right place, isn't it? I mean, this is the address you gave me. I can sit here all night if that's what you want, but it'll cost you."
"No, I'm sorry," she hastily apologized, handing him his fair and a generous tip. "This is the place I asked to go to. It's just…a long time has passed since the last time I was here."
"Doesn't look like anyone's home," he observed, furrowing his brow in worry. It seemed even strangers doubted her ability to face her history. "Are you sure you want to stay here?"
"I'm sure," Marissa reassured him. "At one time, the people who live in this house were practically my family, and I still have my key to get in. They know I'm staying here; I'll be fine."
And they did know. Climbing out of the vehicle, she braved the elements, the wind whipping her hair out of its delicate coif and giving her the wild appearance of a Greek goddess, the rain drenching her fine, designer suit in mere seconds and sending a cold chill of alertness down her long, slender back, the thunder and lightning making her hasten her steps up the driveway, her carryon luggage obediently trailing after her. It had been a strange coincidence that she had become reacquainted with Kirsten Cohen. On a return trip home to Paris where she lived and worked as an assistant to the Vice President of Public Relations and Advertising at Chanel, she had randomly been seated next to the mother of her former best friend on the connecting flight from New York to London. Her former neighbor was going to England for a work conference, and, instead of sleeping or watching the in-flight movie, the two women had caught up on each others lives and struck up a very secret, tentative relationship. In fact, the older woman had not even shared the fact that she had seen and spoke with the fashion executive with her husband. Now, three years later, she was staying in their home for the weekend.
At first, she had been hesitant. After all, wasn't agreeing to Kirsten's generous offer risking the very life and existence she had built for herself away from Ryan, but her former neighbor assured her that the family would be away for the entire week at Seth's wedding in Philadelphia, and that her adopted son would never realize she was even in town. Even with the reassurances, Marissa had declined the offer, opting to stay in a hotel. She was there for business, meeting with a prestigious, famous client who, because of their penchant for finding their way into the press, demanded the company's utmost attention, so it was no problem to let her bosses pay for her accommodations. However, Kirsten had insisted, especially since she had knowledge of the younger woman's distaste for hotels, and, so, here she was about to step into the poolhouse and, once again, confront her past.
The tumblers of the lock turned easily, and the French door glided open almost if they were sweeping her into a welcoming embrace. Stepping into the shadowed space being illuminated by only the brief flashes of lightning from the storm, Marissa was immediately assaulted with the familiar scent of her former best friend. He hadn't lived there in nearly fourteen years, but, for the rest of her life, the poolhouse, in her mind, would always be his...be theirs. After putting her purse down and letting go of her suitcase's handle, she moved to turn the lights on, only to change her mind. Although, despite the storm, there was still electricity, all she really needed after the long, exhausting day was enough candles to allow her to change out of her wet clothes and into some dry pajamas, and the only plan Marissa had for the night was to sleep. But, first, she wanted to take a shower.
The candles she found in the drawer in the kitchen where they had been kept in all those years before when she had practically lived in the poolhouse with Ryan. She scattered them throughout the small space, placing several on the counter, a few by the bed, and one on the desk in the far corner just so that her imagination could not play tricks on her later and make her think something was hiding there. Not only did storms make her reflective, but, apparently, they also made her paranoid. Despite knowing she was all alone, it felt as if someone was watching her, but she dismissed her absurd fears and realized it was merely her own past self that used to feel at home in the poolhouse that was haunting her now older, more mature, less benevolent silhouette.
It made her feel safe, the soft, warm glow of the candles, and, comfortable with her surroundings, she began to undress. Letting her suit jacket fall to the floor, she moved to deftly unfasten the delicate buttons of her blouse, working slowly for there was no rush. It, too, eventually fluttered to the ground, leaving her clad in nothing but a lavender, strapless bra, pencil skirt, seamed, sheer stockings, and round toed, platform pumps, hair untamed and starting to curl, dripping cool water down her exposed back. In that moment, she was any man's fantasy.
As she moved to sit on one of the stools by the bar, she found a note from Kirsten, detailing to her the various provisions the older woman had set aside for her younger friend and letting her know that she would get in touch with her soon so they could catch up. Seeing the brief letter made Marissa feel wanted and at home, two things she had not been expecting. Smartly, she slid her heels off her slender feet, letting them hit the floor with a soft, hollow smack, the only sound in the small poolhouse besides her own shallow breathing. Standing up, her skirt followed a similar path, pooling at her feet. She kicked it aside and traveled into the bathroom in nothing but her silk lingerie.
Since she was all alone, she left the bathroom door open as she prepared to take her shower, turning on the water and removing the final, remaining articles of dress she was still wearing. It was then when she was completely vulnerable that a shiver of apprehension exploded through her fragile, supple form. The chill was not the reaction to the brisk night air but a sudden awareness of not being alone, of being watched, of being coveted. However, the realization in and of itself didn't frighten her – what did was the fact that she wasn't scared of the nameless, faceless presence but, instead, was stimulated by it, enlivened, excited by it.
Even after ten years, she could sense his aura surrounding her, and, as he stepped into the poolhouse and out of the elements where he had been surreptitiously watching her through the open and bare windows, it cloaked her like a familiar, comfortable, reliable sense of coming home. In that moment, Marissa decided to let the night be what it may. Whatever happened between them, it would end the next day. For one evening out of the rest of her life, she would forget the past, forget the pain, and forget the future and simply exist in the present with him. It was dangerous, it was obtuse and ill-advised, and it was everything she had been secretly wishing for since the moment she had pushed him out of her life.
Without a word shared between them, she beckoned him to come to her by simply not turning him away. Opening the shower curtain, she stepped inside the tiled stall and the let the steam of the hot water cleanse her mind of any final, remaining doubts. Although in reality it was several minutes later, it felt like mere seconds to her before Ryan was there, holding her, embracing her, kissing her, becoming one with her.
She thought he would be quick, that he would take advantage of her moment of weakness and, just as suddenly as he had arrived, take her and make her his, but he didn't. He took his time with her, savored her, worshipped from her body. Gently, his fingers washed her hair, massaging the tension from her lithe form and unwinding her to the point where she was forced to lean back into his arms and let his strong, dependable body support hers. When he had finished, he simply placed a butterfly soft kiss at the nape of her neck and proceeded to wash her body. His actions were oddly dispassionate; there was nothing erotic or seductive about them, and, instead, he was simply taking care of her, and, astonishingly enough, she was letting him.
When there wasn't a hint of her skin left to bathe and the water had turned from blistering hot to lukewarm, Ryan simply lifted her into his arms, turned the shower off, and carried her into the outer recesses of the poolhouse. Laying her on the bed, he moved to extinguish every candle but the few sitting beside them on the nightstand table. Before returning to her, he opened all the French doors, allowing in the fresh, newly cleansed and purified seaside air the thunderstorm had brought in with its salt-tinged mists, eerie thunder, and suggestive lightening, and immersed both them and the room into the very atmosphere of the volatile gale. It was mysteriously sensual and inexplicably the perfect ambiance for them to make love in for the first and last time.
All thoughts left Marissa's mind though as Ryan's body blanketed hers. For several moments they simply stared at one another, drinking in the others face and memorizing it. While she could see that he had changed throughout the ten years they had been living separate lives, he also seemed like the same exact boy she had left behind. In her eyes the new shadows in his eyes didn't exist, the faint lines of worry and stress puckering his brow weren't there, and the constant look of fear and sadness covering his countenance was replaced with an expression of peace and contentment as soon his gaze locked with hers. To her, he was man she had always wanted him to be…at least for as long as their moment in time lasted.
Shyly, almost hesitantly, he began to love her at a leisurely pace. Their lips coupled first, hers soft, plump, and pliant, his firm and insisting, needy and begging, but neither were satisfied for long with the simple, safe gesture of affection. Eventually, his mouth lingered from hers and traveled down her body, kissing, revering, licking, venerating, nipping, adoring, tasting, loving her neck, her arms, her hands, her fingers, her feet, her legs, her abdomen, and, finally her chest. Taking first one and then the other breast in his purely masculine hands, Ryan devoted all of his attention to her heaving mounds, suckling from her awakened nipples and arousing the firm buds to even higher levels of desire.
When his actions no longer contented either of them, he slid his body and his mouth down her withering form, unfolding her long, luscious legs and allowing himself to finally taste her very essence. Sipping from her, savoring her, letting the epitome of her femininity envelope him, Ryan brought Marissa to her first orgasm. By the time she came down from her sensual high, her body's trembling and clenching mellowing to a point where lucid thought was possible, she realized that her former best friend had completely given to her, demanding nothing in return, and it only increased her yearning to pleasure him just as exhaustively, but he wouldn't let her.
Leaning down, Ryan embraced her once again in a decadently rich and sinful kiss, allowing her to taste herself on his mouth, while his hands began to worship her body for a second time that evening. When she tried to take control, when she tried to love him the way he had just finished loving her, he simply smiled, shook his head no, and continued to cause sensations she had previously believed to be impossible to assault her satiated yet still ravenous form. It was as if being with him had awakened a desire within her that could not be quenched…or perhaps it was simply years of unrequited affection finally being returned and fulfilled.
They made love three times that night before she fell asleep, blissfully exhausted and feeling secure in his arms. The last things she remembered before slipping into a state of unconsciousness were the feeling of Ryan moving inside of her, the completeness she experienced while reaching her release at the same time as he did, and the knowledge of the fact that for one night they had belonged to each other…even if it had been a mistake.
Hours later, she woke to the sounds of her former best friend sleeping beside her and the sensation of his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him while they rested together in a bed they had only shared platonically in the past. Slipping out of his embrace, she got up, changed her clothes, and prepared to leave before either he could wake up or she could change her mind. Just as she was about to disappear, steal out the door and blend into the night like a ghost that was never there to begin with, his voice, rough with sleep and desperate with apprehension, disrupted the quiet and obscurity of the darkness.
"Marissa, what…what are you doing? Where are you going?"
Turning back around to face him but never letting go of the door or her suitcase, she replied, "I'm going back to where I belong. This, coming here to Newport, staying in your parents' home, a place we once shared together as friends, sleeping with you, it was all a huge lapse of judgment."
The hurt her words caused him was apparent in his next sentence. "You think that what we shared here tonight should never have happened?"
"I didn't force you," he immediately defended himself. "No matter what has happened between us in the past, you have to know that I would never do that to you."
"I do."
"Then it was consensual," he continued as if she hadn't said anything. "You made love to me because you wanted to. You can't take that back now and tell me that it was a mistake."
"It was just sex, and I had a moment of weakness," Marissa tried to reason with him. "For years I was attracted to you; we both know that, and, when the opportunity presented itself for me to sleep with you, I grabbed onto it with both hands, but, now that the haze of desire has passed, I realized what we did was foolish."
"It was more than just sex," he argued, standing up from the bed and quickly pulling on his boxers before crossing the room to stand before her. Imploring her to look at him with his eyes, he pressed, "and it was more than just a moment or weakness or attraction. We're connected, always have been and always will be. Not even ten years was a long enough time period to break the bond that we share."
"Look at it this way," she instructed, dismissing his impassioned words. "You're my addiction, my obsession, and, in what would be a laughable moment of vulnerability if it wasn't frankly so sad, I relapsed. However, I'm not going to allow myself to wallow in my setback. I'm going to pick myself up, forget about this night, and start all over again with my sobriety. Some people are addicted to drugs, like you are, some are addicted to danger, to porn, to shopping, to gambling, to, hell, I don't know, adopting abandoned animals from the pet shelter, and I'm no different, except my addiction is you. However, unlike other addicts, I have the power to stay away from you and not allow you to drag me or my life down again. That's why I'm leaving."
"It's alright to be addicted to something if it's good for you," Ryan argued, grabbing her hand and pulling her back towards him when she went to leave, "and we're good together, great even."
"That's where you're wrong. You and I are a disaster waiting to happen," she contradicted him, "and I, for one, try to avoid wrecking myself at all costs."
"For twelve years, you were the best thing in my life," her former best friend explained, begging her to listen. "I never thought you would leave me, but it wasn't until you did that I realized everything I had done wrong. I took advantage of your love, your friendship, and I took you for granted. You leaving me was the hardest thing I've ever had to get through. For the first two years, I was a mess, drunk or stoned every day. I ended up flunking out of school that last semester, eventually my parents and Seth got sick of my antics just as you predicted, and it wasn't until I hit rock bottom that I realized I had met every single one of your low expectations for me. That's when I pieced my life back together, and I did it all in the hopes that somewhere out there you were watching and approving of me. That, living my life for your unlikely praise, is what finally made me realize that I didn't just love you – I was in love with you. I still am."
"And what now," Marissa prompted him. "So, it's a new decade and, instead of me having feelings for you, you want to be with me, but how is it going to be different this time when I walk out of your life? Am I actually supposed to believe that you won't turn back to the alcohol and the drugs this time, too? After all, it is your pattern. Someone disappoints you, you self-destruct. Well, thanks for the offer, but I won't be taking you up on it. I have no interest in letting you destroy me while you tear apart your own life."
"How can you stand there and lie to me," he asked, furrowing his brow and shaking his head in bewilderment. "You never used to lie to me, but here you are denying the fact that you love me."
"I don't."
"The Marissa I know would never make love with a man if she wasn't in love with him."
"Well," she shrugged her shoulders flippantly, "I've changed. Ten years will do that to a person. As for making love, how many times do I have to say it? We did not make love. We had sex, no strings, emotionless sex."
She could tell she was destroying him, that her cold words and aloof actions were ripping him apart and leaving him in disarray, but, like the night she walked away from him for what was supposed to be forever, it wasn't about keeping him held together but about her own self-preservation, and, as the first tear, unchecked, fell from his pained, azure eyes, she accepted her actions as the right thing to do. "Where are you going?"
"First, I'm going to a hotel and getting a room for the rest of the night, and then tomorrow, before I get a flight back to where I live, I'm going to the hospital."
"For what?"
"I just slept with a man who is an admitted former drug user, and don't forget that I know about your sordid ways. Who knows what you've done or who you've been with during a drunken stupor or stoned haze, and, before I go home, I have to make sure that I'm clean and safe for my fiancé." As the words tumbled from her lips still bruised from his kisses, she felt his hand slip from her arm and watched it fall idly to his side. "Like I told you ten years ago, this is goodbye. Don't try to find me, don't try to contact me, don't even use your brother and have him attempt to speak to me on your behalf. Stay away from my sister, stay away from my family, and, most importantly, stay the hell away from me, Ryan."
And, with that, Marissa walked out his life for the second and final time.
Six months later….
"Hey Mom, it's me," Marissa spoke into her phone, disappointed that she had only reached the answering machine. "It's snowing here…again. Don't get me wrong, I love Paris, and I love having four seasons, especially since that means it's necessary to have four distinct wardrobes, but I don't think I'll ever get used to the cold. I was just calling to see if you could hold the phone up for me so I could hear the waves of Hawaii, and I wanted to let you know how our appointment went today. There's just three months left until the big day, and I can't wait. Before you worry, we're both doing fine, perfectly healthy despite the blizzard assaulting my apartment at the moment. The gifts have really been coming in lately. It's amazing how generous people are sometimes." She paused momentarily to reflect upon her life and to see if there was anything else she wanted to share with her mother. "Oh, and did I tell you that I found the perfect furniture? I was out shopping with a friend of mine a few days ago when I spotted it. Ordered it immediately, just as you taught me, and it'll be here next week. Even though I had my doubts, everything's coming together…just as you said it would. Well, that's it, everything I can think of to tell you. Call me back later. I'll be home for the rest of the night. By Mom, love you."
Snapping her phone shut, she dropped it into her purse and moved to hang up her heavy, winter coat. Just as she was about to turn around, she sensed it. She sensed him.
"There is no fiancé." His voice was calm, nonjudgmental, even slightly tender. "You lied to me; you're not engaged, just as you lied to me about how you felt six months ago after we made love. You see, I know you. Despite everything that's happened between us, both the beautiful and the heartbreaking, I can still tell when you're lying to me, and you were lying to me when you claimed to be planning to marry another man. I know why you did it," he continued, never giving her a chance to speak. "You did it to hurt me, because you weren't strong enough to push me away any more. You figured that you could hurt me so much that I would not come after you, but you were wrong, Marissa. Once we crossed that line, there was no going back, and there was no way I was going to let you run out of my life again. So, I'm here under any capacity you may want me. I'll be your friend, I'll be your lover, I'll even be the pain in the ass from your past who won't leave you alone, but I'm not giving up on us, on what we share together. I quit my job, sold my house, sold my car, and cut my ties with everyone and everything back in California except my parents, so you're stuck with me. Like I told you ten years ago, we can work this out. I'm a different man than I was the day you walked out of my life; I'm the man you always believed I could be, and all I ask is that you give me a chance to prove myself to you. I won't let you down or hurt you again, I promise."
She listened to every word he said, took them in and absorbed them, but, still, she remained silent, never turning around to face him.
"Please," he beseeched her, "say something – anything."
Swallowing thickly, she pushed down her emotions and started to answer him. "I can't…"
"Come on, Marissa," Ryan interrupted her almost desperately. She could hear him stand up from the couch where he had been sitting the entire time. "At least have the decency to turn around and face me." She didn't move, didn't even dare to breathe. "So this is what our relationship has been reduced to," he cried out miserably. "I beg you to give me another chance, and you simply stand there and ignore what I have to say."
"I didn't ignore you; I heard every word, but I can't turn around. You need to leave."
"Not until I see your face, not until I can look into your eyes and see for myself your refusal to let me even try and make up for all the horrible things I've ever done to you. Please," he pleaded one last time, "just turn around. If you do and your eyes are still telling me to leave, I will."
"Fine," she agreed on a loud, petrified sigh. Bracing herself, she moved her hands down to gently wrap around her swollen form, cradling the life growing inside of her as if her touch alone could protect her baby, feeling vulnerable and completely stripped of all her defenses as she finally turned around to face him.


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Swedish House Mafia have finally released their track titled One, and I got it as quickly as possible for you dance addicts. Who are Swedish House Mafia you ask? If you don't know you're a bit behind, but ever heard of Axwell, Steve Angello, and Sebastian Ingrosso? That's them. They still retain their pure house style their loved for, but add a bit more rave to the mix for a true festival bomb.
♫ Swedish House Mafia – One daftwho? HIGHLY recommends

subset: commoncrawl


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Were stopping it in its tracks in the country
Thomas Frieden
Months after the deadliest Ebola outbreak in history began ravaging West African countries, a man who flew from Liberia to Dallas became the first case of Ebola to be diagnosed in the United States.
Although the director for the Center of Disease Control assured Americans the agency will swiftly nullify any threat of the Ebola virus spreading stateside, until they do, the CDC admits more U.S. infections are "not impossible."
"We're stopping it in its tracks in the country," Thomas Frieden, director of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, declared during a news conference Tuesday afternoon.
The Dallas patient remains in "strict isolation" at Texas Health Presbyterian Hospital Dallas. Officials said there are no plans to transfer him to a specialized hospital with a biocontainment unit at this time.
Officials would not confirm or deny if he was an American citizen, saying only he was "visiting family in the U.S."
Although many more individuals were exposed to the unidentified patient as he flew from Africa back to Texas with a layover in Europe, Frieden says those people are not at risk as, although the patient was infected at that time, he was not contagious.
"That was four or five days before he had his first symptoms and with Ebola, you're not contagious until you have symptoms."
According to the CDC, the patient acquired the virus in West Africa, though they are not sure how he was infected. He was not involved in stopping the Ebola outbreak in Africa, where the disease has claimed more than 3,000 lives.
There were more than 6,500 reported cases of Ebola in Guinea, Liberia and Sierra Leone as of Tuesday, and the crisis has been blamed for more than 3,000 deaths, according to the World health Organization. Ebola was first identified in 1976, and the current outbreak in West Africa is considered the largest and most complex in the history of the virus, with more cases and deaths than every other outbreak combined.
Until now, the only known cases of Ebola in the U.S. involved American doctors and aid workers who were infected and returned to the country for treatment. Once of them, Richard Sacra, was discharged last week from a Nebraska hospital. Days later, the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda admitted an American physician who was exposed to the Ebola virus in Sierra Leone. There were reports of possible Ebola patients in New York, California, New Mexico and Florida, but all of them tested negative for the virus.
Related Topics:
Insects spreading more diseases
Mold is long-term flood issue
Hurricanes promote Zika spread
More links on Disease


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Note: the other political parties have been on less than 5% except for the FLP and PDP that reached this figure in the June 28 poll.
The latest opinion polls give some indication of voter opinions in urban areas. The Razor Poll is smaller but it conducts four polls to every one of the larger Tebbutt Polls, making the grouped samples broadly similar in size. The Tebbutt Poll is more truly random and will reflect a wider spectrum of opinions in the urban and peri-urban areas sampled than the Razor Poll that represents the opinion of people who catch buses within the urban areas and between the urban areas and neighbouring rural areas.
The latest polls were taken before Fiji First released its Manifesto.
The latest The FijiTimes/Tebbutt Poll showed Bainimarama the preferred PM for 49% of those interviewed (down from 60%) and Ro Teimumu at 20%, up from 17%,
FijiFirst was the preferred political party of 45%, SODELPA 21% and 10% were unsure. The Tebbutt poll is based on a random sample of 1,137 households in urban and peri-urban areas. The political polls have been conducted monthly, and the margin of error is about 3%.
The Fiji Sun/Razor poll is based on weekly samples of 600 people at urban bus stops in the Western (200), Northern (100) and Central Divisions (300). The margin of error for people using buses in these areas is about 4%.
The last poll before the Elections showed Bainimarama to be the preferred PM on 67% (down from 70%), Ro Teimumu was unchanged on 25%, Biman Prasad was on 6% (up from 4%) and Felix Anthony dropped from 2% to on 0%.
Of the preferred political parties, FijiFirst stayed on 68% from the previous week, SODELPA dropped from 27% to 23%, NFP was on 6% (up from 4%), PDP was on 2% and FLP was unchanged on 1%.
The results over the past few weeks have shown the gap between FF and SODELPA closing slightly , though this final poll was taken before the release of the FF Manifesto which could see FF gaining more support . The debate this coming Sunday between Ro Teimumu and Bainimara could also influence their respective standing.
While minor fluctuations can be attributed to either a trend, the margin of error, or both, it would seem that of the minor parties only the NFP has a chance of crossing the 5% threshold unless their fortunes greatly improve over the next seven days.
Pollsters asked to take their pick
Last week the Razor poll asked, "If you had to pick between FijiFirst and SODELPA to run Fiji, which one would you pick?" 68% said FijiFirst, 28% SODELPA and 4% were not sure.
This week's question "Would Ro Teimumu Kepa make a better prime minister than Voqere Bainimarama?" produced similar results: 69% said Ro Treimumu would not make a better PM, 26% said she would, and 5% were not sure.
These answers were consistent with the general poll results.


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Find more Clinton relatives and grow your tree by exploring billions of historical records. Taken every decade since 1790, the U.S. Federal Census can tell you a lot about your family. For example, from 1930 to 1940 there were 31 more people named Clinton in the United States — and some of them are likely related to you.
What if you had a window into the history of your family? With historical records, you do. From home life to career, records help bring your relatives' experiences into focus. There were 8,191 people named Clinton in the 1930 U.S. Census. In 1940, there were 0% more people named Clinton in the United States. What was life like for them?
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|Lunch Set for May 5
ARod seen likely topic of discussion
Security Concerns Spur Venue Shift
The BLOHARDS are pleased to announce the the season's first lunch and plenary session will occur Tuesday, May 5th. As detailed in the formal invitation, the traditional 30-minute long cocktail hour will kick off promptly at 11:30 and will end with the serving of lunch at 12:15. In addition to food, a dazzling program of entertainment to include WFAN's Ed Randall, jazz guy John Pizzarelli, a Sox player TBD, NESN camera people, trivia-meister John Quinn and Ray Duffy's slide show will be offered.
In a move prompted by unspecified "risk factors", the gathering will be held at the Columbia Club* of New York City which is conveniently located at 15 W. 43rd St. The BLOHARDS have historically assembled at midtown's Yale Club and one imagines that any would-be disrupters will be chagrined indeed to find themselves not amidst a gathering of BLOHARDS, but rather a convocation of professionals from the National Association of Real Estate Investment Trusts ("NAREIT") which we have cleverly arranged to have rent the Yale Club in our stead. Mum's the word!
The room doesn't hold but 300, so you'll want to get your tickets now.
*Also known, generally by those possessing a more, shall we say... vocational education, as the Princeton Club.
From The Archives...
We've recently come into a couple of pictures of late BLOHARD co-founder Henry Berry, including one kindly sent to us by a gentleman who found it at a flea market in Houston, Texas. We're hopefully going to get some more material on Henry shortly, so stay tuned. All the pictures are here.
El Tiante To Be Even More Immortal
The Tribeca Film Festival has announced that it will be showing a documentary on Luis Tiant - produced by the Farrelly Brothers. Titled THE LOST SON OF HAVANA, the film follows Tiant's first journey back to his homeland of Cuba in 46 years and explores his guilt for leaving his impoverished country to pursue his baseball dreams. Screening as part of the Tribeca/ESPN Sports Film Festival, the film was written and directed by Jonathan Hock, who did the Michael Jordan documentary.
According the TFF website, the official screening dates for THE LOST SON OF HAVANA have yet to be determined. We are hearing April 23rd or thereabouts
For more information on screening dates and times go to http://www.tribecafilm.com/festival/.
|43rd* Opening Day Trip Set
The only suspense regarding April 6th's BLOHARD bus-borne pilgrimage to the Fens is (i) which of Boston's host of Cy-worthy starting pitchers will be credited with the win; and (ii) whether the percentage lost to hypothermia will be greater or less than on the Titanic. While at this writing the forecast calls for showers and temperatures in the 40's, it should be remembered that with seven days left until the first pitch there's still plenty of time for things to deterioriate.
More on the bus here.
* More or less. Don't hold us to it.
Out of the Mists of Time...
Back in the day, the Opening Day bus trip was enlivened by irreverent multiple-choice quizzes prepared by long-time BLOHARD Bob Mills. Examples of his handicraft from 1989 and 1993 are here and here respectively. Anyhoo, Bob has been prevailed upon to prepare another effort for this year's trip, which should enliven things. Evidently he's got some free time on his hands, having recently completed his book Baseball~~Then and Now which includes an entire chapter on the BLOHARDS.
Vicente Romo's Inside Pitch
Is that the Pulitzer Committee I hear knocking?
Looie, Nomah, Pizzarelli, ARod... you'll find it all at Blogging BLOHARDS.
Our (Virtual) Interview With Brian
If you can believe it, we've had a little trouble getting a bona fide interview with Yanks "boy genius" GM Brian Cashman, so we took a few verbatim Cashman quotes and paired them with a wish-list of BLOHARDS' questions. The ensuing hilarity is provided for your reading pleasure here.
|Dues Due
Plunging Markets, Legal Costs Batter BLOHARDS;
TARP Application Pending
(New York, April 1) With its endowment battered by an "overweight" allocation to subprime mortgage originators, and its finances further drained by the costs of complying with a blizzard of subpeonas issued by, among others, the New York State Attorney General (relating, evidently, to some misunderstanding concerning executive bonuses), the BLOHARDS today issued an urgent call to all members to pony up their scandalously unpaid dues.
With a significant number of BLOHARDs having secured lifetime memberships in recent years, the desperate club announced the introduction of "after-lifetime" memberships which are unconditionally guaranteed to cover their purchaser in the next world. The organization is also rumored to be mulling conversion to bank holding company status which would render it eligible for participation in the
(See "Catastrophe Looms", p. 6)
Information on dues here.
Merchandise Languishes, Depreciates
Notwithstanding the fact that last year's Yankee debacle rendered the official BLOHARDS incendiary t-shirts more trenchant than ever, they're selling pretty much like Hummers. Equally perplexing, in light of the near-certain arrival of summer with its attendant glaring sun, is the rampant unpopularity of the brim-equipped BLOHARDS baseball cap. And with respect to the jersey, let's just say that it seemed a better idea after a couple of gin and tonics than it does today.
So, the point is, we've got a lot of crap to move and we'd really appreciate it if you'd buy some of it. Like to the point where we'd consider inviting you to our birthday party if you can help us out. And we're pretty sure we're going to get to go to Great Adventure this year, so think about it, willya?
Hats. Very, very desirable hats.


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text: Frankfurt/M., Vienna. These days the ECB got the permission to build the new headquarter in Frankfurt/Main. The architects are Coop Himmelb(l)au from Vienna. During the Luminale 08 Casa Magica has realized the architectural projections "Main Embankment" – a prelude for one of most famous construction areas in Europe for the next years. More>


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Offer valid until 9/17
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The pros at Organic Gardening have compiled a list of Fall cleanup to help you control and contain your garden effectively.
"You and your fall garden benefit when you give your plants the same TLC in fall as you do in spring and summer. Wildlife will find food and shelter, weeds will be easier to control, and plant diseases as well as pests will no longer drive you crazy. Follow Organic Gardening's guide to the tasks and tools to help you through the season's finale—and you can thank us come spring."
Read the full article here, including a bulleted To-Do list.


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MARLENA MADURO BARAF is a writer living in New York
Soy panameña y americana. Can you split the two? Born and raised in Panama, I chose to leave my tiny land for Los Estados Unidos de America--a newly minted immigrant. I was in my early twenties then. In my thirties, I swore allegiance to the country I'd adopted and became an American. I raised a family and worked as book editor and designer.
My memoir, At the Narrow Waist of the World, forthcoming in the fall of 2019, traces the impact of a complicated and difficult mother on her young daughter. It's a coming of age story set in the heat of the tropics in Panama that moves from the "America" of Amerigo Vespucci to Alistair Cooke's "America."
Explore my published essays or my blog.
I was a small star in the galaxy of family. We traveled in pandillas that reconfigured for a cooling movie el domingo or tea at the house of one of our tías, comparsas at Carnaval, and hanging around in the heat. We learned to choke down a mean remark or swoon over the beauty. We were docile, bound together in comforting clusters. Certain that none of us would fall out.
— from At the Narrow Waist of the World


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Potato Stuffed Samosas & Green Mango Chutney
Like the rest of the world, few foods are associated with certain events and seasons in Pakistan too. Such as Kashmiri Chai is an integral part of the food served during the wedding festivities in winter season, Gulab Jamans and Ladoos are served to celebrate joyous occasions, samosay and pakoras are served with fiery chutneys as the monsoon opens the heavens after hellish summers in Pakistan.
Our love for samosas just doesn't end with the celebration of monsoon rain but takes center stage during the month of fasting – Ramzan. No iftar table is without vegetable or minced meat samosas, served with various types of chutneys.
While growing up in Pakistan, I don't remember samosas were ever made at home. They were always bought from family's favorite Halwayee – Specialized sweet makers. I learnt how to make samosas after I moved to London as the local version could not satisfy my taste buds. Ammi would always buy the uncooked vegetable samosas from Sajid Sweets in Sadaar Rawalpindi and freeze them. They were fried before iftar at home and served with homemade mint, coriander yogurt chutney. I used to (and still do) make a concoction with ketchup and mint chutney which was not pleasant to look at but tasted great with a samosa coupled with a sweet cup of tea for iftar.
With Ramzan and Monsoon not very far away, I thought it's a good idea to share my version of the samosa recipe. I am planning to make a stock of these before the month of fasting begins end of June this year.


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Home >> Blog Post
Bhajji ban gaya bakra - Sreesanth ban gaya hero
Y A Karteek | 28 Apr 2008
This is based on a fictitious 30 minutes on the incident happened b/n harbhajan and sreesanth in one of the news channels.
Disclaimer : "This is a blog section of India's largest citizen journalism news portal – merinews.com. The above content has been published in an unedited form. The views expressed are solely of the author and not promoted or supported by Team merinews. In case you have any objection regarding the content, click here to report it to the editor"


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If three, four, five, or even six axes weren't enough for you, TDK has developed the InvenSense ICM-20789 MEMS seven-axis integrated inertial device. The part combines a three-axis gyroscope, a three-axis accelerometer, and an ultra-low noise MEMS capacitive barometric pressure sensor. The ICM-20789 encompasses a single small footprint, with a low-pressure noise, just 0.4Pa RMS. In addition, excellent temperature stability is exhibited, with a temperature coefficient of ±0.5 Pa/°C.
This low temperature coefficient enables the temperature stable capacitive pressure sensor to measure pressure differences of ±1Pa, enabling the ICM-20789 to detect altitude changes of less than 5 cm. As a result, the part is well suited for drone applications, as well as wearables, navigation, and fitness/activity-monitoring products.
Housed in a 4- by 4- by 1.365-mm package, the InvenSense ICM-20789 is available immediately, as well as evaluation boards.
eletter-11-01-2017 eletter-11-01-2017
About the Author
Richard Nass is the Executive Vice-President of OpenSystems Media. His key responsibilities include setting the direction for all aspects of OpenSystems Media's Embedded and IoT product portfolios, including web sites, e-newsletters, print and digital magazines, and various other digital and print activities. He was instrumental in developing the company's on-line educational portal, Embedded University. Previously, Nass was the Brand Director for UBM's award-winning Design News property. Prior to that, he led the content team for UBM Canon's Medical Devices Group, as well all custom properties and events in the U.S., Europe, and Asia. Nass has been in the engineering OEM industry for more than 25 years. In prior stints, he led the Content Team at EE Times, handling the Embedded and Custom groups and the TechOnline DesignLine network of design engineering web sites. Nass holds a BSEE degree from the New Jersey Institute of Technology.Follow on Twitter More Content by Rich Nass


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Cousins Submarines, or Cousins Subs, is a Menomonee Falls, WI based sandwich shop with 95 locations in Wisconsin. Their back-office management system needed an overhaul to improve inventory management and reporting. Cousins Subs pride themselves on using local and regional suppliers, which means that vendor and inventory management can get complicated.
Chicago Scoops
Kyle Welch is a proud partner and president of Chicago Scoops LLC. The franchise group started in May 2014 as a single unit operation and has grown rapidly over the past 4 years. They now own and operate 40 Cold Stone Creamery© locations across 11 states. Multiple suppliers, labor laws and regional offerings pose a challenge to any growing multi-state organization. Data Central by Restaurant Magic was more than up to the task
Melting Pot and GrillSmith Restaurants
Wisconsin Hospitality Group
The Wisconsin Hospitality Group (WHG) owns and operates 41 Applebee's restaurants and 83 Pizza Huts, for a total of 124 establishments. Its sales have grown to the point where it is now the largest food service franchise company in Wisconsin. The company is driven by two main principles: People and Profit. From this they derive their corporate slogan, "Have Fun, Make Money!". Although WHG is a multi-unit, multi-chain owner / operator, its IT department works across both brands. As the company and its restaurants grew, they found their growth outpacing the ability of IT's vendor-supplied software applications to provide financial and operational data in a timely manner while simplifying the process of reporting across the board.
Als Pizza
In 1988, Al Mansure opened his first restaurant in Jacksonville, Florida, operating under the name Al's Pizza. His mission was to offer innovative dining fare featuring quality ingredients served in an environment and setting more akin to a local café or bistro than the typical pizza palace. Today, the company has grown to six restaurants, over 300 employees and is developing plans to franchise. Recognizing that franchising is a significant step in the company's growth, Mansure hired his brother-in-law, Bill Kratsas, a former McDonald's franchisee, to come on board, build the brand and work to improve the effectiveness and efficiency of their operations.


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Officials urging people to vote on Election Day after low early voter turn out
AMARILLO, Texas (KVII) —
Based off of the numbers given by election officials, Potter and Randall counties combined have a little over 140,000 registered voters. But why is the actual early-voter turn out so low? That's the question ABC 7 asked residents today.
"A lot of people just feel like they're not really going to make a difference, especially [when] they don't feel like they're being very well represented by their senators," Texas resident, Skylar Younger said.
"I didn't really see many signs or advertisement for early voting," Texas resident Blanca Mendez-Harper said.
Shannon Lakey, Randall County's Election Administrator says a big factor is that this isn't a presidential election.
"Voters typically turn out in higher numbers to vote for people," Lakey said. "We haven't had numbers this low since 2011."
Campaigning also might play a role.
"There's very little campaigning going on locally, for or against measures," Lakey said.
And Lakey says often times, people just don't know what's going on.
"I've had several voters come in that say, 'What are we even voting on?'," Lakey said.
"In these off-year elections, we have constitutional amendments from the state of Texas, and then typically some other propositions might be thrown on it," Potter County Elections Office Administrator, Melynn Huntley said.
But both the Potter and Randall County elections offices are hoping new voting equipment will bring out a bigger crowd during the regular election.
"The big difference is reliability, also in the way that the voter checks in," Huntley said. "There's just a lot of features that make you feel very independent and very secret and safe when you're casting your ballot."
Early voting may not have gone how officials hoped, but there's still time.
"You're never going to know until you actually get out there and participate, and that's very important," Mendez-Harper said.


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Crossed repertoires
Beatitudes (Middle-Age/contemporary)
chant from 12th and 21th c. polyphonies
Chant, monodies and polyphonies of the 12th century (Notre-Dame and St.-Martial schools) lead easily to Dominique Vellard's pieces dedicated to the two singers, strongly inspired by middle-ages technics of composition and world oral repertoires… Full presentation
Lux eterna (Renaissance/contemporary)
Requiem by Dominique Vellard
This program – created the 30th of september 2012 in Valère-Sion, Swiss – is centred on Vellard's Requiem and completed by Spanish Renaissance polyphonies for the Holly week. LET THE ETERNAL LIGHT ENLIGHTEN THEM… Full presentation
Le cantique des cantiques (Baroque/contemporary)
In the direct line of persian poetry, attributed to king Salomon, this book has been included in the Bible though previously rejected because of its profane and sensual character. The jewish tradition and then the christian one have wanted to see there a symbolic avowal of the love between God and his people, between Christ and his Church… Full presentation
Sacred songs of Islam and of medievel christendom / with Noureddine Tahiri, Sofia Labropoulou & Dominique Vellard
Gregorian chants, devotional chants of the Middle Ages, Sufi chants, and chants of the Arabo-Andalusien repertoire
This concert is a presentation of the dialogue which can take place when two cultures and two musical traditions are brought together. In this encounter the fundamental elements which lend chant its universality are gradually revealed to us – in the interplay of sonorities and timbres; in the colours of the vowels which are lengthened in the melismas; in the joy of virtuosity and in purity of text; and in the delicate balance between medium and message… Full presentation


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"Good things come to those who bake" Bake sale is one of the most common fundraising movements of every organization. As people loves to eat tasty, sweet foods, we organized …
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By Fredrik Dahl
VIENNA (Reuters) - Talks on ridding the Middle East of nuclear weapons looked in doubt on Tuesday as the Western official organizing them said he had yet to secure the needed attendance of all countries in the region.
The statement by Finnish diplomat Jaakko Laajava at a meeting in Vienna was a sign of the difficulties involved in getting Israel, its arch foe Iran and other Middle East nations to sit around a table this year to discuss the divisive issue.
Laajava, whose appointment was announced by the United Nations last October, did not say which countries were still leaving their attendance unclear, but both Iran and Israel are believed to be among them.
Underlining the deep divisions on the issue of weapons of mass destruction, Iran and Arab states used the Vienna meeting on the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) to repeat their criticism of Israel over its assumed atomic arsenal.
Egypt, which originally proposed talks on creating a nuclear arms-free Middle East, said such a conference would represent a crossroads for Arab states and warned that "its failure would invite them to revise" their nuclear policies.
It did not elaborate, but the wording may be interpreted as a veiled warning regarding Arab states' commitment to the NPT, a pact designed to prevent the spread of atomic arms.
Israel is not a member of the voluntary 1970 pact so was not represented in Vienna but the United States warned that "continued efforts to single out Israel ... will make a (Middle East) conference increasingly less likely".
Egypt's plan for an international meeting in 2012 to lay the groundwork for the possible creation of a Middle East free of weapons of mass destruction was agreed at an NPT review conference two years ago.
In his first public briefing on the issue since he took up the job, Laajava told delegates in Vienna he had held a series of meetings with regional states and they shared the goal of establishing such a zone, but they differed on how to do so.
"Unfortunately, while much has de facto been already achieved in these consultations in terms of identifying common ground, I cannot yet report that the conference will be attended by all states of the region," he said.
Laajava said Finland was prepared to host the meeting any time during 2012, suggesting December was a possibility.
Iran and Arab states see Israel's assumed atomic arsenal as a major threat to peace and stability in the Middle East.
Israel - widely believed to be the only regional state with such arms and the only one outside the NPT - and the United States regard Iran as the region's main proliferation threat, accusing Tehran of seeking to develop such weapons.
The Jewish state has said it would sign the NPT and renounce nuclear weapons only as part of a broader Middle East peace deal with Arab states and Iran that guaranteed its security.
Israel does not rule out taking part in the planned conference, Foreign Ministry spokesman Yigal Palmor said last week, but added it was "awaiting clarification on some issues".
Thomas Countryman, U.S. assistant secretary for international security and non-proliferation, told the meeting in Vienna that a Middle East free of weapons of mass destruction was an achievable, but long-term, goal.
However "a comprehensive and durable peace and full compliance by all countries in the region with their non-proliferation obligations" was needed for this to happen, he said.
Mark Fitzpatrick, a director of the International Institute for Strategic Studies think-tank, said the rationale for creating a zone in the Middle East free of nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction was stronger than ever.
It could "be an answer to the Iranian nuclear crisis that threatens to spark regional proliferation and engulf the Middle East in another war" and "remove the sense of double standards over Israel's nuclear program", Fitzpatrick said in a report.
(Additional reporting by Dan Williams in Jerusalem; Editing by Alison Williams and Pravin Char)


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feast collection :: quite beautiful
november 16 - 21 2015
the idea is so simple it may blow my mind. what if i notice the beauty of the world around me, the beauty of my own life, of the great mother, of the skies and the food i eat and the way my children laugh. what if i notice that, in fact, everything is quite beautiful. and then, if everything is beautiful. i may be as well.
Poem of the One World
This morning
the beautiful white heron
was floating along above the water
and then into the sky of this
the one world
we all belong to
where everything
sooner or later
is part of everything else
which thought made me feel
for a little while
quite beautiful myself.
- mary oliver
i invite you to join me this november for a six day experience - a mini-exploration of a life of feast quite beautiful. a feast of right balance and resonant proportions. a life of savoring, and reflecting, and enjoying, and creating. i am going to spend the week treating myself to simple food and drink that feel like home, making space for a little bit of meditation and reflection each day, indulging in soulful inspiration and playing with creative spark all around this one little theory - the world is beautiful, my life is beautiful. perhaps it all is beautiful. perhaps i am a part of it all. quite beautiful. that the sky is such, that my soup pot is such, that my family is such, that i am such — all the beautiful of the world.
because here we are - entering the season of gratitude. in new england we are somewhat prepared for it as the great mother herself has painted the trees in bold reds and yellows, blued the sky beyond our imagining and swept it with tufted white clouds so that we can barely stand the beauty surrounding us anymore. november comes and we know that soon we will spiral deeper within - the longer darker days asking us to look towards our own hearts for the brightest of light. but we gaze softly around us first. we celebrate the wild abandon grace of the summer and surprisingly deep golds off the fall. we nod our heads in some kind of yes. we reach out to take hands with our family and friends, or we sit down to share a meal, or we bake pies together and sip wine late into the night - perhaps by a fire.
maybe it is colder and you have to remember to wrap yourself in a scarf. maybe you are a little off put by the approaching darkness and long days of snow. maybe…but you feel equally that you are meant to sweetly celebrate. to celebrate at something about this moment, this meal, this hot cup of tea, this life. it isn't grand it is simple - but the simpleness of it makes it grand. because it is yours.
…where everything
sooner or later
is part of everything else
which thought made me feel
for a little while
quite beautiful myself.
and isn't that how it goes. when we take stock. when we look at all the simple and complex beauty we have gathered, stitched, woven together to make our life. when we absorb the season and indulge in a little extra something and take a moment to tell our sister we love her - don't we notice the beauty and then indeed feel for a moment at least that in all that is beautiful we are too. that we may be - if it all is - quite beautiful.
me, i love mashed potatoes with butter. and so, may i love myself.
i want to consciously notice and gather the nuggets of all that is gold in my life, string them into my own special mala, and sweet sacred revel in their being. that i may say thank you to all that is. and perhaps even a small thank you to my self.
i want to dive into what is with a heart eager to explore and a practice of noticing all the amazing around me and within me. i am calling you - the seekers, explorers, lifestyle creators, heart miners and shape shifters to come play with me. if you are diving deep into your sacred life. if you are an artist, a maker, a writer, a discoverer, a path walker, a weaver of life, i would love you by my side as i make a week of it. a week of beautiful.
{a life of feast is always seasonal. in tune with the spinning of the earth and the way the great mother whispers to me. i live in new england so this shapes my way of living, preparing, cooking, and creating. feast collection :: quite beautiful will be a late fall flavored experience.}
if you chose to join in it will look like this:
- daily heart missile writing and soul fired words served on our private homespace - guiding you towards your own practice of reflection and creation.
"Robin, your words are SO inspiring to me... I feel like I need to just read them and read them and read them again until they saturate all the hiding places in my body... thank you." Pamela M.
- three live Spreecast times for checking in and hashing out.
- simple recipes & culinary inspiration.
- recorded meditation & movement offerings.
- a dash of the unexpected and possibly profound. we just don't know.
- a love note.
so, a week of intention together. a little this, a little that, all in the name of your life, your treasures, you. quite beautiful.
this is not an ecourse. this is my current form effort of holding space for a shared life shaping experience. i will not be presenting things for you to learn but allowing whatever truths i have access to to pour through me. the outline of what will be included is set, as described above, but in my experience from similar offerings this week will come through as what is most needed for all of us involved. we will receive, we will create, we will discover, we will unearth, we will tuck in, we will evolve, we will elevate, we will crumble, we will shed, we will restore, we will build we will do what needs doing and rest what needs resting.
anything goes. and this soul deep life. it is what is calling for you. it is what you deserve. if you find your self interested don't hesitate. dive into what is yours. it is quite beautiful.
"The way each day was set up, at least as I chose to experience it was also great for me. I started the day with the reading, and then looked forward to the spreecast as a way of hearing everyone's thoughts/processing and then had the other outlets as points of contact throughout the day. In many ways it was better than a real life retreat because it lifted out the most essential parts and then left room for everyone to experience that in the midst of their daily lives. I actually really loved that format..." -River
something like faq's:
what is expected of me?
the quite beautiful week is my newest baby. a little offering i am crafting up to help us all come into a more balanced state of being this november. as i was trying to create the "sales page" (what a terrible name) i wrote a bunch of super awesome stuff about beauty and inspiration. and i can see how you might still walk away from reading it like, "that is nice...but what is actually going on?"
so, for that week the number one most biggest thing i am offering you is me. i will be channeling, creating, letting it all flow through in some kind of spicy fire heart warming soul sifting writing each day. all just for you. and i will be showing up on Spreecast for some live time. Spreecast is half insanity half fun because it allows me to be on live video feed (though possibly wearing pajama bottoms) and you can watch live and type comments in for me to respond to. all Spreecasts are also recorded so you can access them later if the live schedule isn't your thing.
but what is expected of you?
that is really up to you. in theory i will ask you to hunker down with the writing each day and use it to spark your own process. maybe that means journaling, or poetry, or painting, or just allowing space for your internal layers to shift. i will also be inviting you to join in the simple act of preparing food and drinks with love and adoration that feels good to you. i will be providing some recorded meditations and chanting that i will invite you try out to see if it is something you like. i will invite you play around with movement the littlest bit each day just to see what your body wants you to know. we will have private space on Facebook (and through the Spreecasts) to allow this to be a shared experience. or, if you want to stay on the quieter side that is totally up to you. and, as with anything i offer i will be there for you. fully, completely, wide open, i will take your call or reply to your text or otherwise hold your hand a little bit if it needs holding. because that is how i roll.
i am going to keep showing up here trying to figure out and explain what the fuck i am up to. please please, let me know if you have any questions.
love to you all,
today i was talking to someone about her experience in Resonant Graffiti with UmberDove and i this september, and we compared it to the difference between chanting by yourself and chanting with a room full of people. holy wow does that amplify things.
it is hard for me to exactly explain what my novemeber offering, feast collection :: quite beautiful, is because i haven't seen the model out there. what it is - me holding significant space for some transformation in the nameof connecting you more fully and completely with your own beautiful self and beautiful life. not just some transformation but potentially life altering, small group, shared resonance, amazing, gut wrenching, light bringing changing. the kind you may recover from in the soft light of the dawn.
all that in the tender wrapping of my heart, with the comfort of food, and drink, and meditation, and movement intuitively designed to support you and light you up.
feast is about you feasting on your life, feasting on your self, becoming a site of feast. and quite beautiful is about this particular time of year...when we are positioned just so to dive into gratitude. i want to weave them together into a week long experience of you coming more completely into you. and me coming more completely into me. and us doing this together because that is powerful stuff.
so there...day one of me trying to explain what the fuck i am doing in the world. and why you might want to come play with me.
any questions i am dying to answer them. let's excavate together.
xo, robin


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Marks & Spencer is bringing catwalk looks to style-loving women of all ages – and making it wearable. Stephanie Smith picks out key pieces.
Spotting the next M&S It piece is becoming a national sport almost as entertaining as moaning about its fashion or joining the crush to grab at least one £10 meal deal before all the best mains and half-decent plonk have run out.
Fortunately, last week's London launch of Marks & Spencer's spring/summer '16 collections provided plenty of possibilities for declaring "It piece", especially if you like olive green leather, offering a V-neck tunic dress at £299 and a perhaps more wearable and rather chic wrap-style leather skirt with D-ring buckle, for £199. I had to touch them, of course, and can confirm that this is not just leather, this is beautifully soft and supple M&S leather, so these pieces will feel wonderful on (because no one wants to sit down in stiff, thick leather, no matter how stunning the skirt in question).
The tunic and skirt were part of a theme that M&S is calling Modern Utility, which features a clean but sculpted silhouette – witness the white blouse with sleeves that gently flare, kimono-style, out to the wrist – and pared-back detailing in luxe, tactile textures and an earthy palette of chestnut and warm khaki, with creamy white and flashes of ochre. In all honesty, it's perfect, offering statement looks and key pieces with the all-important wearability factor. A £299 brown suede Autograph edge-to-edge coat reminds of Alexa Chung's '70s-style suede It piece skirt, but I've got my eye on that olive leather D-ring skirt, and also a sheeny ivory wrap M&S Collection skirt. I'll have to wait until May, however.
Other themes coming in to tempt the picky M&S shopper next spring include In the Fold, a sleek, contemporary, tailored look in a palette of cool neutrals with a touch of metallic shine; Soft Focus, blush and cream tones in lace, mesh and soft, wafty fabrics; Retro Remix, with stripes and chevrons in luxe jacquards, chiffons and sheen, and Luxe Traveller, with a '70s-style maxi in red and a tiered skirt in a stunning teal, pale orange and black floral pattern (another It Piece?).
By keeping it simple, Marks & Spencer seems pinning its hopes on quality and elegance to halt the decline of its clothing sales and win back the M&S fashion shopper, following another fall in sales reported earlier this month.
The trends follow from the catwalks, with luxe Seventies, soft pink and white mesh, suede, sheeny fabrics and Spanish-inspired styles all represented, but it's thoughtfully done, a considered edit, appealing to the style-conscious woman who is looking for pieces that look expensive, in quality fabrics with subtle design detail, in beautifully crafted shapes that she can actually wear. There's nothing to frighten even the most traditional M&S customer here (see how wearable those espadrille pumps are), but there is much that should attract the attention of women of all ages who are looking for key pieces that offer far more in terms of style, design, detail and quality than you can find from much of the High Street, certainly for the price.
With this collection, M&S shows that it is possible to tread that tricky line between "too young and fashionable" and "too old and fuddy-duddy". Provided it can follow through by showing the fashion shopper in store how to find the pieces easily and style the looks for herself, this is a range that deserves to do very well indeed.