text:
"God Bless, and Save America"
Soldier Letters During WW II
The Voice of G I Joe expressed to Canteen Volunteers around the United States
By Scott D. Trostel
© Copyright 2005, 2006 Scott D. Trostel
For additional information read the books: LIMA'S OPERATION KINDNESS, or
Those books include many letters from appreciate soldiers.
Redirect me to the railroad canteen web site by clicking here
Soldier Letters During WWII depicts a country's devotion to their GIs and the men's affection for the home front gestures in support of them. After soldiers passed through the Canteens many wrote letters, notes or cards expressing their grateful appreciation. Some wrote to, "The Canteen Ladies." Others obtained personal addresses of individual Canteen volunteers and wrote to them directly at home. Some of the ladies, in addition to their Canteen duties made a point of corresponding with the soldiers. Cards were exchanged at Easter, Christmas and other significant times. Soldiers sent photos of themselves and some continued the friendship for years afterwards. Letters have survived as witness to the sincere gratitude and appreciation of the soldiers for a sandwich, a cup of coffee or milk and a dessert on the station platform during those years of adversity.
Private Thomas French
Scott Field, Illinois
It is things like your Canteen and the hospitable attitude that surely inspires boys and makes them realize that those are the things we are fighting to protect and to preserve, this wonderful land of the free.
* * * *
Private John L. Cook
Jefferson Barracks, Missouri
Your Canteen service was greatly appreciated by all of us soldiers going and coming from furloughs. It certainly meant a great deal to have a place like that to get substantial sandwiches and cookies with coffee, all given in such a friendly spirit.
Such things help me to feel more confident and sure of myself as a soldier. One feels that the people are really behind the soldiers in every way. I only hope to prove myself worthy of such faith.
* * * *
Coming from overseas.
Dear Ladies:
I enjoyed your hospitality very much! Everything was delicious and I thank you all for your generosity. It would make [me] and my buddies a great deal happier if we had a free canteen service in town.
Wishing you all the best of luck and success in your wonderful job.
I remain sincerely yours,
Pfc Joseph R. Maynard
* * * *
One of the best letters came pouring out from Private Leland Dowken at Camp Claibourne, Texas in his four page had written letter dated December 21, 1943.
My Dear Friends in Bellefontaine.
I am just a private here in Claiborne but several weeks ago, Dec. 5 to be exact I wan on furlough and I had to wait several hours for the train which took me on up to Michigan. When I got off the train in Bellefontaine, naturally the first place I looked for was a place to get something to eat and I stopped in at the canteen.
When I walked in I supposed I was going into a restaurant but I got a big surprise. When I got inside the first thing that met my eyes was one of the biggest displays of food I have ever seen and two of the friendliest ladies I have ever met.
They told me to eat anything I wanted and they told me to eat all I wanted but there were so many different things to eat that I didn't know what to eat first so I just ask for a cup of coffee and stood and drank the coffee and wondered what to eat first. Finally I decided to eat a sandwich and it was so delicious that I ended up eating three of them.
About that time a train pulled in and the ladies told me I better grab what I wanted to eat and get behind the counter because they said there would be a lot of soldiers come through the canteen after food. They were right.
As soon as the train stopped a whole bunch of soldiers came through the canteen and the ladies were so busy feeding them that I grabbed a pot of coffee and started serving the soldiers too. It was fun helping serve those soldiers and I really enjoyed it. As soon as those soldiers were gone the ladies started setting out food for the next bunch of soldiers.
I stood and talked with those ladies until it was nearly time for me to catch the train to go on up to Michigan. Besides giving me food they also gave me a little bible which I shall treasure as long as I live.
I didn't come through Bellefontaine when I came back to camp. I had a little different route which took me through Fostoria and Lima but I can promise you that when I come home again I am coming through Bellefontaine and I will be sure and stop at the Canteen. I want to thank every one of you for the friendliness you showed me when I was in Ohio, the people all treated me nice. When the war is over with and victory is won, I want to get better acquainted with the people of Ohio.
In closing I wish to say that I would be glad to hear from some of you and if you put this letter in the newspaper I would sure be glad if someone would send me a copy of that newspaper.
Not only the people in the women's auxiliary but I wish everyone in Bellefontaine the Merriest Christmas you ever had and the happiest kind of New Year.
Yours Truly
Pvt. Leland Dowken
* * * *
The war was over by the time the next letter was written.
Dear Ladies:
I want to drop this little note of thanks to you for the wonderful lift you folks gave us in your town. You see we were all a bunch of green rookies, heading for God knows where, and we were all feeling pretty blue. Every click of the wheels of the Twentieth Century Limited were carrying us further and further from home. For many of us, the prospect of the first Sunday away from home in our lives was ahead of us. We were all New Englanders and the fields of Ohio looked mighty bleak to us. Then, the train pulled into Bellefontaine and the conductor told us we could get off and go to the canteen. Those sandwiches, that coffee and milk, those tomatoes and those home-made donuts sure hit the spot. But the best of all was the smiles you ladies bestowed upon us. They seemed to make us feel we were welcome and that somebody did care for us. All too soon, the train was speeding across the fields again and the little pause was only a happy memory. Believe it or not, that brief stop made us feel better for the rest of the trip.
From one G. I., thanks million.
Yours Sincerely,
Private Everett Besse
* * * *
One soldier wrote interesting poetry about his experiences at the Canteen.
A Canteen Free To Service Men And Women
I came on a Sunday, looked up at a sign that said "Canteen Free",
Laughed to myself, said, "that's not for me".
There' s a catch to it some place or another,
The only things free come from a wife or a mother.
Walked around It once or twice,
Looking and thinking, "looks sort of nice".
But where's the catch? Things like this can't be,
Not where everything is free.
Just think of it, something for nothing;
I only had three cents and a button.
Not very much, to myself, I said,
That sign just couldn't ring true in my head.
Then the door swung open and out walked a smile,
With cake in his hand and a smile stretched a mile.
He was choking and chewing and munching in anguish;
Cake in one hand and in the other a sandwich.
Had a dreamy look in his eyes, sort of lost,
I stepped up and asked, "how much did it cost"?
His mouth so full he couldn't speak,
If I'd waited for him to clear it, I'd have been there a week.
I walked around the place once more,
A little faster than before.
With a spurt of courage, vigor and vim,
Walked to the door, and took two steps in.
"Help yourself", some one said, "the plate is over there",
But I couldn't move, all I could do was stand and stare.
Four ladles, kind and sweet,
Completely surrounded by good things to eat.
Couldn't quite believe my eyes,
Blushed when they noticed my surprise.
"I'll have some pie", I managed to choke,
"Help yourself", smiled one, "your arm's not broke".
"Have another piece of cake or pie",
My morale jumped fourteen feet high.
Cakes and sandwiches from door to door,
Who could ask for more?
"Help yourself, help yourself", was all I could hear,
'Till I was full clear up to here.
Four gray haired ladies dressed In white,
Helping their country, with all their might.
Sailor, Soldier or Marine,
Was more than welcome in this Canteen.
To eat and drink, and all of it free,
For a sailor, a Marine, and even me.
"Goodbye" they laughed, drop us a line,
Then at last, I found the voice that was mine.
"This is swell" I said, "I'm just, a heel,"
But couldn't believe this place was real.
But I see it is now, and even more,
I can see what we are fighting for.
Boarded the train with a heart feeling gay,
Looked back In the distance as the town passed away.
What's the name of that town?, A girl behind me asked,
"I mean that small one we just passed". "Small, I said," do you realize,
The light of freedom shines in their eyes?
Never a service man passes through there,
And comes away with as much as a care.
Little; not that place,
It's as big as this world, and as endless as space.
A symbol of our people, the Flag that we wave,
The land of the free, the home of the brave.
Next time you pass, stop and breath the air,
The breath of freedom comes from near there.
Never doubt, and manage a smile,
I'll never forget it, Bellefontaine, Ohio.
I came on a Sunday to your Canteen.
A Red Head
* * * *
With the next letter a soldier had left a young wife who was expecting their first child in order to defend liberty and put himself in harm's way. It was written from his home at Adams Center, New York, November 4, 1942. The letter tells his story.
Dear Friends:
I'm writing this short letter in thanks for what your Canteen service has done for this soldier.
I had been traveling for one night and a day, when the train stopped at Bellefontaine, Ohio. I got off to stretch my legs and came into your Canteen. You gave me sandwiches and coffee. I really had money to buy my own meals but haven't eaten because I was worrying about things at home so much I had lost my appetite.
I was on my way home on an emergency furlough, to see my wife, she was in the hospital recovering from giving birth to a baby girl. She was really doing fine but I worried as the baby didn't come through and I was afraid for my wife.
Your cheerful conversation really sent me on my way in really a different frame of mind.
Again I thank you.
S/Sgt. Donald E. Burdick
* * * *
The Merchant Marines even stopped as evidence of the next letter, written January 28, 1943.
"The Railway Veterans"
I know you do not know me personally and I don't think you can recognize me as we of the Merchant Marines are very seldom known are spoke of as this service was just recently sprung up since the war began.
I will say that before this war is over with we not only will be known as the Merchant Marines but as the fighting Merchant Marines.
I'm home on a leave and on my way home we that is all the service men [hear we] can get free lunch at the Railway Veterans.
I didn't have much money with me at the time and I was hungry. To me those sandwiches, coffee, cakes and apples was a meal I enjoyed very much. It makes me proud and also glad to know we in the service are remembered and thought of. It gives me great courage and [makes me] more determined to fight our enemy when I think you folks back home did all in your power to make us feel at home when we come to the Railway Veterans to eat.
I don't know how to thank you women for being so nice to me while I ate there Sunday but I will show my appreciation by fighting back the enemy with everything I got in me.
To the women of the Railway Veterans and other women who service us in other free canteen services that give up their time to serve us men, I salute you all for being so nice to me.
Keep up the good work and keep us fighting till victory is won. Again I salute you women.
Anthony Anzalone
Just a Sailor
* * * *
From Camp Atterbury, Indiana comes a letter from a soldier whose wife was expecting their first child. It was written from Camp on Easter Sunday, April 25, 1943.
To the Sweetest People I Know:
I'm writing this letter to show my appreciation for the wonderful treatment that has been bestowed upon the soldiers, sailors and marines that have been so graciously treated by the No. 3 Auxiliary of the Railway Veterans.
One day as I passed through the "Free Canteen Service," I was asked to write and state where I am and how I liked it. Well, I'm in Camp Atterbury, Indiana, and in the Field Artillery. I like it alright, but as everyone can truthfully say, there is no place like home.
The main reason of this letter is to thank each and every one of you for going through the trouble of making the boys in the service of the U.S.A. right at home.
I feel very safe to say that I for one, am happy to see that the people on the outside, or home front are really behind us. That's the kind of spirit that boosts the morale of many of us. I am only one in several million, but I know that most of us have a sunny future ahead of us.
I have stopped at the Service Men's Canteen several times and I certainly enjoyed the wonderful food that was given to us. I figure that I owe you folks a letter, so I had to write.
I am a married man, and my wife and I are expecting our baby in July. Why I'm telling you all about myself, is beyond me, it may not interest you.
I really have a lot to fight for, and I'll back myself when I say that I'm going to do my best to make it hot for our enemies. They took me away from a wonderful life, I had everything I needed and cared for, but it was too good to be true. So Mr. Hitler and his associates will pay, and the sooner it is, the better I'll feel.
I'm not much of a letter writer, but I know enough to write a letter of thanks when the occasion calls for it.
I hope you understand this letter, it is nothing to brag about, so excuse the scribbling etc.
Army life is full of incredible boredom, but it has its high points, such as the thrill of fighting for your loved ones, knowing that after victory for us, things will again be as they once were.
Once again I'll express my gratitude to you all, and I sincerely hope that I be with you again soon,
Yours Truly,
A Serviceman
* * * *
From Headquarters IV Corps, Office of the Corps Chaplain at Leesville, Louisiana came a letter dated September 23, 1942.
I know this will come as a surprise to No #3 Auxiliary of the Railway Veterans, which treated us soldiers on our way home for furlough last August.
I was one of those that was fortunate enough to taste your kindness of sandwiches, coffee, milk, cookies and what not, when the train I was on made a stop at Bellefontaine, in order to have soldiers enjoy the free canteen service that was stationed there at the time.
You'll never know, what you did for us in Bellefontaine, what it meant to us, as we soldiers are more or less under the impression that civilians are pushing us around quite a bit, it's true in some part of the country, but, you certainly made us feel otherwise with your kindness and sweets that greeted us in Bellefontaine. The women in attendance were all kind and very charming, their food, PERFECT !!!! What you did that day in Bellefontaine stayed with me, including all other soldiers on the train at the time, once the train pulled out, you should have been around to hear the compliments they were dishing out in favor of No #3 Auxiliary of the Railway Veterans . . . . myself, I just sat in my seat and couldn't get over such thoughtfulness, I said a silent prayer for all concerned and wished the rest of the world were as kind as the ones I had the pleasure to come in contact with at Bellefontaine.
I meant to write sooner to thank you for it all, but, since I came back in Camp from furlough, I have been very busy, and as it is now, we're out in the woods of Louisiana for a two month's maneuvers, which will most likely end in Europe . . . . as far as I'm concerned, the sooner the better, somebody has to finish what the Japs started and it's up to guys like me to do it, and see, that we make this land of America, of freedom and liberty, a safe and decent place for deceit people like the ones I met at Bellefontaine to live in . . . . so when I do get across the ocean, my thoughts will come back to Bellefontaine, and when I really get hungry, I'll think of all those sweets that we were fed there once.
Once more, thanks a million to every one concerned, a kind thought from you people wouldn't hurt me I'm sure, and hoping to come back again in this beautiful country, and on my way back home, if ever, I 'II take a look at Bellefontaine and think of it's decent people . . . . in the meantime, let's hope for a quick victory, and three cheers for No #3 Auxiliary of the Railway Veterans of Bellefontaine,
With kindest regards to all concerned, I am,
Sgt. Roger G. Bellemare
* * * *
To the Junior Canteen Girls, January 1945.
"Good Morning:
In the not to distant past a troop train passed through your small but swell town. I am not at liberty to say when or where we came or to where we went. I believe that our intentions are apparently obvious. I do not doubt that most of us will never see that town again but then we still owe you an obligation that can be only partially paid for in words. The intentions can never be rewarded although I know that the physical effort was fully compensated for by the smiles and the thank you's of each and every one of us.
"To us you are a symbol of all the other girls and women who will be waiting for all the boys that do come back. We know that when you give a soldier food, cigarettes and magazines you do it because you feel you are each helping out that certain fellow you are waiting for. Unfortunately he cannot thank you so that leaves the job up to the rest of us who may be able to find a little time to do so.
"Do not forget that we like above anything else to hear from you, and you, and you. Write often as you can and as much as you can and we will do our best to keep up our end despite other pressing business.
"Sincerely Dick Bowers"
* * * *
To the Junior Canteen Girls, January 1945.
March 5, 1945
Somewhere in Germany
My Dear Young Ladies:
Late last Christmas Eve, a troop train rumbled across the U.S. enroute from Texas to a P.O.E. The men were in their bunks but most of them were awake thinking of their loved ones and the Christmas Eves of years gone by. Being away that far from home on this particular night was pretty rough and the men's spirits were naturally very low. On top of it all, they had been traveling across the nation that whole day and no one had so much as wished them a 'Merry Christmas.'
Then an event happened that none of the men will ever forget. The train rolled into a town and baskets of neatly wrapped gifts were brought on board. The shout of "Merry Christmas" was heard in the still night. This event made all the men feel pretty good. They knew then that someone appreciated what they were doing.
You girls caused those men to fall asleep happy. For this we thank you with all our hearts. That welcome you gave us was a grand thing. Your gifts carried sentiment that was worth more than all the money in the world. Thanks again and may God bless all of you.
Gratefully yours,
Edward J. Krenek
Co. B 661 T. D. Bn. (Tank Destroyer Battalion)
c/o PM, New York, N.Y.
* * * *
To the Marion, Ohio Canteen Ladies
"Yours sincerely,
Roy Will Douthitt
* * * *
At Springfield, Ohio the railroad women operated a canteen.
To the canteen at Dennison, Ohio
A letter came from Rose Rayl of Kokomo, Ind., who had five sons in the service:
© Copyright 2005, 2006 Scott D. Trostel
All rights reserved. No part of this web site may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, photocopying, or recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission.


text:
New York City
This setting in the novel is the hometown of Mark, Trina, the Toad, Misty, and Darnell.
The Lincoln Building
This setting is where Alec takes Mark and several others for safety following the sun flares. They reside in this setting for several months before setting our for a safer refuge.
Appalachian Mountains
It is in this region where Mark, Alec, Lana, and the others create a settlement and live for some time following the sun flares.
This city is referred to as the "last safe haven in the East" and is charged upon by Bruce and his minions as they attempt to overthrow those in charge of their mission.
One of the few areas of the world relatively unscathed by the sun flares, this setting serves as the headquarters for the Post-Flares Coalition.
This term in the novel refers to a massive...
This section contains 265 words
(approx. 1 page at 300 words per page)

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Darkest Eye Productions Presents
My mama was the prettiest woman I've ever met. Her teeth were perfect, and her eyes were so bright you could see your own face smiling back at you. Her voice was kind of squeaky like a cartoon mouse, if you can imagine what I mean. She was petite and shapely too. The whole enchilada my daddy often called her. The only problem he said was that she and every other man in the world thought so too. Maybe that was true. At any rate, compared to Mama, Daddy was average which wasn't bad. He just wasn't so special. He rarely smiled. When he talked it was mostly to complain. Overall, his disposition was lousy. Still, he was my daddy. I figured he was cranky a lot because he was tired. He worked quite a bit of overtime to give Mama the fine things she was used to and send us kids to better schools than he'd had growing up. He'd say all that and look right at her until she met his eyes. Mama didn't hold down a job outside of the home, but from her eyes sometimes I could tell she was tired in a different way. Tired of Daddy.
I was eight the first time I heard Daddy tell Mama he was going to kill her the next time she came home drunk from a party wearing no underwear. He said, he'd choke the life right out of her with his bare hands. Mama never came home drunk again. And I supposed, she kept her underwear on too. So when Daddy killed her, I knew her being a slattern was not the reason. The real reason I will never know, I suppose. Daddy wouldn't talk about that afternoon with any of us. Us being my brother and me. Our baby sister Joann was a month old baby when Mama died. As far as she's concerned Aunt Reba is her mother and the past has very little to do with her. Unfortunately, JT and I don't have the luxury of choosing to ignore Daddy killed Mama. Or that Daddy had been in prison for every year of her fifteen years on this planet.
In January, he got out on parole. I didn't know how to feel about it. Most likely, neither did JT. I mean, Mama is gone forever and he is the reason for it. But he got his life back. Didn't even look forty nine if you ask me. Forty something but not almost fifty. Seems to me killing your high school sweetheart should have more effect on a person's appearance.
When I went to see Daddy (which wasn't often) we didn't speak much at all. I thought he was sorry to us for what he did to Mama, but somehow I didn't think he really regretted what he did, though. For years, he declared he'd do it, and I knew one day he would. Except for that time when I was eight, I don't think Mama truly believed he'd ever harm her. I think that's an affliction of the beautiful people. Beauty allows them to get away with transgressions for a much longer time than the rest of us. So much more that they become over confident and can't recognize it when the complexion of the dynamics between themselves and their suckers change. Yeah, Daddy had been a sucker for Mama, and she played him every chance she got. She played with fire too long and burned Daddy so bad he had to kill her. Not that he had the right to hurt her. And he certainly didn't have the right to not explain himself to JT and me. He was not sparing us anguish by not telling us what happened that Halloween. I don't believe he cared enough to understand how much JT and I need to know why and how a man can kill the mother of his children with the children just right across the hall from his locked bedroom. He's a selfish man, I know that much from hearing Mama saying it almost every time they argued. Maybe that is why she couldn't love him. I suppose, she did love him once. Before they married they were real sweethearts according to my aunt Cheryl. By the time I was eight, it was hard to imagine the two of them even kissing. Oh, I recall hearing the bed squeaking on a regular basis, though.
Until Daddy killed Mama, the violence in our home was pretty much nonexistent unless you counted pushed around furniture and threats. So on the afternoon in question, no one was prepared for the events leading up to Mama lying on the floor, wrapped in her brand new peignoir`. Her short, shapely legs wore sheer red thigh high stockings. Her strawberry hair still swept up and tidy made her a beautiful corpse. Not a visible mark on her. She looked like a woman who lay on the floor to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon.
"Why did you do it?" I recall JT begging him over and over as the detectives yanked Daddy up from the kitchen table and led him out of our house and deposited him like a bag of garbage in the back of a police cruiser. Daddy left that night and we didn't see him again until after he was convicted of manslaughter two years later. I think Grandma forced him to see us to tell us goodbye.
This time at the jail I asked him why he did it. He looked me and my brother right in the eye and said, "I told her I would." Grandma burst into tears and sobbed clenching the hem of her skirt so tightly I thought she was trying to tear it apart. At some point, Grandpa finally came into the visiting room and grabbed his wife by her shoulders and lifted her little body from the chair and led her out of the room. JT and I sat there across from Daddy waiting for him to talk or beg for our forgiveness. He said, "You kids better go try to catch your Grandma and Grandpa."
"Daddy-" JT took hold of my fingers giving them a hard squeeze. I looked at his face and saw tears he refused to let fall, then I swallowed back whatever I was about to say to Daddy.
"Boy, take your sister on out of here." Daddy sounded as if he were weary of the few minutes we'd shared.
"You killed Mama," JT said. "I hope you die too."
"Boy, your daddy died a long time ago," Daddy replied as if saying such a thing was supposed to make sense to an eleven-year-old girl and her thirteen-year-old brother. His words put a shiver up my spine.
"Yeah," said my brother who sounded almost like a grown up then. "I know you ain't our daddy. You're just a creature who looks like him." I'm not sure I saw it or if I'm just embellishing a memory, but I swear I saw something flicker from behind Daddy's eyes then. Almost like there were another set. He and JT held gazes for several seconds before Daddy switched back to me then angled his body to face the wall. He was through talking about Mama.
We left him alone and found Grandpa and Grandma waiting for us just outside the door with a detective. Grandpa put an arm around JT and led him off while Grandma held my hand and listened to what the cop was telling her. All I was thinking about was Daddy. He was going to jail for years and years. I wanted him to hug and kiss me goodbye. Tell me he was sorry for doing the evil he did. But like Mama always said Daddy was a selfish man. That day I also knew something else. Daddy wasn't nor had he been his regular self for a long time.
In late October of the same year he was released, a local news program did a piece on him which he declined an interview. I asked him, why not once and for all tell the story of what led him to kill Mama. He got up out of his rickety easy chair to cross the floor and switch off the television set. Rather than answer, he strolled into his kitchenette, went to his freezer and snatched out a bottle of vodka by the neck. He poured himself a water glass full and drank it down. I approached him warily, seeing he was mad. I didn't care and crossed my arms waiting for him to look at me and act like I'd asked him a question. I was grown at twenty six. I wanted to know why he killed my mama.
"Who the hell you staring at?" he demanded and poured another glassful.
"You tell me," I said. "Are you my daddy or something else?"
"What foolishness are you talking now, girl?" He glared at me and I glared back.
"Did you lose it in prison?"
"Lose what?"
"When you killed Mama there was something either compelling or aiding you. You weren't man enough to do it yourself. I saw it at the police station. Either it's hiding or it left you." I wasn't sure if I knew what I was talking about, yet Daddy's lack of a reaction at my revelation told me he knew exactly what I was talking about. It occurred to me maybe this man who hardly aged in prison was not my Daddy. "Why won't you tell her kids or her parents why you did it? We deserve to know."
"You think so? You think you really want to know?" He slammed the glass down on the counter top.
"You don't have the right to keep it to yourself."
"Little girl, you need to mind your own business." After knocking back his second drink, he wiped his mouth then walked back into the living room. "I don't mind you coming over for Sunday visits if it helps you somehow," he said. "But you better keep what you think you know to yourself because it ain't at all what you think it is."
"I should act like you ain't the bastard who covered my mama's mouth and nose to deny air to her lungs? You knew how to kill her and not get thrown back at."
"How long have you known she was a witch?" he demanded.
"You just told me. Now, tell me the rest." He clamped his mouth up tight and shuddered at being finessed. I hoped I'd see those other eyes again but nothing happened. "If it wasn't you that killed her with JT and me just a few feet away-"
"I did it, girl!" He raved his hot alcohol laced breath right into my face. "I don't need to put the blame anywhere else. The time was right and I took care of business. Too bad that business included your mama but I did what I had to do and I warned her over and over!"
"And you aren't sorry!" JT had been right. Daddy didn't give a damn. He hadn't killed her in a moment of passion. He'd thought about it and chose that afternoon. "Just tell me why, Daddy. I really want and need to know. She was a witch and you are more than what you came into this world. It killed Mama, right?"
"That afternoon was between her and me," he said. "It had nothing to do with you kids. I told her- I warned her for years. Now, look." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I understand you miss your mama, but she's gone. There's nothing we can do about it. I killed a witch and I did my time. You need to forgive it or forget me. Excuse me."
I watched him take the bottle to the sink and turn it up like he was drinking ice water. Then I went down the short hallway to the bedroom and locked the door. On the unmade bed, I sat and thought about it. I'd thought about it a lot over the years, and more so since he was released from prison. There had been no closure because Daddy refused to tell us anything as if it were a principle or something. So what good was he in my life? JT was right. Daddy should have died in prison. That would have been some sort of justice.
I felt all alone so I called JT.
"I asked him again," I said without preamble after he said hello. "I begged him and he told me it wasn't my business."
"Aw, sis. Why put yourself through it? Bastard never cared about us. After fifteen years, he never said he was sorry. Sis, you come from over there and never go back. I don't believe it's healthy for you. Or safe," he added. "That person ain't our daddy."
"Remember what you said in the police station? Did you mean it?"
"Yeah. I hope he dies slowly surrounded by his own blood."
"Sorry, but I hate that demon. The daddy we knew when were kids is gone."
"You don't need to be sorry," I said. "I think you are right. I don't intend to see him again."
"Did you see those eyes like before?"
"No. I think they are gone. That is if they ever existed."
"If you say you saw them I believe you."
"Oh, JT. What should I do?"
"Sis, you don't have to do anything. Just walk out of there and never go back. You hear me?"
"Yeah," I said and ended the call.
I went back into the front room then joined Daddy in the kitchenette. I reached for the bottle he hugged in his arms. "Daddy, I think you've had too much already." He released it easily enough."You really should have told me something." I touched his face and felt nothing. No warmth from his skin. No emotion took hold of me. I raised the half empty bottle above my head and brought it down like a club across his face. He collapsed against the sink and held on to keep from hitting the floor. I struck him again and again until he got an arm up. He cried out cursing, swinging wildly to defend himself, but he was too drunk to prevail against my strength and speed.
"Girl, stop this. I did wrong but I'm still your daddy." His big, frightened, doubled eyes didn't stop me. I imagined Mama's eyes were bigger and she couldn't even scream. The strike to the back of his head broke the bottle and he fell on his knees. I put a cross face choke hold on him as I sat on his back still holding what remained of the vodka bottle.
"My daddy died a long time ago," I told him forcing the jagged edges of the bottle to tear into his throat. "Now, it's your turn, demon."
Outside on the sidewalk, I turned around after hearing my name called in the wind. My brother was suddenly beside me. He put a protective arm around my waist then led me across the street. I looked up at the full waxing moon then took a deep breath of the crisp October air and slowly released it. "She was a witch," I shared then looked up at his profile to find his gaze was on me. "Which explains a few things about us."
"You okay?"
"You know what I did?"
"Yeah, I saw it all."
"I'm not," he said and held me tighter against his side.
No, it wasn't justice. And killing him didn't bring our Mama back. But after I'd pulled on my coat, then stepped out of his apartment and closed the door behind me, I realized I felt better than I'd felt in years. I'm not sure if the bloody body I left on the floor in the kitchenette was indeed a demon, or simply our daddy. I guess, in the end it doesn't matter. They'd both been there when Mama was killed and neither cared enough about the pain and confusion they caused JT and me. I'm good about ending his life either way.
I looked up at my brother's profile and knew he was feeling the same. There was no reason to talk about it, so we never have since we walked down the sidewalk away from Daddy's apartment building that windy Halloween night.
"Okay, it's settled," Dave said. "Joe, you and Bill ride along with me. Reggie, you ride along with Anthony and help him stay awake during the drive."
Great, thought Anthony. This boor will put me to sleep with his inane droning about nothing.
After having decided the travel arrangements, the five friends loaded up the two four-wheel drive pickup trucks and headed out for the five hour trip to Seattle.
"Damn man, fifty-yard line seats to watch the Seahawks beat up on the Rams! Can't believe we won the office pool," Reggie rejoiced.
"Yeah, man. Good thing we took the whole seven-day block and agreed to share the prize," Anthony enthused. "Without Bill shoring up Friday we would have missed out. I knew Janet would have the baby around Halloween."
"Whoa, Anthony! Call Dave and tell them to slow down. We want to get there at the same time. Those guys are really tearing up the interstate!"
"Ah, don't worry about it, Reggie. I know my way around Washington. Besides, we have the tickets. I'm pretty sure they'll wait for us at the state line."
"I'm sure you're right. Still, can't believe we gonna see Russel Wilson in action tomorrow. That guy is the shit."
"Well, he's no Kurt Warner but he's all right."
"There you go again about Kurt Warner. What's it been, nearly twenty years since he won the Super Bowl? C'mon man, get with the now!"
"Hey, I just appreciate the history of the sport. Everybody talks up Bill Belicheck as being the greatest head coach. Well, let me tell you about the genius Bum Phillips was back in the day. Why he…"
Oh, brother," thought Reggie. And they say I go on about nothing.
The two friends continued the good-natured banter for the next couple of hours as they left the densely populated cities and headed into several miles of countryside. An hour later, Anthony spotted Dave's truck parked outside a half empty truck stop.
"Guess they stopped for a bite to eat. I can use a little nourishment myself."
"Just coffee for me. This boring country scenery almost got me nodding off." To prove it, Reggie covered his mouth to yawn.
The two entered the dining area looking for their comrades. Aside from the two truckers at the counter, there were three women of indiscernible age who appeared to be long time pros sitting in a booth near the side window.
"Must be in the restroom," Reggie assumed then went to check. After a quick glance, it was apparent they weren't there either.
Anthony approached a waitress who came from the kitchen area. She began cleaning a table with a dry rag while popping her gum. "Excuse me, did you notice three guys come in here earlier? Two white guys, one black. Around thirty years old, wearing jeans and sweatshirts?"
"Naw, sugar," she replied. "Can't say I have but if they came in to just use the restroom, I could've easily missed them." Nodding toward the booth she said," Maybe one of those- uh, young ladies may have noticed them."
As he approached the booth, Anthony noticed one of the women move something from the table to the purse beside her. "Excuse me ladies, but did any of you happen to see three gentlemen around our age dressed in sweatshirts come in here?"
"Mmmm," the woman with the purse spoke up. "If they looked anything like you two we would have definitely noticed and not be sitting here all alone on a Saturday night."
"Why don't you two join us for a few minutes," said another of the trio at the table. She was a blond with a bad dye job. "Maybe they'll come in from another part of the stop."
Reggie glanced at his partner then said, "Well, we could use some coffee and why not have some pleasant company to go with it?"
"Yeah, I could use the pick me up after the straight drive. I'll go get the coffee. Be right back." As he walked to the counter he pulled out his phone and dialed Dave's number. Where were those guys? He wondered if they were out walking around stretching their legs or something. He put the phone to his ear after speed dialing for Dave. Hearing Dave's distinctive ring tone from behind him, he turned sharply toward the ringing and was surprised to find it was coming from near the women sitting with Reggie. What the- he thought, rushing back toward the booth.
Reggie, recognizing Dave's ringtone as well looked around sharply and perceived the ringing was coming from across the table."That's Dave's phone," he exclaimed. "What the hell is it doing in your purse? You better talk quick, girl," he strongly advised her.
"Hold on, Reggie. It's possible they have the same ringtone, but seeing as how it's in sync with my phone, I doubt it. Just to be sure why don't you let us see your phone," Anthony requested of the woman and noticed how calm see seemed after being busted cold. She'd lied about not seeing the guys and obviously had stolen his phone.
"Sure, no problem." She reached into the purse and took out the ringing phone then pressed the off key. The ringing in Anthony's phone stopped as well.
"Son of a bitch, it is his phone! Why do you have it and where is Dave and the others?" Anthony gritted demandingly of the women. The trio merely blinked and smiled up at him. The situation was getting tenser by the second. "Our friends truck is parked outside they came in here and you all saw them.You having his phone proves it. Ladies, I'm asking you one more time then I'm calling the cops."
"You're right," she said. "It is his phone, but he gave it to me, I swear. Ask my friends here." The other two nodded and said it was true. "Also," she went on. "I have something else of his." She reached into her purse and pulled out a gun pointing it at Reggie. "You just sit where you are and don't move. You'll be reunited with your friends soon enough."
The blond produced a pair of plastic cuffs and secured Anthony's hands behind his back.
"Dammit, who knew those guys had friends following behind them? This complicates things." Pointing to the third woman in the booth she said, "Gina, take Sarah to the back room and check on the portal." Gina silently obeyed and disappeared with the waitress to the back.
"What the hell is going on here? This has to be some sort of prank, right?" Anthony shook his head then said, "I bet Bill is behind this. Come on out, guys! This shit ain't funny!"
"Anthony, I don't think this is a joke at all. I'm getting too bad a feeling, man."
"You don't know how bad, buddy," sneered the blond. "Rosco. Cletus. Come help us escort these gentlemen to the back." The two truckers at the counter sauntered over and grabbed Reggie and Anthony, forcing them to the back.
As they entered they saw Gina and Sarah flanking either side of a large steel door on the far wall. "You wanted answers," Blondie said. "You're going to get them. First, let me ease your minds. Your friends are still alive and will remain so. However, what they're going through- they probably wish they were dead. You see many years ago, a group of fallen angels in hell- devils they are called- discovered that this location was a direct link from there to here. Through means I never understood they were able to open a portal and step into our world. Over the years, a countless number of them and some demons crossed over and spread out over the earth. Which is why evil is so prevalent now more than it has been at any other time."
"Hold on," Anthony interjected. "You expect us to believe this bullshit? Devils? Portals? What's next, Lucifer himself coming through and overthrowing the earth?"
"Ha! Even though your sarcasm belies your fear, you are more close to the truth than you realize. According to the myths and legends, Lucifer cannot penetrate the portal. However, the exodus of all the devils and demons has left the mystical barriers between the worlds weakened. If this continues they will totally crumble and then nothing can stop Lucifer and all of his followers from overrunning earth and ruling all. Having learned this our forefathers deduced the only way to prevent this was to round up the hellish creatures here on earth and deposit them back through the portal. As you probably guessed by now the portal manifests itself as this steel door although it is said it only looks like a door to us because it's easier for our human minds to comprehend. Anyway, the demon and devil 'round up' didn't work out so well since so many of them are able to escape our detection. It was then discovered that if an equal number of humans go back through the portal as the number of demons who came out- the walls would then strengthen and rebuild themselves."
"You… you don't mean…" Anthony was flabbergasted.
"Yes. The only way to stop the portal from collapsing and unleashing hell on earth is for humans to take those awful creatures places. No one here is willing to make that sacrifice, which is why we on occasion snatch unsuspecting travelers and visitors to keep the walls from crumbling. Don't look at me like that. It's the only way to protect the earth and they are not dead. Your pals were just unlucky enough to pass through when the walls were weakening again. Their 'sacrifice' shored up the wall for now and the danger has passed. Unfortunately, you two stumbled in and we have no choice but to put you through as well. I'm sorry," she offered in a way that conveyed she was anything but sorry. "Sarah. Gina. Open it up."
Silently obeying, the two women struggle to pull the door open revealing blinding white light and the sounds of tortured screams and wailing.
"Oh, God!" Reggie shouted grabbing at his thick hair. "I don't wanna go in there! Please, please, please! Not that!"
"Reggie, get a grip, man. Falling apart won't do either one of us any good." Turning back to blondie he said. "All this was deduced from myths and legends, so that doesn't mean this is a sure thing, right?"
"No one knows for sure but it's a fact the portal is secure right now."
"But if there was another way to stop demons from weakening the portal and saving our friends?"
"Anthony, man, what are you talking about? How can you stop hell from-"
"Just listen." He leaned into Reggie's ear and whispered for a few minutes.
Eyes bugging out, Reggie exclaimed, "Man, that's nuts!"
"Do we have any other choice?"
Reluctantly, Reggie had to agree. "I guess we don't. Let's do it."
"Okay," Anthony paused to take a short intake of breath them let it out. "We have an idea I believe will work but if it doesn't we'll voluntarily go through the portal. But you have to trust us and let us go to do what we have to do."
"Like a fool, I'm supposed to trust you to come back and not go to the outside authorities?"
"Look, I want to stop this as much as you do. Besides, who's going to believe this bizarre story anyway? If anything they'll loc k us up in the nearest hospital's mental ward. However, I'll make a deal with you. Let Reggie go out and execute my plan. And I- well, I'll go into the portal right now to prove you can trust Reggie to come back at least. Then you must let him go."
"Anthony, man! Ah, hell no! Gotta be another way! What if you're wrong?"
"Then I say you fellas are fucked," the blond smirked. "But sure, why not? Give it a try!"
"Anthony, I'm not leaving you alone up in here."
"I won't be alone, I'm going inside, man. Now, you go do what I told you."
"Oh God! Please, wake me up from this nightmare!" Reggie cried out pulling at his hair again. "
"Reggie, just do it!" Breathing deeply, Anthony walked to the door then turned back to his frantic friend. "Trust me, " he said and walked through the door, as it clang shut behind him he wondered if he didn't just make the biggest mistake of his life.
Author's note
If you are enjoying the story so far and want to read part two, simply leave a comment in the box below or contact Antonio Hall via this website's contact page and let him know!
I don't have to do this, she told herself for the eleventh time since sun up. All I have to do is open that window, step through it, and climb down that big old tree. I can be down the road before anyone can say boo.
"You about ready yet?" It was her grandmother checking on her again. "Venita?"
"Give me a few minutes, all right?" She stared at herself in the full-length mirror as she had been doing all morning.
"Girl, I know you're ready..."
"Granny, please. Just give me a break so I can get myself centered."
"Centered? What the hell is that? Look, you got five more minutes, then I'm getting Earl. You hear me? You know nobody ain't playing around here."
"Yeah, I know being a human sacrifice ain't no game," she said bitterly and let her first angry tear of the day fall down her drawn face. "Happy Halloween to me," she sniffed.
"Like I said, you got five minutes," Granny yelled through the door, then trudged off, swearing to herself.
"Old bitch," Venita grumbled before turning back to her reflection in the tall oval mirror. "All right then, what's it going to be?" She had already packed a bag three weeks ago, just in case. But where could she run to that the family couldn't trace her? Other people had resisted and disappeared. Lancaster had promised to help, but she hadn't seen him in over a month. "I'm not marrying some extra-dimensional demon, that's for certain." She went to the window and looked down at the lawn. No one was about, except for Purvis. Whether he would bark was anybody's guess, for he was as untrustworthy and ornery as his masters. If you could say such a dog had a master. "I know that hound will bark. Besides, I might fall and break my neck. Oh man, when did I become so cowardly? Why didn't I just boogie in the first place?"
"Because you were scared like any other seventeen-year-old girl who has nowhere else to go."
"What... Who is in here?" Venita spun around scanning the room. She knew damn well she had locked the door and she should be alone. Hurriedly, she checked the bathroom. Finding the room empty, she checked the closets and looked under the bed. "I must be cracking up," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Sounded just like somebody was talking to me. It's bad enough having to deal with those creatures without hearing ghost sounds."
"You aren't cracking up and I am no ghost."
"Who- where-…" Venita's eyes followed the sound of the voice to the mirror. "Oh, hell no." She rubbed her eyes, not believing her reflection was still standing in the mirror frowning back at her. She ran to the window and opened it then began to climb out, reaching for the nearest tree limb.
"Get back in here before you kill yourself." She kept reaching out to get a sturdy hold on the tree. "I'm not a ghost. I'm simply manipulating your image as I cannot project my own hologram to you at this time. Bless the spirits you have a mirror large enough to receive my transference."
Holograms and transference? "What do you want? And how can you look like me and be-"
"There isn't time for questions. Get over here if you want our help. I'm only doing this for Lancaster. He seemed to think you are worth the risk."
Seemed to? Did that mean he was dead? Venita pulled herself from the window and approached the speaking image in her mirror. "Lancaster. Where is he? Why didn't he come back?" He wouldn't turn her over to someone she didn't know she could trust. Yet, this person was no ordinary person. She said she'd transferred herself not transmitted. "Who are you and what are you?"
"Child, you know full well I am a witchy person. I am Lancaster's mother. The only other person he trusted to contact you this evening."
"Why didn't he come himself? Where is he?"
"He's with the Jack Of Lanterns. He could be almost anywhere in space and time."
"Was it his idea to go?"
"He saw his duty, Venita. Do you see yours?"
"What are you talking about? What duty? Who are the Jack Of Lanterns?"
"Your way out of this unholy of bargains- if you decide to do your part."
She looked down at the wedding dress she wore. It once belonged to her mother and Granny before that. But they had chosen their own grooms and didn't have to honeymoon in hell. No, it wasn't her duty to do anything. She was one of the victims of a long ago truce between demons and humans. She looked up at the reflection and asked, "What do I have to do to get out of this mess?"
"Marry the Naberion."
"Marry a demon? That's your solution?" Venita had seen what became of humans when they finished using their bodies. This couldn't be the plan Lancaster had in mind all along. "I'm not giving birth to any half demons! Nor will I become any demon's meal!" She backed up from the mirror. Was that person really Lancaster's mother and from the Jack Of Lanterns or just a ploy to lure her into the farce willingly? Some humans actually believed offering a few girls each year in return for peace was worth it than taking chances with limited success warding off demonic interference during the cross over. No human was better off that she could see from making deals with demons. Her own family had lost its humanity many years ago, long before she lost her mother. "Do you think I am insane?" No, she wasn't here to help. Lancaster didn't send her such a person. How was she supposed to trust a witch who wasn't showing her true form?
"If you married one of them they will have to take you across the veil. They can't eat you or have dominion over you in this realm."
"Then I don't have to go!" Why wasn't she ever told this before?
"You must. And you must do it tonight."
"No. Lancaster will come back for me. He will have a plan and-"
"I'm telling you the plan, you fool. There is more to this night than saving you from a demon's desires. Having human brides is only part of the evil of the Naberions for this world. You must cross into the veil to reveal the passageway into their realm. Following you and the others is the only access a human with magiks has in order to get to the other side. On the other side, one must be to work the proper spells to destroy them."
"You expect me to believe it is possible to destroy a realm of beings in one night?"
"Once the passage between our worlds is closed the Naberions cannot feast on human flesh or use our girls to produce half demons who can dwell among us as easily as a human. So far, we have been successful in exterminating said vermin from among us. Or they are hiding in fear, living as a human. Unless the passage is shut done our efforts on this side won't matter. In less than a century, they will overcome us and claim this world as their own, reducing us to cattle and slaves."
"Okay, but what about me once I'm on the other side? What about Lancaster?"
"Is all you really wanted was to get out of this mess your own family bestowed upon you? And to see Lancaster again? You don't care about the future of mankind?"
"I do want to help, and I do care. But marrying one of them and going into another dimension isn't going to help me. I shouldn't care about my own body and mind?"
"You won't be tortured as a wife of a Naberion. Not if you are obedient."
"No. No way!" Venita shook her head. To willingly go into a demonic world with only a whisper of a chance that her sacrifice might help wasn't enough. Yet, Lancaster was already out there somewhere doing his part. Or was he the one to follow her? That possibility suddenly made all the difference to Venita.
"What choice do you have really, child?" The witch asked interrupting her thoughts. "On All Hallows Eve, where can you escape to? Your husband has been chosen and he has seen your face. I don't think even killing yourself will solve your dilemma. Who knows what a demon can accomplish with a corpse?"
"You're just trying to scare me."
"Am I succeeding? Because I really hope you are afraid. We are out of options. Humankind simply cannot and must not endure another night of disguised horror! Do you think they only cross over to take a few girls each year? Each year the veil is thinner and the number of abductions and disappearances increase exponentially. Do you really not care, Venita? Those of us that are knowledgeable have a duty-"
"Don't say that! How is it my duty to offer my life to appease demons? There was a time in this world when such a thing was not only unlawful it was abhorrent! I did not sell myself to any demon! I did not agree to be taken anywhere! You witches did this to us! Now, you see you can't trust a demon or control them."
"True," the witch replied unabashedly from the sharp accusations. "You have no reason or obligation to help us rectify this horrible mistake. But know this, though we witchy people are mostly to blame,it is you normal humans without light power who are suffering the most."
That was true, Venita acknowledged. She also knew the witch before her was afraid for her own kind. Was it fear of the darkness that was creeping into their world? Was demonic darkness dampening their light? Something told her this witch before her cared little for other beings. Unlike Lancaster who wanted to save the whole world.
"Lancaster simply wanted to rescue you, which to everyone's dismay is probably not possible. I, on the other hand, thought he knew what a brave woman was. With such a person, I dared imagine anything was possible."
He thought she was brave? And saw her as a woman? All at once her heart felt like it was glowing inside her chest. He wanted to rescue her and meet her in on the other side! I can do it, she thought. He is counting on me.
"Venita! Unlock this door, or I'm gonna break it down!" It was Uncle Earl banging on her door as promised. "You hear me?"
"I hear you, you old devil!" And who cared if he broke down the door?
"I better see you downstairs in two minutes," he threatened then stomped on down the hallway.
Venita faced the mirror again. "What do they really look like?"
"Somewhat humanoid, but from what I've learned you won't have to mate with it if things don't go well. It's done through magik rituals."
Was that supposed to ease her mind? "If I go, should I abandon all hope of returning?"
"Not all hope," the reflection answered bluntly. "Though I would not count on running into Lancaster," she added as if reading her mind.
She wasn't counting on anything. Just hoping like hell. "Did he really send you?"
"Yes, he did."
"Is Lancaster like you?"
"My dear, you've known all along he was a special creature. And yes, he is a male witch," the reflection said with pride. "Are you frightened of us too?"
Hell yes, she was frightened. Been frightened since Granny announced they were unloading her as their burden to gift to the Naberions. She'd been frightened since she was seven years of age, and her mother had been thrown into a bonfire to appease the spirits for a bit of good luck for the family. In her heart, she'd known she'd be the next human sacrifice.
"Venita, you are not so special," The witch in her mirror informed her. "Yet my son would risk his own life to save you in the only way he knows how. We all fear it may not be enough to end this horror each year. If not killed, you both may be trapped in that demonic place."
"Tell me the truth, witch. Is Lancaster the magiks person to follow me or is he already somewhere else?" Like somewhere making another girl fall in love and do anything to see him one last time? How many girls were he and his mother willing to use to prevail over the Naberions?
"I'll tell you something true. He refused to leave this world while you were still in it. If you do not leave, neither will he."
"Then he wants to do this with me?" For me, she wanted to say out loud in happiness.
"There will be many crossing tonight, but know once you cross the veil, he or someone else will follow your path at a discreet distance for demons are always wary of witches."
Then it was just a crap shot she'd see him again on the other side. If she refused to cross over what were the chances? He'd stayed away from her due to his magikal nature, even his mother, appeared in the mirror to avoid the Naberions detecting a witchery presence around their brides. "Just tell me what to do. I'm ready," she said rising and going to the door. If there was just the smallest chance, she had to take it. For in her heart, she knew he wanted to see her again too. He probably couldn't save her or survive himself but he was thinking of her.
"Just go through with the wedding and leave with the Naberion. If successful, The Jack Of Lanterns will make every effort to rescue you and the other unfortunate girls before the veil is closed at the midnight hour. Do you understand?"
"Yes." She knew he would come if he could. "Yes," she said again, unlocking her bedroom door. "Lancaster," she whispered and boldly stepped out into the hallway. "I'm counting on you. For this world… and for me."
"Hurry up man. The party starts in an hour," I said slightly agitated. "It's Halloween. How do you not have already have a costume?"
"Hey, don't rush me, dude," Jimmy said. "You just told me about the invite this afternoon. I had other plans and besides the best costumes are gone."
Looking around I saw he was right and calmed down somewhat. After spying a clear piece of cellophane, I grabbed it and handed it to Jimmy. "Here, hold this up to your face."
Looking confused, Jimmy did so. "What's this?" he asked.
"Your Halloween mask. If that doesn't strike terror, nothing will."
"Very funny. Guess I'll go with the classic reaper costume. It won't win any awards but it's about the party anyway."
Later we met up with Derek who was dressed as Bum Phillips, and Delores who looked stunning normally was absolutely spectacular in an extremely form fitting toga. "Wow," I said. "That sheet leaves nothing to the imagination, does it?"
"Yeah," Jimmy concurred. "That's what I call a…"
"Please, don't say it," I begged.
"…fitted sheet," Jimmy finished.
Despite that groan-inducing remark Delores beamed and said that was the reaction she was looking for. "I hear that witch Tasha is wearing a cat woman suit but I think I'll be the cat's meow tonight. Let's go boys."
Arriving fashionably late at Ricardo's house, where the party was being held, I noticed the doorbell on the front door had an out of order sign on it. Nice touch, I thought as I pushed the button which produced an eerie groan. "Neat," I commented and pressed the buzzer again. "Oohhhhh….!" This time a spooking sounding moan was heard. After a few minutes, no one came to the door so I pressed the speaker box.
"Hey guys," Ricardo answered. We heard party sounds in the background. "Come in the side door. The doorbell's busted and I have an electrician working on it now."
"Electrician?" I asked. "Uh, maybe you better check on him."
"No reason. We're coming around now."
Once inside I spotted my friend George who was dressed in regular clothes but for some reason was carrying his girlfriend Michelle around on his back. "What's up, G? What are you supposed to be?"
"I'm a turtle," he replied.
"But you have no costume and your girlfriend is on your back."
"Right. That's Michelle." On that note, I excused myself and introduced myself to a cute, sexy Lady Gaga look-alike I met eyes with across the room. We hit it off and snuck into a side room where in our passion we accidently activated the room's speaker system leading to a bizarre sequence during the séance session where our grunts and groans were mistaken for voices from the 'other side'.
All in all, it was a good night for all and even the electrician joined in the fun after he recovered. I indulged in a bit too much punch and missed the costume contest in which Delores placed second.
"Who the hell could've beat you?" I asked later. "Don't tell me, Tasha."
"No. She didn't even place, and at least I could deal with losing to her. But who do I lose to? A guy in a Lady Gaga costume!" Delores exclaimed. "Can you believe it?"
Sadly, I could. Gotta love Halloween.
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.


text:
What Did You Do During the War, Daddy-O?
Copyright © 2006 by Tony Zurlo. All rights reserved.
I turned down the volume on Apocalypse Now, just after Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore (Robert Duvall) snapped, "You want to surf soldier?… That's good soldier, 'cause you either surf or fight, is that clear?"
Earlier in the day, my class had grilled me about the sixties. Did I fight in Vietnam? Had I smoked pot? Tripped on LSD? Tried group sex? Hitched across country? Worn my hair down to my knees? Seen Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock?
"Hey Daddy-O, what did you do during the war?" Colonel Walter E. Kurtz (Marlon Brando) mumbled from the TV screen.
"What the hell did you do during the war, Brando?" I countered. That ought to shut him up, I thought.
"During your war, Brando — I mean Kurtz — I worked for peace in the Peace Corps," I continued, prepared to impress him with stories about eliminating the guinea worm from Nigerian water sources or feeding wafer-thin Nigerian children. Or inoculating whole villages against polio. None of which I did, of course.
"Wrong war, Daddy-O," Kurtz shot back at me from beneath a canopy of heavy, dark palms deep in the Southeast Asian jungle.
'I knew he meant the Vietnam War, not the Biafran War. Although I did confront death and madness on the eve of the Biafran War while in Nigeria.
"Stick with acting, Brando. You can't change history."
I wanted to impress him with tales of heroism: defending helpless Vietnamese villagers against atheistic commies; tossing my combat ribbons and medals into the reflecting pool beneath the Washington Monument. But I maintained my composure.
On the TV screen, Captain Benjamin Willard (Martin Sheen) received a message from a CIA operative: "Terminate with extreme prejudice." But Willard must also understand that "this mission does not exist, nor will it ever exist."
The sixties in a nutshell! "Flim Flam Man" "Magic Mystery Tour" "Puff the Magic Dragon." "Hell no, we won't go!"
But I did go, in a fashion. After my two years with the Peace Corps, I drifted into and out of graduate schools, tried pot, tripped on LSD, and lived in a commune for a week. None of these helped me find my calling.
Uncle Sam came calling, though. After seven years of draft deferments for college and the Peace Corps, my draft board left a message on my answering machine: "Your country needs you. Big time."
The movie screen flickered with Lance B. Johnson (Sam Bottoms) water skiing behind a Navy patrol boat. I turned up the volume and swayed to Mick Jagger whining: "I Can't Get No Satisfaction." In 1967, I desperately wanted to be Lance, that tall, tanned, sun-bleached blond California surfer champ; with tall, tanned, sun-bleached blond California babes begging for my services.
Instead, I was destined to be a short, balding tanker serving in uniform in Germany.
Seven months before my 26th birthday, my country called and asked not what it could do for me, but what I could do for my country, again. Being of "sound mind and body," I was afraid of jail time for messing with Uncle Sam's call. And Canada was too far and too cold to consider. The Army was looking for men who could walk straight, tie their shoes, and understand Peter Rabbit without Cliff Notes. I qualified.
A recruiting sergeant told me that they had no job openings for pacifists, but that if I enlisted, I could choose my field of training. I figured that if I picked something like librarian, I might be able to stay out of Nam. But when I saw the pay scale for enlisted men, I hesitated. The recruiter then informed me that as a college grad, I would be a natural for Officers Candidate School. Much bigger pay checks would follow. The Catch-22? The Army only commissioned people in combat fields: Infantry, Armor, or Artillery.
"Canada Express, Daddy-O," Brando/Kurtz interrupted from the screen, a sarcastic rise of the eyebrow taunting me. He was sitting at a bamboo desk swiping at mosquitoes with a bayonet.
"Screw you, Brando. Go skin a cobra or something," I scolded.
The government offered to provide me with free food, bed, physical training, and travel for three years. "Just like the Peace Corps, except an extra year," the sergeant said, as he handed me an Army pen to sign up. And with my finely tuned intellect cultivated during several years of college, I figured out that tanks were still not popular in Nam at the time, so I signed up for Armor OCS, located at Fort Knox, just outside of Louisville, Kentucky. I pasted a peace sticker on the front window of my red Austin Healey and set out for the Kentucky hills.
A wicked grin crossed Kurtz's face, as he inquired, "So, Daddy-O, what did you do during the war?"
"I didn't go to Armor OCS. They closed the damn school down a week after I got there."
"Now you're beginning to understand what the hell I'm doing out here in the jungle," Kurtz said. "Daddy-O, it's all one big con game.' The screen faded to a commercial about a local gun show.
I threw a fit about the U. S. Army's breach of contract because they had promised me in writing that I would be a tanker. The brass got a big laugh from my threats of a lawsuit. Then they cut orders sending me to Infantry OCS at Ft. Benning, Georgia. I was the smallest candidate in the entire unit of about 150 men. For nine months, every time we maneuvered in full gear, I slogged along with so much equipment that the edge of my back pack left tracks in the dirt trials. How I survived OCS is one of the mysteries of the sixties.
Even more amazingly, the army honored my armor commitment. After the Ruskies sent tanks into Czechoslovakia, I was assigned to "command" a tank platoon in the suburbs of Mannheim and Heidelberg, Germany.
"So Daddy-O, you skipped Nam," Kurtz challenged, as he walked back into the screen from the commercial break.
"Yeah, Brando."
"Kurtz, call me Kurtz."
"Whatever, Brando. Yeah, I missed the big one."
"Bunch of pussies, if you ask me," Kurtz mumbled.
I tapped myself on my chest and said, "It was dirty, exhausting work, Brando. What do you think I was doing over there, smoking dope and chasing fräuleins?"
In case the Ruskies crossed the line, we had a defensive position about a hundred miles from our base. A couple of times a year we rambled out of our maintenance buildings onto the autobahns — a five-mile trail of giant dinosaurs inching our way toward the border to scare off the Ruskie war machine. We had to pull twenty or thirty of these iron cadavers to and from the border each trip because we could never get enough replacement parts to get them running.
"Tanks? Awesome, Daddy-O," Kurtz said, as he rubbed black camouflage face paint onto his checks.
Yes, tanks. Big, greasy, noisy, ugly carcasses. Until then the most engine I'd messed with was changing spark plugs on my Austin Healey. I soon loathed tanks. Every object in those tin cans was designed to penetrate something or someone. Besides, I was too small to lift, move, or rotate any of the equipment inside or outside those clunkers.
"Sounds like hernia city, Daddy-O."
"Right on, Kurtz."
"Those tanks have some big boomers, don't they," Kurtz said. "Must have been a blast riding through the countryside taking out targets of opportunity."
How could I tell Kurtz that I avoided all guns while in Germany? My Battalion Commander, Colonel B, saw into my soul without ever raising the issue. Maybe it was the peace symbols on my front and back car windows. Colonel B was a lifer. He awoke daily at 5 a.m., shaved his head, put on his cardboard-starched fatigues, and came to work with the express purpose of harassing me. He'd inspect my sideburns, which ended at my temple, and say, "Hey, Z. When are you going to shave those damn sideburns?" Then he'd smile and let me off the hook.
Every time we were about to have tank gunnery competition, Colonel B transferred me from a combat command position, such as platoon leader, to a non-combat slot. I had short stints as company and battalion maintenance officer and battalion executive officer. Then when we switched to field maneuvers, he restored me to combat status because I was one of the six men in the entire battalion who could read topographic maps.
"But those guns, Daddy-O." Kurtz acted out firing a 60-millimeter from a tank turret. "The death and confusion you can reap with those wonderful weapons."
"I hate to disillusion you, Kurtz, but once I got to Germany, I decided I would never fire another gun in my life."
"Impossible. Court martial bound, Daddy-O. I'd have your body parts mounted on bamboo pungi sticks."
"The wonderful thing about the military is that if there's a will there's a way. A bottle of booze here, an extra day of leave there. No problem. I was supposed to qualify on about fifteen or twenty weapons while in Germany. But young American enlisted men who keep records are always looking for a little extension for their R & R."
"At least you showed some initiative. Maybe you're not so hopeless after all," Kurtz said.
"Right on, Kurtz. They just put down an average passing score for each weapon."
"Regular John Wayne Audie Murphy wrapped into one."
"Did my duty, Brando."
"Cop out, if you ask me."
"Brando. Let me ask you something. Did the Ruskies ever invade West Germany?"
He shook his head. "Mission accomplished," I said with conviction.
The music on the screen signaled another commercial, and Brando disappeared through the dark jungle vines in the TV screen.


text: Proudly marketed by The Klassen Bouck Real Estate Team. Arguably the best unit in the complex. Bottom floor corner unit facing the quite, private, green space/field and furthest away from any roads. This 2 bed 2 bath home offers open living, dining and kitchen area with tons of natural light because of the large windows/sliding glass doors on two sides of the room. The sliding glass doors open on to a oversized "L" shaped patio that has the ultimate in privacy because of the trees and large field/green space directly behind the unit. The large master bedroom has lots of closet space and a very generous en-suite. The Abroretum complex offers one of the most convenient locations in Kelowna. Strata fee includes almost everything (Gas, Hot Water, Sewer, Water, swimming pool, etc) making living here very affordable. 19+ age restriction, with no rentals allowed and 1 dog up to 14" at the shoulder. To arrange a showing please call Pat @ 250-859-6335 or Tyler @v250317-4558. (id:21286)


text:
Thank you for highlighting the concerns of the regional press about
the BBC's "ultra-local" television services (Press Gazette, 9
September). I fear, however, that that my reported quotations may have
appeared somewhat confusing.
For clarification, I expressed the
view that the Government and the Department for Culture, Media and
Sport should not give the BBC an unrestrained remit in developing its
regional services.
Your report also omitted the example I gave of
the BBC's work with schools and the local education authority in Hull
to develop interactive learning as an activity consistent with its
public service role.
I trust the above assists your readers'
understanding of my objections to the BBC's unfair, publicly-funded competition against local publishers.
John Meehan, editor, Hull Daily Mail & East Riding Mail


text:
Contact us 24/7: +1 877 678 9627
View product details
Zoom In
Need a second opinion? Ask your personal shopper:
Need a second opinion? Ask your personal shopper:
GET EXPERT ADVICE Need a second opinion? Ask your personal shopper:
- - Fits true to size, take your normal size
- - Cut for a slightly loose fit
- - Mid-weight, non-stretchy fabric
- - Those with a large bust or broad shoulders may wish to take the next size up
- - Model is 177cm/ 5'10" and is wearing a UK size 8
Roksanda is known for her elegant silhouettes and artful color-blocking. This light-gray silk-blend crepe top is designed with close-fitting orange jersey cuffs. Wear yours with a flowing maxi skirt from the collection.
Shown here with: Roksanda Skirt, Gianvito Rossi Sandals, Jennifer Fisher Choker, Arme De L'Amour Ring, Mulberry Shoulder bag, Maria Rudman Ring.
- - Light-gray crepe, orange jersey
- - Concealed hook and zip fastening at back
- - 94% silk, 2% viscose, 2% polyester, 1% polyamide, 1% elastane; lining: 100% silk
- - Dry clean
Product Code: 520003
Shop more:
For alternative suggestions, contact our Fashion Consultants
Help & Advice
Product Code: 520003


text:
Signup for an Annual Membership & Save 75% Off Our Monthly Price
You must be signed in to use this feature
Enjoy unlimited downloads from our library of over 400,000 royalty-free graphics, photos, vectors and more! The more you download the more you save!
Studio concept with small round colorful candies
Download Options
- Model Release:
- Yes
- Property Release:
- Yes
- Downloads:
- 16
- Rating:


text: … filmmaking is all about appreciating the talents of the people you surround yourself with and knowing you could never have made any of these films by yourself. Steven Spielberg APPLY FOR SEASON 10 TODAY! Blake Sepe Media Director Amanda Nigro Associate Director Gabe Garcia Technical Director Alyssa Garcia Art Director


text:
Now that there's a temporary reprieve in Gaza, our attention should shift to a series of attacks by various viruses in the Far East. In China, a potential outbreak (again!) of bird-flu is in the making with the death of a 27 year-old woman in China. Caused by the H5N1 virus, the last outbreak was in Asia in 2003 where 247 died. Find out more about the avian influenza virus( the proper name).
A little-known virus, Chikungunya (pronounced chikoon-goon-nya) has already made its entrance with Malaysia reporting 100 cases per week instead of the usual 100 cases per year. This disease is usually confused with dengue as they have similar presentations, although it follows a more benign course. Read more about it in my recent posting "This Thing called Chikungunya".
Of immediate concern is the recent outbreak of dengue fever(pronounced den-gie), where the incidence has doubled in recent months in tropical and subtropical areas. In Malaysia, 8 deaths have been reported this month alone. Here's a good write-up about dengue but I would like to highlight a few pointers:
- While the typical symptoms are high fever with chills, rashes, headaches and severe bodyaches in the absence of a runny nose, the latest outbreak has produced unusual symptoms like fits, yellowing of the eyes (jaundice) and kidney failure, all of which require treatment in hospital.
- Both Chikungunya and Dengue viruses are carried by the same mosquitoes called Aedes Aegypti. They are the ones with black-and-white stripes on their bodies. Don't ask me why, but the females are the culprits and they have adapted themselves so that they don't fly in your face or make a loud humming sound, preferring to come in low and bite in the ankles. These mosquitoes are attracted to perfume and dark clothing, so party animals, beware!
- Because the Aedes mosquito cannot travel far, it is generally accepted that the breeding ground is within the same compound or area, so one should get rid of pools of stagnant water which can collect in empty bottles, cans and plastic wrapping.
- You can confirm whether a fever is due to dengue via blood tests although they are not always accurate. Sometimes it is necessary to repeat the tests several times before they become positive. Nevertheless, diminishing numbers of a component of blood cells called platelets is suggestive of dengue.
- There is no treatment that can cure dengue. Like in most viruses, its up to one's body resistance; and this can be enhanced by rest, adequate fluids and measures to reduce the fever.
At the end of the day, prevention is the mainstay. The way not to get dengue is to eliminate the Aedes mosquito if thats at all possible; failing which, to prevent the insect from biting you and passing you the virus..


text:
Eat More Rabbit Food Oversized Shirt - Apple
Catherine's original "Eat More Rabbit Food" shirt with RFFMBT carrot logo on the back. Slouchy oversized bodice with dolman long sleeve. Loose and flowy!
Rich red apple shirt with black printing.
95% rayon 5% spandex
Wash cold, lay flat to dry.
No returns or exchanges as product often sells out quickly.
Catherine is 5'4 and is wearing a size Lovely.


text:
Have you started your shopping list yet? Or have you declared all 'lost coins' down the side of the sofa as 'yarn' money?! Here's the next instalment of our Marketplace preview, to set your fibre-lust meter ticking, and to help you plan your day at Fibre-East this July. So go and get yourself a cuppa, grab a notebook and enjoy getting to know six more of our vendors a little better.
Jen Best from Beaker Button is returning to Fibre-East again this summer. She'll be bringing a fabulous selection of Dorset button kits, patterns and threads for making buttons. They are all unique to Beaker Button, designed by Jen in her studio in Hampshire, and using her own hand dyed threads. Jen has been making buttons for over 30 years, having been taught how to make them by her Gran, and has been selling kits for over 4 years. Dorset buttons are perfect for all sorts of craft projects. Anything you can do with a normal button can be made with a Dorset button, and you can make the button to match you project. Dorset buttons were stitched by hand in Dorset from the early 1600's to the mid 1800's, with the cottage industry employing more than 4000 people. The Industrial Revolution almost put pay to the craft with the arrival of button machines, but thanks to people like Jen, you can learn how to do this fascinating craft today. Jen says: 'We're on a mission to make Dorset buttons world famous!'
If you came to Fibre-East last year, you're sure to have spotted Crafts from the Dungeon's stand, with its glass sheep. The mastermind behind it all is Bee. Bee has a passion for making things using glass and wool. She spends her mornings with glass in her cellar/dungeon, her afternoons with fibre and her evenings combining the two. Her glass work is sheep themed and includes some sparkly multi-layered pendants, vases and sheep-display teams. Mainly weaving on rigid heddle looms, Bee freestyle weaves, mixing textures and colours as the mood takes her. Bee also designs spinning and weaving equipment which make these crafts easier to learn and more portable such as the Dizzy Sheep spinner and the Palm Loom. There will be demos at the stall and sample products for you to have a go on. Sounds like a lot of fun, doesn't it?! Bee is very happy to have her brain picked, clothes tried on, or just a fibre-y glass-y chat. So make sure you stop by to see what's going on.
If you like gorgeously soft yarn, you'll probably want to visit Lesley Hordon who will be there accompanied by one of her fluffy Angora rabbits. Lesley represents The National Angora Club of Great Britain. They are a Club for people who keep the English Angora rabbit for wool and for exhibition. Their rabbits are much loved and well cared for, living for up to 10 years. They are sheared for wool, like sheep, and not harmed in any way by wool production. The Club does not make a profit by selling the surplus wool from their rabbits to hand spinners, but any money raised goes back into the care of the rabbits, and goes towards the bills for food, housing, greens, hay and straw and any vet's bills! They will be bringing Angora fibre for sale in a range of colours. These include White, Smoke, Chocolate, Lilac, Blue, Brown-Grey, Gold, Sooty Fawn, Cream and Sable. They also have some 50% Gold Angora/50% Blue Faced Leicester 4 ply knitting wool, produced by Halifax Spinning Mill from wool from their garden rabbits. There will be samples of Angora products, such as shawls, berets and yarns on display. Free drop in spindle spinning lessons are given on the Stand on request, along with advice on preparation and carding of the wool. There are drop spindles for sale at a price suitable for simply having a go. There will be a rabbit on display, either Orlando, a Lilac, or Dominic, a large White, depending on who is in best coat! Lesley will be delighted to give general rabbit advice, as well as any information on Angora rabbits.
A new face at this year's Fibre-East will be Tania Oakshott from lovespoolyarns. Tania creates handspun art yarn for adventurous crafters and imaginative minds. She also makes mixed media art yarns in colourful combinations, and natural yarns not as you know them! Tania's work is handspun art yarns using a variety of materials – silks, soya, bamboo, fabric, beads, trilobal, angelina (anything that she can get her hands on that'll spin in!) The base of her yarns is fleece. She make a colourful range using a variety of media and techniques but has also branched out into naturals producing an interesting array of mostly rare breed art yarns that are spun in accordance with the nature of the fleece. She rarely cards or combs but tries to keep the character of the sheep. So if you fancy something a little different, you can choose from a huge range from thin wire core and delicate floaty yarns to chunky mega yarn.
Whistling Duck Alpacas will have a stand at Fibre-East in the summer. They breed their own Suri alpacas, shear them themselves and have the fleece processed into lovely yarn, great for crochet, light weight knitting and weaving. They'll be bringing their yarn, available in a range of beautiful natural colours, some raw fleece for spinners and crochet kits along to the show for you. Recently they had success at the British National Alpaca Show (like Crufts but for alpacas!) with a 4th placing and a 1st, as well as champion female across all age ranges, so you know that the yarn you're getting is going to be absolutely top notch!
Belinda Harris-Reid is the last of our featured vendors for today. Belinda started off with a career in music and theatre, but luckily for us, she started her own luxury British handknit design company in more recent years. Belinda will be bringing her luxurious yarn made from baby alpaca, silk and cashmere, patterns to go with her yarn and a range of accessories including shawl pins and yarn bowls, table swifts and drop spindles. Belinda loves designing beautifully constructed knitwear that is delicious to both own and wear, so if you like classic and luxurious things, be sure to pay Belinda a visit this summer.
We'll be back again soon with news of other vendors who'll be at this summer's Fibre-East. Also, keep your eyes peeled for a competition to win tickets to this year's event!


text:
Slimline 120w 19v DC Universal Laptop Power Supply With 7 Adaptors
$121.00In Stock
Available Now. Item shipped between 1-3 days
Designed to provide enough power for even the most power hungry laptop. Slimline portable design and ideal for the user that is constantly carrying their laptop form one location to another.
The unit also includes a 2.1a USB socket that will allow you to charge mobile phone, MP3 players, iPads and Tables without the need of an additional charger..
Finished in a gloss piano black finish and compatible with most 19v laptops.
Input Voltage: 100 - 240VAC
Power Output: 120W
Output Voltages: 19VDC / 5VDC (USB)
Output Current: 5.7A / 2.1A (USB Output)
Plugs: 7
Dimensions: 123(L) x 75(W) x 19(H)mm
|Barcode #
12 Month Manufacturer Warranty


text:
Please see the attached leaflets which provide information on Easter activities which are available for children with special needs for disabilities.
There are some really exciting activities including circus skills, arts and pottery.
The day also gives parents and children an opportunity to meet new people.
Happy holidays!
- POSTER DPV 13th April 2017.pdf (154 KB)
- POSTER DPV 21st April 2017.pdf (223 KB)


text:
Re: Cloud database recommendationsJustin Dallas Jul 4, 2017 6:19 PM (in response to Ignacio Garribia)
If your tech stack already uses SQL Server, why would you deviate from that?
Re: Cloud database recommendationsIgnacio Garribia Jul 4, 2017 6:45 PM (in response to Justin Dallas)
Hellow Justin, just because there are many users of qlik which are not log in to the internal network and they use qlik sense desktop. The can`t reload data from the server without using a vpn connection. The company prefers to avoid vpn and just leave some usefull tables in the cloud for qlik sense users.
Re: Cloud database recommendationsJustin Dallas Jul 4, 2017 6:52 PM (in response to Ignacio Garribia)
Okay, two questions.
1. Do the users really need a db? Or could they just load a flat file that's put out in the cloud somewhere and have that file get refreshed every hour or 15 minutes if need be.
2. I would still go with SQL Server if I had to have a DB, because I wouldn't want any nonsense happening on the DB->DB transfer. You could write an Integration Services Package and have it dump the data as needed. Whereas with something like MySQL, you would need an Enterprise version because QlikSense doesn't like the Community version without adding an ODBC. And if you go Postgres I assume you still might be stuck having SQL Server dump a file somewhere, and then having Postgres pickup and apply that file (but I'm not sure).


text:
13 september—29 october 2018
A retrospective exhibition of works by Igor and Ekaterina Pestov focusing on the most burning issues of today's world: consumption, spiritual void, aggression, and human vulnerability.
5 september—22 october 2018
Works by a renowned German artist offer a glimpse into the emotional life of African people, their relationships and everyday life in a situation of constant social and political turmoil.
The collection of masterpieces, chosen by the Russian Museum will allow you to make a first impression of the collection of the Russian Museum.
Russian Museum - one of the world's largest museums and is perhaps the only country where such a full treasure of national culture are presented.
Virtual tour of the museum complex. 2009 (Rus., Eng., Ger., Fin.)
In the online shop of the Russian Museum presented a huge range of souvenirs, illustrated editions and multimedia disks.
Be informed about news, events and exhibitions of the Russian Museum
© 2015
The State Russian Museum
Site development: Projector.media
The Russian Museum is the exclusive owner of all the interior images and pieces of art of the Russian Museum collection, as well as all the images and text information given on its official site. The usage of the texts and images provided on the site is only allowed with the permission of the Russian Museum.


text:
Professional organizer can assistance with downsizing – Leader
November 18, 2017 - storage organizer
After spending time in a sanatorium progressing this year, 88-year-old Betty Price motionless that it was time to transition from her three-story townhouse to a six-room independent-living apartment, usually a brief expostulate divided in a Longwood during Oakmont Retirement Community in Verona, Pa.
However, she didn't make a pierce alone. Although her children live too distant divided to assistance her pierce in, she was means to classify and downsize her residence with assistance from Paul Regan, owner of Paul a Organizer.
Two weeks later, Price's section looked and felt like home. "I had no thought what to bring, though Paul sat down and we looked around and pronounced 'yes' or 'no'," Price said.
Like Price, downsizing for many retirees can be a tough romantic process.
"Often, they have lived in a residence for a prolonged time and a tough for them to downsize," Regan said. "They have a lot of tiny things that finish adult accumulating to be too much."
To confirm what to pierce to a new home, Regan suggests people demeanour during a building devise and try to emanate a gentle space where they can be surrounded by their favorite things in a room that reflects their prior abode.
"People tend to pierce too most stuff, or not enough, so my thought is listening to we and afterwards wise it to how we wish it and vouchsafing a routine develop from there," Regan said.
Before starting a process, Regan recommends holding cinema and documenting what is in any room. This way, a room can be recreated in a resident's new location. Also, creation lists helps irradiate how most they have while identifying a duplicates.
Price creatively had dual yellow couches in her townhouse's vital room. She brought usually one to her new home and donated a other. "My new vital room is really identical to my aged one," Price pronounced smiling as she glanced around a yellow, oriental-themed room.
Organizing a residence full of memories can be daunting. But, one can start by clearing out tiny places that enclose small nauseating value like a medicine closet. This will emanate present benefit and a proclivity to continue to pierce on to other rooms.
Another pretence is labeling bins as possibly "trash," "sell" or "donate." This brings rationality to a romantic process. A good order of ride is a "six-month test." If an object has not been overwhelmed in a past 6 months, it can go into one of a bins. It is also a good thought to sinecure a devoted appraiser to establish items' values.
Family cinema and albums should be tackled final since they are a hardest to go through, though also a easiest to give to a third celebration to handle. Pictures, children's design and letters can be digitized and eliminated to a accumulation of media while still gripping a memories of a past intact. Some Pittsburgh downsizing and relocating companies, such as Discover Organizing, have veteran sketch organizers who can emanate scrapbooks and bequest videos to safety a tenderness of a precipitated images.
Storage units tend to be a go-to for equipment that seniors are not certain about keeping. Regan advises that it's best to possibly use a storage section for a brief time and fill it with equipment that are indispensable or equivocate regulating a storage section during all. "People tend to flog a can down a highway so clearing out a storage section can turn a dreaded thing and supplement adult to be a lot of money," Regan said.
Professional organizers, generally those who are members of a National Association of Senior Move Management, are endorsed for alleviating a highlight and nonessential extended durations of time in a organizing and downsizing process. "Safety is my No. 1 priority, afterwards it is creation a room aesthetically pleasing," pronounced Regan, a member of a inhabitant association.
When Price's section was scarcely complete, she walked by a rooms, looking around to see what else from her home she could pierce to her new apartment.
"Every in. depends — a bedrooms are elaborating to turn some-more and some-more like home," she said.
Tribune News Service
storageorganizer.hol.es/wp-admin/plugin-install.php?tab=upload http://www.leadertelegram.com/Features/Home-Garden/2017/11/18/lt-div-class-libPageBodyLinebreak-gt-Downsizing-woes-lt-div-gt.html


text:
Yes. Register with DailyBitcoin.biz is completely free of charge.
We don't allow anybody manage more than one DailyBitcoin.biz account. We may disable all of your accounts if we find.
In order to open an account you only need to have an active e-mail address(Gmail, Outlook and Yahoo mail are recommended). Switch to Register Page and fill in the require fields. It will take less than a minute.
Investment Questions:
We accept Bitcoin Only
Just register and create one or several deposits within one or several investment plans. After that you will be receiving profits according to the conditions of the investment plan you choose.
Your account will be updated as fast as you send a payment.
Never, your deposit will work forever and bring you a daily profit. You cannot withdraw it.
No commission for depoist amount but we have low withdrawal fee amount of 0.00020000.
Withdrawal Questions:
No, profits are gathered on your DailyBitcoin.biz account and you can withdraw them any time.
You can deposit Minimum 0.001 BTC and Maximum 100 BTC. You can withdraw any amount not less than 0.0005 BTC and maximum withdraw is Unlimited.
Login to your account using your username and password and check the Withdraw section.
All withdrawals will be finished and paid instantly.
Affiliate Program Questions:
No, recommending yourself is deemed as a kind of cheating and extremely forbidden in our referral program. You will not get any commission orbonus by recommending yourself. Besides, we may suspend your accounts.
The referral commission will be paid to your account balance as soon as your referral processes his deposit, you can withdraw your referral commission any time you want.


text:
- Reply
- Edit
Warehouse Interior 3 low-poly 3d model ready for Virtual Reality (VR), Augmented Reality (AR), games and other real-time apps.
This model was made using real world scale for main shapes and details.
Building dimensions: 162m x 197m x 23x (WxLxH)
Without additional assets:
Verts: 399 000
Faces: 235 000
Triangles: 489 000
With additional assets:
Verts: 1 015 750
Faces: 680 000
Triangles: 1 409 000
The blend file consists of the main layer which the meshes with modifiers preserved.
This method is really handy when modifications are needed.
The hall can be resized in a matter of minutes.
The model has clean and fairly low topology, ready for UV unwrapping and texturing.
After purchase you'll get my full support if needed.
Thank you.
Tell the author what you think of this product!


text:
Cove Towers is a beautiful high rise community located in North Naples, on the edge of Wiggins Bay and is made up of 5 tower high rises - Aruba, Bequia, Caribe, Montego and Nevis. Each tower high rise building ranges from 15 floors to 18 floors; unit sizes vary from 1600 sq. ft to 2700 sq. feet with spectacular views.
Cove Towers has an option membership at the Tarpon Cove Yacht & Racquet Club includes a classic clubhouse, restaurants, a lounge, tennis courts and a relaxing pool bar. The Yacht club also features a water shuttle that ferries member to the Delnor-Wiggins state park at the mouth of Wiggins Bay. Yacht members and towers owners receive an exclusive membership to the Calypso Club, which features a swimming pool, fitness facilities, a social room and countless additional amenities.
All high rise buildings have a total of 4 units per floor with front and back views out of their lanai and windows. Corner units 01 and 04 also have side windows with views. As each building was built, the residence unit sizes increased; Aruba, Bequia and Caribe were the first towers built. Building elevators open onto covered walkways leading to the units entrances.
Conveniently located in North Naples, it is just minutes from sandy beaches, shopping, and 5-star restaurants - not to mention that the best championship golf courses Naples has to offer.
Click below for more information on each building:
Please join our Free Email
Service to be notified when Brand New Listings hit the market!
John R. Wood
Naples Florida is a wonderful place to call home and a unique real estate market; from fabulous golf homes, to world famous beaches and boating, we celebrate a lifestyle that very few other places in the world can match, while still having a very local flavor and ultra-comfortable lifestyle.
We enjoy being trusted real estate advisors to our clients and would be thrilled to have the opportunity to earn your business.
Please contact us regarding your Naples real estate or Southwest Florida real estate needs.