text:
Uphill Policy
EARLY SEASON CAUTION: Please use caution accessing the mountain during early season. Do not use Lower Peacemaker to access the upper portions of the mountain as there are electrical and snowmaking lines in that area. Please do not skin/snowshoe/hike over any of these lines. Thank you for keeping early season access safe!
Uphill access by means of skinning, snowshoeing and hiking is allowed at Powderhorn. The ski area welcomes and supports individuals seeking to exercise and enjoy the quiet mountain setting. All uphill travel is done at each individual's own risk. Mountain users can help preserve this opportunity by following these simple guidelines:
- You are required to have a complimentary uphill access ticket. This ticket is available at the Powderhorn Ticket Office during normal operational hours.
- You are considered a skier and you must abide by the "Skier's Responsibility Code."
- During operation hours, uphill access is restricted to the hiker's right (downhill skier's left) of Bill's Run, Red Eye, Lower Greenhorn, Wonderbump, Lower Dude, and Tenderfoot. You must ensure that you are visible to downhill traffic at all times.
- The mountain may be closed to uphill access when avalanche control, snowmaking, race training, or other special activities are taking place.
- Ski Patrol clears the mountain of all guests and employees at the end of operating hours every day. If you are on the mountain at this time you will be advised that the area is closed and there will be no further ski patrol assistance.
- Users accessing the mountain outside of normal operating hours do so at their own risk. Operational conditions may be variable including, but not limited to: closures removed for grooming operations, unfinished grooming activities, and limited visibility.
- Uphill users are warned that snowmobiles, snowmaking equipment, snow grooming, winch cat cables and other equipment may be encountered at any time on the Mountain and you are responsible to stay clear of such equipment.
- Entering closed terrain is prohibited. It is the user's responsibility to know what is open or closed.
- Terrain Parks are closed outside operational hours.
- Dogs are not allowed on the mountain, leashed or unleashed, from November 15 through April 30.
- Sledding is not permitted on any part of the mountain at any time.


text:
The FoldX Suite is available through academic and commercial licenses. Click on the boxes to obtain more information about them. We also offer Consulting Services tailored to our customer's needs.
Academic License
Academic and Non-Profit Research Institutions
Commercial License and Custom Services
Companies and all other users
The FoldX Suite builds on the strong fundament of advanced protein design features, already implemented in the successful FoldX3, and exploits the power of fragment libraries, by integrating in silico digested backbone protein fragments of different lengths. Such fragment-based strategy allows for new powerful capabilities: loop reconstruction, implemented in LoopX and peptide docking, implemented in PepX. The Suite also features an improved usability, thanks to a new boost Command Line Interface.
Main Features of the FoldX Suite
The new InterpretiX C++/Boost Command Line Interface allows:
- Unified Command Line Interface and executable to launch different modeling tools
- Unified human-readable configuration file to work with different modeling tools (no more 'XML-like' syntax)
- Interactive help on general and specific parameters
The new InterpretiX driver allows:
- High level programming layer, to combine different FoldX commands in a flexible and iterative way to generate complex analysis
- Parallel usage on cluster supporting the Java Sungrid Engine
InterpretiX allows encapsulation of different software packages and databases:
- LoopX and LoopXDB
- PepX and PepXDB
- YasaraPG
- More to come
LoopX allows:
- Fast and accurate prediction of protein loop structure
- Exploiting the power of Fragment libraries, by means of LoopXDB, a library of non-regular structure elements, clustered according to end-to-end distance between the regular residues flanking the loop
PepX allows:
- Fast and accurate prediction of peptide docking
- Exploiting the power of Fragment libraries, by means of BackXDB, a library of protein building blocks, and PepXDB, a library of protein-peptide binding motifs
- The Yasara plugin has been redesigned to work with the FoldX Suite
New commands:
- PSSM (Position Specific Scoring Matrices): for easy calculation of specificity matrices
- Domino (not yet integrated): for iterative PSSM based refinement
Parametrization of New molecules:
- Dioctadecyl-phosphatidylcholine parameters allows modeling of lipid bilayers

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Sally packed devilled eggs—something she usually hated to take on a picnic, because they were so messy. Ham sandwiches, crab salad, lemon tarts—also a packing problem. Kool-Aid for the boys, a half bottle of Mumm's for herself and Alex. She would have just a sip, because she was still nursing. She had bought plastic champagne glasses for the occasion, but when Alex spotted her handling them he got the real ones—a wedding present—out of the china cabinet. She protested, but he insisted, and took charge of them himself, the wrapping and packing.
"Dad is really a sort of bourgeois gentilhomme," Kent would say to Sally a few years later, when he was in his teens and acing everything at school, so sure of becoming some sort of scientist that he could get away with spouting French around the house.
"Don't make fun of your father," Sally said mechanically.
"I'm not. It's just that most geologists seem so grubby."
The picnic was in honor of Alex's publishing his first solo paper, in Zeitschrift für Geomorphologie. They were going to Osler Bluff because it figured largely in his research, and because Sally and the children had never been there.
They drove a couple of miles down a rough country road—having turned off the highway and then off a decent unpaved country road—and found a place for cars to park, with no cars in it at present. A sign was painted on a board and needed retouching: "CAUTION. DEEP-HOLES."**
Why the hyphen? Sally thought. But who cares?
The entrance to the woods looked quite ordinary and unthreatening. Sally understood, of course, that these woods were on top of a high bluff, and she expected a daunting lookout somewhere. She did not expect the danger that had to be skirted almost immediately in front of them.
Deep chambers, really, some the size of a coffin, some much bigger than that, like rooms cut out of the rocks. Corridors zigzagging between them, and ferns and mosses growing out of the walls. Not enough greenery, however, to make any sort of cushion over the rubble below. The path went meandering between them, over hard earth and shelves of not quite level rock.
"Oooeee," came the cry of the boys, Kent and Peter, nine and six years old, running ahead.
"No tearing around in here," Alex called. "No stupid showing off, you hear me? You understand? Answer me."
They said O.K., and he proceeded, carrying the picnic basket and apparently believing that no further fatherly warning was necessary. Sally stumbled after him faster than was easy for her, with the diaper bag and the baby, Savanna. She couldn't slow down till she had her sons in sight, saw them trotting along taking sidelong looks into the black crevasses, still making exaggerated but discreet noises of horror. She was nearly crying with exhaustion and alarm and some familiar sort of seeping rage.
The lookout did not appear until they had followed the dirt-and-rock path for what seemed to her like half a mile, and was probably a quarter mile. Then there was a brightening, an intrusion of sky, and her husband halted ahead. He gave a cry of arrival and display, and the boys hooted with true astonishment. Sally, emerging from the woods, found them lined up on an outcrop above the treetops—above several levels of treetops, as it turned out—with the summer fields spread far below in a shimmer of green and yellow.
As soon as she put Savanna down on her blanket, she began to cry.
"Hungry," Sally said.
Alex said, "I thought she got her lunch in the car."
"She did. But she's hungry again."
She got Savanna latched on to one side and with her free hand unfastened the picnic basket. This was not how Alex had envisioned things. But he gave a good-humored sigh and retrieved the champagne glasses from their wrappings in his pockets, placing them on their sides on a patch of grass.
"Glug glug. I'm thirsty, too," Kent said, and Peter immediately imitated him.
"Glug glug. Me, too. Glug glug."
"Shut up," Alex said.
Kent said, "Shut up, Peter."
Alex said to Sally, "What did you bring for them to drink?"
"Kool-Aid, in the blue jug. The plastic glasses are in a napkin on top."
Of course, Alex believed that Kent had started that nonsense not because he was really thirsty but because he was crudely excited by the sight of Sally's breast. He thought it was high time that Savanna was transferred to the bottle—she was nearly six months old. And he thought Sally was far too casual about the whole procedure, sometimes going around the kitchen doing things with one hand while the infant guzzled. With Kent sneaking peeks and Peter referring to Mommy's milk jugs. That came from Kent, Alex said. Kent was a troublemaker and the possessor of a dirty mind.
"Well, I have to do things," Sally said.
"That's not one of the things you have to do. You could have her on the bottle tomorrow."
"I will soon. Not quite tomorrow, but soon."
But here she is, still letting Savanna and the milk jugs dominate the picnic.
The Kool-Aid is poured, then the champagne. Sally and Alex touch glasses, with Savanna between them. Sally has her sip and wishes she could have more. She smiles at Alex to communicate this wish, and maybe the idea that it would be nice to be alone with him. He drinks his champagne, and, as if her sip and smile were enough to soothe him, he starts in on the picnic. She points out which sandwiches have the mustard he likes and which have the mustard she and Peter like and which are for Kent, who likes no mustard at all.
While this is going on, Kent manages to slip behind her and finish up her champagne. Peter must have seen him do this, but for some peculiar reason he does not tell on him. Sally discovers what has happened some time later and Alex never knows about it at all, because he soon forgets that there was anything left in her glass and packs it neatly away with his own, while telling the boys about dolostone. They listen, presumably, as they gobble up the sandwiches and ignore the devilled eggs and crab salad and grab the tarts.
Dolostone, Alex says, is the thick caprock they can see. Underneath it is shale, clay turned into rock, very fine, fine-grained. Water works through the dolostone and when it gets to the shale it just lies there; it can't get through the thin layers. So the erosion—that's the destruction of the dolostone—is caused as the water works its way back to its source, eats a channel back, and the caprock develops vertical joints. Do they know what "vertical" means?
"Up and down," Kent says lackadaisically.
"Weak vertical joints, and they get to lean out and then they leave crevasses behind them and after millions of years they break off altogether and go tumbling down the slope."
"I have to go," Kent says.
"Go where?"
"I have to go pee."
"Oh, for God's sake, go."
"Me, too," Peter says.
Sally clamps her mouth down on the automatic injunction to be careful. Alex looks at her and approves of the clamping down. They smile faintly at each other.
Savanna has fallen asleep, her lips slack around the nipple. With the boys out of the way, it's easier to detach her. Sally can burp her and settle her on the blanket, without worrying about an exposed breast. If Alex finds the sight distasteful—she knows he dislikes the whole conjunction of sex and nourishment, his wife's breasts turned into udders—he can look away, and he does.
As she buttons herself up, there comes a cry, not sharp but lost, diminishing, and Alex is on his feet before she is, running along the path. Then a louder cry getting closer. It's Peter.
"Kent falled in. Kent falled in."
His father yells, "I'm coming."
Sally will always believe that she knew at once—even before she heard Peter's voice, she knew what had happened. If an accident had happened, it would not be to her six-year-old, who was brave but not inventive, not a showoff. It would be to Kent. She could see exactly how—peeing into a hole, balancing on the rim, teasing Peter, teasing himself.
He was alive. He was lying far down in the rubble at the bottom of the crevasse, but he was moving his arms, struggling to push himself up. Struggling so feebly. One leg caught under him, the other oddly bent.
"Can you carry the baby?" she said to Peter. "Go back to the picnic and put her on the blanket and watch her. That's my good boy. My good strong boy."
Alex was on his way into the hole, scrambling down, telling Kent to stay still. Getting down in one piece was just possible. It would be getting Kent out that was hard.
Should she run to the car and see if there was a rope? Tie the rope around a tree trunk? Maybe tie it around Kent's body so she could lift him when Alex raised him up to her?
There wouldn't be a rope. Why would there be a rope?
Alex had reached him. He bent and lifted him. Kent gave a beseeching scream of pain. Alex draped him around his shoulders, Kent's head hanging down on one side and useless legs—one so unnaturally protruding—on the other. He rose, stumbled a couple of steps, and while still hanging on to Kent dropped back down to his knees. He had decided to crawl and was making his way—Sally understood this now—to the rubble that partly filled the far end of the crevasse. He shouted some order to her without raising his head, and though she could not make out any word she knew what he wanted. She got up off her knees—why was she on her knees?—and pushed through some saplings to that edge of the rim, where the rubble came to within perhaps three feet of the surface. Alex was still crawling along with Kent dangling from him like a shot deer.
She called, "I'm here. I'm here."
Kent would have to be raised up by his father, pulled to the solid shelf of rock by his mother. He was a skinny boy, who had not yet reached his first spurt of growth, but he seemed as heavy as a bag of cement. Sally's arms could not do it on the first try. She shifted her position, crouching instead of lying flat on her stomach, and with the full power of her shoulders and chest and with Alex supporting and lifting Kent's body from beneath they heaved him over. Sally fell back with him in her arms and saw his eyes open, then roll back in his head as he fainted again.
When Alex had clawed his way out, they collected the other children and drove to the Collingwood Hospital. There seemed to be no internal injury. Both legs were broken. One break was clean, as the doctor put it. The other leg was shattered.
"Kids have to be watched every minute in there," he said sternly to Sally, who had gone into the examining room with Kent while Alex managed Peter and Savanna. "Haven't they got any warning signs up?"
With Alex, she thought, he would have spoken differently. "That's the way boys are. Turn your back and they're tearing around where they shouldn't be," he would have said.
Her gratitude—to God, whom she did not believe in, and to Alex, whom she did—was so immense that she resented nothing.
It was necessary for Kent to spend the next six months out of school, strung up for the first few weeks in a rented hospital bed. Sally picked up and turned in his school assignments, which he completed in no time. Then he was encouraged to go ahead with Extra Projects. One of these was "Travels and Explorations—Choose Your Country."
"I want to pick somewhere nobody else would pick," he said.
The accident and the convalescence seemed to have changed him. He acted older than his age now, less antic, more serene. And Sally told him something that she had not told to another soul. She told him how she was attracted to remote islands. Not to the Hawaiian Islands or the Canaries or the Hebrides or the Isles of Greece, where everybody wanted to go, but to small or obscure islands that nobody talked about and that were seldom, if ever, visited. Ascension, Tristan da Cunha, Chatham Island and Christmas Island and Desolation Island and the Faeroes. She and Kent began to collect every scrap of information they could find about these places, not allowing themselves to make anything up. And never telling Alex what they were doing.
"He would think we were off our heads," Sally said.
Desolation Island's main boast was of a vegetable, of great antiquity, a unique cabbage. They imagined worship ceremonies for it, costumes, and cabbage parades in its honor.
Sally told her son that, before he was born, she had seen footage on television of the inhabitants of Tristan da Cunha disembarking at Heathrow Airport, having all been evacuated, owing to a great volcanic eruption on their island. How strange they had looked, docile and dignified, like creatures from another century. They must have adjusted to England, more or less, but when the volcano quieted down, a couple of years later, they almost all wanted to go home.
When Kent went back to school, things changed, of course, but he still seemed mature for his age, patient with Savanna, who had grown venturesome and stubborn, and with Peter, who always burst into the house as if on a gale of calamity. And he was especially courteous to his father, bringing him the paper that he had rescued from Savanna and carefully refolded, pulling out his chair at dinnertime.
"Honor to the man who saved my life," he might say, or "Home is the hero."
He said this rather dramatically, though not at all sarcastically, yet it got on Alex's nerves. Kent got on his nerves, had done so even before the deep-hole drama.
"Cut that out," Alex said, and complained privately to Sally.
"He's saying you must have loved him, because you rescued him."
"Christ, I'd have rescued anybody."
"Don't say that in front of him. Please."
When Kent got to high school, things with his father improved. He chose to focus on science. He picked the hard sciences, not the soft earth sciences, and even this roused no opposition in Alex. The harder the better.
But after six months at college Kent disappeared. People who knew him a little—there did not seem to be anyone who claimed to be a friend—said that he had talked of going to the West Coast. A letter came, just as his parents were deciding to go to the police. He was working at a Canadian Tire in a suburb just north of Toronto. Alex went to see him there, to order him back to college. But Kent refused, said that he was very happy with his job, and was making good money, or soon would be, when he got promoted. Then Sally went to see him, without telling Alex, and found him jolly and ten pounds heavier. He said it was the beer. He had friends now.
"It's a phase," she said to Alex when she confessed the visit. "He wants to get a taste of independence."
"He can get a bellyful of it, as far as I'm concerned."
Kent had not said where he was living, and when she made her next visit to Canadian Tire she was told that he had quit. She was embarrassed—she thought she caught a smirk on the face of the employee who told her—and she did not ask where Kent had gone. She assumed he would get in touch, anyway, as soon as he had settled again.
He did write, three years later. His letter was mailed in Needles, California, but he told them not to bother trying to trace him there—he was only passing through. Like Blanche, he said, and Alex said, "Who the hell is Blanche?"
"Just a joke," Sally said. "It doesn't matter."
Kent did not say where he had been or whether he was working or had formed any connections. He did not apologize for leaving his parents without any information for so long, or ask how they were, or how his brother and sister were. Instead, he wrote pages about his own life. Not the practical side of his life but what he believed he should be doing—what he was doing—with it.
"It seems so ridiculous to me," he said, "that a person should be expected to lock themselves into a suit of clothes. I mean, like the suit of clothes of an engineer or doctor or geologist, and then the skin grows over it, over the clothes, I mean, and that person can't ever get them off. When we are given a chance to explore the whole world of inner and outer reality and to live in a way that takes in the spiritual and the physical and the whole range of the beautiful and the terrible available to mankind, that is pain as well as joy and turmoil. This way of expressing myself may seem over-blown to you, but one thing I have learned to give up is intellectual pridefulness—"
"He's on drugs," Alex said. "You can tell a mile off. His brain's rotted with drugs."
In the middle of the night he said, "Sex."
Sally was lying beside him, wide awake.
"What about sex?"
"It's what makes you do what he's talking about—become a something-or-other so that you can earn a living. So that you can pay for your steady sex and the consequences. That's not a consideration for him."
Sally said, "My, how romantic."
"Getting down to basics is never very romantic. He's not normal is all I'm trying to say."
Further on in the letter—or the rampage, as Alex called it—Kent said that he had been luckier than most people, in having had what he called his "near-death experience," which had given him perhaps an extra awareness, and he would be forever grateful to his father, who had lifted him back into the world, and to his mother, who had lovingly received him there.
He wrote, "Perhaps in those moments I was reborn."
Alex groaned.
"No. I won't say it."
"Don't," Sally said. "You don't mean it."
"I don't know whether I do or not."
That letter, signed with love, was the last they heard from him.
Peter went into medicine, Savanna into law.
To her own surprise, Sally became interested in geology. One night, in a trusting mood after sex, she told Alex about the islands—though not about her fantasy that Kent was now living on one or another of them. She said that she had forgotten many of the details she used to know, and that she should look all these places up in the encyclopedia, where she had first got her information. Alex said that everything she wanted to know could probably be found on the Internet now. Surely not something so obscure, she said, and he got her out of bed and downstairs, and there in no time, before her eyes, was Tristan da Cunha, a green plate in the South Atlantic Ocean, with information galore. She was shocked and turned away, and Alex, who was disappointed in her, asked why.
"I don't know. Maybe I don't want it so real."
He said that she needed something to do. He had just retired from teaching at the time and was planning to write a book. He needed an assistant and he could not call on graduate students now as he had been able to when he was still on the faculty. (She didn't know if this was true or not.) She reminded him that she knew nothing about rocks, and he said never mind that, he could use her for scale, in the photographs.
So she became the small figure in black or bright clothing, contrasting with the ribbons of Silurian or Devonian rock or with the gneiss formed by intense compression, folded and deformed by clashes of the North American and the Pacific plates to make the present continent. Gradually she learned to use her eyes and apply her knowledge, till she could stand in an empty suburban street and realize that far beneath her shoes was a crater filled with rubble that had never been seen, because there had been no eyes to see it at its creation or through the long history of its being made and filled and hidden and lost. Alex did such things the honor of knowing about them, and she admired him for that, although she knew enough not to say so. They were good friends in these last years, which she didn't know were their last years. He went into the hospital for an operation, taking his charts and photographs with him, and on the day he was supposed to come home he died.
This was in the summer, and that fall there was a dramatic fire in Toronto. Sally sat in front of her television watching coverage of the fire for a while. It was in a district that she knew, or used to know, in the days when its nineteenth-century buildings were inhabited by hippies, with their tarot cards and beads and paper flowers the size of pumpkins. Later, the vegetarian restaurants had been transformed into expensive bistros and boutiques. Now a block of those nineteenth-century buildings was being wiped out, and the newsman was bemoaning this, speaking of the people who lived in old-fashioned apartments above the shops and had now lost their homes or were being dragged out of harm's way onto the street.
He didn't mention the landlords of the buildings, Sally thought, who were probably getting away with substandard wiring, as well as with epidemics of cockroaches, bedbugs, not to be complained about by the deluded or the fearful poor.
She sometimes felt Alex talking in her head these days, and that was surely what was happening now. She turned off the television.
No more than ten minutes later, the phone rang. It was Savanna.
"Mom. Have you got your TV on? Did you see?"
"You mean the fire? I did have it on, but I turned it off."
"No. Did you see—I'm looking for him right now—I saw him not five minutes ago. . . . Mom, it's Kent. Now I can't find him. But I saw him."
"Is he hurt? I'm turning it on now. Was he hurt?"
"No, he was helping. He was carrying one end of a stretcher. There was a body on it—I don't know if it was dead or just hurt. But Kent. It was him. You could even see him limping. Have you got it on now?"
"O.K. I'll calm down. I bet he went back into the building."
"But surely they wouldn't allow—"
"He could be a doctor, for all we know. Oh, fuck, now they're talking to that same old guy they talked to before—his family owned some business for a hundred years. Let's hang up and just keep our eyes on the screen. He's sure to come in range again."
He didn't. The footage began to repeat itself.
Savanna phoned back. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I know a guy that works on the news. I can get to see that shot again. We have to find out."
Savanna had never known her brother very well—she had been nine when he left—so what was all the fuss about? Had her father's death made her feel the need of family? She should marry soon, Sally thought. She should have children. But she had such a stubborn streak when she set her mind on something. Her father had told her when she was ten years old that she could gnaw an idea to the bone—she ought to be a lawyer. And, from then on, that was what she had said she would be.
It was Kent, and within a week Savanna had found out all about him. No. Change that to found out all he wanted her to know. He had been living in Toronto for years. He had often passed the building where Savanna worked and thought he had spotted her a couple of times on the street. Of course, she wouldn't have recognized him, because he was wearing a kind of robe.
"A Hare Krishna?" Sally said.
"Oh, Mom, if you're a monk it doesn't mean you're a Hare Krishna. Anyway, he's not that now."
"So what is he?"
"He says he lives in the present. So I said, 'Well, don't we all, nowadays,' and he said no, he meant in the real present."
"Where we are now," he had said, and Savanna had said, "You mean, in this dump?" Because it was—the coffee shop where he had asked her to meet him was a dump.
"I see it differently," he said, but then he said he had no objection to her way of seeing it, or anybody else's.
"Well, that's big of you," Savanna said, but she made a joke of it and he sort of laughed.
He said that he had seen Alex's obituary in the paper and thought it was well done. He guessed Alex would have liked the reference to his contribution to geology. He had wondered if his own name would appear on the list of relatives, and he was rather surprised that it was there. Had his father told them what names he wanted listed, before he died? he asked.
Savanna had said no—he hadn't been planning on dying anything like so soon. It was the rest of the family who'd had a conference and decided that Kent's name should be included.
"Not Dad," Kent had said. "Well, no."
Then he had asked about Sally.
Sally felt a kind of inflated balloon in her chest.
"What did you say?"
"I said you were O.K., maybe at loose ends a little, you and Dad being so close and you not having much time yet to get used to being alone. Then he said, 'Tell her she can come to see me, if she wants to,' and I said I would ask you."
Sally didn't reply.
"You there, Mom?"
"Did he say when or where?"
"No. I'm supposed to meet him in a week in the same place and tell him what you said. I think he sort of enjoys calling the shots. I thought you'd agree right away."
"Of course I agree. Did he really risk his life in the fire?"
"He won't talk about it. But my information is yes. He's quite well known, as it turns out, in certain parts of town and by certain people."
Sally received a note. This in itself was special, since most people she knew used e-mail or the phone. She was glad he hadn't called. She did not yet trust herself to hear his voice. The note instructed her to leave her car in the subway parking lot at the end of the line and take the subway to a specified station, where he would meet her.
She expected to see him on the other side of the turnstile, but he was not there. Probably he had meant that he would meet her outside. She climbed the steps and emerged into the sunlight and paused, as people hurried and pushed past her. She had a feeling of dismay and embarrassment. Dismay at Kent's apparent absence and embarrassment because she was feeling just what people from her part of the country often felt in neighborhoods like this, though she would never have said what they said. You'd think you were in the Congo or India or Vietnam.
On the steps of an old bank building just beyond the subway entrance, several men were sitting or lounging or sleeping. It was no longer a bank, of course, though the bank's name was cut into the stone. She looked at the name rather than at the men, whose slouching or reclining postures were such a contrast to the old purpose of the building and the rush of the crowd coming out of the subway.
One of the men on the steps got up and came toward her in no hurry, with a slight drag of one foot, and she realized that it was Kent and waited for him.
She would almost as soon have run away. But then she saw that not all the men were filthy or hopeless-looking, and that some glanced at her without menace or contempt and even with friendly amusement, now that she had been identified as Kent's mother.
Kent didn't wear a robe. He wore gray pants that were too big for him, a T-shirt with no message on it, and a threadbare jacket. His hair was cut so short you could hardly see the curl. His skin was quite pale, and his thin body made him look older than he was. He was missing some teeth.
He did not embrace her—she did not expect him to—but he put his hand lightly on her back to steer her in the direction he wanted her to go.
"Do you still smoke your pipe?" she said, sniffing the air, and remembering how he had taken up pipe smoking in high school.
"Pipe? Oh. No. It's the smoke from the fire you smell. We don't notice it anymore. I'm afraid it'll get stronger, where we're walking."
"Are we going to go through where it was?"
"No, no. We couldn't, even if we wanted to. They've got it all blocked off. Too dangerous. Some buildings will have to be taken down. Don't worry—it's O.K. where we are. A good block and a half away from the mess."
"Your apartment building?" she said, alert to the "we."
"Sort of. Yes. You'll see."
He spoke gently, readily, yet with an effort, like someone speaking, as a courtesy, in a foreign language. And he stooped a little, to make sure she heard him. The slight labor involved in speaking to her seemed something she was meant to notice. The cost.
As they stepped off a curb he brushed her arm—perhaps he had stumbled a little—and he said, "Excuse me." And she thought he gave a slight shiver.
AIDS. Why had that never occurred to her before?
"No," he said, though she had certainly not spoken aloud. "I'm quite well at present. I'm not H.I.V.-positive or anything like that. I contracted malaria years ago but it's under control. I may be a bit run-down but nothing to worry about. We turn here—we're right on this block."
"I'm not psychic," he said. "I just figured out something that Savanna was trying to get at, and I thought I'd put you at rest. Here we are then."
It was one of those houses whose front doors are only a few steps from the sidewalk.
"I'm celibate, actually," he said, holding open the door. A piece of cardboard was tacked up where one of its glass panes should be.
The floorboards were bare and creaked underfoot. The smell was complicated, all-pervasive. The smoke had got in here, of course, but it was mixed with the odors of ancient cooking, burned coffee, toilets, sickness, decay.
"Though 'celibate' might be the wrong word. That sounds as if it had something to do with will power. I guess I should have said 'neuter.' I don't think of it as an achievement. It isn't."
He was leading her around the stairs and into the kitchen.
And there a gigantic woman stood with her back to them, stirring something on the stove.
Kent said, "Hi, Marnie. This is my mom. Can you say hello to my mom?"
Sally noticed a change in his voice. A relaxation, honesty, perhaps a respectfulness, that was different from the forced lightness he adopted with her.
She said, "Hello, Marnie," and the woman half turned, showing a squeezed doll's face in a loaf of flesh but not focussing her eyes.
"Marnie is our cook this week," Kent said. "Smells O.K., Marnie."
To his mother he said, "We'll go and sit in my sanctum, shall we?" and led the way down a couple of steps and along a back hall. It was hard to move there, because of the stacks of newspapers, flyers, and magazines neatly tied.
"Got to get these out of here," Kent said. "I told Steve this morning. Fire hazard. Jeez, I used to just say that. Now I know what it means."
Jeez. She had been wondering if he belonged to some plainclothes religious order, but if he did he surely wouldn't say that, would he? Of course, it could be an order of some faith other than Christian.
His room was down some more steps, actually in the cellar. There was a cot, a battered old-fashioned desk with cubbyholes, a couple of straight-backed chairs with rungs missing.
"The chairs are perfectly safe," he said. "Nearly all our stuff is scavenged from somewhere, but I draw the line at chairs you can't sit on."
Sally seated herself with a feeling of exhaustion.
"What are you?" she said. "What is it that you do? Is this a halfway house or something like that?"
"No. Not even quarter-way. We take in anybody that comes."
"Even me."
"Even you," he said without smiling. "We aren't supported by anybody but ourselves. We do some recycling with stuff we pick up. Those newspapers. Bottles. We make a bit here and there. And we take turns soliciting the public."
"Asking for charity?"
"Begging," he said.
"On the street?"
"What better place for it? On the street. And we go into some pubs that we have an understanding with, though it is against the law."
"You do that yourself?"
"I could hardly ask the others to do it if I wouldn't. That's something I had to overcome. Just about all of us have something to overcome. It can be shame. Or it can be the concept of 'mine.' When somebody drops a ten-dollar bill, or even a loonie, into the hat, that's when the notion of private ownership kicks in. Whose is it, huh? Ours or—unh-uh—mine? If the answer comes back 'mine,' it usually gets spent right away, and we have the person turning up here smelling of booze and saying, 'I don't know what's the matter with me today—I couldn't get a bite.' Then they might start to feel bad later and confess. Or not confess, never mind. We see them disappear for days—weeks—then show up back here when the going gets too rough. And sometimes we'll see them working the street on their own, never letting on that they recognize us. Never coming back. And that's all right, too. They're our graduates, you could say. If you believe in the system."
"Around here I'm Jonah."
"I just chose it. I thought of Lazarus, but it's too self-dramatizing. You can call me Kent, if you like."
"I want to know what's happened in your life. I mean, not so much these people—"
"These people are my life."
"I knew you'd say that."
"O.K., it was kind of smart-arse. But this, this is what I've been doing for—seven years? Nine years? Nine years."
She persisted. "Before that?"
"What do I know? Before that? Before that. Man's days are like grass, eh? Cut down and put into the oven. Listen to me. Soon as I meet you again I start the showing-off. Cut down and put in the oven—I'm not interested in that. I live each day as it happens. Really. You wouldn't understand that. I'm not in your world, you're not in mine. You know why I wanted to meet you here today?"
"No. I didn't think of it. I mean, I thought naturally maybe the time had come—"
"Naturally. When I read about my father's death in the paper I thought, Well, where is the money? I thought, Well, she can tell me."
"It went to me," Sally said, with flat disappointment but great self-control. "For the time being. The house as well, if you're interested."
"I thought likely that was it. That's O.K."
"When I die, to Peter and his boys and Savanna."
"Very nice."
"He didn't know if you were alive or dead."
"You think I'm asking for myself? You think I'm that much of an idiot to want the money for myself? But I did make a mistake thinking about how I could use it. Thinking, Family money, sure, I can use that. That's the temptation. Now I'm glad, I'm glad I can't have it."
"I could let—"
"The thing is, though, this place is condemned—"
"I could let you borrow."
"Borrow? We don't borrow around here. We don't use the borrow system around here. Excuse me, I've got to go get hold of my mood. Are you hungry? Would you like some soup?"
"No, thanks."
When he was gone, she thought of running away. If she could locate a back door, a route that didn't go through the kitchen.
But she could not do it. It would mean that she would never see him again. And the back yard of a house like this, built before the days of automobiles, would have no access to the street.
It was half an hour before he came back. He seemed a little surprised or bewildered to find her still there.
"Sorry. I had to settle some business. And then I talked to Marnie. She always calms me down."
"You wrote a letter to us," Sally said. "It was the last we heard from you."
"Oh, don't remind me."
"No, it was a good letter. It was a good attempt to explain what you were thinking."
"Please. Don't remind me."
"You were trying to figure out your life—"
"My life, my life, my progress, what all I could discover about my stinking self. The purpose of me. My crap. My spirituality. My intellectuality. There isn't any inside stuff anymore, Sally. You don't mind if I call you Sally? It just comes out easier. There is only outside, what you do, every moment of your life. Since I realized this, I've been happy."
"You are? Happy?"
"Sure. I've let go of that stupid self stuff. I think, How can I help? And that's all the thinking that I allow myself."
"Living in the present?"
"I don't care if you think I'm banal. I don't care if you laugh at me."
"I'm not—"
"I don't care. Listen. If you think I'm after your money, fine. I am after your money. Also, I am after you. Don't you want a different life? I'm not saying I love you. I don't use stupid language. Or, I want to save you. You know you can only save yourself. So what is the point? I don't usually try to get anywhere talking to people. I usually try to avoid personal relationships. I mean I do. I do avoid them."
"Why are you trying not to smile?" he said. "Because I said 'relationships'? That's a cant word? I don't fuss about my words."
Sally said, "I was thinking of Jesus. 'Woman, what have I to do with thee?' "
The look that leaped to his face was almost savage.
"Don't you get tired, Sally? Don't you get tired being clever? I can't go on talking this way, I'm sorry. I've got things to do."
"So have I," Sally said. It was a complete lie. "We'll be—"
"Don't say it. Don't say we'll be in touch."
"Maybe we'll be in touch. Is that any better?"
Sally gets lost, then finds her way. The bank building again, the same or possibly a whole new regiment of loiterers. The subway ride, the car park, the keys, the highway, the traffic. Then the lesser highway, the early sunset, no snow yet, the bare trees, and the darkening fields.
She loves this countryside, this time of year. Must she now think herself unworthy?
The cat is glad to see her. There are a couple of messages from friends on her machine. She heats up a single serving of lasagna. She buys these separated, precooked, and frozen portions now. They are quite good and not too expensive when you think that there's no waste. She sips from a glass of wine during the few-minute wait.
She is shaking with anger. What is she supposed to do, go back to the condemned house and scrub the rotten linoleum and cook up the chicken parts that were thrown out because they're past the best-before date? And be reminded every day of how she falls short of Marnie or any other afflicted creature? All for the privilege of being useful in the life that somebody else—Kent—has chosen?
He's sick. He's wearing himself out; maybe he's dying. He wouldn't thank her for clean sheets and fresh food. Oh, no. He'd rather die on that cot under a blanket with a burned hole in it.
But a check, she can write some sort of check, not an absurd one. Not too big or too small. He won't help himself with it, of course. He won't stop despising her, of course.
Despising. No. Not the point. Nothing personal.
There is something, anyway, in having got through the day without its being an absolute disaster. It wasn't, was it? She had said "maybe." He hadn't corrected her.
And it was possible, too, that age could become her ally, turning her into somebody she didn't know yet. She has seen that look of old people, now and then—clear-sighted but content, on islands of their own making. ♦


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With seven Mary Mary albums under her belt, Erica Campbell spreads her wings flying solo for the first time in 2013. Having spent 13 years as part of the groundbreaking duo Mary Mary, Erica fearlessly takes a step in a new direction.
The new direction is a bold one that forges a new path and journey for Erica Campbell, opening up a world of possibilities rooted in her desire to expose her heart and soul through music.
Where there were two, it is now one voice that stands alone revealing all of Campbell's emotions, desires and sentiments. For Erica, musical messages are universal. "We all want to inspire, to connect people to God, to encourage them and to see people delivered. But the distinctive nature [on my project] will be people hearing just my voice and hearing the heart of who I am, which is a little bit different from Mary Mary."
Her heart is what drives her. She is passionate about people. Reaching them, hearing and understanding their stories, praying for and loving them, it is what ultimately makes Erica's music relevant and relatable. "I have a serious heart for people. I care about the wounded, the broken hearted people, the downtrodden. I'm a regular girl trying to reach regular people with an extraordinary message: that God cares." Her first single, the upbeat and powerful "A Little More Jesus" is exactly that - Campbell tapping into what people are feeling and thinking. She unites us with her honesty and enthusiasm.
"I have a job to do … I want to bring the gospel to all aspects of the world. I want to use the platform to bring it to the people on the corner, outside of church," said Erica.
While continuing to tour as Mary Mary and filming her WEtv reality show, Erica began work on her first solo project that is slated for release in 2014. The solo project, HELP, will be released on My Block Inc./eOne on March 25th. The debut will showcase Erica's individual creative sound and artistry. She continues to hone her writing skills on the project as well as work with longtime collaborator, partner & husband Warryn Campbell.
Expect a wide range of music from Campbell. From her foundation in church to her classical training and musical influences, Erica describes her solo sound as blend "think Motown meets gospel meets rock & roll," all of which are her nod to the power and uniqueness of live vocals and live bands.
"The songs will be different," said Campbell. "I want to reach back into what music has gone away from which is live instrumentation. I want Gospel music to take full ownership of what music really is. There will be a lot of live instruments – strings and horns. It will be music that is relevant and appealing with a message that is just as moving, necessary and compelling."
And though this season is one for Erica to experience alone, it's hard to not mention Mary Mary. Ever since siblings Erica Campbell and Tina Campbell broke through in 2000 with the pioneering crossover hit "Shackles (Praise You)," the chart-topping sister act has never wavered from defying convention to fulfill its mission: sending uplifting messages through music and words that are relatable to everyone. Mary Mary are multiple award nominees and winners. In addition to earning numerous Stellar Music and Dove Awards they have also received 4 Grammy Awards, 3 NAACP Image Awards, 2 American Music Awards, a Soul Train Award and a BET Award. In 2011, Mary Mary received the ASCAP Golden Note Award for their extraordinary songwriting accomplishments.
Erica says of her decision to go solo "It's hard to not be Mary Mary, because I've been that for so long. But I think God is requiring ME to be ME. We don't have a twin ministry we just happen to be side by side. I think He has an individual ministry for me and for her [sister Tina]. You stand by someone for so long you don't even know if you're capable of standing on my own two feet. This is my chance to stand on my own."
Erica is guided in her personal and professional lives by a boundless desire to please God and her eternal love for her family. These are driving principals that are what is most important to Campbell. "I want the people that raised me, the pastors and all the people that spoke into my life … I want them to see that I listened and that I got it. That I represent God well and when they hear my name I want them to say we're proud of her. That will mean the world to me."
On the personal side Erica is a loving wife of award winning and platinum selling producer - Warryn Campbell, II. The two have recently started their ministry hosting a growing monthly prayer and bible study in North Hollywood, CA. "The responsibility of the people and the weight is so heavy," Erica said of the call to ministry. "But what God has called you to, He also equips you. Warryn and I both have a sincere heart for the disenfranchised in church. We put too much focus on people; we need to get back to God; serving Him and loving Him." .


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James Mylne has been creating artworks using ballpoint pens for 15 years. He says Biros appeal to him due to the huge level of concentration required to complete each drawing, with works often taking hundreds of hours to complete. Mistakes cannot be rectified and any errors result in the work being destroyed and James having to start again. 'Vintage Vogue', an exhibition of his work, will be staged at Rook & Raven Gallery, London, until 30th October
Steve McQueen Biro artwork by James MylnePicture: James Mylne. Photo by Tony Kyriacou / Rex Features


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Giant Gingerbread Boy Cookie
5 to 5 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1cup solid vegetable shortening
1 cup granulated sugar
1 1/4 cups molasses
2 eggs, beaten
Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Thoroughly mix flour, baking soda, salt and spices. Melt shortening in large saucepan. Cool slightly. Add molasses and eggs; mix well. Add 4 cups dry ingredients and mix well.
Turn mixture onto lightly floured surface. Knead in remaining dry ingredients by hand. Add a little more flour, if necessary, to make a firm dough. Divide dough into 2 equal parts(recipe makes 2 giant cookies). Spray Wilton Giant Gingerbread Boy pan with vegetable pan spray. Press dough portion into prepared pan. Bake 23-25 minutes. Cool in pan on rack for 5 minutes. Turn pan over to release and cool completely.
Makes 2 cookies.
My grandson made this when he spent time with me last year.


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The Runner Stumbles
by Milan Stitt (Dramatists Play Service)
Directed by Missy Thibodeaux-Thompson
- April 23-25, and April 29-May 1, 2010
- 7:30PM, except Sunday, April 25 at 2PM
- The Studio Theatre, Public Affairs Center (PAC) Level 1, UIS Campus
- Photo Gallery
Play Description
Cast: 4 men, 5 women
In 1911 in a remote northern Michigan parish, a young nun, Sister Rita, mysteriously dies. Her superior, Father Rivard, is charged with the crime. As the trial unfolds four years later, the story alternates between the past and the present, revealing a conflicted relationship between the young nun and the priest. Sister Rita tries to inject color and life into the rural, drab town, bringing more tension to the surface. Part courtroom drama, part memory play, part romance, the play explores conflicts between duty to the church and duty to self, forbidden passions, and divisions between strict traditional morality and complex human emotions.


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Monday, January 14, 2013
It is time to move on from the Classic FamilySearch.org
Most of the complaints center around issues with "finding" their information on the old site. The Classic website had searchable databases including the Ancestral File (AF), the Pedigree Resource File (PRF), the International Genealogical Index (IGI), the Social Security Death Index (SSDI), a lot of finding aids such as the geographically organized Research Guides and a few other extracted records. Other than the SSDI, none of these records were original source records. Part of the IGI contained extracted records, primarily from England, but the rest of the IGI, the AF and the PRF are all user contributed records, that is, copies of copies. Very few of these records have adequate source citations.
Now, I am not a fan of this huge pile of records for the simple reason that these records were the basis of the data in New.FamilySearch.org with all of that programs' duplicates and inaccuracies. Unfortunately, to a great extent, many of these data issues were also inherited by the newer FamilySearch.org program, Family Tree. Until this pile of duplicates gets resolved, I cannot make any progress with entering sources and data into the Family Tree program. But that is another issue.
Now, are these old records from the Classic site still available (I said they were but I am asking the question rhetorically)?
Yes, go to the present site, FamilySearch.org. Here is a screen shot with an arrow showing the link to the AF and the PRF:
The IGI has been included in the Historical Record Collections. You can now search the extracted records (essentially an index of the records) and the user contributed records separately. The SSDI is also incorporated in the Historical Record Collections. So, the whole issue revolves around a change in the location of the records and a different method of searching.
In light of the millions upon millions of original source records being added to FamilySearch.org every day, why are these user contributed records still relevant? Are we still in the mode of simply copying whatever records we find online and incorporating them in our own pedigrees? Have those who are complaining focused on the issue that there are few, if any, sources listed for these older database records? In my own case, the records in the AF, the PRF and the IGI come from my own prior submissions primarily, and I am fully and painfully aware of the limitations of what I had previously submitted.
Let's put this issue to rest. The old site is gone and the records are still available. Even the Research Guides and all the other support materials are now incorporated in the FamilySearch Research Wiki, available under the "Learn" link on the top of the home page. I am sure that this present site will see some changes in the future also. Change is inevitable and we need to adapt.
1 comment:
Available? Yes. Sanitized? Yes. Usable? Hardly. The patron submitted records are a cacophony of information from about 1968 to the present, including the "TempleReady" era of particularly dubious scholarship. Without processing/ordinance data, it is impossible to evaluate the other data, because no time frame (pre-1991 or post-1991) can be established. Without batch numbers, a reference microfilm for the submission data (when such exists) cannot be retrieved. And without submitters, unless your surname is XXTR-RVT or something like it, it is impossible and disingenuous to footnote. Previously, those seriously interested in back-tracing the sources on patron submissions could do so by type of submission (individual/marriage entry sheet, family group sheet, FGRCA "Archives" summary, etc) and simply discard the "TempleReady" records. Now the entire set of on-line patron submitted records must be ignored as unusable. Sad.ReplyDelete
On the plus side, however, those "controlled extraction" records which relied on primary source material now point directly to the sources. However, there is no nexus for knowing where these records came from, when they were acquired from their original records custodians, how accurate the indexing is...unless those microfilm numbers [hidden within the record!] are ferreted out, logged, and double-checked.
A hobbyist will be satisfied with an index listing. A family historian will pursue the original source material to the ends of the earth. Hot links to the LDS library catalog were contemplated and discarded fairly early in the process. Bring them back, please.


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Ex-Tiffany exec pleads guilty in NY jewelry thefts
NEW YORK — A former executive with Tiffany & Co. pleaded guilty on Friday to charges she stole an assortment of little blue box bling worth more than $2 million from the famous Fifth Avenue jeweler's inventory.
Appearing in federal court in Manhattan, Ingrid Lederhaas-Okun admitted she had stashed the jewelry in her home in Darien where she was arrested earlier this month.
"I knew it was illegal to steal, and I did so regardless. ... I'm very sorry," the 46-year-old told a judge before pleading guilty to one count of interstate transportation of stolen property.
As vice president of product development, Lederhaas-Okun had authority to check out jewelry from Tiffany to provide to potential manufacturers to determine production costs. Authorities alleged that after she left Tiffany in February, the company discovered she had checked out 164 items that were never returned.
The items included numerous diamond bracelets in 18-carat gold, diamond drop and hoop earrings in platinum or 18-carat gold, diamond rings in platinum, rings with precious stones in 18-carat gold, and platinum and diamond pendants.
When confronted about the missing jewelry, Lederhaas-Okun claimed that she had left some of it behind at Tiffany and that some had been lost or damaged, according to a criminal complaint. But an investigation found that Lederhaas-Okun resold some of the goods to an unidentified international dealer for more than $1.3 million. Other items were found in her home.
Bank records showed that since January 2011, the dealer wrote 75 checks to her or her husband for amounts of up to $47,400, the complaint said. Investigators also recovered purchase forms signed by Lederhaas-Okun that said the items were her personal property.
Authorities alleged Lederhaas-Okun purposely checked out items valued at under $10,000 apiece to avoid detection. The company takes a daily inventory of all checked-out items worth more than $25,000.
Lederhaas-Okun faces a maximum of nearly four years in prison at sentencing on Dec. 10.


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Environmental Tuesday: A Family Strives for Zero Waste
Posted by
Becky |
View all posts by Becky
5 Comments »
I'm so happy this article is up online from Sunset. It's an inspiring story about a family (The Johnsons) who cut out so much of their stuff and try hard to live the Zero Waste life. A commenter on their site named Stephanie summed it up pretty well "This article has stuck with me, challenged me, frustrated me, and inspired me." Seriously, you cannot win; I remember reading about their compostable toothbrushes being sent from Australia and thinking "well, shipping from Australia kind of cancels out the fact that they are compostable." Also, the wife mentions that she sends the little sticky strip from Netflix back to Netflix so it won't go in her own trash. O.K., but you haven't eliminated it. But these are the words of a cynic. The greater point is that these people are trying very hard to live smaller, produce as little waste as possible, and spend less. Their tips regarding toys, food, and wardrobes is great, and overall, if you can pick up just one good tip from the Johnsons then it was worth reading.
Speaking of working with a small budgets and small wardrobes, here is another article that will help you cut down from The New York Times this year. It's about going a month on just six pieces of clothing and includes links to some fun blogs where people share what they come up with.
image by Thomas J. Story for Sunset Magazine


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The data relating to real estate for sale on this website comes in part from the Broker ReciprocitySM Program of the TReND, Inc. Real estate listings held by brokerage firms other than Keller Williams Devon-Wayne are marked with the BRSM logo or the BRSM thumbnail logo (a little black house) and detailed information about them includes the name of the listing brokers.
All information deemed reliable but not guaranteed and should be independently verified. All properties are subject to prior sale, change or withdrawal. Neither listing broker(s) nor Keller Williams Devon-Wayne shall be responsible for any typographical errors, misinformation, misprints and shall be held totally harmless.
This home sale information is not to be construed as an appraisal and may not be used as such for any purpose.
TREND MLS is the (or a) provider of this home sale information and has complied content from various private and public sources. Some properties represented may not have actually sold due to reporting errors.


text:
It seems you're using a browser that is a little past its time and our website might not be able to perform as it should.
If you'd like to have the best experience on WellingtonNZ.com, you can easily update your browser to get the most out of our website and many more for that matter.'
Wellington is the best choice for smart, ambitious and creative students from all over the world. Here are our top reasons for why you should make Wellington your campus.
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This guide is to help Arch users with Palm(R) devices. While installation in Arch is easy, it can be confusing for those who are new. Also see Palm Evolution.
Installing Packages
You will need to install one of the various Personal Information Management (PIM) softwares.
sudu pacman -S jpilot
or, as root
pacman -S jpilot
JPilot is the simplest client, though it is fully functional. Others include KPilot
sudo pacman -S kdepim
or gpilot
sudo pacman -S gnome-pilot
Any of the above options should install all that you need.
Finding your Device
You can sync in two ways, either by using libusb (preferred) or by using ttyUSB*/ttyS*
tty* based sync
Note: Do not have jpilot or other client open at this stage. Now, plug your device into the cradle, then into your computer (i.e. Palm T3), or straight USB cable (i.e. Tungsten E, TX) and attempt to hotsync.
Open up a terminal and type:
The last few lines will refer to your palm. For those who are familiar with Arch, you know what to look for. Others, look for any text followed by numbers, such as sr0, sg0. Just take a note of this, you may or may not need it. Mine lists as:
usb 3-2: Handspring Visor / Palm OS converter now attached to ttyUSB0 usb 3-2: Handspring Visor / Palm OS converter now attached to ttyUSB1
Next, set the directory to /dev and list the contents
cd /dev/ && ls
You should see an item there called 'palm', or 'pilot'. Again, take note of which is listed. Mine is 'pilot'. Note: This will only show up when hotsyncing. If it times out, retry.
libusb based sync
By default J-Pilot uses the
usb: pseudo device, don't change it.
This setting makes use of the
/dev/bus/usb/ file system.
If your user is in the group owning files in this file system that's the only configuration you'll need. (In mine is vboxusers but it's very unlikely it's the default...)
Just press Sync button in J-Pilot and then hotsync in your Palm.
Works every time with the most troublesome Palm: T|X.
Setting up the Software
Open up JPilot (or other software), either from the 'Office' menu (for Gnome) or by typing:
jpilot kpilot gnome-pilot
in the terminal.
Open the settings menu. On JPilot, this is File -> Preferences -> Settings. On KPilot or Kontact it is Settings -> Configure KPilot -> Device.
The Device setting should be /dev/palm or /dev/pilot, as noted above.
Next, on JPilot go to File -> Install User and type the username on your palm. In KPilot simply set the Pilot User setting in the Device area.
Now, first start a hotsync on your palm, then click the hotsync button in JPilot or KPilot. If all goes well, it will connect and start synchronizing. This will be quick, as it just does contacts, addresses, etc. The standards. There are no special conduits in the standard Jpilot, such as Documents-To-Go, so either find those on the Internet (if they exist) or make them yourself. :)
Next, do the same thing, but click the button below, for backup. On first run, this will take a long time, but well worth while.
That's it! You have successfully setup your palm device on Arch Linux.
Hotsync over Bluetooth
Palm devices come with built-in networking capabilities, as well as Bluetooth. If you also own a laptop, or have a USB Bluetooth adaptor, syncing over bluetooth, while being noticeably slower, is probably more convenient than keeping your sync cable handy.
First, of course, you have to have bluetooth set up. [1] provides the arch-specific guide to that, its currently quite short, but I had no problems following it. Of course, there's also the forums to ask for help.
Next, there's the actual setup for syncing. Basically, this involves setting up a small LAN over Bluetooth connection. I did this following the guide in [2], the author of which followed the guide in [3]. Anyway, on to the real information.
First we'd need to pair the Palm and your PC. If you're using Bluez, then use blueman-manager to search for your Palm (make sure bluetooth is turned on and not hidden), then pair them (the button is labeled 'bond', for some reason or other). You'd need to type in a verification pass-key. Alternatively, from the palm, search for your PC's bluetooth and set it as a trusted device.
Next, on your Palm, go to Preferences->Connection and create a new connection, name it "Laptop Bluetooth" or whatever you like, set it to connect to a PC via Bluetooth, and select your PC from the list below. Next, you have to actually setup the network, going through Prefences->Network, create a new network, naming it again anything you want (I use "Linux"), select the connection you just created, and leave the user name and password blank (you could put something here, you'd need to change the following steps accordingly though).
To set up your PC, first create the file /etc/ppp/peers/dun, with these contents:-
115200 10.0.1.8:10.0.1.40 local ms-dns <enter your dns server address here> noauth debug
As root, edit the file /etc/ppp/pap-secrets, adding this line:-
mylogin * mypassword *
In a terminal, run dund as root (prefix with sudo if you're not logged in as root). You would need to make sure the bluetooth daemon is already started at this point.
dund --nodetach --listen --persist --msdun call dun
Click the 'Connect' button under Preferences->Networking for your Palm. In the terminal, some text should start scrolling, indicating a new connection, channels being used, and the sending and receiving of various packets. At this point, your connectivity is working fine, and you can add the following line to /etc/rc.local so dund starts at every login:-
dund --listen --persist --msdun call dun
For the Hotsync specific setup, navigate to 'Hotsync' on your palm, select 'Modem' instead of local. Go to the menu, and change the following preferences:-
Modem Sync Preferences -> set Network instead of Direct to modem LANSync Preferences -> set LANSync instead of Local HotSync Primary PC Setup -> Set the Primary PC Name and Address to 10.0.1.8, according to the settings previously in /etc/ppp/peers/dun Connection Setup -> select the connection you previously created (Laptop Bluetooth, for example)
Under the Hotsync button, if the name you previously assigned to your network does not show ("Linux" in this example), select that area and it should automatically show "Linux". You are now ready to HotSync. Make sure dund is running, run your preferred sync-ing program using the interface net:any (I use JPilot, under File->Preferences->Settings->Serial Port I select 'other' and specify 'net:any'), and then click on the HotSync icon on your Palm. Enjoy wireless sync-ing.
Palm T|X
In addition to usb and bluetooth, the Palm T|X model includes ethernet connectivity. To sync the device using a direct ethernet connection using jpilot simply set the serial device to net:any in the Preferences dialog and then hotsync. On the Palm, you will need to select the name/ip address of the machine where jpilot is running and then start the hotsync. Enjoy high speed wireless hotsynching.
Palm Centro
visor module does not currently work with the Palm Centro. It is not needed, as newer software accesses the Centro through libusb. To make the Palm work under Arch, take the following steps:
/etc/rc.conf and blacklist the visor module:
You may have to reboot for this change to take effect.
When udev creates a device node for the Centro, it by default assigns it owner and group to root. You need to create a non-root group for udev to use for this device and make sure you're a member:
groupadd palm usermod -a -G palm <your_username>
You'll need to logout and re-login for the new group assignment to take effect. After you do, you should see
palm in the list of groups when you run the
groups command.
You now need to tell udev how to assign the Centro to the group
palm when it is attached. Create a file called
ACTION=="add", SUBSYSTEM=="usb", ENV{DEVTYPE}=="usb_device", \ ATTR{idVendor}=="0830", ATTR{idProduct}=="0061", \ NAME="bus/usb/$env{BUSNUM}/$env{DEVNUM}", MODE="0664", GROUP="palm"
Now plug in the device. Verify that a device has been added which has group
find /dev -group palm
The device name doesn't really matter, as libusb will find it when needed.
To sync the device, if using jpilot, simply specify
usb: as the serial port in preferences.
If you get a message such as stating that you don't have proper permissions, you probably need to add your user to a group with the proper permissions. This may be 'usb' or 'uucp'.
gpasswd -a username usb
gpasswd -a username uucp
Also, your software may have difficulty finding the device.
ls -l /dev/pilot
ls -l /dev/palm
may help you to discover a different name for the device. Output may look like this:
lrwxrwxrwx 1 root root 8 2002-01-03 16:13 /dev/pilot -> tts/USB1
Now change the Device setting (as above) to /dev/tts/USB1 or /dev/tts/USB0.


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We are photographers living with or affected by mental illness; supporting each other one photograph at a time. Join our community, submit today!
Photo taken by contributor Jim, a man from Texas who has struggled with depression for much of his life.
About this photo:
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Men?s Golfer of the Week ? No. 6
KANSAS CITY, Mo. – Florian Loutre of Lee (Tenn.) has been named the NAIA National Men's Golfer of the Week, the national office announced Wednesday. Loutre was selected based on his performance from April 15 – 21 and was chosen out of a pool of conference/independent/unaffiliated group golfer of the week selections.
Loutre, a native of Le Mans, France, led the Flames to a four stroke win at the Southern States Athletic Conference Tournament April 15 – 17 at Lagoon Park in Montgomery, Ala. The freshman carded a 70-67-70—207 at the 54-hole event to top a field of 55 individuals from 11 teams. Loutre's 5-under-par placed him five strokes ahead of the second place finisher and played a key role in Lee's team score of 851 (282-284-285). The Flames' team victory guarantees Lee an automatic berth in the 2013 NAIA Men's Golf National Championships in Salem, Ore., May 14 – 17.
The final Men's Golfer of the Week will be announced on May 1. For the complete 2013 Golfer of the Week schedule, click here.
Nominees: Joey Smart, Indiana East; Ben Johnson, Bethany (Kan.); Jared Lambert, Corban (Ore.); Zach Wetzel, Indiana Tech; Andy Myers, Madonna (Mich.); Matthew Latham, St. Andrews (N.C.); Mike Slavin, Grand View (Iowa); Matt Walton, Cumberlands (Ky.); Josh Coletti, Missouri Valley; Renan Sahr, Midland (Neb.); Kristofer Karlsson, Embry-Riddle (Fla.); Drew Taylor, Nebraska Wesleyan; Michael Clark, Northwestern (Iowa); Kelley Thompson, Baker (Kan.); Ben Hersh, College of Idaho; Andrew Johnson, Warner Pacific (Ore.); Chase Miller, Coastal Georgia; Omar Tejeira, St. Thomas (Fla.); Jess Wingett, Concordia (Ore.); Kyle Bahnick, Saint Xavier (Ill.); Thane Ringler, The Master's (Calif.); Dane Jensen, Westminster (Utah); Matt Walton, Cumberlands (Ky.).
2013 Composite Award Winners
Week 1 (March 20): Nathan Anderson, Texas Wesleyan
Week 2 (March 27): Julian Taylor, William Woods (Mo.)
Week 3 (April 3): Anthony Marchesani, Oklahoma City
Week 4 (April 10): Julian Taylor, William Woods (Mo.)
Week 5 (April 17): Brady Klotz, Bethel (Ind.)
Week 5 (April 24): Florian Loutre, Lee (Tenn.)


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Latest News
Whistle-blower adds twist to Stevens case
The whistle-blower's complaint, dated Dec. 2, is now the subject of an internal investigation by the Justice Department's Office of Professional Responsibility, according to a memorandum and order signed Friday by U.S. District Judge Emmet Sullivan of the District of Columbia.
Sullivan revealed the existence of the complaint, and three secret hearings about it last week, in his 29-page order.
Sullivan said little about the nature of the alleged misconduct. Among the allegations was that a government employee accepted "multiple things of value" from sources cooperating in the investigation, Sullivan said.
The judge also reported that the whistle-blower accused at least two federal employees of intentionally violating government policies in the corruption investigation in Alaska and in connection with material that was supposed to be provided to Stevens for his defense, Sullivan said.
Stevens was found guilty Oct. 27 of seven felony counts of failing to report gifts and services on his annual Senate disclosures.
Read this storyadn.com


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