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Microsoft (Canada) Phone Number
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Office **** Home and Student for Mac*installation failed.*ID: *****-***-*******-*****
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I had a virus alert on my laptop around *:** pm Oct **. The phone * for Microsoft was...
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we lost our sympatico email. it somehow got changed to a .net address
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we keep getting calls that indicated that our winders program need to be funded with a...
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is there a Microsoft Canada directory of employees & phone numbers?
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Xbox one s HDMI port. Is broken
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Customer Number 877-568-2495 - by the Numbers
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Microsoft (Canada)'s Best Toll-Free/800 Customer Phone Number
This is Microsoft (Canada)'s best phone number, the real-time current wait on hold and tools for skipping right through those phone lines to get right to a Microsoft (Canada) agent. This phone number is Microsoft (Canada)'s Best Phone Number because 990 customers like you used this contact information over the last 18 months and gave us feedback. Common problems addressed by the customer care unit that answers calls to 877-568-2495 include Returns, Cancel order, Change order, Technical support, Track order and other customer service issues. Rather than trying to call Microsoft (Canada) we recommend you tell us what issue you are having and then possibly contact them via phone or chat. In total, Microsoft (Canada) has 1 phone number. It's not always clear what is the best way to talk to Microsoft (Canada) representatives, so we started compiling this information built from suggestions from the customer community. Please keep sharing your experiences so we can continue to improve this free resource.
Contacting Microsoft (Canada) - by phone or otherwise
While 877-568-2495 is Microsoft (Canada)'s best toll-free number, there are 2 total ways to get in touch with them. The next best way to talk to their customer support team, according to other Microsoft (Canada) customers, is by telling GetHuman about your issue above and letting us find somebody to help you. Besides calling, the next favorite option for customers looking for help is via Live Chat for Customer Service. If you think this information is inaccurate or know of other ways to contact Microsoft (Canada) please let us know so we can share with other customers.
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text:
Shoot With Style In Adult Swim's Frantic FPS Desync
Skillful shooters are quite varied nowadays, from the relentless combat of Doom and Devil's Daggers to SuperHOT's slow-motion precision. Adult Swim's new release Desync brings its own brand of skillful action to the arena, dropping players into neon gauntlets and giving them the tools to destroy their enemies in spectacular chains of trick shots and traps.
Armed with wide selection of weapons, each with multiple modes of fire, Desync throws foe after foe at you: charging axe-wielders, agile swordsmen, and other mobile enemies. Quick evasion and relentless shooting will only get you so far, however. Desync doesn't you to just kill; it wants you to do so with style, using all your guns and surrounding environmental hazards to defeat enemies in rapid-firing spectacles.
These stylish opportunities, called Attack Sequences, reward the skillful player with massive damage, health, and even effective counters against certain enemies. Knock your attackers into spikes and saws, launch foes skyward and juggle them with subsequent shots, switch guns to kill enemies with multiple weapons or use your sidearms and main weapons together, among myriad other tricks. These Sequences require careful aim and positioning, adding …read more

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Up until very recently, my favorite breakfast burrito, which we smothered with accolades in Westword's Best of Denver 2010, came from Pico de Gallo Mexican Grill. And while I still believe that it's the best breakfast burrito in the Mile High City, I've found another breakfast burrito, outside Denver, that's so incredibly amazing that I've spent the last three Saturdays traveling 35 miles from my house just to wrap my jaws around it.
You won't find it any restaurant, however, which may make our little guess where I'm eating game more difficult than usual. That said, it's available daily at a stationary trailer that commands waits of up to 30 minutes.
In the comments section below, tell me the approximate address of where I'm eating, along with the city in which the trailer resides.
Special bonus: Anyone who gives the first correct answer to the week's Where am I drinking/eating posts is entered into a pool -- and every Monday, we select one lucky winner who'll receive a DINR deck, worth up to $520 in discounts at independent restaurants.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
Read all about DINR decks here.


text:
There really hasn't been much written on the subject, particularly in Lutheran circles, until recently.
Robert H. Bennett has done some work on the subject. He is the Executive Director of Luther Academy, and Adjunct Professor of Missiology and International Missions Specialist at Concordia Theological Seminary, Ft. Wayne, Indiana. Bennett has written two books exploring this topic. The first is I Am Not Afraid - Demon Possession and Spiritual Warfare, True Accounts from the Lutheran Church of Madagascar. Published in 2013, the book is an account of his time spent among the Malagasy Lutheran Church - where demon possession and spiritual warfare are a nearly everyday reality for the Church. He also included helps for recognizing the work of demonic forces in our world and aids for the conduct of our own warfare against the demonic - the focus of which is upon Christ - His power, not ours.
Bennett also wrote a follow-up work: Afraid - Demon Possession and Spiritual Warfare in America. Using real-life stories and examples, Bennett shares demonic encounters happening here in these United States today. Most important, he provides the remedy: God's grace in the Word of God and the power of Jesus Christ over the forces of the devil. Satan is our old evil foe. But the Father of Lies has been defeated through Christ's death and resurrection. He is a fallen foe. And Christ's victory is ours.
I found both works very enlightening, and very helpful - both for myself and for my ministry among God's people. I have already encountered a case of what was likely "demon oppression" (I stop short of calling it demon "possession.) And Bennett's guidance with respect to what exorcism really is and how it works (Biblical and entirely unlike the Roman Catholic Rite) was pivotal in the care of that individual. Bennett pointed me towards hymns of an exorcistic nature within our own hymnal (ever heard of "A Mighty Fortress is our God"?), the liturgy as exorcism, Scripture readings that are exorcistic, and prayers as well. Between both books, we Lutherans have the beginning of a "manual" for exorcism. I highly recommend both books for both pastors and laypersons.


text:
rectangular magical sky rocks that makes hair stand on end (electricity?)
three cube-like skyrocks
Shadowdancer's Cloak +2
Tall black thigh high leather boots (magical)
Vigorous Resolve Vestments (Cloth) +2
Barbed Baldric
Armor of Psychic Resist +2
Cape of the Mountebank +1
Battleforged Shield
Boots of Free Movement
Urn of Everlasting Provisions
Wineskin of … Water?
Handy Haversack
You met a party of warforged for this trade
There was a big storm of skyrocks and then rain
You did not find the mysterious moving pond, but instead get caught in a thunderstorm.
Folks inside the bunker were going crazy, catatonic, shitting themselves, and somewhat suicidal. Others were sane and barricaded.
The souls outside the bunker start shrieking at you!


text:
Former Teacher of the Year Ceri Evans inspires a group of gifted and talented Year 10 students in an active lesson about Darwin's theory of evolution.
Using a variety of games and challenges, Ceri leads a group of gifted and talented pupils and, in the process, provides science teachers with some effective ways of teaching about one of the most important ideas in the history of philosophy and science.
Published : May 2008
Ceri Evans' Masterclass
Secondary Teacher
Secondary Science
Whole School Issues
Secondary Gifted and Talented
ProTeachersVideo is an archive of over 3500 Teachers TV videos
for professional development or to use in class.


text:
FurnitureA Pair Of Large Classical Revival Consoles
A pair of large English country house Classical revival console tables of fine quality. Of beautifully carved mahogany in the early 18th Century style, with winged beasts and intricately carved friezes with dark brown marble tops.
Measure: 170cm wide x 95cm high x 85cm deep
Stock Code ET03108
Retail Price £10000


text: Here is the cover for Illuminated Darkness: The Divinity of Damien Calla Book Two. Done by a very talented woman K.M. Jenkins at Magical Designs. She has really brought two versions of Damien to light for me. Really captured the emotion he is feeling in both the second and third book. But here it is. Hope you all like it. The third book cover will be revealed later when I give the final excerpt for the final book.


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Indiana University Bloomington
Indiana University Bloomington
IU Bloomington
Receive email notifications on new books and special sales.
Scott Curtis is Associate Professor in the Department of Radio/Television/Film at Northwestern University. He is author of The Shape of Spectatorship: Art, Science, and Early Cinema in Germany.
Phillipe Gauthier lectures in cinema and media at the University of Ottawa. His is author of Le montage alterné avant Griffith.
Tom Gunning is Edwin A. and Betty L. Bergman Distinguished Service Professor in the Department of Cinema and Media Studies at the University of Chicago. His is author of D. W. Griffith and the Origins of American Narrative Film: The Early Years at Biograph and The Films of Fritz Lang: Allegories of Vision and Modernity.
Joshua Yumibe is Associate Professor and Director of Film Studies at Michigan State University. He is author of Moving Color: Early Film, Mass Culture, Modernism, and Fantasia of Color in Early Cinema.
Introduction / Scott Curtis, Philippe Gauthier, Tom Gunning, and Joshua Yumibe
Part I: Form
1. La part picturale du tableau-style / Valentine Robert
2. The Unsettling of Vision: Tableaux Vivants, Early Cinema, and Optical Illusions / Daniel Wiegand
3. The Vision Scene: Revelation and Remediation / Frank Gray
4. Animating Antiquity / Laura Horak
5. Caricature et films comiques à la Belle Époque: quand le dessin de presse rencontre le cinema / Jérémy Houillère
6. De la presse illustrée à l'actualité filmée (1894-1910) : l'émergence d'une nouvelle « culture visuelle de l'information »? / Rodolphe Gahéry
7. From Pathé to Paramount: Visual Design in Movie Advertising to 1915 / Richard Abel
8. Landscape Topoi: From the Mountains to the Sea / Jennifer Peterson
9. A View Aesthetic without a View? Space and Place in Early Norwegian Polar Expedition Films / Gunnar Iversen
Part II: Material
10. Between "Recognition" and "Abstraction": Early Vocational Training Films / Florian Hoof
11. Ruptured Perspectives: The "View," Early Special Effects, and Film History / Leslie DeLassus
12. Surface and Color: Stenciling in Applied Arts, Fashion Illustration, and Cinema / Jelena Rakin
13. The Color Image / Joshua Yumibe
Part III: Networks
14. Shared Affinities and "Kunstwollen": Stylistics of the Cinematic Image in the 1910s and Art Theory at the Turn of the Century in Germany / Jörg Schweinitz
15. Techniques in Circulation: Sovereignty, Imaging Technology, and Art Education in Qajar Iran / Kaveh Askari
16. Corporeality and Female Modernity: Intermediality and Early Film Celebrities / Marina Dahlquist
17. A Scientific Instrument? Animated Photography among Other New Imaging Techniques / Ian Christie
18. Advertising with Moving Pictures: International Harvester's The Romance of the Reaper (1910-13) / Gregory A. Waller
19. The City View(ed): Muybridge's Panoramas of San Francisco and their Afterlives in Early Cinema / Dimitrios Latsis
20. California Landscapes: John Divola and the Cine-Geography of Serial Photography / Charles Wolfe
21. What is a Fake Image? / Frank Kessler and Sabine Lenk
22. The Lantern Image between Stage and Screen / Artemis Willis
Part IV: Discourses
23. Pictorialism and the Picture: Art, Photography, and the "Doctrine of Taste" in the Discourse on Transitional Era Quality Films / Tom Paulus
24. Boredom and Visions in Vachel Lindsay's Film Theory / Ryan Pierson
25. Falling Desperately in Love with the Image on Screen: "The Flictoflicker Girl" (1913) and Cinematic Structures of Fascination / Denis Condon
26. An "Advertising Punch" in Every Frame: Image Making in Early Advertising Films / Martin L. Johnson
Appendix: Translations
27. English Translation of Chapter 1: Early Cinema's Realizations: The Pictorial in the Tableau Style / Valentine Robert
28. English Translation of Chapter 5: Caricature and Comic Films in the Belle Époque: When the Illustrated Press Met the Cinema / Jérémy Houillère
29. English Translation of Chapter 6: From the Illustrated Press to Filmed Actualities (1894-1910): The Emergence of a New "Visual Information Culture"? / Rodolphe Gahéry
Fulfilling the Promise
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text:
Technical Paper
A High Efficiency Magnetic Activated Sludge Reactor for Wastewater Processing
Technologies for the recycling of water are a primary goal of NASA's advanced life support programs. Biological processes have been identified as an attractive method for wastewater processing. A fundamental new bioreactor based on a traditional activated sludge process is demonstrated that treats hygiene wastewater using magnetic iron oxide particles agglomerated with microbial cells. In this bioreactor, microbes are suspended in magnetic flocs in a wastewater medium. Instead of a traditional gravity separator used in activated sludge operations, a magnetic separator removes the microbial flocs from the outlet stream. The reactor separation operates continuously, independent of gravitational influences. The reactor has been able to simultaneously remove 98% of high levels of both nitrogenous and organic carbon impurities from the wastewater as well as achieve acceptably low levels of total suspended solids.


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Somewhere, someone might have cried happy tears into a milkshake over news that Shake Shack's first restaurant in Dallas-Fort Worth will land in Uptown in 2016. Plano will get a Shack, too. Ask a New Yorker -- or someone under 35 who's traveled to the Big Apple -- and Shake Shack is a big deal. And it's cool if you don't "get" it yet; I'm here to help.
Shake Shack is cultish, up there with In-N-Out Burger.
This burger and milkshake joint is almost annoying, it's that popular. You really wish your friend who lived in New York for that one summer, yeah, we remember, man, you talk about it all the time, could just go eat a Whataburger or something and workshop his Texas pride.
This born 'n bred Dallasite is here to tell you: Shake Shack opening its first D-FW shop is important and interesting for Dallas, a city that has no shortage of cheeseburgers already. You don't have to be an obnoxious Yankee to agree.
Here's what you need to know about Shake Shack before its Dallas debut.
The food is simple and good. But is it great?
Shake Shack nails it with simplicity. The flagship restaurant in Madison Square Park serves a few varieties of burgers and hot dogs, with crinkle-cut fries as the only side. The drinks list is way longer than the food, an indication that their drinks are worth paying attention to. First-timers will want to order a shake or a concrete -- that's frozen custard ice cream blended with add-ins such as caramel sauce or chocolate toffee. (Note that the Dallas menu isn't available yet, so we'll know later which exact menu items will be sold locally.)
In my several experiences eating Shake Shack, it was good. The burgers were flavorful. The fries were boring. The milkshakes were delicious.
Is Shake Shack better than a cheeseburger at Off-Site Kitchen and a shake from Highland Park Old-Fashioned Soda Company? No, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go.
It's a billion-dollar business.
Let's talk dollars and cents. Shake Shack was valued at $1.68 billion, the Wall Street Journal says, when it went public in early 2015. If you like a good story, Shake Shack has a heartwarming one, too: It started as a hot dog cart -- a cart -- in New York City. Today, Shake Shack has more than 40 restaurants, including ones in Las Vegas, Chicago, Boston, London and Dubai.
This isn't an overstatement: It's America's hottest burger joint.
It may not be easy to root for a billion-dollar burger place, but people all over the world are using their money and their mouths to spread the good word. The New York Times calls it the "anti-chain chain" because it's growing at incredible speed yet somehow maintains its street cred.
Can Shake Shack sustain its good reputation and grow at a crazy-fast rate? Are the burgers good enough, the concept unique enough? The Dallas store will be a small way to gauge that. But don't discount Shake Shack as another passing fad, gone in a few months. Shake Shack has some sticking power.
There will be long lines.
Even some New Yorkers, some who have been eating Shake Shack since its debut in 2004, still stand in line for the burgers. What is the deal with that? For starters, Shake Shack has gotten tons of press, which has helped out-of-towners visiting cities like New York and Las Vegas seek it out. And it's likeable. They're burgers and shakes! And you're in and out for under $15. One look at their Instagram account and your stomach will be grumbling.
What's more, Business Insider says people like waiting in lines. They like it! "Experts say that waiting in lines is a way for us to cultivate our own identity. This psychological phenomenon is known as 'self-signaling,' in which people make decisions to communicate the type of person they are to themselves."
When the Dallas store opens, much like In-N-Out Burger, you can expect loyal fans and newcomers to stand in those long lines to see what all the fuss is about. Many of those photos will land on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook. And the snowball effect continues.
They're into secrets. Exhibit A: ShackSauce.
Shake Shack is famous for its sauce that's reportedly made with mayo, ketchup, and yellow ballpark mustard (among other things). The Shack's culinary director told a writer for cooking website Epicurious.com that "there's so much going on in their sauce that people 'can't really recreate it' at home."
Now you want to try to make it at home, right? Wrong. You want to try it at the restaurant. Why fiddle around with a sauce at home when you could stand in line, take a few selfies and let Shake Shack's chefs do it for you? FOMO is real, y'all.


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Gym & Personal training focused on positive growth.
Finding a gym in Vancouver that focuses specifically on the improvement of personal health, while being set in a positive, inviting, comfortable, and professional atmosphere can be a challenge. Evolve Fitness Lab was designed to eliminate things like ego, vanity, self-doubt, and all the other baggage that too often comes with your normal monthly type gym membership. We are focused on one thing and one thing only—the advancement of your personal health.
To get there we knew we had to establish a gym that provided a healthy environment, both physically and mentally, so we could get to the more important things. Creating encouraging and empowering sessions rooted in the betterment of individual health is what we want to be known for. Dedication and hard work is how we get there. We believe in the fostering of positive attitudes around body image, and we work everyday to live up to those ideals.


text:
Stump Grinder in Carpentersville, IL
If you're like many other property owners in Carpentersville, IL, you're not alone in experiencing the frustration of having too many tree stumps marring your otherwise beautiful property. As a local arborist, JBS Professional Tree Care, Inc. offers tree stump grinding to deal with your tree stump problems once and for all.
At Your Service
Using state-of-the-art equipment, the team at JBS Professional Tree Care, Inc. can effectively grind your tree stumps to a mere pulp. Tree stump grinding requires heavy machinery coupled with the right experience and skill, so attempting to do it yourself could result in injury as well as property damage. Don't take chances when JBS Professional Tree Care, Inc. offers reasonable rates and easy appointment scheduling for commercial and residential customers across Carpentersville, IL.
Improve your property and eliminate potential trip hazards with thorough, effective tree stump grinding services from JBS Professional Tree Care, Inc.. Call us today for more information or to request an estimate for your home or place of business.


text:
The Dental Implants in Dubai is a globally-renowned dental procedure that can enhance the health and appearance of your teeth. In the procedure, an implant is surgically positioned into the jawbone beneath the gum line. Continue reading to know the cost, benefits, side effects, post-op care, pre-op care, financing options and how to book an online consultation free of charge.
What is Dental Implants?
A dental implant is a titanium post that is surgically positioned into the jawbone beneath the gum line. This treatment allows the dentist to mount replacement teeth or a bridge into that area. Dental implants are different from the denture. Dental implants are of great benefit to oral health because they do not have to be anchored to other teeth, unlike bridges. Continue reading to find out more.
Results and Benefits
You can get promising results with this treatment, which include:
- The patient will feel comfortable after it.
- The patient's speech will also be improved.
- The patient will have a better eating experience.
- The patient will experience improved self-confidence.
- The patient's dental appearance will also be enhanced.
The Machine We Use
At the EuroMed Clinic, we always use the latest equipment to perform the treatment of Dental Implants. The equipment and surgical instruments are properly cleaned and sterilized before each procedure.
Who is a Candidate?
You are a perfect candidate for this treatment if you fulfill the criteria defined by the doctor. The criteria often include the following;
- You want to treat the problem.
- You are committed to a good oral hygiene.
- You have realistic expectations with the treatment.
- You will have to visit the dentist's office for general check-ups.
- You are healthy enough to undergo a dental extraction or oral surgery.
- You have enough jawbone to hold the implants in place; coupled with a healthy gum.
What is the Aim of Treatment?
It works well for all and it aims to:
- Improve the self-confidence
- Enhance the tooth appearance
- Deliver a better eating experience
- Deliver better speech appearance
Which Technique is Used?
At the EuroMed Clinic, we use the latest and safest techniques to perform all treatments. It is a mildly surgical and invasive treatment performed under local anesthesia.
How to Prepare for the Treatment?
Preparing for this procedure is not an uphill task. You will have to follow some instructions from the doctor to be on the safer side, which may include:
- Take the prescribed lab tests (if any).
- Take the prescribed medicines (if any).
- Avoid smoking cigarettes and drinking alcohol.
Post-Op Care and the Recovery Time
To be on the safe side and get the best possible results and an early recovery, it is advised to follow the guidelines of the doctor, which are likely to include:
- Avoid smoking cigarettes.
- Keep the mouth as clean as possible.
- If the doctor prescribes any medicines, keep taking regularly.
- The pain, bruising, and swelling (if any) will subside in the coming days.
- Use cold drinks only and start eating when the local anesthesia has worn off.
Cost of Dental implants
The cost of Dental implants treatment is not fixed but you can have a price quotation during a no obligation consultation with our expert.
Schedule Your Consultation
If you have lost your teeth, you can get them back by taking the dental implant procedure. Are you interested in Dental Implants in Dubai? Did you know you can get a consultation at the EuroMed Clinic by calling us or filling in the online form now.


text: This is the 3rd year I've convinced my family to dance on video for the world to see. I told them only about 10 people will watch it, so that seemed to work. Check us out dancing to the ultra smash hit "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen! Enjoy and feel free to comment below!


text:
Well, of us are looking out some cool and trendy ways by which we can make money. There are so many ways in which this can be done and all thanks to the internet – it has made things much simpler for you! The new trend is blogging and there are ways in which you can actually earn money if you have a great blog. You can check the web link for more detailed information.
How can blogging help you make some money?
Affiliate links can be used in your website:
well, so if you are looking for new ways in which your blog can get monetized then here is what you can actually do. You can make use of affiliate marketing and that works in the following ways:
- If you help an advertiser to get customers for the product he or she is selling then you can get some income. But make sure your customer gives your reference to the advertiser.
- The affiliate links can be included on your website and you can get this done either by including it directly in the content that you have or you can use banner ads for this as well. If a user from your site makes a purchase of the recommendation you have made then you earn some amount for it too.
- Also, you can get a unique code from the advertiser so that there is tracking when a buyer uses your link to make their purchase and this will fetch you some cash as well.
Also, you can sell some digital products on your site which again gives you a higher chance of earning some cash. There can be different products which you can sell which could include eBooks, apps or themes and so on. In this way, you advertise for the brand and earn some cash as well.


text:
Piggy bank inspired by the Valencian saying "Salut i força al canut".
Originally, the word "canut" referred to a small leather bag to keep the coins. Formerly, the Valencian farmers kept the money in a kind of "canut" fastened to the belt, made from a river cane lined with leather. Thus, this saying was used when making a toast to wish those present "health and economic well-being".
It is a product that combines design and local crafts to rethink the concept of a new souvenir and provide it with added value.
Project developed in collaboration with Per Amor a l'Art.


text:
One of a Thousand Inconvenient Truth Leaders...
Thursday, January 11, 2007
''Our Global Imperative,'' conversation is lead by Jeff Friedman, partner in Webtego, an Ohio based technology company. Jeff is one of a thousand Inconvenient Truth National Leaders telling the story about planet sustainability challenges and solutions. You can learn more about The Climate Project here.
Once again, the Brews open conversation will partner with Meet The Bloggers.
[Note: Meet the Bloggers can be accessed at this address http://188.8.131.52 ]


text:
The pun, also called paronomasia, is a form of word play that exploits multiple meanings of a term. Intended for humorous, rhetorical or artistic effects. So then, will you ever understand that life is a pun?
©2017 "Life Is A Pun" Eric Hatheway All Rights Reserved
Mixed Media on Paper


text:
Do you feel like there aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done that you want to do? Does your life ever feel frenzied, like you're running from the moment your feet hit the floor in the morning without many pauses in your day? Do you feel unproductive, unorganized or unable to keep up with the demands of your daily life?
We live in busy times! Thanks to technology, we are more connected than ever before to both our business and personal lives. Everyone from toddlers to senior citizens seems to have packed schedules. Multi-tasking is the norm and some people even take pride in their busy lives, placing rest, relaxation, and well-being low on their priority list.
Unfortunately, we can be busy without being productive, which can mean being overscheduled, feeling scattered, or experiencing chronic lateness, often resulting in increased stress. Time management, or taking conscious control over exactly how you spend your time, can give you back the power over your life. People who practice good time management tend to be more productive, feel less stressed, have more energy for the things they need to get done and more time to do the things they want to do. Time management is a learned skill with many simple strategies to choose from. The key is to choose techniques that fit with your individual style, that you find motivating, and that you will actually stick to.
Here are 5 tips to improve your time management:
- Create a positive mindset about time. You decide how you spend your time, not a clock or calendar. Make sure to talk about time like it's your friend, not your enemy. If you catch yourself complaining, blaming the clock or engaged in any negative talk around time, try replacing your thoughts with affirmations like:
· I am in control of my time.
· I have all the time I need.
· I always have time for the important things in my life.
· My life is balanced even when my schedule is full.
- Prioritize the three most important things you need to get done each day. Doing less will actually help you feel more accomplished. You can still have a big "To Do" list, but focus on completing the key tasks first. When you narrow down your results-oriented activities and do them first, you will generate more success.
- Know how you spend your time. Ask yourself what feels like the biggest waste of time in your day? Try tracking how much time you spend mindlessly scrolling through social media, how many times a day you check you email, or anything else you turn to for distraction. Set specific times in your day for those activities with clearly set time limits. Turn off notifications from your phone and have it on silent when you are working, so you don't lose concentration every time you get a message.
- Learn to say no. Pay attention to which activities, people and places uplift you and which drain you. Explore whether you have unrealistic expectations for what you think you can get done in a day, leading you to say yes to too many invitations Schedule time in your day or week for yourself, family, friends and the things in life that bring you joy. When you feel your best, you will have more energy and enthusiasm to put towards your work.
- Take regular breaks. Working while eating lunch can be counter-productive. Stepping away from your workspace throughout your day gives you a new perspective, refreshing your mind and rejuvenating your energy. Going for a walk has been shown to increase creativity and energy levels while reducing stress. Taking breaks in your day can also be a way to naturally split your work up into manageable blocks and help you avoid afternoon slumps.
Incorporating any or all of these strategies can be the difference between thriving and burning out. As you try them out, notice if you feel more productive or less stressed, if you find yourself accomplishing more in a day, or if you suddenly have more time in your day for the things that you want to do. Try embracing these new tools as a way to help you feel more motivated and inspired, knowing that time management is the path to experiencing more balance and greater success in your life.
Nikki Dean, motivational yoga instructor, is part of the Rethink Healthy Team, a service of the Wellness Neighborhood of Tahoe Forest Health System. For more information, call the Wellness Neighborhood (530) 550-6730.


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As you may or may not know, I like to travel and usually not the touristy places.
Currently, I am on my way to the capital of Bulgaria. This will be the furthest east I have been in Europe.
Why Bulgaria? Why Sofia? Why this time of year? That's an easy one. I very often look at flights to see where my destination could be. I happen to come across these flights that were ridiculously cheap. I'm kind of a wanderlust that enjoys exploring new cultures and unknown territory. Most of the time, I don't mind where or who with. I'm having this adventure with a friend. I automatically looked at hostels and found that they were cheap too. It was a no-brainier, I had to go.
Here I am. After a memorable journey to the airport, where it was chucking it down with rain (to the extent where you just couldn't see a metre in front with the windscreen wipers on full blast) and diverted traffic through single, puddle-filled lanes, we arrived at the airport. It was a lot busier than I thought as it was 5.30 in the morning.
I don't find airports daunting or particularly exciting (I like to play a game where I try to guess where people are going), and managed to get to the gate smoothly and without any hassle. When I walked on to the plane, the luggage storage was all full so my bag got taken away to the main bag compartment. After a nap, which I needed as I felt like a zombie, I now wait for landing in Sofia.
I don't really have an expectations of Bulgaria: I haven't really research Sofia. My plan is to go to my hostel and ask for recommendations. I'm just excited to see what it has to offer.


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Investors understand the concept of "Tactical Asset Allocation" — the practice of shifting investments from asset classes or sectors that seem to be overpriced to those that are expected to provide greater returns in the upcoming weeks or months.
When bonds have outpaced stocks, for example, the investor may sell some of the bonds at a profit to provide capital to invest in stocks, with the expectation that it is equities' turn to take the lead. Similar reallocations may be made between international and domestic stocks or small cap and large company stocks. It is through this practice that many portfolio managers and financial advisors attempt to demonstrate value to their customers who have invested in their actively managed portfolios rather than static portfolios, which may simply mirror the composition of major indices, thus providing no greater return than the actual markets.
In times of historically low interest rates, like those we are currently experiencing, it makes sense to take a similar view of the borrowing practices of an individual or a business, assuming new debt or shifting existing debt between various alternatives to create the most beneficial credit solution. In its simplest form, many homeowners have taken advantage of the lower rates to refinance their mortgages, potentially saving hundreds of dollars every month and freeing up capital that can be redirected to reducing other debt, increasing savings and investment allocations, or shortening the mortgage's duration by applying more of each payment to principal.
Credit management goes far beyond mortgage refinancing, though. Individuals and businesses have been quite active in designing credit solutions that are expected to provide interest cost savings that can be redeployed to debt reduction, additional investment, or sources of new revenue. A few examples of recently structured credit solutions include:
A widow with two children assumes a loan against her investment portfolio to build a new, downsized home for her family. In doing so, she covers the cost of the construction before a permanent mortgage can be attained and does not disrupt her long-term investment portfolio for a short-term liquidity need.
A franchisee takes on new, low interest debt against current operations and an investment portfolio to expand into a new territory.
An entrepreneur restructures a large and complex credit portfolio at half the interest rate of the current debt. The cost savings will allow him to renovate his facilities in the first year and pay down his debt more quickly in the following years.
A couple identifies a gap in their estate plan. They need an insurance policy to provide additional liquidity to the estate and they borrow money at low rates to pay the annual insurance premium. Upon their deaths, the insurance policy is projected to pay off the loan and still provide the estate needed liquidity.
Some of these solutions are quite complex, while others are fairly simple. Some involve a few thousand dollars, while others involve several million. Each, however, is designed maximize the financial benefit to the borrower. In higher interest rate environments, the customer may have decided to sell other investments, spend cash, or entirely forego the opportunity, rather than assuming or restructuring the debt. In a low interest rate environment, though, tactical use of debt may be the best solution. Call it "Tactical Credit Allocation," because it seeks to accomplish a similar result as Tactical Asset Allocation – taking advantage of potentially short-lived aberrations in the financial markets to create the most beneficial result for the individual or business. And whether we are talking about a few months or a few years, these low interest rates aren't expected to last.
» Mark Blackwell is the Mississippi Area Executive for Regions Private Wealth Management. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.com
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Updated: 2017-12-01 00:02
"Amiable personality," I observed seeing Fyne on the point of falling into a brown study. But I could not help adding with meaning: "He hadn't the gift of prophecy though."
Fyne got up suddenly with a muttered "No, evidently not." He was gloomy, hesitating. I supposed that he would not wish to play chess that afternoon. This would dispense me from leaving my rooms on a day much too fine to be wasted in walking exercise. And I was disappointed when picking up his cap he intimated to me his hope of seeing me at the cottage about four o'clock-as usual.
"It wouldn't be as usual." I put a particular stress on that remark. He admitted, after a short reflection, that it would not be. No. Not as usual. In fact it was his wife who hoped, rather, for my presence. She had formed a very favourable opinion of my practical sagacity.
This was the first I ever heard of it. I had never suspected that Mrs. Fyne had taken the trouble to distinguish in me the signs of sagacity or folly. The few words we had exchanged last night in the excitement-or the bother-of the girl's disappearance, were the first moderately significant words which had ever passed between us. I had felt myself always to be in Mrs. Fyne's view her husband's chess-player and nothing else-a convenience-almost an implement.
"I am highly flattered," I said. "I have always heard that there are no limits to feminine intuition; and now I am half inclined to believe it is so. But still I fail to see in what way my sagacity, practical or otherwise, can be of any service to Mrs. Fyne. One man's sagacity is very much like any other man's sagacity. And with you at hand-"
Fyne, manifestly not attending to what I was saying, directed straight at me his worried solemn eyes and struck in:
"Yes, yes. Very likely. But you will come-won't you?"
I had made up my mind that no Fyne of either sex would make me walk three miles (there and back to their cottage) on this fine day. If the Fynes had been an average sociable couple one knows only because leisure must be got through somehow, I would have made short work of that special invitation. But they were not that. Their undeniable humanity had to be acknowledged. At the same time I wanted to have my own way. So I proposed that I should be allowed the pleasure of offering them a cup of tea at my rooms.
A short reflective pause-and Fyne accepted eagerly in his own and his wife's name. A moment after I heard the click of the gate-latch and then in an ecstasy of barking from his demonstrative dog his serious head went past my window on the other side of the hedge, its troubled gaze fixed forward, and the mind inside obviously employed in earnest speculation of an intricate nature. One at least of his wife's girl-friends had become more than a mere shadow for him. I surmised however that it was not of the girl-friend but of his wife that Fyne was thinking. He was an excellent husband.
I prepared myself for the afternoon's hospitalities, calling in the farmer's wife and reviewing with her the resources of the house and the village. She was a helpful woman. But the resources of my sagacity I did not review. Except in the gross material sense of the afternoon tea I made no preparations for Mrs. Fyne.
It was impossible for me to make any such preparations. I could not tell what sort of sustenance she would look for from my sagacity. And as to taking stock of the wares of my mind no one I imagine is anxious to do that sort of thing if it can be avoided. A vaguely grandiose state of mental self-confidence is much too agreeable to be disturbed recklessly by such a delicate investigation. Perhaps if I had had a helpful woman at my elbow, a dear, flattering acute, devoted woman . . . There are in life moments when one positively regrets not being married. No! I don't exaggerate. I have said-moments, not years or even days. Moments. The farmer's wife obviously could not be asked to assist. She could not have been expected to possess the necessary insight and I doubt whether she would have known how to be flattering enough. She was being helpful in her own way, with an extraordinary black bonnet on her head, a good mile off by that time, trying to discover in the village shops a piece of eatable cake. The pluck of women! The optimism of the dear creatures!
And she managed to find something which looked eatable. That's all I know as I had no opportunity to observe the more intimate effects of that comestible. I myself never eat cake, and Mrs. Fyne, when she arrived punctually, brought with her no appetite for cake. She had no appetite for anything. But she had a thirst-the sign of deep, of tormenting emotion. Yes it was emotion, not the brilliant sunshine-more brilliant than warm as is the way of our discreet self-repressed, distinguished, insular sun, which would not turn a real lady scarlet-not on any account. Mrs. Fyne looked even cool. She wore a white skirt and coat; a white hat with a large brim reposed on her smoothly arranged hair. The coat was cut something like an army mess-jacket and the style suited her. I dare say there are many youthful subalterns, and not the worst-looking too, who resemble Mrs. Fyne in the type of face, in the sunburnt complexion, down to that something alert in bearing. But not many would have had that aspect breathing a readiness to assume any responsibility under Heaven. This is the sort of courage which ripens late in life and of course Mrs. Fyne was of mature years for all her unwrinkled face.
She looked round the room, told me positively that I was very comfortable there; to which I assented, humbly, acknowledging my undeserved good fortune.
"Why undeserved?" she wanted to know.
"I engaged these rooms by letter without asking any questions. It might have been an abominable hole," I explained to her. "I always do things like that. I don't like to be bothered. This is no great proof of sagacity-is it? Sagacious people I believe like to exercise that faculty. I have heard that they can't even help showing it in the veriest trifles. It must be very delightful. But I know nothing of it. I think that I have no sagacity-no practical sagacity."
Fyne made an inarticulate bass murmur of protest. I asked after the children whom I had not seen yet since my return from town. They had been very well. They were always well. Both Fyne and Mrs. Fyne spoke of the rude health of their children as if it were a result of moral excellence; in a peculiar tone which seemed to imply some contempt for people whose children were liable to be unwell at times. One almost felt inclined to apologize for the inquiry. And this annoyed me; unreasonably, I admit, because the assumption of superior merit is not a very exceptional weakness. Anxious to make myself disagreeable by way of retaliation I observed in accents of interested civility that the dear girls must have been wondering at the sudden disappearance of their mother's young friend. Had they been putting any awkward questions about Miss Smith. Wasn't it as Miss Smith that Miss de Barral had been introduced to me?
Mrs. Fyne, staring fixedly but also colouring deeper under her tan, told me that the children had never liked Flora very much. She hadn't the high spirits which endear grown-ups to healthy children, Mrs. Fyne explained unflinchingly. Flora had been staying at the cottage several times before. Mrs. Fyne assured me that she often found it very difficult to have her in the house.
"But what else could we do?" she exclaimed.
That little cry of distress quite genuine in its inexpressiveness, altered my feeling towards Mrs. Fyne. It would have been so easy to have done nothing and to have thought no more about it. My liking for her began while she was trying to tell me of the night she spent by the girl's bedside, the night before her departure with her unprepossessing relative. That Mrs. Fyne found means to comfort the child I doubt very much. She had not the genius for the task of undoing that which the hate of an infuriated woman had planned so well.
You will tell me perhaps that children's impressions are not durable. That's true enough. But here, child is only a manner of speaking. The girl was within a few days of her sixteenth birthday; she was old enough to be matured by the shock. The very effort she had to make in conveying the impression to Mrs. Fyne, in remembering the details, in finding adequate words-or any words at all-was in itself a terribly enlightening, an ageing process. She had talked a long time, uninterrupted by Mrs. Fyne, childlike enough in her wonder and pain, pausing now and then to interject the pitiful query: "It was cruel of her. Wasn't it cruel, Mrs. Fyne?"
For Charley she found excuses. He at any rate had not said anything, while he had looked very gloomy and miserable. He couldn't have taken part against his aunt-could he? But after all he did, when she called upon him, take "that cruel woman away." He had dragged her out by the arm. She had seen that plainly. She remembered it. That was it! The woman was mad. "Oh! Mrs. Fyne, don't tell me she wasn't mad. If you had only seen her face . . . "
But Mrs. Fyne was unflinching in her idea that as much truth as could be told was due in the way of kindness to the girl, whose fate she feared would be to live exposed to the hardest realities of unprivileged existences. She explained to her that there were in the world evil-minded, selfish people. Unscrupulous people . . . These two persons had been after her father's money. The best thing she could do was to forget all about them.
"After papa's money? I don't understand," poor Flora de Barral had murmured, and lay still as if trying to think it out in the silence and shadows of the room where only a night-light was burning. Then she had a long shivering fit while holding tight the hand of Mrs. Fyne whose patient immobility by the bedside of that brutally murdered childhood did infinite honour to her humanity. That vigil must have been the more trying because I could see very well that at no time did she think the victim particularly charming or sympathetic. It was a manifestation of pure compassion, of compassion in itself, so to speak, not many women would have been capable of displaying with that unflinching steadiness. The shivering fit over, the girl's next words in an outburst of sobs were, "Oh! Mrs. Fyne, am I really such a horrid thing as she has made me out to be?"
"No, no!" protested Mrs. Fyne. "It is your former governess who is horrid and odious. She is a vile woman. I cannot tell you that she was mad but I think she must have been beside herself with rage and full of evil thoughts. You must try not to think of these abominations, my dear child."
They were not fit for anyone to think of much, Mrs. Fyne commented to me in a curt positive tone. All that had been very trying. The girl was like a creature struggling under a net.
"But how can I forget? she called my father a cheat and a swindler! Do tell me Mrs. Fyne that it isn't true. It can't be true. How can it be true?"
She sat up in bed with a sudden wild motion as if to jump out and flee away from the sound of the words which had just passed her own lips. Mrs. Fyne restrained her, soothed her, induced her at last to lay her head on her pillow again, assuring her all the time that nothing this woman had had the cruelty to say deserved to be taken to heart. The girl, exhausted, cried quietly for a time. It may be she had noticed something evasive in Mrs. Fyne's assurances. After a while, without stirring, she whispered brokenly:
"That awful woman told me that all the world would call papa these awful names. Is it possible? Is it possible?"
Mrs. Fyne kept silent.
"Do say something to me, Mrs. Fyne," the daughter of de Barral insisted in the same feeble whisper.
Again Mrs. Fyne assured me that it had been very trying. Terribly trying. "Yes, thanks, I will." She leaned back in the chair with folded arms while I poured another cup of tea for her, and Fyne went out to pacify the dog which, tied up under the porch, had become suddenly very indignant at somebody having the audacity to walk along the lane. Mrs. Fyne stirred her tea for a long time, drank a little, put the cup down and said with that air of accepting all the consequences:
"Silence would have been unfair. I don't think it would have been kind either. I told her that she must be prepared for the world passing a very severe judgment on her father . . . "
* * * * *
"Wasn't it admirable," cried Marlow interrupting his narrative. "Admirable!" And as I looked dubiously at this unexpected enthusiasm he started justifying it after his own manner.
"I say admirable because it was so characteristic. It was perfect. Nothing short of genius could have found better. And this was nature! As they say of an artist's work: this was a perfect Fyne. Compassion-judiciousness-something correctly measured. None of your dishevelled sentiment. And right! You must confess that nothing could have been more right. I had a mind to shout "Brava! Brava!" but I did not do that. I took a piece of cake and went out to bribe the Fyne dog into some sort of self-control. His sharp comical yapping was unbearable, like stabs through one's brain, and Fyne's deeply modulated remonstrances abashed the vivacious animal no more than the deep, patient murmur of the sea abashes a nigger minstrel on a popular beach. Fyne was beginning to swear at him in low, sepulchral tones when I appeared. The dog became at once wildly demonstrative, half strangling himself in his collar, his eyes and tongue hanging out in the excess of his incomprehensible affection for me. This was before he caught sight of the cake in my hand. A series of vertical springs high up in the air followed, and then, when he got the cake, he instantly lost his interest in everything else.
Fyne was slightly vexed with me. As kind a master as any dog could wish to have, he yet did not approve of cake being given to dogs. The Fyne dog was supposed to lead a Spartan existence on a diet of repulsive biscuits with an occasional dry, hygienic, bone thrown in. Fyne looked down gloomily at the appeased animal, I too looked at that fool-dog; and (you know how one's memory gets suddenly stimulated) I was reminded visually, with an almost painful distinctness, of the ghostly white face of the girl I saw last accompanied by that dog-deserted by that dog. I almost heard her distressed voice as if on the verge of resentful tears calling to the dog, the unsympathetic dog. Perhaps she had not the power of evoking sympathy, that personal gift of direct appeal to the feelings. I said to Fyne, mistrusting the supine attitude of the dog:
"Why don't you let him come inside?"
Oh dear no! He couldn't think of it! I might indeed have saved my breath, I knew it was one of the Fynes' rules of life, part of their solemnity and responsibility, one of those things that were part of their unassertive but ever present superiority, that their dog must not be allowed in. It was most improper to intrude the dog into the houses of the people they were calling on-if it were only a careless bachelor in farmhouse lodgings and a personal friend of the dog. It was out of the question. But they would let him bark one's sanity away outside one's window. They were strangely consistent in their lack of imaginative sympathy. I didn't insist but simply led the way back to the parlour, hoping that no wayfarer would happen along the lane for the next hour or so to disturb the dog's composure.
Mrs. Fyne seated immovable before the table charged with plates, cups, jugs, a cold teapot, crumbs, and the general litter of the entertainment turned her head towards us.
"You see, Mr. Marlow," she said in an unexpectedly confidential tone: "they are so utterly unsuited for each other."
At the moment I did not know how to apply this remark. I thought at first of Fyne and the dog. Then I adjusted it to the matter in hand which was neither more nor less than an elopement. Yes, by Jove! It was something very much like an elopement-with certain unusual characteristics of its own which made it in a sense equivocal. With amused wonder I remembered that my sagacity was requisitioned in such a connection. How unexpected! But we never know what tests our gifts may be put to. Sagacity dictated caution first of all. I believe caution to be the first duty of sagacity. Fyne sat down as if preparing himself to witness a joust, I thought.
"Do you think so, Mrs. Fyne?" I said sagaciously. "Of course you are in a position . . . " I was continuing with caution when she struck out vivaciously for immediate assent.
"Obviously! Clearly! You yourself must admit . . . "
"But, Mrs. Fyne," I remonstrated, "you forget that I don't know your brother."
This argument which was not only sagacious but true, overwhelmingly true, unanswerably true, seemed to surprise her.
I wondered why. I did not know enough of her brother for the remotest guess at what he might be like. I had never set eyes on the man. I didn't know him so completely that by contrast I seemed to have known Miss de Barral-whom I had seen twice (altogether about sixty minutes) and with whom I had exchanged about sixty words-from the cradle so to speak. And perhaps, I thought, looking down at Mrs. Fyne (I had remained standing) perhaps she thinks that this ought to be enough for a sagacious assent.
She kept silent; and I looking at her with polite expectation, went on addressing her mentally in a mood of familiar approval which would have astonished her had it been audible: You my dear at any rate are a sincere woman . . . "
"I call a woman sincere," Marlow began again after giving me a cigar and lighting one himself, "I call a woman sincere when she volunteers a statement resembling remotely in form what she really would like to say, what she really thinks ought to be said if it were not for the necessity to spare the stupid sensitiveness of men. The women's rougher, simpler, more upright judgment, embraces the whole truth, which their tact, their mistrust of masculine idealism, ever prevents them from speaking in its entirety. And their tact is unerring. We could not stand women speaking the truth. We could not bear it. It would cause infinite misery and bring about most awful disturbances in this rather mediocre, but still idealistic fool's paradise in which each of us lives his own little life-the unit in the great sum of existence. And they know it. They are merciful. This generalization does not apply exactly to Mrs. Fyne's outburst of sincerity in a matter in which neither my affections nor my vanity were engaged. That's why, may be, she ventured so far. For a woman she chose to be as open as the day with me. There was not only the form but almost the whole substance of her thought in what she said. She believed she could risk it. She had reasoned somewhat in this way; there's a man, possessing a certain amount of sagacity . . . "
Marlow paused with a whimsical look at me. The last few words he had spoken with the cigar in his teeth. He took it out now by an ample movement of his arm and blew a thin cloud.
"You smile? It would have been more kind to spare my blushes. But as a matter of fact I need not blush. This is not vanity; it is analysis. We'll let sagacity stand. But we must also note what sagacity in this connection stands for. When you see this you shall see also that there was nothing in it to alarm my modesty. I don't think Mrs. Fyne credited me with the possession of wisdom tempered by common sense. And had I had the wisdom of the Seven Sages of Antiquity, she would not have been moved to confidence or admiration. The secret scorn of women for the capacity to consider judiciously and to express profoundly a meditated conclusion is unbounded. They have no use for these lofty exercises which they look upon as a sort of purely masculine game-game meaning a respectable occupation devised to kill time in this man-arranged life which must be got through somehow. What women's acuteness really respects are the inept "ideas" and the sheeplike impulses by which our actions and opinions are determined in matters of real importance. For if women are not rational they are indeed acute. Even Mrs. Fyne was acute. The good woman was making up to her husband's chess-player simply because she had scented in him that small portion of 'femininity,' that drop of superior essence of which I am myself aware; which, I gratefully acknowledge, has saved me from one or two misadventures in my life either ridiculous or lamentable, I am not very certain which. It matters very little. Anyhow misadventures. Observe that I say 'femininity,' a privilege-not 'feminism,' an attitude. I am not a feminist. It was Fyne who on certain solemn grounds had adopted that mental attitude; but it was enough to glance at him sitting on one side, to see that he was purely masculine to his finger-tips, masculine solidly, densely, amusingly,-hopelessly.
I did glance at him. You don't get your sagacity recognized by a man's wife without feeling the propriety and even the need to glance at the man now and again. So I glanced at him. Very masculine. So much so that "hopelessly" was not the last word of it. He was helpless. He was bound and delivered by it. And if by the obscure promptings of my composite temperament I beheld him with malicious amusement, yet being in fact, by definition and especially from profound conviction, a man, I could not help sympathizing with him largely. Seeing him thus disarmed, so completely captive by the very nature of things I was moved to speak to him kindly.
"Well. And what do you think of it?"
"I don't know. How's one to tell? But I say that the thing is done now and there's an end of it," said the masculine creature as bluntly as his innate solemnity permitted.
Mrs. Fyne moved a little in her chair. I turned to her and remarked gently that this was a charge, a criticism, which was often made. Some people always ask: What could he see in her? Others wonder what she could have seen in him? Expressions of unsuitability.
She said with all the emphasis of her quietly folded arms:
"I know perfectly well what Flora has seen in my brother."
I bowed my head to the gust but pursued my point.
"And then the marriage in most cases turns out no worse than the average, to say the least of it."
Mrs. Fyne was disappointed by the optimistic turn of my sagacity. She rested her eyes on my face as though in doubt whether I had enough femininity in my composition to understand the case.
I waited for her to speak. She seemed to be asking herself; Is it after all, worth while to talk to that man? You understand how provoking this was. I looked in my mind for something appallingly stupid to say, with the object of distressing and teasing Mrs. Fyne. It is humiliating to confess a failure. One would think that a man of average intelligence could command stupidity at will. But it isn't so. I suppose it's a special gift or else the difficulty consists in being relevant. Discovering that I could find no really telling stupidity, I turned to the next best thing; a platitude. I advanced, in a common-sense tone, that, surely, in the matter of marriage a man had only himself to please.
Mrs. Fyne received this without the flutter of an eyelid. Fyne's masculine breast, as might have been expected, was pierced by that old, regulation shaft. He grunted most feelingly. I turned to him with false simplicity. "Don't you agree with me?"
"The very thing I've been telling my wife," he exclaimed in his extra-manly bass. "We have been discussing-"
A discussion in the Fyne ménage! How portentous! Perhaps the very first difference they had ever had: Mrs. Fyne unflinching and ready for any responsibility, Fyne solemn and shrinking-the children in bed upstairs; and outside the dark fields, the shadowy contours of the land on the starry background of the universe, with the crude light of the open window like a beacon for the truant who would never come back now; a truant no longer but a downright fugitive. Yet a fugitive carrying off spoils. It was the flight of a raider-or a traitor? This affair of the purloined brother, as I had named it to myself, had a very puzzling physiognomy. The girl must have been desperate, I thought, hearing the grave voice of Fyne well enough but catching the sense of his words not at all, except the very last words which were:
"Of course, it's extremely distressing."
I looked at him inquisitively. What was distressing him? The purloining of the son of the poet-tyrant by the dau
Drugged one night by her ex-boyfriend, a mysterious man took advantage of her in an ecstatic night filled with sex. To take her revenge, she married the man, and used him. "As long as I'm alive, I'm still his legal wife, while all of you are just his mistresses."She remained adamant even when he was involved in scandals with other women...
ghter of the financier-convict. Or only, if I may say so, the wind of their flight disturbing the solemn placidity of the Fynes' domestic atmosphere. My incertitude did not last long, for he added:
"Mrs. Fyne urges me to go to London at once."
One could guess at, almost see, his profound distaste for the journey, his distress at a difference of feeling with his wife. With his serious view of the sublunary comedy Fyne suffered from not being able to agree solemnly with her sentiment as he was accustomed to do, in recognition of having had his way in one supreme instance; when he made her elope with him-the most momentous step imaginable in a young lady's life. He had been really trying to acknowledge it by taking the rightness of her feeling for granted on every other occasion. It had become a sort of habit at last. And it is never pleasant to break a habit. The man was deeply troubled. I said: "Really! To go to London!"
He looked dumbly into my eyes. It was pathetic and funny. "And you of course feel it would be useless," I pursued.
He evidently felt that, though he said nothing. He only went on blinking at me with a solemn and comical slowness. "Unless it be to carry there the family's blessing," I went on, indulging my chaffing humour steadily, in a rather sneaking fashion, for I dared not look at Mrs. Fyne, to my right. No sound or movement came from that direction. "You think very naturally that to match mere good, sound reasons, against the passionate conclusions of love is a waste of intellect bordering on the absurd."
He looked surprised as if I had discovered something very clever. He, dear man, had thought of nothing at all.
He simply knew that he did not want to go to London on that mission. Mere masculine delicacy. In a moment he became enthusiastic.
"Yes! Yes! Exactly. A man in love . . . You hear, my dear? Here you have an independent opinion-"
"Can anything be more hopeless," I insisted to the fascinated little Fyne, "than to pit reason against love. I must confess however that in this case when I think of that poor girl's sharp chin I wonder if . . . "
My levity was too much for Mrs. Fyne. Still leaning back in her chair she exclaimed:
"Mr. Marlow!"
* * * * *
As if mysteriously affected by her indignation the absurd Fyne dog began to bark in the porch. It might have been at a trespassing bumble-bee however. That animal was capable of any eccentricity. Fyne got up quickly and went out to him. I think he was glad to leave us alone to discuss that matter of his journey to London. A sort of anti-sentimental journey. He, too, apparently, had confidence in my sagacity. It was touching, this confidence. It was at any rate more genuine than the confidence his wife pretended to have in her husband's chess-player, of three successive holidays. Confidence be hanged! Sagacity-indeed! She had simply marched in without a shadow of misgiving to make me back her up. But she had delivered herself into my hands . . . "
Interrupting his narrative Marlow addressed me in his tone between grim jest and grim earnest:
"Perhaps you didn't know that my character is upon the whole rather vindictive."
"No, I didn't know," I said with a grin. "That's rather unusual for a sailor. They always seemed to me the least vindictive body of men in the world."
"H'm! Simple souls," Marlow muttered moodily. "Want of opportunity. The world leaves them alone for the most part. For myself it's towards women that I feel vindictive mostly, in my small way. I admit that it is small. But then the occasions in themselves are not great. Mainly I resent that pretence of winding us round their dear little fingers, as of right. Not that the result ever amounts to much generally. There are so very few momentous opportunities. It is the assumption that each of us is a combination of a kid and an imbecile which I find provoking-in a small way; in a very small way. You needn't stare as though I were breathing fire and smoke out of my nostrils. I am not a women-devouring monster. I am not even what is technically called "a brute." I hope there's enough of a kid and an imbecile in me to answer the requirements of some really good woman eventually-some day . . . Some day. Why do you gasp? You don't suppose I should be afraid of getting married? That supposition would be offensive . . . "
"I wouldn't dream of offending you," I said.
"Very well. But meantime please remember that I was not married to Mrs. Fyne. That lady's little finger was none of my legal property. I had not run off with it. It was Fyne who had done that thing. Let him be wound round as much as his backbone could stand-or even more, for all I cared. His rushing away from the discussion on the transparent pretence of quieting the dog confirmed my notion of there being a considerable strain on his elasticity. I confronted Mrs. Fyne resolved not to assist her in her eminently feminine occupation of thrusting a stick in the spokes of another woman's wheel.
She tried to preserve her calm-eyed superiority. She was familiar and olympian, fenced in by the tea-table, that excellent symbol of domestic life in its lighter hour and its perfect security. In a few severely unadorned words she gave me to understand that she had ventured to hope for some really helpful suggestion from me. To this almost chiding declaration-because my vindictiveness seldom goes further than a bit of teasing-I said that I was really doing my best. And being a physiognomist . . . "
"Being what?" she interrupted me.
"A physiognomist," I repeated raising my voice a little. "A physiognomist, Mrs. Fyne. And on the principles of that science a pointed little chin is a sufficient ground for interference. You want to interfere-do you not?"
Her eyes grew distinctly bigger. She had never been bantered before in her life. The late subtle poet's method of making himself unpleasant was merely savage and abusive. Fyne had been always solemnly subservient. What other men she knew I cannot tell but I assume they must have been gentlemanly creatures. The girl-friends sat at her feet. How could she recognize my intention. She didn't know what to make of my tone.
"Are you serious in what you say?" she asked slowly. And it was touching. It was as if a very young, confiding girl had spoken. I felt myself relenting.
"No. I am not, Mrs. Fyne," I said. "I didn't know I was expected to be serious as well as sagacious. No. That science is farcical and therefore I am not serious. It's true that most sciences are farcical except those which teach us how to put things together."
"The question is how to keep these two people apart," she struck in. She had recovered. I admired the quickness of women's wit. Mental agility is a rare perfection. And aren't they agile! Aren't they-just! And tenacious! When they once get hold you may uproot the tree but you won't shake them off the branch. In fact the more you shake . . . But only look at the charm of contradictory perfections! No wonder men give in-generally. I won't say I was actually charmed by Mrs. Fyne. I was not delighted with her. What affected me was not what she displayed but something which she could not conceal. And that was emotion-nothing less. The form of her declaration was dry, almost peremptory-but not its tone. Her voice faltered just the least bit, she smiled faintly; and as we were looking straight at each other I observed that her eyes were glistening in a peculiar manner. She was distressed. And indeed that Mrs. Fyne should have appealed to me at all was in itself the evidence of her profound distress. "By Jove she's desperate too," I thought. This discovery was followed by a movement of instinctive shrinking from this unreasonable and unmasculine affair. They were all alike, with their supreme interest aroused only by fighting with each other about some man: a lover, a son, a brother.
"But do you think there's time yet to do anything?" I asked.
She had an impatient movement of her shoulders without detaching herself from the back of the chair. Time! Of course? It was less than forty-eight hours since she had followed him to London . . . I am no great clerk at those matters but I murmured vaguely an allusion to special licences. We couldn't tell what might have happened to-day already. But she knew better, scornfully. Nothing had happened.
"Nothing's likely to happen before next Friday week,-if then."
This was wonderfully precise. Then after a pause she added that she should never forgive herself if some effort were not made, an appeal.
"To your brother?" I asked.
"Yes. John ought to go to-morrow. Nine o'clock train."
"So early as that!" I said. But I could not find it in my heart to pursue this discussion in a jocular tone. I submitted to her several obvious arguments, dictated apparently by common sense but in reality by my secret compassion. Mrs. Fyne brushed them aside, with the semi-conscious egoism of all safe, established, existences. They had known each other so little. Just three weeks. And of that time, too short for the birth of any serious sentiment, the first week had to be deducted. They would hardly look at each other to begin with. Flora barely consented to acknowledge Captain Anthony's presence. Good morning-good night-that was all-absolutely the whole extent of their intercourse. Captain Anthony was a silent man, completely unused to the society of girls of any sort and so shy in fact that he avoided raising his eyes to her face at the table. It was perfectly absurd. It was even inconvenient, embarrassing to her-Mrs. Fyne. After breakfast Flora would go off by herself for a long walk and Captain Anthony (Mrs. Fyne referred to him at times also as Roderick) joined the children. But he was actually too shy to get on terms with his own nieces.
This would have sounded pathetic if I hadn't known the Fyne children who were at the same time solemn and malicious, and nursed a secret contempt for all the world. No one could get on terms with those fresh and comely young monsters! They just tolerated their parents and seemed to have a sort of mocking understanding among themselves against all outsiders, yet with no visible affection for each other. They had the habit of exchanging derisive glances which to a shy man must have been very trying. They thought their uncle no doubt a bore and perhaps an ass.
I was not surprised to hear that very soon Anthony formed the habit of crossing the two neighbouring fields to seek the shade of a clump of elms at a good distance from the cottage. He lay on the grass and smoked his pipe all the morning. Mrs. Fyne wondered at her brother's indolent habits. He had asked for books it is true but there were but few in the cottage. He read them through in three days and then continued to lie contentedly on his back with no other companion but his pipe. Amazing indolence! The live-long morning, Mrs. Fyne, busy writing upstairs in the cottage, could see him out of the window. She had a very long sight, and these elms were grouped on a rise of the ground. His indolence was plainly exposed to her criticism on a gentle green slope. Mrs. Fyne wondered at it; she was disgusted too. But having just then 'commenced author,' as you know, she could not tear herself away from the fascinating novelty. She let him wallow in his vice. I imagine Captain Anthony must have had a rather pleasant time in a quiet way. It was, I remember, a hot dry summer, favourable to contemplative life out of doors. And Mrs. Fyne was scandalized. Women don't understand the force of a contemplative temperament. It simply shocks them. They feel instinctively that it is the one which escapes best the domination of feminine influences. The dear girls were exchanging jeering remarks about "lazy uncle Roderick" openly, in her indulgent hearing. And it was so strange, she told me, because as a boy he was anything but indolent. On the contrary. Always active.
I remarked that a man of thirty-five was no longer a boy. It was an obvious remark but she received it without favour. She told me positively that the best, the nicest men remained boys all their lives. She was disappointed not to be able to detect anything boyish in her brother. Very, very sorry. She had not seen him for fifteen years or thereabouts, except on three or four occasions for a few hours at a time. No. Not a trace of the boy, he used to be, left in him.
She fell silent for a moment and I mused idly on the boyhood of little Fyne. I could not imagine what it might have been like. His dominant trait was clearly the remnant of still earlier days, because I've never seen such staring solemnity as Fyne's except in a very young baby. But where was he all that time? Didn't he suffer contamination from the indolence of Captain Anthony, I inquired. I was told that Mr. Fyne was very little at the cottage at the time. Some colleague of his was convalescing after a severe illness in a little seaside village in the neighbourhood and Fyne went off every morning by train to spend the day with the elderly invalid who had no one to look after him. It was a very praiseworthy excuse for neglecting his brother-in-law "the son of the poet, you know," with whom he had nothing in common even in the remotest degree. If Captain Anthony (Roderick) had been a pedestrian it would have been sufficient; but he was not. Still, in the afternoon, he went sometimes for a slow casual stroll, by himself of course, the children having definitely cold-shouldered him, and his only sister being busy with that inflammatory book which was to blaze upon the world a year or more afterwards. It seems however that she was capable of detaching her eyes from her task now and then, if only for a moment, because it was from that garret fitted out for a study that one afternoon she observed her brother and Flora de Barral coming down the road side by side. They had met somewhere accidentally (which of them crossed the other's path, as the saying is, I don't know), and were returning to tea together. She noticed that they appeared to be conversing without constraint.
"I had the simplicity to be pleased," Mrs. Fyne commented with a dry little laugh. "Pleased for both their sakes." Captain Anthony shook off his indolence from that day forth, and accompanied Miss Flora frequently on her morning walks. Mrs. Fyne remained pleased. She could now forget them comfortably and give herself up to the delights of audacious thought and literary composition. Only a week before the blow fell she, happening to raise her eyes from the paper, saw two figures seated on the grass under the shade of the elms. She could make out the white blouse. There could be no mistake.
"I suppose they imagined themselves concealed by the hedge. They forgot no doubt I was working in the garret," she said bitterly. "Or perhaps they didn't care. They were right. I am rather a simple person . . . " She laughed again . . . "I was incapable of suspecting such duplicity."
"Duplicity is a strong word, Mrs. Fyne-isn't it?" I expostulated. "And considering that Captain Anthony himself . . . "
"Oh well-perhaps," she interrupted me. Her eyes which never strayed away from mine, her set features, her whole immovable figure, how well I knew those appearances of a person who has "made up her mind." A very hopeless condition that, specially in women. I mistrusted her concession so easily, so stonily made. She reflected a moment. "Yes. I ought to have said-ingratitude, perhaps."
After having thus disengaged her brother and pushed the poor girl a little further off as it were-isn't women's cleverness perfectly diabolic when they are really put on their mettle?-after having done these things and also made me feel that I was no match for her, she went on scrupulously: "One doesn't like to use that word either. The claim is very small. It's so little one could do for her. Still . . . "
"I dare say," I exclaimed, throwing diplomacy to the winds. "But really, Mrs. Fyne, it's impossible to dismiss your brother like this out of the business . . . "
"She threw herself at his head," Mrs. Fyne uttered firmly.
"He had no business to put his head in the way, then," I retorted with an angry laugh. I didn't restrain myself because her fixed stare seemed to express the purpose to daunt me. I was not afraid of her, but it occurred to me that I was within an ace of drifting into a downright quarrel with a lady and, besides, my guest. There was the cold teapot, the emptied cups, emblems of hospitality. It could not be. I cut short my angry laugh while Mrs. Fyne murmured with a slight movement of her shoulders, "He! Poor man! Oh come . . . "
By a great effort of will I found myself able to smile amiably, to speak with proper softness.
"My dear Mrs. Fyne, you forget that I don't know him-not even by sight. It's difficult to imagine a victim as passive as all that; but granting you the (I very nearly said: imbecility, but checked myself in time) innocence of Captain Anthony, don't you think now, frankly, that there is a little of your own fault in what has happened. You bring them together, you leave your brother to himself!"
She sat up and leaning her elbow on the table sustained her head in her open palm casting down her eyes. Compunction? It was indeed a very off-hand way of treating a brother come to stay for the first time in fifteen years. I suppose she discovered very soon that she had nothing in common with that sailor, that stranger, fashioned and marked by the sea of long voyages. In her strong-minded way she had scorned pretences, had gone to her writing which interested her immensely. A very praiseworthy thing your sincere conduct,-if it didn't at times resemble brutality so much. But I don't think it was compunction. That sentiment is rare in women . . . "
"Is it?" I interrupted indignantly.
"You know more women than I do," retorted the unabashed Marlow. "You make it your business to know them-don't you? You go about a lot amongst all sorts of people. You are a tolerably honest observer. Well, just try to remember how many instances of compunction you have seen. I am ready to take your bare word for it. Compunction! Have you ever seen as much as its shadow? Have you ever? Just a shadow-a passing shadow! I tell you it is so rare that you may call it non-existent. They are too passionate. Too pedantic. Too courageous with themselves-perhaps. No I don't think for a moment that Mrs. Fyne felt the slightest compunction at her treatment of her sea-going brother. What he thought of it who can tell? It is possible that he wondered why he had been so insistently urged to come. It is possible that he wondered bitterly-or contemptuously-or humbly. And it may be that he was only surprised and bored. Had he been as sincere in his conduct as his only sister he would have probably taken himself off at the end of the second day. But perhaps he was afraid of appearing brutal. I am not far removed from the conviction that between the sincerities of his sister and of his dear nieces, Captain Anthony of the Ferndale must have had his loneliness brought home to his bosom for the first time of his life, at an age, thirty-five or thereabouts, when one is mature enough to feel the pang of such a discovery. Angry or simply sad but certainly disillusioned he wanders about and meets the girl one afternoon and under the sway of a strong feeling forgets his shyness. This is no supposition. It is a fact. There was such a meeting in which the shyness must have perished before we don't know what encouragement, or in the community of mood made apparent by some casual word. You remember that Mrs. Fyne saw them one afternoon coming back to the cottage together. Don't you think that I have hit on the psychology of the situation? . . . "
"Doubtless . . . " I began to ponder.
"I was very certain of my conclusions at the time," Marlow went on impatiently. "But don't think for a moment that Mrs. Fyne in her new attitude and toying thoughtfully with a teaspoon was about to surrender. She murmured:
"It's the last thing I should have thought could happen."
"You didn't suppose they were romantic enough," I suggested dryly.
She let it pass and with great decision but as if speaking to herself,
"Roderick really must be warned."
She didn't give me the time to ask of what precisely. She raised her head and addressed me.
"I am surprised and grieved more than I can tell you at Mr. Fyne's resistance. We have been always completely at one on every question. And that we should differ now on a point touching my brother so closely is a most painful surprise to me." Her hand rattled the teaspoon brusquely by an involuntary movement. "It is intolerable," she added tempestuously-for Mrs. Fyne that is. I suppose she had nerves of her own like any other woman.
Under the porch where Fyne had sought refuge with the dog there was silence. I took it for a proof of deep sagacity. I don't mean on the part of the dog. He was a confirmed fool.
I said:
"You want absolutely to interfere . . . ?" Mrs. Fyne nodded just perceptibly . . . "Well-for my part . . . but I don't really know how matters stand at the present time. You have had a letter from Miss de Barral. What does that letter say?"
"She asks for her valise to be sent to her town address," Mrs. Fyne uttered reluctantly and stopped. I waited a bit-then exploded.
"Well! What's the matter? Where's the difficulty? Does your husband object to that? You don't mean to say that he wants you to appropriate the girl's clothes?"
"Mr. Marlow!"
"Well, but you talk of a painful difference of opinion with your husband, and then, when I ask for information on the point, you bring out a valise. And only a few moments ago you reproached me for not being serious. I wonder who is the serious person of us two now."
She smiled faintly and in a friendly tone, from which I concluded at once that she did not mean to show me the girl's letter, she said that undoubtedly the letter disclosed an understanding between Captain Anthony and Flora de Barral.
"What understanding?" I pressed her. "An engagement is an understanding."
"There is no engagement-not yet," she said decisively. "That letter, Mr. Marlow, is couched in very vague terms. That is why-"
I interrupted her without ceremony.
"You still hope to interfere to some purpose. Isn't it so? Yes? But how should you have liked it if anybody had tried to interfere between you and Mr. Fyne at the time when your understanding with each other could still have been described in vague terms?"
She had a genuine movement of astonished indignation. It is with the accent of perfect sincerity that she cried out at me:
"But it isn't at all the same thing! How can you!"
Indeed how could I! The daughter of a poet and the daughter of a convict are not comparable in the consequences of their conduct if their necessity may wear at times a similar aspect. Amongst these consequences I could perceive undesirable cousins for these dear healthy girls, and such like, possible causes of embarrassment in the future.
"No! You can't be serious," Mrs. Fyne's smouldering resentment broke out again. "You haven't thought-"
"Oh yes, Mrs. Fyne! I have thought. I am still thinking. I am even trying to think like you."
"Mr. Marlow," she said earnestly. "Believe me that I really am thinking of my brother in all this . . . " I assured her that I quite believed she was. For there is no law of nature making it impossible to think of more than one person at a time. Then I said:
"She has told him all about herself of course."
"All about her life," assented Mrs. Fyne with an air, however, of making some mental reservation which I did not pause to investigate. "Her life!" I repeated. "That girl must have had a mighty bad time of it."
"Horrible," Mrs. Fyne admitted with a ready frankness very creditable under the circumstances, and a warmth of tone which made me look at her with a friendly eye. "Horrible! No! You can't imagine the sort of vulgar people she became dependent on . . . You know her father never attempted to see her while he was still at large. After his arrest he instructed that relative of his-the odious person who took her away from Brighton-not to let his daughter come to the court during the trial. He refused to hold any communication with her whatever."
I remembered what Mrs. Fyne had told me before of the view she had years ago of de Barral clinging to the child at the side of his wife's grave and later on of these two walking hand in hand the observed of all eyes by the sea. Pictures from Dickens-pregnant with pathos.
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Berkeley Mayor Honors Architect and UrbDeZine Panelist Sandhya Sood
UrbDeZine panel author Sandhya Sood, AIA, founding principal of Accent Architecture+Design in the San Francisco Bay Area was presented with a proclamation by Berkeley Mayor Tom Bates honoring her "emphasis on sustainable design and building" and her "raising awareness of the relevance of Julia Morgan's work and the shared architectural heritage of our city and state." Berkeley Mayor Honors Architect and UrbDeZine Panelist Sandhya Sood
Celebrating Uncharted: The Berkeley Festival of Ideas
While I was a graduate student at UC Berkeley studying architecture, ideas were always buzzing around; at design charrettes, guest lectures and of course, at the dining table. International House, where I lived, was home to residents from eighty countries enrolled in various academic programs. Our insatiable thirst for learning extended to coffee hours and dinner, with enough food for thought to go around. Celebrating Uncharted: The Berkeley Festival of Ideas
Taking Back the Right Tract
The Occupy Movement is alive and well in the Bay Area. Since April 20 (Earth Day), Occupy Oakland, Occupy Cal, and Occupy SF have had a new neighbor – Occupy the Farm.
These students, professors, neighbors, and activists-turned farmers have set up a small and growing working farm. These 14 acres of University-owned agricultural land sit in the middle of the quiet suburban City of Albany. The UC Berkeley College of Natural Resources uses the land for research, but intends to redevelop the property in 2013. The current proposal includes a Whole Foods and market-rate senior housing. Taking Back the Right Tract
Plan for New Berkeley Art Museum Unveiled
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Last year HMRC launched something called 'Voice ID', a vocal recognition system that would recognise a user's voice (and password) to confirm their identity. While HMRC claims the system is optional, it's been accused of storing and analysing the voices of millions of taxpayers without consent.
Big Brother Watch has accused the tax man of creating "biometric ID cards by the back door", and collecting 5.1 million audio signatures in the process. It claims that users aren't being given the option to opt-out of the system, and has called on HMRC to "delete the five million voiceprints they've taken in this shady scheme". Silkie Carlo, director of the orgsniation, also said that the same IDs could let the government identify people in other areas of their private lives.
HMRC claims that the service is optional, but has proven popular among users for speeding up the security process and improving access to its digital services. It also told the BBC that the system was secure, with identifying details stored separately.
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